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burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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i wonder

i wonder (if you remember the way we looked at each other)

— Living as roommates with your best friend is easy until someone fucks up and catches feelings.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut fem!reader, and they were roommates, childhood friends!au, university!au, quirkless!au, modern!au, americanized university experience, alcohol consumption, drug consumption, the plot is for the sex AHA, womanizer!shouto, shouto and reader are bad roommates but seiji is worse, shouto has sex at 16 for the first time, vouyerism-ish, iffy shouto tendencies, jealous!shouto, jealous!reader, drunk sex so dubcon depending on you, nipplegasms, reader has nipple piercings, blowjob, switching, marking, biting, scratching, praise kink, missing tag ;)

word count: 20,141

a/n: this is for the roommates bnharem collab! please check out all the other amazing fics and art! note to self, dont get drunk the night before this is due and I hope you guys enjoy this!!! I had a lot of fun writing it!!! also,,, sorry if mobile doesn’t correctly format!

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You cracked your eyes open.

The gentle white stream of light permeated through soft cotton curtains, lighting the room in pale stripes and careful touches. Dust particles danced within the shining light, bending and twirling with the flowing air and moving winds. You breathed in deeply, your body still tired, your head still foggy from a night of distractions and too many drinks.

Your eyes are closed once again, your still hazy mind trying to ignore the bitter, rank taste of the alcohol and cum on your tongue and your hands scratching as your naked cleavage. There was still enough time in the day; it was Sunday after—

Wait.

CUM?!

Your eyes flew open, your lips smacking each other as you confirm the awful, salty taste of cum on your tongue. Your hands swiping up and down your front to confirm your state of undress. Your heart starts hammering in your chest, your palms immediately sweating as you try to think about just who the fuck you ended up back in bed with.

Think, y/n, think!

A small grunt came from behind you, and you felt your entire body go rigid immediately. The soft expel of air fanning against your sticky neck is both welcomed and untrusted. With what can only be described as you, as stiff as a stick, peering behind your shoulder similar to a mother who definitely heard her child throw up on her bed but is somehow praying that she was hearing shit, you turned around.

A messy bedhead of red and white greeted you: unfocused, sleepy grey, and brilliant blue eyes staring back at you with fond familiarity and welcome.

“‘Morning, y/n,” Todoroki Shouto grumbles, voice husky, scratchy, deeply warm from his slumber. His next words are damning, though, the slight pride and knowing implications in the small breathe he uttered next. “Had fun last night?”

There was silence, a stroke of hesitancy, then crushing all-consuming fear.

You screamed.

At the top of your lungs.

O N E W E E K A N D A D A Y E A R L I E R

“Who the fuck touched my fucking Angry Orchard Rosés?!” a voice snapped from the kitchen; the tone was fed up, seconds from blasting to smithereens.

You were in the living room, a pair of sweats on, your hair not put together, your face still bare. The music you played as part of your pregame ritual was practically vibrating the wooden floor as you sang along to your music. The telling glass bottle of deliciously pink alcohol swinging inconspicuously between your fingers as you drank it between verses. Despite your other roommate (who you repeatedly told your friends to be ‘like Bakugou but a gazillion times worse because you don’t and can’t like him,’) being seconds from trying to start another feud or possibly a lawsuit against you, your mouth dropped in mock shock before guzzling down the rest of the drink.

“I saw that you fucking skank!” Shishikura Seiji screeched from the kitchen; his stomps were long and heavy as he made his way from the kitchen to the living room where you were. “There were two bottles left in there! Don’t tell me your alcoholic ass drank them both! So help me, I’ll press on your damn chest until you’re puking out my drink.”

“Shishikura, stop,” Shouto spoke up, his own arm raising as he took a long, slow drink from the other missing rosé bottle. “These are 2% alcohol, you’ve had them in the fridge for months now, and you never drink them anyways.”

You grinned as you pulled the glass bottle from your lip, your face failing at the fake look of surprise, guilt, and sorrow for your unwanted and unneeded roommate.

“Sorry, they’re such girly drinks. I figured I’d take them off your hands,” you speak with distractingly bright amusement. “Alcoholics like me, we don’t care. Watch out; I might go for your mouth wash if you’re not too careful.”

“You do that, and I’ll poison you like a damn bitch,” Shishikura threatened, his voice in a menacing growl.

“Ooooo, you want me to bark for you, Shishikura? Want me on my hands and knees?” you taunt back, walking backward until you’re collapsing onto the couch besides Shouto. Your arm quickly sneaks between his, and you lay your head on his shoulder. Shishikura’s face is flushed red, his pupils beady as he trembles with concealed rage.

“She’s quite good at it,” Shouto chimes in, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk as he takes another drink of the weak liquor. He shifts on the couch, allowing you to curl more comfortably at his side; the both of you know just how much your incredibly prude roommate hates any sort of PDA. “Want to hear her bark? She’s also quite good with her tongue.”

As if to emphasize Shouto’s point, you stuck out your tongue, refusing to break eye contact with Shishikura as the tip of your tongue breached the opening of the bottle.

“The actual fuck is wrong with the both of you?!” Shishikura spluttered, his face somehow turning purple and green and red. A truly incredible sight to be had. “‘Childhood friends are great roommates to have’ my fucking ass, you both are monstrosities!”

Shishikura stormed out of the living room, his ears neon red as his purple hair fell to cover his face. As soon as he was out of sight, you turned to Shouto, your tongue removing itself from the bottle and back into your mouth as you began to laugh loudly.

Childhood friends to roommates, ah, what a remarkable story you had with Todoroki Shouto.

It was accurate to relay that you had known Shouto for more than seventeen years now at your current age of twenty-one. Seventeen years of being what is easily seen as the best of friends, the closest companions, and indeed a bond that would withstand time and situation.

The two of you met during the first week of what was preschool. Although both of you could not remember a single instance of events during this time, your mothers had always been excited to relay this story to you for many years that you could remember. It was odd to try to remember it, but even as they painted a picture of your first interaction, you could do nothing but admit that it sounded exactly like how it could have gone.

You couldn’t remember being four years old; you don’t recall what it was like to strain your neck to look up at your parents or how it felt to be so utterly dependent but to scream brazenly about your childish independence. Your mother smiles when she retells the story of your first interaction, of how you were holding her hand as she walked you to the building where your preschool was to be had.

Your hand was so small in hers. Tightly clutching onto her fingers as you looked around at the other children who were also arriving or had already arrived. Some children were bawling by their parents, others aimlessly playing with toys, and some were attempting to talk to one another, but by the apparent looks of curiosity surrounding the babbling and rambling tangents that could only be understood by a firing toddler brain, everyone was getting along.

A teacher greeted you kindly, squatting down to reach your eye level as they excitedly introduced themselves and asked for your name. You, of course, with your hands clutching the skirts of your mother’s dress, responded with hesitant confidence.

“You’re such a brave girl!” the teacher awed happily, stretching out a hand for you. “Is it okay if I take you from your mom and show you which cubby is yours?”

There was a moment of confusion, then clear understanding hovering over your little head. Your mom looked down with an encouraging smile and pushed you forward.

“Do I get a middle cubby? I don’t want a top one,” you admit, your hand stretching out to grab the teacher’s stretched-out hand.

Your mother watched on happily as you removed your schoolbag and lunchpail and placed them neatly within the somehow middle cubby marked with your name. The teacher also helped you put on your white school slippers before gesturing towards the bright, colorful room, their mouth moving as if explaining every little detail before pointing at the corner. Your mother tilted her head, curious as she followed the teachers point to the corner of the room where a boy with exceptional red and white hair — split perfectly in the middle — sat quietly, with fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

(Shouto, although he can not remember this day himself, will argue with you and only you that he was, in fact, NOT crying.)

Trying to not allow the shock of the unnatural hair color affect her, your mother watched as you nodded to your new teacher and walked over with clenched fist confidence to the small boy.

She watched as you approached him, your jaw moving as you so obviously spoke, hopefully introducing yourself. The boy looked up at you with bright, wet eyes but seemed to speak right back to you.

“Alright, parents! Thank you all for dropping off your children! Do not worry. We will take great care of them all, and they are in competent hands! First days are hard for everyone, so if you can exit quietly, I, and the rest of us teachers, would appreciate that greatly!”

Or at least that’s what Rei claimed the teacher said. However, your mother was watching on with increasing exponential horror as she watched you throw a punch at the air before twisting around and pointing right at her and saying with a voice that was much too loud.

“Punch whoever made you cry, Shouto-chan! My mama says that it is okay to punch bullies!”

Thankfully no one but your mother heard you, and even though she scolded you on the way out, whisper yelling that you “better not punch anyone!” her relief was for naught.

When she would return in the afternoon, a bit late because there had been a hold up on the train, you were pouting sitting on the floor with a scuffled uniform, your arms crossed definitely. Next to you was the boy with red and white hair, equally scuffed next to a white-haired woman and an older white-haired boy.

“Oh my god, what happened?!” she shrieked, racing over to you.

“Y/l/n-san,” the teacher spoke with a tone that indicated disappointment with the subtle undertone of amusement. “Y/n-chan has something to tell you.”

Your mother had taught you many things, she will admit, in your very short life. But sass and annoyment was something not often seen in your household or in you, and to see it so blatantly on your chubby-cheeked face was quickly giving your mother greys.

“Shouto-chan told me that his stupid bully brother Touya was being a meanie, and so I helped him punch him back!” you said with tears in your eyes because you didn’t want to back down from your actions, but you also did not like being scolded. “I don’t regret it!”

“Y/n!”

“Y/n-chan!”

“I don’t either,” Shouto-chan grumbled as your mother collapsed to her knees and began to profusely apologize for you to the woman who was undoubtedly Shouto’s mother. “Touya-nii was making fun of my hair again… y/n-chan helped me, though. Please don’t scold her!”

To say the most in the shortest amount of time, you were, in fact, scolded despite Shouto’s begging. Touya stopped making fun of Shouto’s natural hair. Rei accepted your mother’s apology. The teachers were given two bottles of sake.

And, of course, the most important, the most paramount thing to arise from this first day of school was that your and Todoroki Shouto’s friendship was now bound by blood, sweat, and tears.

Preschool became elementary school, which became middle school, and fading into highschool.

It was without saying that your relationship, your friendship with Todoroki Shouto, was probably one of the biggest, most defining parts of your entire life. He was there when your first tooth fell out, when he dropped ice cubes down people’s shirts, you two had bathed together when you were young, had sleepovers well past the age where him being a boy and you being a girl should have made things weird. You laughed when his voice cracked and dropped, he elbowed your chest plenty when you began growing boobs, you taunted his lack of body hair, he bought you your favorite ice cream and heating packs on your first period. You attended cram school together, went to the park and beaches on days off from school. You were partners in every school activity except under specific circumstances. He had listened to you when you told him excitedly about your first kiss when you turned fourteen, and you laughed when he said at the age of fifteen that he had still yet to kiss anyone.

Everyone always claimed, always asked, wondered, and whispered if the two of you were dating. Childhood friends still this close and not dating? Unheard of; practically illegal! Nevertheless, you ignored the disappointed frowns or the hopeful grins as you and Shouto both denied any sort of romantic connection.

Soon the both of you were in high school, and Shouto was mere days from turning sixteen. Much like when the both of you were when you were four years old, you seemed to be the one spouting many words — sometimes unnecessary words that wound you both up in trouble — of wisdom. You were loud when you needed, talking most of the time only to him and your surprisingly large group of friends. (You weren’t that surprised. Everyone wanted to be friends with the handsome, could easily be royalty or a model, Todoroki Shouto.) Shouto remained, for better or worse, quiet, reserved, and a bit awkward. He was a sweet boy, don’t get it wrong, and you would protect him until the end of your days, but the boy was a complete airhead and relied on you for interpreting social interactions.

“Camie-senpai wants me to go over to her house after my birthday,” Shouto explains, his hands exchanging his school shoes for his outdoor ones. “Something about wanting to do that one second-year first-year student project thing for the third years right away.”

“You have Camie?” you ask, slumping against the metal lockers with a slight thud. “Lucky, she’s so nice… I have stupid Agoyamato. Have you had a conversation with him? It’s actually the worst! He thinks he’s all that!”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay; you’re nice enough that he won’t be like… that,” Shouto smiles, slinging his bag on his shoulders before nudging his head towards the exit. “Ready?”

“Am I ever ready?” you ask with a whine but nevertheless proceed onward.

Time passed, and between cram school, actual school, some clubs, eventually January 11th passed and you held an ice cream cake that Shouto loved. You ate the cake together, relaxing as you sat in the warmth of his kitchen.

“Happy birthday, Shoucchan, never change!” you chirp, shoving his arm that rose to place the piece of cake in his mouth with your shoulder and watched as the sweet pastry splattered on top of the table. “...um?”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run.”

“Only ten?! What about the happy birthday boy.”

“Oh, true. Three seconds to run.”

“Why?!”

“It’s my birthday.”

An hour later, when your stomach hurt from laughing too much and the sickly sweet weight of too much ice cream cake, you lay snuggled into Shouto’s side as the both of you watched some old movie.

“Thanks for always being here for me,” you mumble, eyes growing heavy as the heat of Shouto’s body began to lull you to sleep.

“I’m always here for you,” Shouto softly responded, hand gliding up and down the curve of your spine. “We should get you home. Your mom yelled and nearly skinned us both the last time you fell asleep here.”

“Only cuz she’s scared that we’ll have some sudden revelation we like each other and fuck each other’s brains out,” you groaned, absolutely not content with having to move. With your face buried in your hands now, you missed the weird pattern in Shouto’s chest over that.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“...fine, just because it’s your birthday.”

The next day, when Shouto followed Camie home instead of you, there was something that made you feel off as you waved at them goodbye. It wasn’t jealousy, that much you knew, but something worse when you watched the way your never-been-kissed-before best friend was ignorant to the dark eyes Camie sent his way.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure if you should be as surprised as you are when you get a phone call at ten p.m. to the sound of a confused, suppressed, overwhelmed voice of your best friend asking if you could confirm if Camie had fucked him. You then stayed on the phone for Shouto until well past two a.m., your heart hurting as he recounted the memory over and over again. You weren’t sure as to why your heart was breaking. By the sounds of it, Shouto had actually enjoyed it, but with every stammer to his voice, you felt lightyears away.

Most shockingly, however, was the effects this had on Shouto and his overall persona.

From ages four until fifteen, Todoroki Shouto was someone who was quiet, observant, took things a bit too literally, at all times was entirely precious in the way he interacted with people, and most importantly, unaware of the female population who lusted after him. It worked well for you because it was fun to tease him about things, nag him about how he was sixteen, and hadn’t been kissed even though if he asked any girl at school to kiss him, they definitely would.

But sixteen-year-old Todoroki Shouto was a new shift, a new paradigm for you to learn. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident before, but now he emitted a sense of confidence that he was aware of, that everyone was aware of. He became mature, sophisticated, styled even. He was still at times quiet, always completely observant. He rarely took things literally and understood rhetoric and sarcasm and hyperboles. Long gone were the days of preciousness, and instead, there was a sense of a predator on the hunt that bled in the way that he talked to people. Most importantly, however, he was fully aware of the female population and precisely who was lusting after him.

He flirted with women and girls. You would find him leaning against the lockers talking with them, somehow trapping them despite not actually trapping them. A new girl was sitting at your table with him practically every week in high school, each girl asking for the hundredth millionth time that the both of you were not dating. Some girls were even bold enough to apologize to you for stealing your best friend — as if you wanted Shouto.

You had already seen his dick, thank you very much (although the last time you saw it was well before you were nine years old), you weren’t missing out on how it probably looked now! Honestly, you had no idea how Shouto never managed to run out of female students to fuck, the school wasn’t that large, and he seemed to go through a few a week sometimes.

But he was your best friend, your childhood friend, and no matter how many girls came crawling back to your lunch table, bawling to Shouto to take him back, soaking the fabric of your skirt to help convince him to take her back, you stayed. You stayed, accepting the fact that your best friend had become an awkward teenage boy and turned into some high school sex freak.

You stayed when his shaggy hairstyle was clipped and became short.

Overnight, just as he went from being a complete virgin to not one, he went from a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy to a leanly built eighteen-year-old hot-ass heartthrob womanizer.

High school wasn’t forever. Even though it took you about a year to accept and integrate Shouto’s new sex life and behavior into your daily lifestyle with him (he always left four of the three days open for you as all his relationships were casual only). Soon enough, the both of you relaxed and found your own relationship to be entirely the same, and when university exams and applications came about, it was decided that yet again, the both of you would follow each other anywhere.

Which is where you were now.

Tokyo University, a third-year student, living in an upscale three-person apartment with your best friend, of course. Shouto plus someone who practically begged in the most unbegging way to live with you.

Todoroki Shouto and Shishikura Seiji in the same apartment as you made for an interesting combination.

You hadn’t wanted Shishikura Seiji as a roommate at all. Period.

There were about eleven other people you only considered asking, but they all said no for their own reasons. Bakugou and Midoriya had found their own apartment closer to the University, and for much cheaper, Kirishima and Mina were RA’s and could not move in. Kaminari said he liked Sero’s couch too much to leave, and Sero couldn’t live in an apartment without a balcony. Momo said the room was too small, Jirou said she’d rather continue living with Momo, Uraraka said it was a tad bit too much for her to afford (to be fair, you didn’t have to pay because the Todoroki’s were paying for your housing, but you understood), Tsuyu and Hagakure said they were living at home. Iida said he would be too uncomfortable living with a couple.

Everyone you found on the street wouldn’t accept your offer. Hence, Shouto invited the meatball and rosé obsessed Shishikura Seiji to live with the two of you simply because he was Shouto’s lab partner in one of his advanced physics classes. Stupid chemical engineering nerd.

At twenty-one years, you can now say that you’ve entirely adjusted to Shouto’s womanizer ways. Too often do you find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of tea in your hand as you drink it in slowly, watching with much amusement as either a no-name girl leaves or a walk of shame Shouto enters. It happens at most five times a week; you were used to it. While the unease had finally left, you had to admit you were impressed your best friend could easily sleep around as he did and maintain his outstanding grades.

However, just because you were finally used to Shouto’s womanizer tendencies didn’t mean the world was. Even in University, your fellow students would ask with wide eyes and behind flat palms if the two of you were dating — specifically if Shouto was cheating on you or if it was an open relationship. You would each and every time, smile cheekily, shake your head and say with a roll of your eyes: “No, we’re not dating. He’s not cheating, and no, this is nothing more than us being best friends. Sho is too much of a jealous person to allow for an open relationship.”

Somehow, the constant begging of approval and the erasure of any romantic connection between you and Shouto from the plethora of female students at Tokyo University wasn’t even the most annoying part of it all. No, not at all.

What really ground your nerves was a pattern you noticed when you were eighteen.

Unlike Shouto, you hadn’t had the chance to lose your virginity until you were eighteen. Most of the boys who liked you always assumed you and Shouto were dating, the ones who gathered the courage to ask you out anyways were boys you were less than impressed with. By some act of some higher god, your crush — the school's third-year baseball team's captain when you were a first-year — reappeared in your life and asked you out. It wasn’t your best decision, you can fully admit it, but he was friendly and sweet as he fucked you in his small bed.

You hadn’t expected sex to be like that, and if you had enjoyed this, you couldn’t help but wonder just how Shouto was in bed to have girls behaving like that.

However, the spell was broken when he helped you change back into your clothes, and he begged you not to tell Shouto he was the person you cheated on him with.

It was on this day that it clicked.

What went for him, unfortunately, went for you too.

Except where girls rose to the challenge to dethrone you from Shouto’s side (a shame because they were vying for a seat that you had no claim over), the boys lowered their head like some damn omega to Shouto’s alpha.

Disgusting.

Even with the plentiful, plethora, consistent denial of your relationship with Shouto, even with the tally of girls, Shouto’s bedded (and more excitedly, deflowered — ugh!) rose consistently, no one ever really believed you weren’t dating him! Too many a time, you had been centimeters from making out with a guy for them to pull away, screeching that they couldn’t allow you to betray Shouto. The men who didn’t care were sleezebags, and thus, with a growl and a snarl, you found that you were only able to fuck men who thought jackhammering their fingers into your labia — yes, your labia — would make you cum.

You didn’t want to say you hated your childhood best friend for such duplicitous, selfish reasons… but you did.

But today was Saturday, a few months into the new second semester of the school year, and with school spirit once again high and workload low. The entire campus was brimming with parties, celebrations, alcohol drinking competition, sleazy dancing, and enough sexual tension to kill all celibate people.

So, we look back to where we started.

Shishikura Seiji running away as you nestled back against Shouto’s chest.

“I didn’t think he was actually going to drink these things,” Shouto sighed, spinning the last few remaining drinks of his rosé in his hand. “It’s been in the fridge for almost five months.”

“He probably made his meatballs again and needed something terrible to blame the flavor on,” you half joke half say in complete seriousness. You were not fond of Shishikura at all, and he was not fond of you either. He had a tendency to mansplain everything, which continuously ground on your nerves, especially when he had no jurisdiction to act so confidently.

He was a physics major, not a goddamn god.

Fuck off.

“I feel sorta bad,” Shouto sighs, his hand low and warm on your waist. “But I will admit, these drinks are practically like carbonated water.”

“2% alcohol,” you stress, your grin widening as you pull away from his chest to stare at him. Your gaze is bright, and his eyes are filled with amusement. “You’re either the world's lightest lightweight or a child with no tolerance to actually expect to get drunk off this shit.”

“I think you’re slurring your words already though, you sure you’re okay, lightweight?” Shouto teases, his soft smirk teasing.

“Who was the one who took three shots and passed out?” you wonder innocently, finger to your chin as if you were trying to remember.

“At least I don’t throw up when I crossfade.”

“IT'S NOT MY FAULT. MY BIOLOGY JUST HAPPENS TO WORKS THAT WAY!”

“Alright, bitch,” Shouto snorts, completely unattractively, “hurry up and get ready, yeah? We have a party we’re already late to, and we have no drinks for an actual pregame.”

You squeal excitedly, having forgotten the massive party that was being held a few blocks away. “I’ll be ready in ten!”

Typically, when you went out partying, you went with the group of eleven people you would have rather replaced Shishikura as a roommate. To get ready for said parties, you would always find yourself at Momo’s place with an outfit change, makeup bag, and hair styling items. You had made it a tradition with the other girls to get ready together. The only exceptions to which this wouldn’t happen was when someone had a work event or some family thing come up.

In your case, you had been stuck at a professor's office, diligently helping to put together their research journal as they were in their final steps of publishing their findings. Due to your friendly relationship with your professor, the time had been lost, and your ten p.m. call time to arrive at Momo’s had been missed with a quick:

↳ held up at work! go on without me, sorry! see you at the party!!!!

When you crashed through the front door of your apartment, you froze, seeing Shouto in the hallway by the mirror. Sometime between getting his haircut to be shorter and from this day, he had begun to style his hair by threading it back by his fingers, and boy, it looked fucking good. He was already dressed up for the party. Black joggers, a white t-shirt that was a bit too small if the tight, seductive way it clung to his muscles spoke of anything, and a hoodie he had no care about in case he lost it after taking it off once getting there. Shouto was practically immune to all weather types, he could be in both snow or fire without a single worry, but he knew that a large sweatshirt that smelled like him was enough to hook and line any truly desperate female.

Shouto had chuckled, taking in your frazzled state with years of practice and nudged toward the fridge, already knowing that you had missed your pregaming with the girls.

“Shishikura has two rosés left. Grab ‘em, and we can pregame together.”

But that was all unimportant and already said.

In the end, it took you thirty minutes to get ready.

You had practically smeared on your makeup, hoping the warm, crazy miscoloring would be hidden within the crazy light show the party would definitely be displaying. Your outfit consisted of a tank top that exposed your cleavage and a skirt that hugged your legs and ass just right.

You came stumbling out of your room, fingers trying to shove on your earrings, the rings on your fingers clicking loudly against each other. You smiled breathily, gratefully accepting Shouto’s sweater as you slipped on your comfortable heels at the doorway before hurrying out.

Shouto kept an arm around your shoulder the entire way out, the immense heat of his body keeping you warm as his sweater rested lazily, awkwardly, around your shoulders and arms. You didn’t want to put it entirely on to save your makeup, and in case anyone had any fucking thing to say about the show you and Shouto were putting on. Eventually, the bright and comical conversation between you and Shouto began to grow louder as the pounding of dance music began to ring in your ears. Soon enough, you passed a few drunk people, more and more, until you reached the house where the party was.

Shoving the sweatshirt into Shouto’s chest, you grinned as the smell of alcohol, weed, over-cologne men and women, the faint smell of puke, and the gross crawl of BO flooded your nose.

Ah yes, nothing like a university party.

Shouto laughs at your evident piqued excitement, and after he pulls on the light blue sweatshirt, he grabs your hand, and into the overcrowded home you go.

The intense heat of overcrowded bodies on a dance floor that also makes up a drinking game floor makes you grateful for your choice of clothes. Everyone around you is already drunk, sloshed, intoxicated off their ass as unknown drinks spill from their red Solo cups, sometimes even raining down on you. You grimace as Shouto continues to pull you through. You can taste the Hennesy on your upper lip and somehow know that whoever was drinking it was a freshman with a vendetta to kill his liver and love for drinking before coming of legal age.

“What do you want to drink?” Shouto yells over the nearly obnoxiously loud music. He has his sight on the drinks counter. “Mixed or the juice?”

“Fuck me up with the jungle juice!” you yell right back, pressing to his side as two dancing (see, vigorously dry-humping) nearly trample on top of you. “Parties are meant to be a non-sober event. I need to be borderline blacked out five hours ago!”

The agreeing chuckle from Shouto isn’t heard by you at all, but you can feel his chest give a familiar vibration as finally, he pulls you from the sea of bodies to where the floor is especially wet and sticky. You’ve reached the bar area.

Grabbing your own red Solo Cup, you watch as Shouto makes his own drink. Heavy on the alcohol, light on the mixer, and a good handful of ice (he’s always liked the cold better). His hand reaches for your cup and you offer your cup up as he opens up an ice chest filled with neon-colored jungle juice.

When the drink is returned to you, the both of you cheers and take a long drink.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“You’re finally here, you fucking slut! Getcha fat ass over here now!”

Your neck is twisted to see the absolutely plastered group of girls you considered to be your closest friends, and you laugh loudly.

“Seems like I’m needed,” you yell at Shouto, trying your best to act nonchalantly as he smiles knowingly at you. “Text me about what you decide to do if we don’t see each other?”

“Of course,” he simply responds before placing the curve of his cup back onto his lip as hands grabbed your arms and whisked you away.

In a matter of sixty minutes, you all had played five drinking games.

The girls felt it was imperative to get you to their level right away, so they started off with a game of King’s Cup. Not only was the deck rigged against you — you pulled all four of the four cards and thus had to chug four times — but you had drawn the last King and drank some weird concoction of jungle juice, a tequila shot, a vodka shot, and whatever the fucking hell Mina was drinking. How you managed to chug that and stay on your feet was beyond you, but it was without saying that you had utterly and inevitably caught up with the girls.

After the King's Cup came the Flip Cup game, your team won thankfully due to Mina’s one flip wonder as Kaminari struggled to down the shot in the cup.

After Flip Cup came Smoke or Fire, a game that had Tsuyu stuck on the bus for a record-breaking one round. No one could believe she did that.

Then came a round of Shot Roulette to end with what you were currently doing now, using a drinking card game Momo had made in her spare time to do embarrassing things at random.

Five games in an hour… you questioned if there was by any chance illegal substances in the jungle juice because it had felt like a whopping two minutes.

“It’s midnight!” Hagakure hollered, stumbling backward as she grinned in drunken, stupid happiness. She giggled before singing, “Midnight… memoriessss~!”

Mina groaned at the reference but completely perked up as the dance music changed suddenly from its slightly mellow, good vibe song to none other than Everytime We Touch by Cascada. By tradition, by applicable law by all and every god, when this one song played, everyone needed to stop what they were doing and immediately head to the dance floor.

With your hand slightly sticky with alcohol, and your mind absolutely clouded with alcohol, you whooped loudly as Mina dragged you to the dancefloor.

You, seven girls, formed a closed circle, your Solo cups sloshing over with alcohol, and your faces scrunched tight as you danced and sang as loudly as you could. Each pounding beat of music vibrated in your chest, each offkey note sung by the party-goers making you feel light, happy, dizzy, and oh so perfectly drunk. For just a split moment, you lock eyes with Shouto, who’s across the dance floor, his arms wrapped around some girl you don’t recognize, eyes drinking you in. You smile for a bit before turning back around, arms rocketing up to the air with your excitement.

Although the song ended, the DJ continued to play bangers, and you never once stopped in your mirthful dancing and grinding against your friends as the night continued to carry on. But when you spun out from Mina, your entire world spinning with it, a pair of warm, heavy, large hands rested on your waist, and you laughed.

“Who is this?” you ask, head slamming backward to try and look at the person who had caught you yet hadn’t tried grinding against you. “Oh, Inasa? Hi!”

Yoarashi Inasa was one of your University's well-known jocks. He was a skilled runner, one of the best Japan has ever seen despite his body type telling you he was a bodybuilder. Immediately your smile of idiotic stupor became intentful, seductive, still bordering extreme intoxication. Was Inasa your type? No, not really, but you could reasonably and accurately say that he was a handsome man, with a fantastic body, not to mention a pleasant personality.

You also itched to know what his dick looked like.

This was definitely someone you could see yourself fucking tonight.

“Hi, y/l/n,” Inasa said, his naturally loud voice easily picked up on despite the music being blasted in your ear. “How’s your night going?”

You lick your dry lips, eyes blinking a few times before you turn in his arms, your arms stretching so that you could wrap them around his neck. “Better now that you’re here,” you smile shyly. “How’s yours.”

“Ahem,” Inasa blushes, his eyes staring straight at your cleavage before looking back up at you. “H-Hoping to get better from here! Well, I’m sure it will be.”

“Oh?” you ask, your confidence building faster and faster as you press further against him. “Anything you have in mind?” —you press your thigh suggestively against the semi-hard spot against his jeans. — “Anyway... I can... help?”

Inasa groans deep in his chest, his head knocking backward at your implications, the pleasant vibrations passing on to you. You grin, fingers scraping against the bottom of his buzzcut and bringing him closer, praying for a kiss. But as he returns his head back down, his gaze leaves yours for a split second, and you watch in horror as a sobering look washes over him.

“Actually… you’re here with some random dude, right? I don’t want to step on his toes. I thought I saw you come in with some guy; sorry y/l/n, I can’t do this.”

And just as quickly as he was against you, he was gone.

It took everything in you not to screech bloody murder over the fact that you were once again left horny with no man to take responsibility for it.

Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party With Shouto: 78% Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party Without Shouto: 22%

Walking home alone, cold, and with extreme bitterness towards Yoarashi Inasa was a sadly sobering experience. By the time you collapsed onto your bed, you were only slightly buzzed, boarding sobriety while not being sober exactly.

Fuck men.

Fuck their cowardness over a nonexistent romantic/sexual relationship between you and Shouto.

But also… you really wanted to fuck men right now.

The slicked horniness of the potential thought of bedding Inasa had made its unignorable appearance via your soaked panties. You hated yourself, hated your biological needs and lusts.

“I’ll wring Shouto’s neck in front of all of them next time,” you grumble to yourself. “Stage a fake breakup for an imaginary thing…”

Nestling further into your pillows, your eyes closed, body relaxing against the bed when a peculiar sound seemed to echo in your ear.

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your eyes slammed open, your jaw-dropping at the very obvious, entirely embarrassing sound of Shouto having sex on his desk sounded in your room! Of course it sounded in your room. His desk was pressed to your wall because that would mean whenever he was his icky womanizer self, you wouldn’t have to hear anything! Your rooms were soundproof but apparently not movement proof.

The thwack of the wood desk slammed against the wall, and with your ear so close to the wall, you began to hear the shaky, intense breathing of Shouto. The whines, keens, and screams of the girl he was fucking as she begged for more. Sobbing that his cock was too much for her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your panties soaked even more, and with a brain that somehow retracted back into its state of stupor, your fingers brushed against your swollen, ready clit.

This was wrong, so very, very wrong, you thought, the sounds of pitched whining against the stupidly impressive, steady, consistent fucking.

Your mind was a drunken fever.

Your eyes closed not all the way, yet blind to the wall before you as your finger danced and teased against your demanding clit.

You whined softly, matching the groaning of Shouto, who banged something other than the desk into the wall.

For a moment, just this once, you wanted to be the one desperately clinging to Shouto’s back, hips snapping and circling in tandem to his, allowing him to drill his cock deep within you. Your back arched, heat reaching your toes, buzzing filling your lips.

“Yes, fuck, right there, Todoroki!” the girl screamed, begged, and prayed. “Oh my god, yes, yes yes, right there, right the— mmph!”

You find your teeth sinking into your fist, trying to keep your pounding, horny induced brain from crying out. You wanted to know what he was doing to her, if he had kissed her silent, shoved his fingers in her mouth. Maybe he had fucked her so good she couldn’t possibly say more.

There is nothing from Shouto you can hear, no noises of praise, nothing except the occasional ragged breath that seems to permeate through the walls and whisper sweetly, teasingly, like a succumbs in your ear.

Thud.

It increases, in noise, the wall separating your room from his beginning to rattle, shake in his conquest.

Your fingers are wet, entirely slippery with your conquest, your hips thrashing against your touch, clinging to a phantom memory of the last male you had managed to fuck. Then, as your stomach trembles with the orgasm that's mere seconds from blessing you with a release, you hear him—Shouto.

“Fuck.”

It’s not much. If anything, this girl should be so embarrassed she hasn’t been able to elicit a loud response from Shouto, but it’s a verbal gift from heaven above for you. His voice, tight, husky, drenched with a driving lust, whispers to you and only you, wrapping you in this blanket of solitude and need.

With your back arching from the mattress, your hips leaving the soft surface, and your jaw growing slack, your moan is silent, unheard by no one but the heavens as you cum. Heat floods throughout your entire body, tickling and twirling in you until you can’t do anything but shudder, shaking as you fall back down on your bed, dizzy and completely satisfied.

You don’t think about it.

Don’t try to unpack just what happened right now because the reality that you had just masturbated to the sound of your childhood best friend fucking some random girl is a bit too much. Even for you.

So you don’t think about it, and soon the thudding of the desk on the wall is nothing but a drumming lullaby, and sleep consumes you.

When you wake up, you don’t remember what you did.

You get up and trudge to the bathroom, your party clothes abandoned completely so that you’re wearing nothing but a large shirt you had stolen from Shouto years ago. You scratch your belly as you walk into the bathroom, eyes caked with your sleep still as you begin brushing your teeth.

As you brush your teeth, you begin to take off last night's makeup — well, whatever remained of it.

Spitting out the last foamy remains of the paste from your mouth, you rinsed your mouth before washing your skin. You looked much more awake now. Slapping your cheeks in an encouraging, ‘im a functional human adult taking part in some random face wash commercial,’ you exited the bathroom and went to the kitchen.

Shishikura was already in the kitchen, his face expressionless, entirely dead to the world as he scooped some rice into a bowl and topped it off with some eggs.

“Morning,” you yawn, arms stretching over your head as you near closer to your unwanted roommate.

Shishikura sneers at you, but even he was more polite in the morning, sometimes.

“I heard the both of you get back last night,” Shishikura mocked, slamming the lid to his rice cooker with an unimpressed scowl. “You were thirty minutes apart. You know, if you two still want to be partying like a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, do it respectfully.”

Your smile back at him is as fake as he is, and you refuse to move out of the way as he tries to walk back to his room. He growls — gross? — and sidesteps you, grumbling the entire way back to his room as you roll your eyes at his retreating form.

What a child.

You entered the kitchen, fixing up your own things for breakfast.

Kettle brewing hot water for tea, rice cooker on for your own rice (you make enough for Shouto too), and you begin cooking some ham and eggs, readying yourself for a Sunday for going to the library and studying. You hummed to yourself, your phone plugged into the speaker as your music filled the quiet morning air.

You bobbed your head in rhythm with the music, your eyes concentrating on slowly cooking eggs as you poured the hot water from your kettle into the teacup. As you placed your teabag in, you looked up to the sound of a creaking door and grinned wickedly as a girl with light blue hair walked out of the hall you and Shouto’s room were in.

Her dress was rumbled, a few blooming red and purple marks sitting prettily on her collarbone, and her face flushed red as she began to scurry out.

“Bye!” you call out, laughing at the scared eep from the girl and the disgruntled groan from Shouto’s room.

You set down your tea, flipping the eggs in the pan as you heard more shuffling before finally, Shouto made his appearance. He was in nothing but grey sweatpants that sat so low on his waist you could not only see the band of his boxer-briefs, but you were entirely aware of the v-lines, the abs, the pecs, and the small happy trail from his belly button down. You also noted that there was not a single mark on his body, and you wondered if he had ever taken a single mark from a one-night fuck before.

God really cursed you with an objectively attractive best friend, huh.

“Morning, slut,” you sing, noticing with happiness that your rice cooker sang a merry tune, indicating that the rice was done. “Breakfast?”

“Mm,” Shouto grumbled, his hands rubbing his face as he trudged closer to the kitchen, taking a spot on one of the stools. “Depends. Did you make it?”

“...I always make it.”

“I think I like Shishikura’s breakfast better.”

Silence.

You glare at Shouto, and in turn, his lips press to a comfortable, teasing smile.

“Fend for your damn self then.”

Shouto laughed loudly as you began to stubbornly fix yourself a bowl of both your servings. You ate far less than he did, but still enough to fill you until after three pm, so the size of your bowl was hysterical.

“You’re such a horrible wife-roommate,” Shouto accuses, standing up from the stool and entering the kitchen to try and persuade you otherwise to give him his own food. “And here I thought that you liked cooking for me.”

“Go tell your stupid wife-roommate Shishikura instead,” you cry loudly, the faux sniffles from you stupidly fake as you begin to shovel a mouthful of rice and eggs into your mouth. “I’m shwure you’chll beh happ t’gther!”

“That’s absolutely disgusting, y/l/n,” Shouto accuses, his nose scrunching as he traps you in his arms, mouth trying to intercept the food moving from your bowl and into your mouth.

With another desire to prove how unsatisfied in your roommate-marriage you were, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue full of uneaten, partially chewed rice.

“Ea’ eh!” you mocked, your grin growing as Shouto’s initial instinct was to whip his head away from you.

But as always, because Shouto enjoyed being incredibly annoying, he went after your tongue, readying to eat the chewed-up food off your very tongue.

Eventually, you gave Shouto back his part of the breakfast, laughing as the both of you chatted about who was going to repay Shishikura for the used rosés. Neither one of you could decide, and so it was something to be solved later. Noon, however, came and with a nod, you accepted Shouto’s hug goodbye, to which you twisted his nose triumphantly as you waddled out of the front door, clothed in your winter gear, textbooks, and laptop,

It was time to brave the world and get this paper done.

“Mina, I mean… absolutely no offense when I say this, but it still shocks me every time you say you’re a chemistry major. You just seem so…”

“Dumb?”

“Yeah.”

“You gotta be some kind of stupid to willingly take inorganic chem,” Mina laughed, balancing her textbooks on her head as the both of you climbed the stairwell to the library’s study rooms. “That's why I have the dance minor! Best of both worlds!”

“Could never forget about that,” you laughed as the both of you neared the top of the stairwell.

You didn’t mean to notice him. As a matter of fact, most of your failed conquests at parties never amounted to much anger from you, but seeing Inasa from across the way, his face buried in some aerodynamics textbook, anger boiled in you. On the way to meeting with Mina, you had realized your mistake last night and how you wouldn’t have made said mistake if it hadn’t been for Inasa! You could’ve been dicked down, slammed against your bed and wall as the giant of a man fucked you!

“I’ll be right back,” you sneered, eyes narrowing as you passed your textbook to Mina.

With fire following in ever long, powerful stride, you blinked and immediately found yourself before Inasa.

“Hi. Wanna explain what happened last night?”

Inasa reacted as if you had shot him, his knees coming up to hit the table, his body knocking backward, and he tumbled, crashing to the floor as you watched with a gaping mouth.

“Y-Y/L/N!” Inasa shouted, his face going through half a billion emotions before settling in anxiety-filled fear. You watched, horrified yourself, as he swung to his knees, his head crashing to the floor as he began apologizing to you. “GOODMORNING, HOW ARE YOU TODAY?!”

“Pipe it down, Inasa!” you hiss, your cheeks flooding with embarrassed heat as you garnered the attention of everyone on the floor. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just wanted to talk!”

“Aha, yes, of course!” Inasa laughs, a full belly laugh. He sits up and you freeze seeing the bloodied cut on his forehead. He stands up, completely unaffected by the gash on his forehead, and uprights his chair before sitting comfortably. “How can I help you?”

“What happened to you last night?” you try again, eyebrow raised, arms crossed definitely and awkwardly because yeah… you were confronting a guy who didn't want to sleep with you. “You were into me and then suddenly wasn’t.”

Inasa laughs more, although nothing you said, implied, or did was even remotely funny.

Irritation runs through your veins.

“Inasa, please,” you sigh in helplessness, your eyes annoyed, pleading, and hopeful that he would be the one to finally give you an actual reason.

“It’s… it’s not you. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Inasa finally sighs. His face turns uncharacteristically solemn as his tongue passes through his lips, his shoulders raising to a shrug. “Typically speaking, you are exactly who and what I want when I endeavor in less than chivalrous but still passionate activities. I wanted you last night, and I will not lie that even as I left, I regretted behaving as I did.”

“Well, you did it, and it sorta really sucked,” you laugh, your mouth taut in a frown as your feelings are genuinely hurt.

You keep being put down, and there’s no reason for it.

Why couldn’t you be as sexually active as you wish you could be?

“...Todoroki has a claim on you,” Inasa spoke slowly, his mouth dipping from a usual smile to a frown. “I know you guys aren’t together, but in a way, you two are.”

“No,” you say with complete certainty, anger burning in your chest, “we’re not.”

“Try telling Todoroki that,” Inasa shrugs, his fingers scratching through his buzz cut. “Listen, I wanted to have intercourse with you last night; I did. I also am aware that Todoroki is a womanizer, but he said you were off-limits for all of us.”

“He said that?” your voice is perfectly calm, not showing the raging fire in you.

“Well, no, he definitely did not,” Inasa sighs, the palm of his hands pressing tightly against his eyes. “He has never said it… but it’s the way he talks about you, how he looks at you. It’s a claim on you, even if it’s not a verbal one, and well, no one wants to defy him.”

Your nostrils flare in your irritation, and you find that you’re stepping into Inasa’s personal space, his eyes going wide as you step between his legs and press your hands on his chest.

“I’ll be going home in about five hours. If you still want to fuck me, wait for me,” you say slowly, trying to make sure he understands. “I don’t care if Sho looks at me the way he does; he is not my boyfriend.”

Inasa gulps, his tan skin sporting a healthy pink flush, “Yes, ma’am.”

Five hours later, you’re walking into your apartment with Inasa behind you, his warm, slightly sweaty hand clasped in yours. You make eye contact with both your roommates, Shishikura, whose eyes are rolling to the depths of his skull, and Shouto, who looks like a wall. You, despite the anger you’re feeling for Shouto, smile prettily, then grin wolfishly as you corral Inasa towards your room. You send your roommates a wink before closing the door with a decisive click.

Much like you assumed the night prior, your drunken hazed, lust-driven, anger-flared thoughts proved to be right. Inasa fucked you against the wall, deep into the mattress, he drilled and fucked you until his dick was wet with your slick, and his leg was trembling with his plentiful unleashed loads. But you weren’t done yet, too many times have you been denied, and even though Inasa was trembling, his voice shaking with desperate pleas to slow down or he would cum too fast, you rode him with powerful, swiveling hips.

Once he left, you felt light again.

Your head light, body glowing as you dressed your bruised, cum slick body in a robe as you trudged to the bathroom. You showered, letting the warm water and sweet-smelling oils drench your body before you eventually exited, your hair in a towel, Shouto’s shirt on your person again.

Waltzing to the living room, you grinned as you collapsed on the couch, every grievance you held when you walked in forgotten at the moment.

“Hello,” you smile, your head falling onto Shouto’s lap who was, at the moment, very interested in his phone. Shishikura was gone, undoubtedly leaving in case he heard something he didn’t want to hear during your little four-hour sexscapade. “I am a leaf flowing through the river right now, if you’re wondering.”

“Don’t need to wonder. You were perfectly loud enough,” Shouto grumbled, his eyes rolling. “Says something that I could, considering the rooms are soundproof.”

“I should hope so! After you, the girls rave that Inasa is the best fuck on campus,” you hum, still on a delirious high as you attempt to reach for your best friend's hand to grasp. But to your shock, Shouto jerks away from your touch, and he stands, letting your head fall roughly on the couch. And just like that, your anger is back. The emotion Inasa had managed to fuck out of you for a bit returned at full force. “Shouto?!”

“What?” he snaps.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem is that you brought someone to fuck at fucking five p.m.,” Shouto explains, his expression like the void, empty, dark, menacing. “We agreed to keep it until past ten.”

Your face screws up as you push up off the couch, “Are you kidding me?! I’ve seen you constantly bring girls to fuck at any and all times of the day! Don’t suddenly bring that shit in when it clearly isn’t an actual rule in this apartment!”

“You were also being obnoxiously loud,” Shouto narrows his eyes at you.

“You are too!”

“When am I ever?”

“I literally listened to you fuck that girl last night against our shared wall!”

“You moved your bed to our shared wall?! When?!”

“Doesn’t matter! I would’ve heard it just fine on the other side!”

“The girl wasn’t even that fucking loud!”

“You can’t ever remember the names of the girls you fuck! Do you know anything about them ever? Are you even using condoms?!”

“You only ever fuck men with questionable personalities.”

“Gee, I wonder fucking why!”

The two of you were nose to nose, anger flaring and near tangible between the two of you.

“What do you mean?” he grits slowly.

“I’m talking about you mad dogging any male human who so much as looks or thinks of me!” you snap, finger shoving between his pecs. “No one touches me because somehow they respect the way a womanizer looks at me.”

“I’m not looking at you in any special way,” Shouto squints his eyes, completely not having your accusations.

“Even if you don’t, this fucking behavior is pathetic of you!” you say, hands motioning between you two and the room. “I had sex, and you’re acting like some pathetic child! I have been putting up with your sex-craze tendencies since we were sixteen, asshole! Sixteen! If I want to gloat and float about having sex, then I fucking deserve to.”

His nostrils flare, his upper lip curling in a small twitch before he rolls his eyes and walks away.

“That’s right, Todoroki,” you laugh bitterly at his retreating form. “Walk away from a fight because you can never win them.”

It took a bit for the dust to settle, but as soon as it did, you realized in horror that you and Shouto had, for the first time ever, fought.

Being roommates with Shouto was always a fun thing. Having your childhood best friend right at your disposal meant that you could have dinner nights, movie nights, game nights, morning waffles, hikes, and literally anything whenever and wherever you wanted. He was a person to talk to when the days were long, and there was no one else in the world, the person who was there for you through thick and thin. But for two days, he had been locked away in his room, unwilling to look at you, refusing to be anywhere near you.

Your friends had noticed immediately.

The way the both of you hadn’t shown up together, the way you sat at opposite ends of the table, refusing to be trapped in a conversation together. Separate the two of you were, and the world acted as if Earth had dropped out of gravity.

You could care less right now.

You were rightfully mad at him! How dare he act so pettily over you having a sex life when you were expected to blink, turn the other way, and laugh when he would shower after a girl would leave before joining you on the couch to watch a movie. He was in the wrong, not you!

But even if you were unwilling to budge and he was refusing to see things the way they should be, you were now incredibly lonesome. So as you sat with your back on the mattress. Your butt to the wall, and your legs kicking against the wall, you thought of what you could do. With a bitter sigh, you rolled off your bed and scurried out of the apartment. Nothing but your wallet and ID on you so that you could get to the store on the first floor of the complex.

Holding the item in hand, you knocked on a door, your gaze already on the floor, embarrassed that you were going to do what you had to do.

“What?” came the annoyed voice of Shishikura, the door to his room opening as he looked at you unimpressed and very obviously unwelcomed.

“Truce?” you asked, raising the six-pack of Angry Orchard Rosé Cider.

Shishikura looks at you, at the ciders, then back at you.

“Fine.”

How in the world you’re drunk off of four rosé ciders is beyond you, but you are. You’re in the living room, laughing so hard that your stomach hurts as you’re trying not to snort the liquid from your mouth and out your nose. Shishikura is equally plastered off of one drink, his red a ruby red against his purple hair. He’s leaning against you, his breathing ragged, near asthmatic as he tries to once explain just how Shouto looked like when some girl slapped him across the face yesterday for ghosting her after sex.

“He was so shocked!” Shishikura squeaked out, his voice pitchy and incredibly high as he laughed more and more. “You should have seen it!”

Your feet kicked at the air, your face and lungs burning with a fire you hadn’t felt in so long as your laughter turned silent. You gasped for air, trying to contain yourself but failing hysterically.

“Do you wa’ another meatballsh?” Shishikura suddenly asked, his hands flailing to grab his plate of meat. “I think you want another o’.”

“I wan’ ‘ne!” you cried with a slight slur, tears of joy slipping past your eyes to which you haphazardly scrubbed them off your face. “They’re soooo good! I didn’t think they could be so… be so good!”

You find yourself eating another meatball, drinking it down with the cider and feeling happy again. Shishikura goes still by your side, and you hum in wonder, unfocused eyes trying to find what had caught his attention and falling onto the one man you were mad at currently.

Shouto was standing at the apartment entrance, dressed in ripped black jeans, a tight grey turtleneck sweater, and his backpack slung on his shoulder. It was, without a doubt, a studying-only outfit. You knew and have discussed too many times with Shouto about how he never trusted women to take his turtlenecks off without potentially ruining the fabric.

“Well, someone’s finally home... from a night of beddin mo’ women, huh?” a voice spoke, but you were completely unsure if it was you or Shishikura who said it.

Judging by the way Shouto’s eyes locked on Shishikura and not yours, it seemed it was him who said it.

“No, I was doing something,” Shouto retorted, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack, his eyes shifting between you and Shishikura. “A paper for class.”

“Sure,” you end up speaking up, your voice sounding completely sober. You sit up so that your elbow is resting on Shishikura’s nearest shoulder. You raise the glass bottle to your lips, drinking its content without care, never once breaking eye contact. “What was the paper's name? You going after your TA? Or was it a professor by chance?”

Shouto’s eyebrows furrow, his face completely unimpressed by your comeback, but he remains silent.

“He looks like he’s trying to cosplay that one Young The Rock picture, no way would a dignified professor or TA fuck him!” Shishikura laughed with a loud bark, and all of a sudden, that was all you could see too.

The both of you howled with laughter, laughing and slapping each other as you attempted to drink the last bits of the rosés as Shouto rolled his eyes and walked away.

“This is fun. No wonder why you guys do it to me so often.”

As time does, it moves forward.

It seemed as if the entire campus had tuned in to what had transpired between you and Shouto. No one the slightest bit sure as to what happened, but everyone knew something big had happened. There was no more walking together before classes or after classes, no weird Instagram or Snapchat stories of the other, both of you never having to excuse yourself because you had plans with the other. Even though they claimed to not care about other people’s business, the school was suddenly invested in the single speculation that Todoroki Shouto’s and Y/l/n Y/n’s relationship was over.

“Breaking News, it was never a real relationship!” you would scream the first few times you heard it, which only worked to make them whisper louder that you were in further denial.

For the last seventeen years of your life, you had never gone more than two days without talking or seeing your childhood best friend. Those two days happened when Rei had experienced a staggering, hospital-inducing breakdown from stress and had subsequently burned Shouto when you were five years old. The two days were because he spent four days in the hospital. The first two days, he was not allowed visitors as the hospital staff put him under a coma to help his body from entering shock and heal. Of course, the moment he was awakened, you were dragging your mother to his bedside.

That was the only time you hadn’t seen or spoken to Shouto consistently.

But since Sunday evening, you had only seen Shouto once when you were drunk with Shishikura. You had only spoken to him then too.

For the first time in seventeen years, you broke your record of not talking or seeing Shouto.

From two days to five.

It was weird.

You felt almost empty.

So when Mina and Uraraka placed their arms around your shoulders, their eyes dead serious, you knew that they had a distraction for you.

“The deltas are throwing a party,” Uraraka spoke with mystery. “It is on Saturday.”

“It is only right that we go, get our asses so drunk our blood is practically a distillery, and fuck anyone who looks at us a second longer than anyone else,” Mina agrees, her tone wise and knowing as she nods her head.

“Our question to you is:” they spoke together, their voices weirdly, obviously practiced, in synch. “Are you in?”

Your tongue is pressed between your lips, your fingers pressing against the textbook you were using to help support your essay’s thesis, and you roll your eyes.

You grin.

“Obviously.”

And as time promises each and every time, Saturday finally came.

“What is our objective tonight?!” Mina screams over the background music that Jirou is blasting in Momo’s larger-than-life bathroom.

“To fuck bitches and get money!” Hagakure, the only one currently not downing a drink, screams back.

“NO, WRONG!” Mina shakes her head, climbing onto the white marble countertops and pointing at Jirou. “Kyo! Your turn!”

“To beat that prick in the sound booth and prove that I’m—”

“NO! Wrong again! Yaomomo!”

“Um, to make everlasting mem—”

“INCORRECT, YOU GORGEOUS PRINCESS! Tsuyu, don’t fail me, babe!”

“Well, it’s to prove to Todoroki that y/n-chan should be able to fuck any person she wants.”

“A bit lengthy, a bit focused on the wrong parts of it, but YES! Tonight’s operation: get y/n a man — preferably Inasa — who fucks the negativity out of her!”

You laugh loudly, rolling your eyes as you lean in closer to the mirror. You hold a Mike’s Hard in one hand, and in the other is your eyeliner as you paint on your makeup. You’re not really hearing the conversations that the girls are having, your own mind too lost in the music, and the swaying you’ve picked up as the three bottles of Mike’s you’ve had in the past thirty minutes are calming down your still frazzled nerves.

You don’t pull away from your reflection until after you’re done smoothing over your favorite lipstick on your pouty lips. You look over at your reflection and see Mina dancing with an awkwardly stiff Jirou and a delightfully giggling Momo on the bathroom countertops. A smile forms on your face, happiness radiating in your chest, and you grin looking at your friends.

But Shouto still sat in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why did it hurt knowing that he was avoiding you as much as you were him?

Why didn’t he just try to corner you?

Why did you care that he didn’t?

He was your best friend in the entire world, since your earliest memories, he’s been there, you reason, your whooping not quite as loud as you watch Jirou awkwardly be sandwich between a grinding Mina and a complacent Momo.

It was his fault you, you further reasoned, smiling widely at Hagakure, who was twirling around you, applying her lipstick as a super crazy never before seen talent of hers. He was the one acting like an idiot over the people you slept with even though you let all the people he slept with slide!

But why did you?

Your brows furrowed slightly, unfurrowing just as quickly as Mina pulled you and Uraraka up onto the countertop with her as Jirou and Momo dropped to the floor.

You fucking were in love with Shouto, damnit! Of course you let the stupid personal things go just to appease him! Your back straightened, your eyes rolling as you began to dance with the Kehlani music thumping in the background, but then you freeze.

You were in love with him.

You loved Shouto.

Not in a friendly, platonic, family way.

In an ‘I would date you if I could and marry you on the prettiest beach in front of the most beautiful sunset’ way.

You found that your body was dancing on autopilot as you began to reassess your thoughts, your actions, your wants with Shouto, desperately trying to disprove this love for him. But no matter what you did, you found that it was true no matter what angle you looked at it.

The bass dropped, and you went stiff, your body standing straight and tall although you felt incredibly, terribly small.

“I love him,” you spoke, although you’re not sure who to. Maybe it was to the laughing gods above you or the crying spirits around you. But the girls heard it for some reason, and they, as they were patiently waiting for these past six, nearly seven days, caught you as you went weak.

Finally, realizing that you were in love with your childhood best friend was not the conclusion you expected from a week's silence from Shouto and you. But as you were currently in a crop top with a mesh shirt underneath and the most ripped jeans you owned, chugging down a neon green and blue nearly toxic alcoholic drink, you realized that being at this party was the right way to conclude this circus of a week.

The rush of the liquid dropping down the beer bong was something you found yourself struggling to keep up with, and you felt some of the liquid pour out of your mouth as you grunt, trailing down your heaving chest, creating an image in your onlookers as you refused to choke or pull away. Swallowing the last bit of the drink, ripping the plastic tube out of your mouth, you threw your hands in the air, Tsuyu, who had held and poured the contents for you, screaming too as she lifted your arm in victory.

You couldn’t really hear the music anymore, much more entranced with the music you were singing on your own, and you were currently holding Mina’s face, touching foreheads with her as you spoke a mantra of your love for her.

“Ashido Mina, you are the baddest bitch in the whole wide world. I love your pink hair and your fat ass, and I would die for you. I love you… so fucking much,” is what you said. How it was actually said and how it was perceived is a whole other story because Mina laughed loudly and allowed you to hug her despite your sticky alcohol body.

Your twenties were the new two’s, it seemed.

“Yo, y/l/n!” a voice yelled, and although you let go of Mina’s face, your arms found a new home around her neck as you turned around.

“Hm?”

Your terrible drunk eyes looked all over before falling on a man wearing a basketball jersey and joggers.

Shindou Yo, one of campus’ manwhores. He had a reputation similar to Shouto, you knew that very well, but you were aware that he was disturbingly creepy. According to many vital witnesses, the man slept with just about anyone willing regardless of gender, so not only did you know what the girls thought of him, experienced with him, there was a wider demographic not even Shouto had entered. Number one thing to be told was the fact that Shindou was into some heavy, dark shit to an extreme, his room reeked of sex, and he himself smelled like booze, weed, and BO. But a strong dick was a strong dick at the end of the day.

“Come play beer pong with me?” he asked, his hands shoved into his pockets as he smiled innocently. “I’ve heard some pretty solid shit about your skills, and I want to see how I add up.”

“I’ll play!” you agree immediately, jumping at the thought of drinking more. “Bu I don’t wa’ beer… ish nashty.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

With your arm still holding onto Mina, you accepted Shindou’s hand and allowed him to drag you off to where he wanted to play the game of beer pong.

The game of beer pong went without a single thing going wrong. You were paired up with Shindou, and Mina had managed to find Kirishima in the crowd before you got to your destination and demanded she have him as a partner and not Monoma.

It was safe to say that you were drunk, disgustingly out of your mind. It was an intense game of Cup Pong, the two different teams equally as bad in the drunken stupor, but finally, the two teams were down to a single cup and Kirishima — who was the only reason why they were winning!!!! — had the last ball. You watched in terrible apprehension, fingers digging into Shinsou’s biceps as Kirishima rose the wet ping pong ball to Mina’s lips and let her blow on it for good luck before bringing it back in and began a few steadying practice throws.

“You know, I’m glad I saw you at this party,” Shindou whispers to you, his head ducking down so that you and only you could hear that.

“Why?” you say a lot louder than you wanted, your heart hammering in fear that you would lose this game.

“Because you’re sexy as fuck,” Shindou spoke, his voice turning deeper, huskier, “and now you’re single.”

You blink, attention stolen from the game as you forgot about the final cup and looked at Shindou with a blank stare and an open mouth.

“What?”

“Cuz you and Todoroki are over,” Shindou explains to you as if you’re a child. “You guys are over, right? That’s all everyone’s talking about, and all us guys are ready to fuck you whenever you’re ready.”

His smirk irritates you, the lust in his eyes angering you as you drop your hold on his arm.

“We weren’t together, and you knew that,” you say, eyes narrowing as the crowd watching the game explodes in raging cheers as Kirishima sinks the ball into the cup. “Why the fuck would Shouto be fucking every girl that walks if we were together? What makes you think I’d be okay with it?”

“You’re a cuck,” Shindou continues on, confidence unaffected. “Oh, are the two of you maybe changing roles now? Does the big guy want me to fuck you in front of him?”

Your fist makes contact with his throat before you can even stop yourself and the cheers quickly turn into gasps.

After apologizing profusely to the party holders, they decided that you could, in fact, stay at the party. Your knuckles throbbed in pain, the alcohol in your system buzzing in you in a way that wasn’t fun or relaxing as you made a simple side-step dance move in the middle of the dance floor. The girls, who had at the beginning of the party, drifted ways, had once more glued themselves at your side on the floor. You weren’t in a dancing mood as you took a drink of what you assumed to be a Moscow mule made by Mina for you to keep you at a high for the rest of the party.

Like hell you would ever let Shouto cuck you!

Let him fuck another woman in front of you?

You would go insane if he ever thought that would be acceptable.

“Down girl, relax!” Mina yelled by your ear. “I thought I was babysitting y/n, not Bakugou Katsuki!”

You startled, realizing that your frown had become a fierce snarl as you danced on the floor.

“Come on, babe, let’s get you feeling good again; let’s enjoy this night!” Mina exclaimed, her hands pushing your drink to your mouth and forcing you to chug the contents of the drink. The red Solo Cup is dropped to the floor as soon as you finish. She grabbed your wrists and began to fluidly move your arms — or as well as she could manage herself because she, too, was drunk.

But with Mina winking and smiling at you, the rest of the girls eventually throw themselves into your linked dance circle, your own negative emotions left and in came joy.

It took about another round of ten songs for the dance circle to be destroyed and to have all of you resuming a rave-like jumping and scream-singing as Jirou finally snuck her way into the DJ booth and succeeded to take over. You spun around at the end of one song, laughing completely out of breath as you clapped your hands together. You often forget that while Jirou only listened to a very specific genre, she was a musical genius who had banger playlists for every occasion.

It seemed frat parties were one of them.

However, the next song had your head tilting backward, your grin spreading even wider as you began to move your hips in slow, distinct movements. Dancing with your hips was something you had learned, something you instilled into your dancing category for as long as you could remember.

The beats were loud, deep, thumping deep in the ground and vibrating with great strength in your chest as you pointed a finger at Mina, who was also dancing similarly to you. Your lips moved as you sang the song quietly, the heat and humidity of the room suddenly pressing onto you like another person. You hummed, flicking the parts of your hair sticking to the nape of your neck off, grateful for the slightly cooler air hitting your sweaty skin.

As you rolled your hips down, your hands fanning yourself, trying to cool down your deliriously warm, alcohol-heated body, you froze for just a bit. A person pressed to your back, your ass pressing against a hot thigh, and a hand resting upon the curve of your thigh, keeping you in place. You might have cared, but the body against yours was a welcomed one. Your hips and ass continuing to move in tandem with the music, deliberate highs and lows, and you worked your way up and down the man's body who met yours with spinning accuracy that made you began to pant, your heart racing because this was hot to you. You raised your arms behind you, clasping onto his neck, keeping him on you.

His hair was soft under your touch, slightly sweaty but threaded and parted between your fingers just too easily. His left hand, which had found a spot on your stomach, was radiating heat, something easily felt due to you only having mesh cloth there.

It was slow.

Sensual.

Somehow familiar.

Absolutely mind-numbing.

His chest broad against your back, muscles strong and tight against you.

He was skilled, practiced. Someone you knew was not going to disappoint you, and as your lust-glazed eyes took in the entirely shocked looks of your friends, you finally turned to look.

Somehow, someway, you weren’t shocked at all to see Shouto’s clouded, dark eyes locking on yours. Your world seems to freeze as something between you and Shouto is so obviously broken between you, forever changing, no longer able to go back. It didn’t matter that this was the first time in almost a week you had seen him, had talked to him, he was there, and you wanted to feel his skin scorching against yours. His touch screamed of his want for you, your recognition of your love for him, and your current lust for him. You were angry, hurt, confused, but you were too drunk to care, too intoxicated on the spell the two of you created on this dance floor.

But even as your world froze, the music continued on.

Grabbing Shouto’s hand, you spun around so that his chest was now pressed against yours, your legs between his. You continued dancing, continued to roll your hips down as you sunk down to the ground as Shouto remained standing, his hand supporting and balancing you as you went down and up. He began to dance with you again, the world seemingly disappearing as the two of you ground and panted heavily in each other's ears.

He pushed forward, and you whined, feeling the blazing swollen heat of his semi-hard cock against your stomach, but you met him there.

Your fingers fisting in his hair as his hands found their way into your back pockets, gripping your ass, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth, blazing, intense, and intentful, mashed against yours. You kissed him back immediately, all defenses abandoned to that of your lust, wants, and needs. His mouth was a fire, his kiss a blaze that consumed you, drowned you, made you push for more.

It was a kiss that lasted who knows how long, but by the time you had separated, you could feel the familiar sting to your slowly swelling lips and the song that had ended.

His eyes were a near black, his cheeks flushed, and his arms kept you so close you had to think if you were in the privacy of your home or in public.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice begging, pleading for him.

“I need you,” he responded, his voice equally wishing.

“Take me home,” you speak, lips pressing sloppy, desperate hot kisses to his neck. “Take me home and fuck me.”

“Fuck, yes, okay. Let’s go,” Shouto pants, his hands leaving your ass and grabbing onto one of yours before taking you and dragging you away.

It wouldn’t hit you until much later, but the very first kiss you had ever had with Shouto was in the middle of a dance floor, at a party where the male population had been ready to snatch you up after your relationship with Shouto was so-called over.

You were breathless.

No matter how deep you inhaled, you felt like you weren’t having enough oxygen flooding your veins, filling your lungs. You laugh loudly in the night, uncaring about the strangers you passed looking at you and Shouto, who chuckled and snorted with every giggle you made.

This felt crazy, insane, something serendipitous and not real even in the smallest of bits.

He kissed you.

He wanted you.

He said he needed you.

Wants and needs were different things, but he said need.

He needed you.

Just you.

Your feet ached from the running, but you could only focus on Shouto, your mind filling and swimming in the memory of his body pressed to you. The way his lips ghosted over your neck, and the way he danced against you — with you. The four-block walk back to your apartment seemed too far, and your eyes locked on a nearing alleyway.

With much more strength than you should have, you shoved Shouto into the alleyway, your mouth immediately pressing onto his.

Shouto groaned into your mouth, letting you drink his noises as you pulled him close, consuming him in a messy clash of teeth, spit, and tongue. You whined back, your legs slotting between his thigh and grinding down on the hard muscle. It alleviated the growing, scorching heat in your panties but also intensified it, making you want for more and more and more.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Shouto groaned in your mouth, shifting and guiding your rolling hips his thigh better, more fluid, more intense.

Your eyes barely cracked open, your mouth no longer kissing him put pressing against his in an open mouth pant. Your drunken breath saying nothing but implying the world.

Something Shouto was more than keen on giving you.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered for you to hear, so reverent, so holy. And so that you, the center of his world, the only thing he saw and believed in, knew how passionately, how ardently he believed in you, his mouth slid down your neck, and his teeth sunk in your flesh. He claimed you, praised you, making you a part of him.

“I’m still so mad at you!” you moan, voice pitched, whiny, and deliriously high. “I love you, asshole. I love you, and you sleep around! I love you, and I don’t care if you sleep around, but you care that I sleep around?!”

“I love you too,” Shouto mumbles against your neck, his teeth continuing to press into your skin that seems to explode with heat at the revelation. “I love, and I’m an idiot; I’m so sorry.”

And then he does something with his tongue against your neck, the soft of swipes, the wet tickling heat making your head slam back against the brick wall, and a mangled, strangled moan of unadulterated want emits from you.

“We'll talk about this in the morning,” you pant, fingers fisting in his shirt. “We can fix this, but right now, shut up and fuck me.”

“Y/n—”

“I’m horny,” you interrupt, hips sharply jutting into his leg. “You made me horny. Take responsibility.”

His eyes flashed dark, his nostrils flaring, and your words cemented in his head. He resumed his painting, his worship on your neck as you cried loudly in the alleyway, desperate, needy for more.

It was dizzying to have him on you like this.

For so long, you had only touched him in a few ways, had only ever felt a specific type of warmth. But this was unlike anything you’ve ever done with him, to him. It felt like you were burning and freezing, consumed by heat and energy and everything Shouto. His all too familiar cologne filled your nose, drowning your brain, invading your senses. His frantic heartbeat felt against your own body, telling you exactly how you were affecting him, how you made his heart speed and jump with every breathy whine.

“Fuck, I can’t do this. We need to get home now!” Shouto growls, his hands grabbing you by the wrist yet again and pulling you away.

His strides are long, quick, and powerful. You’re running to keep up, beautifully out of breath, staggering and stumbling to keep up in his objective to get back to the apartment now.

It doesn’t seem to take long before he’s pushing open the doors to the apartment complex, corralling you through the doors and into the elevator to get to the eleventh floor. The elevator doors are behind you, and with no one else in the life, you turn on him and immediately resume your own endeavor of claiming Shouto with your mouth, body, and soul. He matches your intensity, hands roaming from where the clasp of your bra sat to the curve of your ass. He grabbed you, pulled you in closer, the air in his nose staggering as you stammer against his mouth.

Teeth touch lips, tongues in each other's cheeks, and Shouto leads you out of the elevator backward, his one hand on your waist forever steady and the other one holding the key. Your fingers are back in his hair, pulling and tugging sharply on the soft, short strands with nearly disappeared gel. He gets to the door, fumbling with the key as you continue to kiss him, distracting him with the smallest of movements.

“Which room?” he asks against your mouth, pushing you through the threshold, his foot closing the door behind him.

The shoes are haphazardly kicked off and you’re now on your tiptoes to continue kissing him as you were. You tried to think, tried to figure out if you wanted to be surrounded by Shouto’s scent or to have him displayed in your room. His teeth then suckle on your bottom lip, biting down on the swollen, hot flesh just gentle enough that your mind draws a blank and your voice responds on its own.

“Mine.”

You shriek then, Shouto swiftly picking you up off the floor and you panic, hands swatting and beating on him as you scream to let you down. He continues walking, holding you without a worry, his arms remaining strong and firm beneath you. But with your distraction, with your lips no longer pressed sinfully against his, Shouto’s mouth finds a junction point on your clavicle and sinks his teeth down again, claiming you once more.

“S-Sho—” your voice hitches, the feeling too intense for you to process all at once. You hear your room door open and close, and without warning, you’re soaring through the air before collapsing on the bed.

“You think I go to the gym to get muscles for fun?” Shouto taunts, his fingers hooking under the dark grey t-shirt he’s wearing. “Angel, I go to the gym to make sure I can fuck you in any position, against any surface or wall you want.”

Your body feels like it's scorching as he removes his shirt, his muscles rippling and moving seductively with the devious, intentional movement.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Shouto asks, the shirt dropping to the floor, removing all traces of oxygen from your person. He steps closer, fingers circling around your ankle and suddenly pulling you in toward him until you were sitting at the edge, his lips hovering over yours. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your tongue feels dry in your mouth, but your eyes narrow before you push up and capture his mouth back with yours. He kisses you back deeply, bending down so that you begin to shift backward, allowing him the space to crawl onto the bed with you, and at the last moment, your leg wraps around his waist and spins the both of you. Shouto gasps as you pin him onto the mattress, your tongue invading his mouth, brushing and swirling against his, coaxing his own tongue back into your own mouth. With the wet heat in your mouth, your teeth playfully, just gently dig into his appendage and tug.

“No, but it seems like I got yours,” you humor him, your teeth releasing his tongue, and Shouto looks up at you like you were both the sun and the moon, and the stars were a gift to him.

It takes your breath away.

Shouto grins, shifting onto his elbows so that he’s closer to you before kissing you again.

The kiss is growing louder, both your mouths ever so consuming, trying to relay years of repressed, unknown emotions and feelings within a drastic, incredible touch. Your hips begin shifting against his crotch, humping his clothed erection, demonstrating yet again the power and grace you hold in your body.

Shouto’s hands move from your ribs up to your breasts, and with the hot, rough flesh of his skin, he squeezes your tender flesh. You moan into his mouth, hips bucking wildly against him at the sensation. It isn’t a powerful flesh, but a reminder, a demonstration of just what and where he could inflect passionate actions.

Your hands scour his chest, fingernails dragging teasingly down his firm, developed muscles, fingers flicking and teasing at his own exposed nipples. Shouto grunts into your mouth, hips bucking powerfully upward into your clothed cunt, and you splutter at the power behind it. But it seems as though Shouto is over the fishnet mesh shirt and crop top you’re wearing because he’s tugging it out of the waistband of your jeans and commands in a deep, lust-ridden voice: “Off.”

Goosebumps flash across your skin, bubbling and spraying across your sensitive skin as your shirt and crop top join Shouto’s on the floor. Your gasp loudly when Shouto rolls the both of you over swiftly, his mouth immediately pressing hot, viper kisses on your breasts. All thought and reason leave your mind as his teeth nip and pull. His fingers pushing the straps of your bra off your shoulders and shoving your boobs out of the bra in a firm hold.

“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve wanted to touch you, kiss you, fuck you,” Shouto whispers, his tone almost dark as his hot air fans against your already pebbling nipples. “Fuck, angel, you’re better than anything I’ve ever dreamed about.”

You whine loudly, fingers tangling in his hair as you desperately, wordlessly try to persuade him to put his lips around your attentive, eager nipples.

“I always forget you got these things,” Shouto says in wonder, his fingers touching the metal bars sitting so innocently, deviously on through your nipple. He tugs on the bar, and all the nerves in your breast fire and tingle, and your feet curl by his back as you whimper. “Fuck... I can’t believe I forgot…”

“S-Shouto, I fucking swear!” you almost screech, hands desperately pulling at strands of red and white, wanting his teeth and tongue and the suction of his mouth on your nipple. “Stop. Fucking. Talking!”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes of blue and grey flashing up at you dangerously, knowingly.

“Okay,” he says cheekily, and as if he read your thoughts, his teeth gently bit down on your all too ready nipple. Your head slams against the mattress, your chest feeling alive as if you had been electrocuted. He sucks your nipple, teeth tugging on the sensitive flesh, clacking against the metal in your flesh. His fingers taking care of your lonesome nipple, keeping it company with gentle, purposeful rolls as he has you sobbing his name.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, although you have no idea what you’re begging for. Your hips pathetically grinding into his clothed cock, trying to get yourself to cum while not having been touched. “Sho— Shouto!”

Shouto pulls away from your nipple with a loud pop. His breath panting, short, and overwhelmingly strained as if simply sucking your throbbing, needy nipple had given him the same amount of pleasure as it did you before consuming your forgotten one. Just as before, you melted against him, begging please, pretty please to him but never telling him what you were wanting. You didn’t know what you were wanting.

But unlike before, his hands leave their attentive position on your free nipple and slam your hips back down onto the mattress, keeping you down and still as he continued his ministrations until you were nipplegasming. You choked as the orgasm consumed you, your body going rigid and your eyes rolling to the depths of your head as his hot mouth was all you could think of. For a moment, the needy wet heat between your thighs was easily ignorable, something unneeded until Shouto was pulling away and kissing you again.

His chest was pressed tight against your own chest, your sensitive, overstimulated nipples rubbing against his chest with the welcomed friction as you let out a wordless, near-dizzy sigh into Shouto’s mouth. He kissed you with incredible passion, with dizzying heat, and consuming lust.

Your voice was so small, your voice easily drowned in Shouto’s mouth as your fingernails dug into his back and raked down pathetically, desperately proving that you were still here. Still fighting him on just who would win this night. Your fingers went down the curve of his spine, trailing down until you found the waistband of his sweats, and with his mouth everso distractingly on the swell of your breasts, biting, marking, and sucking hickies and his print on you for forever, he helped you slide the pants off.

In an almost dramatic fashion, his eyes burning deep into yours, leaving you stunned and a worshiper at his feet, he rose off your bed and let the pants fall. You shakily inhaled, your eyes suddenly transfixed and only seeing the hard, leaking dick that stood tall and proud against his twitching stomach. At the mere sight of him, you now truly, completely, and entirely understood just why the girls were obsessed.

From tip to the base, he was thick, the flush of his skin gorgeous, the curve of his cock optimal to fuck anyone. He was long, thick, and delicious—trimmed pubes of red and white and balls that had your mouth watering and going dry. You wondered, imagined, tried to visualize just how much it was going to hurt getting that in you. You’ve never had a man with a dick like that, never had to choke or fuck on something that looked like it would possibly render you stupid the moment you were impaled.

“Can I?” you ask, ‘can I touch you? Can I suck you?’ go unsaid.

“You owe me one,” Shouto says, his words teasing if it wasn’t for the way his voice betrayed him with the eagerness, the want and inexplicable tell that says if you don’t touch him, he will lose his fucking mind. “Please, do it.”

You’re dragging him back onto the bed, sitting him by your headboard, spreading his legs apart as you situate yourself between them. With a tentative, shaky hand, you reach out and grab on his dick.

His flesh is hot to the touch; it's hard and twitches just so at your grasp. Shouto lets out a gasp mixed with a whine, and you look at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Unable to help yourself, you lean in, your nose touching the underside of his length and nuzzling into the flesh. You look back up at him with hooded eyes, eyes dark with mirth, lust, and an overwhelming need to please Shouto. He stares back, eyes entirely too bright, almost scared, almost as if he can’t believe this is happening.

You smile softly, eyes breaking contact to look at the swelling cock in your hand, and then back at him as your tongue pokes out of your mouth and puts a long, wet stripe against his length.

And Shouto?

Shouto moans like a man who’s had warm food after days of starving.

You lick from base to tip, saliva mixing with precum as your mouth presses teasing, open mouth kisses down the length of his cock, tongue pressing against the sweltering heat of his balls.

“Fuck, y/n, stop teasing,” Shouto grits, his hips pathetically snapping into nothing, his hands desperately trying to touch you, to which you swatted him away each and every time. You tut, shaking your head. With both your hands fisting his dick at the middle of his length, your squeeze and pull in opposite directions.

The reaction is one that you were hoping for, Shouto’s head slamming to the headboard with a clash, his legs jumping just a bit, and precum coming out in even heavy drops. You laugh breathlessly at his display, enamored with how fucking easy he is to get to make noises. He’d never made noises before, no other girl had him the way you did, and that made you crazy with power.

Before you wanted to, your mouth consumed to head of his cock, allowing the musky smell that was completely and only Shouto to fully consume you. You sucked on his thick swollen head, tongue pressing on the leaking slit on his head as he choked on your name. You smile, taking him in further, straining against the weight in your mouth, the pressure on the back of your throat, and the stretch of your throat. As soon as you had him a bit way in, you were pushing out, his hips driving to find you but missing you. Shouto’s noise was almost broken, near needy, and your head spun with his noises. Unable to stop, you pushed in again, allowing the drive of his hips to send his cock further down your throat.

Tears filled your eyes at the action, his cock much too large, much too thick to be fucked into your throat as such. Your fists acted as a barrier as you adjusted, your throat humming, mouth moaning as Shouto lost himself to the heat of your wet mouth. You bobbed your head, fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks. You sucked his dick with the intention of ruining him, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you needed to consume. You let go of one hand, allowing it to fondle with his balls as his cock went further into your mouth, the sounds of your choking, gagging, and crying egging him on.

“You take me so good,” Shouto sang to you, whispering words that only you’ve heard. “Fuck, angel, take me all the way. I know you can do it.”

With his hands at the back of your head, your fingers squeezing his balls, and the shaky removal of your final hand on his cock, he drives his hips all the way up. Shouto curses loudly, and you choke, feeling the rush of cum shooting down your throat, and you’re let free.

“Swallow it all, don’t spit it up,” Shouto breathes, his body shifting upward, eyes intent, focused. “Let me see.”

You cough violently, mouth closed as you swallow the salty cum, only letting your mouth open to allow the drool and spit to drip from your flat tongue as you show him that you swallowed every last seed. He groaned, grasping you by the chin and pulling you back in for a passionate, all-consuming kiss. The taste of Shouto and his cum sat heavily in your throat, and you were shaking as he began to unbutton your jeans, shedding them off of you as he flipped you back around so that your back was resting against the mattress.

Salt sweat dripped down your neck, and Shouto left fingertip bruises on your waist, your knees and legs awkwardly kicking as you finally got your jeans off your ankles. You shuttered, feeling Shouto’s hot, spit-slick dick pressing against your stomach, your cunt flipping and twisting at the thought of taking him all in.

“You’re still, fuck… you’re still hard?” you gasp, Shouto’s fingers tracing the innards of your thighs, scratching at your ass, slapping it once, twice, leaving you pitched and shaking.

“How can I not be when you’re down beneath me?” Shouto asks, his eyes looking at you as if he was burning the very naked image to you in his brain for him forever. “You’re mine, right?”

The question itself, while unexpected, was not unwanted.

You feel yourself nodding, your fingers scratching up his flexed arms, “Yours and only yours.”

“Good,” Shouto smirks, leaning in, his entire weight on the one hand beside your head, making you groan as his lips were so close yet so far away. “I’m yours as you are mine.”

With that, his fingers pressed to your thus far, unattended to clit, your legs shaking, kicking the air as you howled in pleasure. But it was such an intimate place, something you never expected Shouto to ever touch, and so, in a voice so pathetic you couldn’t even recognize it as yours, you screeched: “D-Don’t touch that!”

Shouto cocked an eyebrow, his head tilting as his fingers swirled around your swollen nub, sending just enough electrifying pleasure through every neuron in your body. “Why not?” he asked, voice authoritative and curious and sadistic. “It’s mine — you’re mine. I can play with what’s mine whenever I want.”

The words make your entire will collapse, the words liquid heat in your ears and mind. You moan loudly, feeling Shouto adjust your hips, lining your spasming cunt with his cock, and with his tongue delving into your mouth, his lips pressing against yours, he slowly pushed into you.

Shouto was loud the entire way into you, the deep grunts, breathless moans, and mindless babble of how this was unlike anything he’s had before, better than anything he’s ever imagined. He bottoms out quickly, hands leaving purple bruises against your skin as you lay on the bed silent.

Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single tone noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper over and over, your legs tight around Shouto’s hips, shaking with the feeling in you. “God, y-you’re so big, Sho… I’m—”

You can’t finish your sentence because he shifts just enough that his cock is meeting places in you that had never been encountered before. Your eyes roll back again, your fingers pressing ruby red scars to his back as you scratch and tear his back.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit,” Shouto pants, his mouth panting against the sweat on your collarbone, his own breathing heavy and spaced. “You’re perfect, y/n, so fucking perfect.”

You preen with those words, your mouth finding a home at his temple to which you kiss him, drag your lips down to his ear. You bite and nibble as you adjust to him buried deep within you. And he heaves a sigh and pushes up off you, eyes daring to stare into you as he huffs almost in disbelief of this entire night.

“I’m going to start moving,” he says, fingers scratching down your sides to your thighs. “Are you ready?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod. Shouto smiles, leaning back down for one last kiss to which you quickly returned, staying there as his hips moved backward before thrusting back into you. It's the first thrust of many, but your arms wrap even tighter underneath his own, your nails scarring his back as he goes again and again. You fucks into you deliberately, readily, with purpose and skill that speaks wonders and lives up to the many rumors you’ve ever heard.

His thrusts are powerful, slapping into your thighs with a mighty smack, making you whimper and wail into his salty neck as your hips lift up to meet his. It's a powerful dance, a dizzying cycle. His cock sliding up and down your puffy velvet walls, your weeping walls clenching him in a vice, unforgiving and unwilling to let go.

He speaks praises into your ear, your yours, your mouth.

“Such a pretty angel, moaning for me, crying for me, tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me buried in your fucking stomach.”

You are converted to him in return, seeing him, speaking to him, devoted to him.

“Fuck, I want you more. Faster, harder! Don’t stop! I can feel you in my stomach, Sho! Fuck! Fuck me, fuck me fuck me!”

His weight is pressed on your thighs, spreading your thighs further apart, fucking into deeper, fucking you so powerfully, so desperately your soaked cunt squelches and drips your essence, soaking your bed and his legs. Your teeth sink into his skin, copper filling your mouth, and your vision feels missing as you are slamming your hips up, rolling them desperately to fuck back into him. You can feel his hand clutching yours, pressing it into the mattress as he somehow speeds up again, drilling you into the mattress, the bed creaking and bending under both your weight.

“More, more, more!”

And he gives, and gives, and gives.

You wail his name, the heat in your skin, tickling your clit and innards making you sweat, the alcohol on your skin sticking you to Shouto.

Shouto grunts your name, hisses your name, damns you heaven and back for having such a fucking grip on him. It's when he looks into your eyes, cock drilling into you at a speed and power that no human should ever obtain, one hand gripping yours and the other pinching and teasing your clit, you cum, bursting open at the seams.

Your orgasm is loud, clenching, all-consuming, and you drag Shouto down with you as he stammers, shudders, and cums deep within your womb. His seed spilling out of you as the both of you collapse onto the bed with breathless, thoughtless minds.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Right?” you chuckle.

And with your nose pressed to his sweaty, sex-lulled body, you fall asleep with his hands traveling up and down your spine. Hopefully, things would be well when you woke up.

P R E S E N T

To stop you from screeching so loudly you woke up the entire world, Shouto held his hand to your mouth, his eyes wide, terrified, and completely confused.

“Please stop yelling… my head hurts…” Shouto begs, his face completely exhausted but with that post-orgasm sleep glow.

“We had sex?!” you shriek, throwing his hand off your mouth. “We were mad at each other, and we had sex?!”

“Oh,” Shouto seems to remember, his head rolling before he sat up, bringing you up with him. “Right, we should talk about that, huh?”

“You think?!” you shriek, entirely overwhelmed with the fact that you had done so much embarrassing shit last night.

It’s quiet for a bit. The birds chirping outside an almost cheerful taunt as the both of you, for the first time in seventeen years, find it too awkward to talk. No one wants to speak first, to mention the elephant in the room, for once it happened, there really was no going back. Not that there was much to go back from.

“I’m in love with you,” Shouto finally says. It’s an admittance, a whisper that's strong despite it told in such a hushed voice as if you would laugh at him as he confessed. “I’ve actually been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Now that shocks you.

Your eyes are wide, and you’re staring at Shouto, unsure what to say, what to ask, but you know you need more answers.

“I know, hard to believe, huh?” Shouto chuckles, his hand running through his sex and sleep disheveled hair. “It’s true, though… I don’t remember not ever being in love with you.”

“No… no way,” you say, your body running cold, and you shiver. You remember then that you’re sitting up, and you’re very incredibly naked. Shouto notices and moves to grab a blanket at the foot of the bed and wraps it around you. “That doesn’t make sense,” you argue, your furrowed brows making your skin crease as you try to think back on all your years and memories, looking for signs in which Todoroki Shouto loved you. “You never showed it.”

“Camie said the same thing,” Shouto sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Before I was sixteen… I don’t know; I guess I could understand why. I only ever talked to you, always paired up with you. I let you hold my hand, and I let you hug me… I thought me telling you that I had never been kissed before would make you want to kiss me, but it never did. I know I was awkward and a little different when we were younger, so when I was paired up with Camie… I thought she would help me.”

“By fucking you?” you asked, your frown deepening as you remembered your bitter feelings over Camie stealing Shouto’s virginity.

“She… she said that by being sexual, maybe you would see me as a man, and not the four-year-old crying boy in preschool,” Shouto smiled sadly, his fingers picking at one another. “Me having sex was supposed to show you that I was a man who wanted to see you as a woman in return, but it didn’t work.”

“Well, no shit,” you snort, relaxing a bit although you felt limp. You found yourself leaning against Shouto’s strong shoulders, your head landing heavily on him. “You went from a virgin to fucking anything with a wet hole.”

“...yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Shouto said with regret, his shoulders sagging just a bit. “At first, I thought I needed to fuck more girls to prove I was a man to you because you acted like nothing had happened after Camie… but sex was fun, it felt good.”

“Sex is good,” you agree with a soft chuckle to which he returned.

He shifted a bit, arms tightening and relaxing before he finally admitted, “It helped distract me from you because you looked at others the way I wanted you to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back.

“No, don’t be,” Shouto speaks firmly, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. “It was my fault. I was never assertive enough, confident enough to simply confess.”

“So, does you being in love with me having anything to do with you driving the entire male population away from me?”

Your eyes look up at him, finding his embarrassed gaze before he glances away.

“That actually wasn’t intentional… I guess I just talk about you a lot.”

“Yeah, but still doesn’t mean you couldn’t ever deny it yourself!”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Apologize then.”

“Y/l/n Y/n, I am sorry for making the entire male population we’ve ever come across think we were an item and not telling them otherwise. I am sorry for keeping you from enjoying sex while I continued to. I am lousy, and my love for you should be unreturned because that was ass of me.”

You sigh, your lips pursed to keep from smiling as you looked back at his handsome face.

“Now, ask me the damn question, crybaby.”

“Crybaby?”

“You finally admitted that you were, in fact, crying!!!!!”

If you asked Shishikura Seiji what the worst thing about being the third roommate to Todoroki Shouto and you was, he would give a million and three answers as to why it was the worst.

One: he absolutely hated how loud the both of you were. Todoroki Shouto was someone he thought was quiet and introverted, but whenever he was around you, he was loud. You were just plain old loud, and he thought it was annoying.

Two: he absolutely hated your rice. Call it petty, but after you fed him on his first night and tried putting him into a chokehold for saying the song your rice cooker sang at its end was the stupidest fucking thing ever made, everything you made taste like ash and dirt.

Twenty: he hated that there were biweekly karaoke nights. He would be studying away in his room and wanted to die when he heard the all too familiar sound of Mamma Mia’s Here We Go Again blasting in the living room.

Hundred fifty-seven: SO. MUCH. FUCKING. SEX.

Three hundred thirteen: SO. MUCH. DRINKING.

Five thousand: SO. MUCH. WEED.

Ten thousand three: you put his toilet seat up whenever you’re drunk, so he falls in when he goes to pee in the morning.

Five hundred: the way the both of you looked at each other, fucking disgusting.

To say the least, there were a lot of many different reasons scaling from actual issues to petty small shit, but Shishikura was not in any position to find a new apartment, so he stayed. To be quite honest, having been living with Dumb and Dumber (you and Shouto, respectively), he only thought there would be one thing that would make him lose his actual mind.

The day that would inevitably come and the both of you realized your feelings were, in fact, returned. He didn’t want to even imagine how the animalistic sex he often had to hear coming from your hallway would increase, or the sappy stupid romantic love he would see in the living room because as best friends, you both had no care for PDA and if you were allowed to kiss? Allowed to have sex? He feared he would have to wear a hazmat suit in every corner of the apartment. You both were already incredibly loud as a duo (see reason one as to why he hates living here); he feared the worst when the mutual love was realized.

But he exited his room a week after that Sunday morning with a fully loaded water gun just in case. His eyes narrowed, the hair on his neck raised as his beady eyes focused in on the living room.

Shouto sat on the couch, his back on the armrest, and you sitting between his thighs as you watched him play some game on his Switch, your smile large and annoyingly bright, but he realized that he couldn’t hear you screaming or speaking so loudly he could listen to the conversation.

No, as a matter of fact, Shishikura couldn’t hear a single word; the words being exchanged between you and Shouto spoke so softly, so intimately, it shocked him. Shishikura noticed with an almost awed surprise that even though your smile was as annoyingly bright as before. It wasn’t directed at anything but Shouto, and Shouto’s smile, while nowhere near as big, just as warm and full to you.

It was intimate, romantic even.

Nothing had changed in your relationship except now, finally, now, you were allowed to kiss and fuck each other like heat-driven animals.

Shishikura was shocked to his core, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him.

You nor Shouto paid him any mind, too lost in the game and in each other to look his way as he made his way into the kitchen for his lunch. Shishikura set the water gun on the counter, a small smile spreading on his face despite himself, and chuckled.

Maybe the two of you together weren’t something to hate on after all.

“Hey, is that a water gun?!”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

3K notes · View notes

kimnjss · 4 years ago

Text

keep going | jjk

⤑ series: cherry pickers

⤑ pairing: gamer(fuckboi)!jungkook x video vixen(virgin)!reader

⤑ genre: smut!! (and the start of angst at the end...)

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 4.8K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: cursing, slight dirty talk, oral sex (m/f. receiving), handjob, cum shot, face sitting, spitting, grinding, (half-assed) 69-ing, nipple play, groping, dry humping, they’re both half drunk nd messy.

⤑ A/N: hiiii! how are you? sooo ., i decided to make the party two parts bc i had terrible time management today nd it’s getting late - buut i really wanted to post today. sooo part two up tomorrow!!

MAY 8TH, 2020 | 23:30

Jungkook hears your squeal over the booming bass of the music, long before you're appearing through the crowd of drunk partygoers. Jimin is steps behind you, large black glasses resting on the tip of his nose. Eyes likely bloodshot underneath them obvious from the stumble in his walk. Your hair fans out behind you as you run, jumping with a shout onto your boyfriend. Who is more than ready to catch you. Hands splayed over the small of your back, while your legs wrap around his waist.

Giggling, even though nothing's really funny. Cold hands finding his cheeks as your hair creates a curtain on one side of his face. “My baby!” Speaking a bit too loud for how close you are, but he doesn't mind it. Especially since you're quick with covering his mouth with yours. The strong taste of alcohol hitting his tongue as if how drunk you were wasn't already obvious.

The kiss doesn't last long because you're being distracted by your thoughts, lips parting from his, you begin to bounce in his arms. Thighs brushing against his waist and the skirt of your dress riding up the swell of your ass. “Jimin said you got dressed up for me,” You're wearing this pretty smile on your face, cheeks tinted pink and he's not too convinced it's just from the alcohol.

He nods without a bit of hesitation because he had nothing to hide. Wouldn't even be stood here in this outfit if he didn't think you'd find him attractive in it. Another squeal is leaving your lips, legs leaving his body as you jump down out of his grasp. Taking a step back to fully take in his appearance.

“You look good enough to eat,” Moving in close to him, your arms lift to wrap around his neck. Tugging gently so his face is level with yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek as you lean up to reach his ear. “We'll get to that later, though.” A gentle kiss pressed to the outside of it and you're sure you hear a moan leave his lips.

Not dwelling too much on the sound, you pull back, taking his hand in his, leading him into the kitchen where you swear you saw Jimin disappear. Probably in search of smoother drinks to accompany the numerous shots swimming in his stomach. Jimin was quite the drinker and a bit hard to keep up with, either way, you managed without falling over. That was definitely a plus.

Jungkook had been here an hour or two before you showed up. Found Taehyung in the crowd and Yoongi after that, the three of them spending time drinking and talking while he waited for you. Your friends were cool and he was enjoying the music and everything, but at the end of it, he was most looking forward to seeing you... even if he had been with you just the day before.

Shots were passed around and Yoongi had his mind set on getting absolutely trashed, him and everyone within a ten-foot radius. Which had him refilling every single empty glass in sight. Including Jungkook, despite the fact, he was on the far end of the couch. So yeah, not as drunk as you, but definitely heading in that direction.

Who cares, though? It was a party after all.

MAY 9TH, 2020 | 00:19

Sat up on the kitchen counter with Jungkook beside you, quietly sipping from his cup while you talk a mile a minute with the guys in the room. Taehyung has taken an interest in Jimin who has made it his entire business to play hard to get. The whole nine yards, honestly, not looking directly at him while he spoke, acting aloof when it was clear to any of your close friends that Tae was enjoying the undivided attention.

Yoongi had gone somewhere a good half hour ago, nothing but a brief mumble of his departure which was drowned out by the music. Hoseok was leaving a few moments after him, loudly declaring he wanted to go dance. Yet, you have yet to see the inevitable circle form around him.

That left Joon and Jin with you and Jungkook, the four of you laughing and talking loudly about something that you'd no doubt forget in the morning. Well, three of you... Jungkook only half listened, the rest of his attention on you. Hadn't taken his eyes off you since he was setting you down on the counter and it was getting a little hard to ignore his stare.

Jungkook was always obvious, hardly ever beat around the bush... especially when it had anything to do with you. So just one look in his direction and you could tell that he was undressing you with his eyes, playing a dirty movie in his mind where the two of you were the stars.

Normally, you'd tease him. Get him all riled up until he was whining, basically begging for some type of release. It was always fun to see how far you could push him, how much you could get away with before he was becoming a mess of himself.

Strangely tonight, though, you didn't feel like teasing. Wanted him just as much as he wanted you, if not more. And with this liquid courage cruising through your veins, you didn't care if he knew it. You didn't care who knew it. Jin has sparked Joon's argumentative spirit, claiming he was right about something that Joon literally based his entire life on.

It's not often you get to see Joon get riled up, especially in the face of a stranger. But the oddly sexy vein popping out at the side of his neck is very low on your list of concerns. No, your focus is on Jungkook and how you can get him from this room to upstairs a little more private.

“Koo,” His head snaps in your direction in an instant at the sound of your voice, cloudy eyes taking in your outstretched arms. Instantly putting together that you were beckoning him toward you, he doesn't waste a moment to stand in front of you. Palms settling down against the tops of your thighs, the coldness of them forcing goosebumps to rise on your warm skin.

Long legs stretching out to wrap around his hips, pulling him closer. You always wanted him closer. Fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down closer to you. He kisses you immediately, hands wrapping around your thighs, using his grip to pull your body toward him. He's hard. Can feel it pressed right against your thigh, a curious hand dropping down his torso until you're able to reach him.

Jungkook flinches at the touch, hips jerking forward and teeth scraping against your lower lip. The subtle pain pulls a moan from your lips that's quickly muffled by the determined twist of his tongue. Hesitant fingers inch underneath the hem of your dress and then back down your thighs, up a little higher, and then back down. His fingers repeat their movement three times before you're pulling away from his lips.

“What are you doing?” Your words come out through a laugh, hands on either side of his face as you look down to watch his fingers on your skin. “I'm just checking...” All slurred and barely coherent, he's not looking at you instead he's tracking the movements of his fingers as if he was in the midst of creating a masterpiece on your legs.

You can't help the laugh that slips past your lips at his focus, fingers racking through his short hair. Pushing the fluffy strands out of the way so you can get a better peak at the look of concentration on his face. “Checking what?”

Dark eyes lift to find yours, teeth catching his lower lip as he searches your features. Looking for any hint that you were uncomfortable. That you wanted him to slow down. Something that you constantly caught him doing if the two of you were moving past a peck. It was sweet, nice of him to always be thinking of you. But it did make you feel fragile like you needed him to look out for you. Never did you like this feeling, but coming from him... it didn't feel so bad.

“How high up you'll let me go this time. Do you want me to stop?” There's a second question hidden in there. He wasn't just talking about his hands on his legs, but rather how far you were willing to go tonight. It's obvious because Jungkook was horrible at hiding what he was thinking, every thought written on his face at all times.

Which is why you're so quick to shake your head, using the hold you have around his waist to pull him further between his legs. His hardening length brushing against the crease of your thighs and you're humming at the feeling of warmth that spreads throughout your body. “Not yet. Keep going,”

That's all he needs to hear and it's like a switch has been flipped inside of him. Whatever restraint he had been using since you first jumped on him going out the window as his hands move higher up your legs, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck. His teeth catch your skin, blunt nails dragging their way to your ass and all you're left to do is whine and moan underneath him.

A hand running down the front of his pastel-colored pants to cover his crotch. Fingers flexing around his bulge, shamelessly palming him through his pants in the middle of Yoongi's kitchen. He's letting out a breathy groan, head falling back as his hips move in motion with your hand.

He looks so hot, it's almost unbelievable. Eyes squeeze shut, with his lower lip tucked between his teeth. Thick neck on full display, you can't help but lean up and kiss it. Sucking open-mouthed kisses into his skin, while your hand moves over him.

“Fuck,” he groans, loud enough for just you to hear. The sound sending a pang of arousal pooling between your legs. “I want to fuck you so bad,” It's a drunken confession that he's barely aware of, his focus on his hands squeezing your ass over the fabric of your dress.

Leaning back enough so your eyes catch his, he's looking at you with such desire and want. A look that you're no stranger to, but it definitely has you feeling a little less out of control tonight. Tilting your head up, you press a soft kiss to his lips, pulling back just before his tongue is able to slither past your lips.

“Wanna go upstairs?”

MAY 9TH, 2020 | 00:57

Jungkook takes two steps toward you the moment Yoongi's bedroom door is secured shut. Hands on either side of your face, holding your head steady as he goes in for a kiss. A sloppy rushed kiss that pulls deep groans from his lips. Fingers curling in your hair while his hand drops low on your waist, pulling your body into his.

He's spent long enough holding on to restraint, not wanting to tip the scale in either direction in hopes to keep you from pulling back. Only going as far as you'd let him, but now you were giving him the green light for more. And although, he wasn't sure how much more you were willing to give... he was going to enjoy all he was able to take.

His mouth falls from yours, fingers moving toward the neckline of your dress. The same tiny dress you deemed too tight to wear anything underneath, besides the lace thong that does nothing but look pretty against your skin. With a fluid motion of his hands, your tits are spilling out the top of your dress, nipples peaking from the cool air circulating around the room.

His cock stiffens in his pants at the sight. Trying not to be obvious with the way the sight of your bare chest makes him drool. This was so far from being the first time he's seen boobs, but this was the first time he was seeing yours and that felt like the first time ever. He didn't know what to do with himself. Brain working overtime trying to figure out where to start. He wanted all of you, that much wasn't a secret. But he knew that he had to be careful, this was a privilege of course. A rarity. One wrong move and he fuck it all up for himself.

The blank stare on his face does nothing for the pounding in your chest. Wishing that he'd just say something instead of staring the way he was. Not even looking directly at you. Did he think they were weird? Were you doing too much? Should you cover up?

Two strong hands wrap around your thighs, lifting your body off of the ground. Finally, finally looking up at you with those dark brown eyes of his. So easy to read, so filled with lust. For you. Long strides taken across the room and before you know it, your body is being surrounded by fluffy sheets and the smell of Yoongi.

“You're so perfect,” He sounds like he's in disbelief, shaking his head at his own words as he climbs onto the bed with you. Your head trapped on either side of his arms, hips pressed flush together. He fit so well between your legs.

Warm lips meet yours, tasting heavily of alcohol and his fruity lip balm. He's swallowing the moan that falls from your lips, tongue pushing against yours as his hips move in a slow rut. Kissing you breathless with his hand wrapped around one of your breasts, thumb flicking against your nipple. So easily pulling moans and whines from your lips with a simple flex of his muscles. “I can't believe I'm with you,” His words murmured against your lips, but your heart is standing at full attention, ready to swell in his favor.

Pulling back only to leave a trail of wet kisses down the length of his neck, mapping his way to your breasts. A breathy cry of his name falls from your lips when his teeth scrape against the hardened nub. Chuckling soft, his eyes lift to meet yours as he wraps his lips around it. Tongue moving just as it had been inside your mouth and you can't help but wonder how it'd feel in other places too.

Always ten steps ahead of you, Jungkook's hand outlines the curve of your breasts all the way down to the dip of your waist, passing your hips until the tips of his fingers catch the hem of your skirt.

He pulls off your chest with a pop, a thin line of spit connecting his lower lip to your skin. His tongue juts out to break it while his gaze lowers to watch himself reveal more and more of your skin with each movement of his hand. It's not long until your entire dress is bunched up at your waist, the maroon thong you had shimmied into on full display for his greedy eyes.

The growing wet patch between your legs is all he can seem to focus on. Jungkook startles you with his quickness, head dropping between your legs in an instant. Arms looping around your thighs to hold them apart, nose nudging against your covered clit as his tongue flattens against your slit.

“Holy fuck!” It's like someone has lit your entire body on fire. Back arched off the bed and toes pressed against the sheets. He's letting out a laugh, the prettiest sound you've ever heard paired with that toothy grin of his. Three gentle kisses are placed right on top where his tongue just had been.

Reaching down to find his soft head of hair, you gently drag his face up away from your sensitive pussy. His nose bumping against yours and his stiff cock resting just above your clit. Much harder than before and you can only guess why. Yet, despite his obvious arousal and his desperate want to continue, he's still able to compose himself enough to ask.

Pressing the softest of kisses to your lips, fingers pushing strands of your hair out of the way. “Keep going?” Silently hoping that you answer in his favor. Pretty much over the moon when you're nodding, hips lifting to meet his. It's his turn to curse, teeth cutting into his lip to keep from being too loud.

Kind of hard with the way you were grinding against him. Even through your useless panties, his boxers, and pants, he could feel you. How warm you were, wet too. So sure that his fingers would slip right in. How many would you actually be able to take? Just one? Two? Maybe three?

Had to be at least three if you expected to take his dick after. Never one to brag, but Jungkook was a decent size. Thick in the places that it mattered most, long enough to boost his confidence. Definitely took pride in the way your eyes would go wide when seeing it. Were you thinking about it too? Him fucking you.

“Yn, fuck.” He's hissing through clenched teeth, only now noticing the work you've done at the front of his pants. Buttons undone and fly wide open, your warm hand down the front of his briefs to fish out his throbbing length. It only grows harder in your soft grip, twitching at the brush of cool air.

It takes two of your small hands to cover him, the pink mushroom tip peaking out from your closed fists. Hands twisting in opposite directions and he doesn't even hesitate to fuck into the hole you've created. Eyes fluttering as breathy moans fall from his lips, heavy balls slapping against your covered pussy.

Jungkook's got a firm grip on your breast, the other hand clutching the bunched up fabric of your dress. Head bowed as he watches his cock disappear and reappear between your hands. He has no shame in the fact he's imagining it's you he's fucking. That he's being squeezed by the tightness of your walls. Imagining that you're reaching your limit too, instead of him selfishly getting his release. Every single time.

He loses it when you're sitting up, spitting into the palm of your hand to create a much wetter slip for his cock. Hands tightening around him and moving at a much faster pace. He's gasping and groaning, fucking forward as if he's buried inside of you. And you're close too, it makes him feel a lot better about the loud way he spills his load onto your stomach.

Warm and sticky against your clammy skin, you're lifting a hand off of him to dip your fingers into the mess. He watches the way you drag through it, bringing your index finger up to your mouth. “Oh, God.” He groans, earning a pretty giggle from you. His mouth is on yours again within an instant, fingers tangling in your hair as his tongue rolls around the inside of your mouth.

Tasting himself on your tongue and that just makes him want you more. “Please let me taste you.” His eyes still feel heavy and his body too, but that's the least bit of his concern. He wants to make you feel good. It's only fair, with the way you're constantly catering to him. You deserved it. “Please,”

Not even worried about sounding desperate or even whiny, he just wants you. He wants you to want him. And you do. Have wanted him since the first time you met him if you're honest. Tonight all of that was only amplified, a mixture of the alcohol and the realization of how quickly you had fallen for him.

Didn't even realize it was happening until it was done. Jungkook was quickly becoming it for you. Not a day went by where he wasn't on your mind, yearning to see him, to talk to him, to kiss him. Needy in ways that were nearly foreign to you. Always so good at keeping it together, but when it came to him you just couldn't.

And you didn't really want to either.

“Okay,” His face breaks into this huge smile and you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips. “Okay?” He has to check, make sure that he's hearing you right. And when the sound of your laugh fills his ears, followed by another confirmation he's almost ready to jump for joy.

Springing up, he's shrugging his shirt off. Wiping the drying cum from your stomach as a true gentleman would. Tossing the dirty fabric to the side, he's shifting to lay on his back before you're stopping him. “Take this one off too,” Reaching for the sleeve of his undershirt and he doesn't waste a moment before tugging it over his head and tossing it to the side.

He's moving to lay on his back before you're allowed the proper time to admire his well worked on chest. The ripples in his stomach that can only be accomplished with hours upon hours in the gym. His head lifts to find you sat up in the same spot, this quizzical look on his face which you return with a laugh.

“Come sit on my face,” He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, reaching out for your wrist, to gently drag you toward him. Your eyes are saucers, cheeks flushed at the thought of being sat up on him like that. “Why?” It's obvious to the both of you why, but you wait for his answer anyway.

His shoulders lift in a slight shrug, lips stretching into a slow sexy smile. “I've always wanted you to sit on my face,” He's so calm about it too as if he didn't just admit to the dirty secret thoughts that bounce around his head when the two of you are alone. You're so inclined to give this man whatever he wants that you don't bother to fight it anymore, simply lifting yourself up to stand over his head.

Taking in the way he's smiling up at you like a kid on Christmas, arms looped around your legs to help you lower yourself onto him. The tips of his fingers latch onto the waistband of your panties, tugging them far enough down your legs so he's getting a good look at your bare pussy.

Lips glistening with your arousal, slightly puffy from the bit of stimulation. There's a small patch a hair above it, trimmed into a neat triangle. Almost like an arrow saying: Jungkook's mouth goes here. And he's forever one to follow a sign. With his arms looped around your thighs, he's lowering you comfortably over him. He lands an open-mouthed kiss on your clit, using the grip he holds on your thighs to hold your body still.

Gasping, your hips jerk, body lunging forward to brace yourself on his stomach. “Fucking cute,” He murmurs into your pussy, head tilting to the side so his tongue can reach deeper inside of you. Paying close attention to the sounds of your whines to make sure that you're enjoying yourself just as much as he was.

Much sweeter than he had thought, arousal dripping down the sides of his lips. You've got a tight grip in his hair, hips moving in stuttered thrusts against his mouth. A hand pressed onto his stomach, nails scraping against the skin. He's cautious with introducing his fingers to the mix, teasing your hole slowly before he's pushing one in. Cock stiffening at the loud wail that leaves your lips, legs spreading wider for him.

It's never felt this good. Not when you're alone with your own hand down there. His is much longer, thicker. Reaching deeper inside than you ever could. With lips latched around your clit and a single finger fucking inside of you, Jungkook's pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven. The sounds of your moans being the welcome bell.

His tongue moving around your clit in quick circles and he swears he feels your walls clench around his fingers. So wound up, it's not long before you're nearing your end. And he takes the chance by pushing another finger alongside the first one, much tighter and harder to move but the sound that leaves your lips eggs him on.

“Shit, baby...” He pants against you, the warmth of your hand around his shaft making him lose focus. You stroke him lazily, barely able to keep your head up with the way he's making you feel. But you manage, tongue poking out to roll against the tip. His whines vibrate against your pussy and throughout your entire body, forcing an involuntary roll of your hips.

Fingers plunging deeper inside of you as his hips lift, cock brushing against your lips at the same time he's curling his fingers. Pressing against the rough patch that has you spiraling out of control, hips bucking against his face and grip tightening in his hair. “Jungkook, fuck! I'm...” Pretty much delirious at this point because he has no interest in letting up, determined to knock you over the edge if it's the last thing he does.

A string of curses leaves your lips. Sloppy kisses landing on his length, a failed attempt to muffle them. All at once you're feeling pressure build and snap in the pit of your stomach, a wave of heat washing over you. Your legs shake on either side of his head, loud cries of his name and incoherent sentences falling from your lips.

Jungkook holds you steady through all of it, the movement of his tongue slowly as you come down. Lips puckering to plant a gentle kiss to your lips, just as your body is falling limp against his. Slowly pulling his fingers from inside of you, he doesn't waste a moment with sucking your juices from them, humming contently at the taste.

“So sweet,”

Shifting in his hold, you move to sit on his lap. His nose, mouth, and chin are shiny with your arousal, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded, hair a knotted mess. He looks absolutely fucked out and it's so hot. Lowering yourself, your mouth is finding his, tongue plunging into his mouth as you lower your body. The tip of his cock nudging against your clit, forcing a moan from your lips.

All it would take is a certain angle of your hips and he'd be sinking inside of you. Stealing away your virginity with a single thrust of his hips. You wanted that so bad. With him. Only him. “Jungkook.” Sighing his name out, his cock twitches between your legs. And from the way his eyes go wide, you can tell he's just noticed how close you actually were.

“I want you to fuck me. Please, Kookie,” There's slight whine in your voice, but you don't care how desperate you sound. You've never wanted something this bad. Felt it in your chest, your stomach, your core. You wanted him.

He doesn't say anything for a while, eyes scanning over your features for a little longer than you'd like. Before he's letting out a soft sigh, his hand reaching up to push his hair back on his head. Sitting up with you in his lap, his hand lifting to wipe at the wetness around his lips. “Fuck, princess. Not tonight. Not yet,” Two large hands set on your shoulders, he's offering up an apologetic smile.

A pout is already forming on your lips. You can't help it, your brows just seem to automatically furrow and your lip pushes out. “Why not?” His hand is lifting to pat your hair, head tilting up to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Because, when I fuck you... I'm gonna fuck you.” You'd think he was explaining the cuteness of puppies with the way he was looking at you. The tone he was using. “And you've been drinking. I need to make sure you remember every second,” His fingers rub against your scalp lightly before he's going in for another kiss.

Not even a moment is granted for the sting of rejection to settle in. The moment he's pulling away and gently nudging you off of his lap to redress, there's a loud knock on the door and you're becoming all too aware of the party that was still going on downstairs. A loud crash follows the knock and you can hear shouts from two very familiar voices.

And then another, much harder knock. Joon's voice sounding from the other side. Hurriedly explaining all the commotion going on downstairs.

“Hoseok and Yoongi are fighting!”

— known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life… rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you… forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

⤪ masterlist ⤨

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

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stuff-from-the-void-matron · 4 years ago

Text

Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (3)

(c!technoblade x fem!reader)

(some people liked chapter 2 so here’s chapter 3. whether or not there’s a chapter 4 is dependent on if this one gets any comments/reblogs.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re not exactly sure when your plans for a house shifted from ‘maybe a two story house’ into ‘some kinda roman temple/shrine type building’ instead.

Probably after the third time you had to tear down what you were building because it just didn’t look right. You’d initially not been able to go anywhere with the white quartz (you’d made a base but it looked stupid so you’d tossed it) so you’d switched it with a birch wood. That was where the problems started. First you’d tried your hand at making a cute little cottagecore house, but it just didn’t look cute to you and instead came out kinda frumpy? So you scrapped it, even though it pained you.

“Hours wasted.”

Then you tried making another house, this one taller and with dark wood. But it ended up looking like some kind of Viking home, no matter how much you tweaked it, which totally clashed with the vibrant floral scenery around you. It would work better in a snowy biome. So you’d scrapped that one too, none too happy either.

“Why do I suck?”

Then you’d tried your hand at making a cute mushroom house! But…. it was awful. No matter what you did it just didn’t look right?? You tried making the stem ‘natural’ like it would look in minecraft but then it looked too artificial to you. Then you tried making it look more normal but then it just ended up looking wonky. Long story short.. you hated it. You scrapped it, maybe a little more angry than the previous two times. That was when you’d gone back to the white quartz blocks.

And you started with a huge square, then that sorta morphed into a circle. Or as ‘circular’ as this world’s building blocks could get. Then it just sorta.. went from there? Before you knew it you had a circular white temple/shrine with a domed and tiered ceiling and four tall stained glass windows with star and sky designs. You’d gotten into the construction as it had begun to be more fun. You’d even hung lanterns by chains from the ceiling in symmetrical points and it gave the whole place a nice vibe you think. Especially when it started raining outside.

Once it was all done to your satisfaction you just sat in the middle of the quartz floor and gazed up at the gently swaying lanterns. You’re glad you’d ended up with this place, it looks pretty and has a calm vibe you can resonate with.

It would be dawn soon so you decided since you were done you’d go to bed since you had nothing else to do at the moment. Or well that had been the plan until you placed down your bed and couldn’t help but notice how utterly ridiculous a single bed in the corner of this huge temple looked. It actually made you snort before deciding then and there you needed a bed that somewhat matched the temple aesthetic you guessed you were going for now.

-0-

You ended up making this huge canopy bed with curtains and a platform you had to walk up a step to get to the three beds you’d put on it to look right. Under normal circumstances you’d not like such an overly lavish bed but it certainly fit the almost regal aesthetic your new temple home had. Which was just fine you supposed, it’s not like you were opposed to it. Just not what you’d planned to do from the get go.

Only problem now was.. the place still looked weirdly empty of life. Like one of those barren ‘minimalism’ nightmare homes rich people get off to. So you went through the inventory and started looking for stuff to decorate with. On the wall to the left of the entrance you set up an area for a brewing stand and cauldron as well as an ender chest, mostly just because it looked cool with the purple particles. You also hung up some item frames on the wall by the quartz counters you set up and picked out a bunch of pretty colored potions to hang in them.

Then on the opposite wall you made a little library with an alcove in the middle for an enchantment table. With a lantern on top of the bookshelf next to the crafting table and clay pots of flowers on the uppermost bookshelves to give the area a nicer look. You even added some fluffy carpet in front of the area to enhance the comfiness. And when you went over to the front door and then turned to look at the whole space you smiled because it really did look good. Larger than you’d intended, sure, but also very comfy now too.

You think you’re done with the inside until you look up at the bare walls between the stained glass windows. They were a little… naked. So you tried hanging up some paintings but… they looked terrible. The ‘round’ angle of the windows kept the options for what paintings you could put up pretty narrow. So you forgot that idea and instead tried putting up item frames! But you put some up and disliked it almost immediately. It felt way too busy so you got rid of those too.

You were getting tired of decorating so you just grabbed a random banner (purple because why not?) and then you grabbed a handful of different colored dyes before pulling out a loom. You tried a bunch of different designs, threw out most of them because they either ended up with ugly clashing colors or looking way too busy. But you finally settled on one that was a purple banner with an orange gradient coming up from the bottom and finally a gold sun right in the middle. It looked very pretty, like a sunset!

Once you were happy you hung a couple inside then on a whim you even hung a couple outside your door on either side. It made the outside look prettier in your opinion so once you were done (for real this time) you went and just flopped into bed, not feeling more than a touch tired but with nothing else to do at the moment. So you snuggled into your big cozy bed and drifted off to sleep~

-0-

Days passed since you built your home and you kept up work around the village, planting bamboo and berry bushes in a wall around it in a circle as a form of defense against the Illagers. They were kinda jerks and seemed to only want to kill villagers. Which wasn’t cool. And yeah you could have dug a moat or pit around it instead you guessed but you didn’t want any of the villagers falling in and you felt like they would…

So a wall of bamboo and prickly berry bushes it was. And it works! And looks dope. So win/win.

And it was as you were on your way to put some lights at the bottoms of the ponds and rivers that you noticed it from the corner of your eye. One of your sunset banners! But it was hanging up outside of the weaponsmith’s place instead of on your temple home where you knew you left it. But then you noticed another one hanging up outside the stonemason’s workshop…

You look over at your home up on the hill and see your banners still in place. And you know none of them trudged all the way up there just to steal one from the inside so you decide to investigate more in the village. And the further you walk in the more banners with your pattern on them you see. Actually every building you pass has at least one hung up somewhere near the door. You blinked before chuckling a little and thinking to yourself,

‘Oh! They all must have seen the banner I made and liked it! So they made their own to hang up. That’s actually pretty cute. I’m glad they like it.’

You were blissfully ignorant to the fact that the villagers have started to see you as their saint of sorts. Their goddess of prosperity and kindness. Without whom they would still be lost and living in pathetic huts and with no drive to acquire a skill and better themselves. They honestly look back on those times as such a dark period of their lives. When they were ignorant of their own abilities without your blessing to guide them. They owed you their lives and they wanted to show their thanks to you.

So when they saw you put up your sunset banners on your temple they quickly went to the shepherd and asked him to make them some just like it! And the shepherd, with his skill being a master thanks to your wonderful trading help, was easily able to craft such banners. Every villager had at least one by the time the sun was going down, all of them proudly being hung on the outsides of their homes and work buildings to show their allegiance to you!

But it wouldn’t stop there. The villagers wanted to give back even a fraction of what you have given to them.

-0-

In the following weeks you definitely noticed the villagers acting… odd. It started small at first, with them each coming to you and giving you gifts. The shepherd gave you a pair of blankets that were beautifully crocheted with this fluffy wool yarn, one that’d been dyed a soft baby pink while the other was a soothing sea foam color. You thanked him with a smile three times over and he seemed endlessly happy you liked them. You took them home and laid them across your bed and liked the pop of color they provided your space.

Though after that the farmer and leatherworker both met you at the entrance to your temple and each gifted you some things they thought you’d like. The farmer happily handed over a full basket of freshly baked bread along with another basket containing a bushel of golden carrots and almost a full melon’s worth of glistering melon slices. While the leatherworker offered up a pair of dainty leather sandals that looked like they would lace up your legs to just below your knees. And also what looked like a prettily crafted leather utility belt! It had lotus details and golden studs and buckles on the front and back. And one large pocket, one medium zipper pocket, and two smaller pockets. You loved all of their gifts and thanked them both over and over while safely putting the food away (and maybe eating some bread right then) and putting the slippers and belt on.

You were beyond grateful and thought that was the end of that.

You… were wrong.

-0-

As the days turned into weeks you were lavished with more and more offerings. It took you a while to realize that’s what they were; offerings. You got a little uncomfortable with all the gifts after a bit but when you started to refuse them the villagers looked so sad so you began to accept them again. Especially after they tried to make ‘better’ stuff for you after your initial refusal, under the impression the last ones weren’t good enough for you or something. It started to get hard to take in all the gifts, because sometimes you weren’t available in the village (you still liked to explore) or because you were working on something and they couldn’t reach you. So as a solution you set up a double chest outside your temple for them to put the gifts in.

They eagerly adapted to that and each night you’d clean out the chest, putting away practical gifts and discreetly getting rid of ones you had WAY too many of. Like the food. You had a full double chest of food and you didn’t need anymore, but saying so would probably hurt their feelings. So this was the easiest way. Plus a lot of the gifts you actually DID like. Like the sandals, hip pocket belt, and the pretty white dress you were currently wearing. The under part of it was just a simple white sleeveless mini dress that went above your knees (you’re not sure it was that shirt when you first tried it on..) and the over part of the dress was a sheer white maxi dress with loose ruffled sleeved that hung off your shoulders, and a slit on each side that helped with ease of movement.

You’d taken to wearing the dress, the hip pocket belt, and sandals every day. They were all comfortable and looked pretty good on you now that you think about it. Not to mention the fabric was light and breathable too, which helped keep you from getting too hot. You’re not sure what kind of fabric it’s made of, but whatever it is it’s light enough to not make you sweat but it’s also heavy enough to keep you from getting cold when it’s windy. Regardless, it’s your go-to outfit these days.

But aside from the offerings and stuff, you had to sit down and really examine your current position. You really took the time to pay attention to how the villagers were treating you. And you eventually came to the conclusion that they were treating you like some kind of saint or deity. They gave you the best of their wares as offerings, they took on your banner as their own (presumably as a show of loyalty), and they almost seemed to worship the ground you walked on. This isn’t even mentioning the statues that they’d put up of you… Like, they were good! Very well done and made of polished white quartz but.. it was still strange. Though like everything else you can’t say you weren’t getting used to it all.

You sighed and rolled with it.

-0-

You realized one day you’d never been to the Nether. And you wondered if the rules here (like mobs not bothering you) was also true there? You couldn’t deny you were sorta excited to go see, but also scared. You HATED the freaking Hoglins when you played Minecraft before this place. They were always so aggressive and you can’t count how many times they’d killed you, the bastards. But your curiosity won out over your anxiety so you grabbed the enchanted diamond pickaxe you’d been given and then paused while grabbing a stack of gold bars.

“Wait I need to wear gold right? Or the Piglins will be all mad,” you said as you grabbed a gold helmet from your inventory.

You thoughtlessly went to put it on but jerked the helmet back when it clanged against something hard. Something hard that made you wince as a small shock of pain went through your skull. A curse left your lips as you asked out loud what the fuck THAT was about. You were in the middle of trying to come up with an explanation when you reached up with your free hand and flinched when it came into contact with something on your head. Something that 200% was NOT your hair or skull. Panic bubbled inside you and your stomach sank into your feet as you whipped the gold helmet up to look into its polished surface to see yourself.

Horns? Little blunt horns… On your head.

With a shaky hand you reached up, sort of hoping this was just a dream. But when your fingertips brushed against the soft velvety texture of the horns your breathing grew faster and you pulled your hand away like you’d been burned. You dropped the helmet, not even hearing it clatter against the floor as you stumbled back, nearly tripping over the step that led up to the platform your bed was on, but you somehow managed to get to the bed and sit down.

Before you knew it you’d burst into tears and buried your face into your hands, sobbing and unable to cope with this new fuckery.

You’ve had to deal with so much weird insane shit since ending up here, wherever the fuck HERE was. You were honestly so tired. You’ve done your best to stay calm, stay sane, and just keep going. And for the most part you have! You focused on surviving, building, and dealing with the villagers. You’d probably feel silly for breaking down over some dumb horns later, especially after you’d barely batted an eye over your weird ears, teeth, and EYES. But the breakdown was probably more to do with life deciding to give you another slice of bullshit despite your overflowing plate. At least that’s what the logical part of your mind was thinking.

But the illogical part, the emotional part, was just so done. So you cried and cried and cried your very soul out until no sound was leaving you anymore. And then, once you were cried out and exhausted you weakly crawled onto the pillows and just passed out.

You’d deal with this new shit later.

-0-

Far on the outskirts of the opposite side of the village from your temple a young boy with golden hair stumbled across the entrance to said village.

He’d never seen this village before and was curious. He’d have gladly stormed in and started going through villager chests for loot but it was getting close to dusk and his older brother said he needed to get back asap. Now usually he’d shrug off his brother’s bossy nature but he’d sounded worried so he decided to hurry and get back before it got too late.

But before he turned and left he marked down this village’s coordinates so he could get back to it later..

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

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neo-shitty · 4 years ago

Text

all the muggle things. — c.s

description. in which you and san spent the rest of your days after hogwarts getting the muggle experience.

pairings. slytherin!choi san x gender-neutral (wizard) reader (yes, this fic is house friendly)

genre. harry potter/hogwarts!au, fluff

warnings. mentions of injury.

word count. 1.6k

writer’s notes. i don’t know why i never thought of writing a harry potter-inspired au before! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for ateez. i hope this didn’t turn out so bad!

inspired by option #1 (roommates au) + prompt #36 from this list (given by @kathyrncapp835)+ prompt #46 from @ficscafe‘s dialogue prompt event (given by @meaningfulmess). prompt lines are bolded.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ TERMINOLOGY GUIDE :: for the muggles, explained and simplified by yours truly

Muggle - someone who isn’t able to use magic / non-wizard

Lumos - spell that makes the tip of a wizard’s wand light up

Quidditch - a game for wizards that involves flying on brooms and shooting balls through hoops, basically basketball but more complex because there are three hoops and someone’s trying to catch an ‘i-am-speed’ ball that dictates the fate of the game in the end

Sectumsempra - a spell that lacerates the opponent

Wizarding War - the war between Voldemort’s side and Harry’s

Dark Mark - Voldermort’s mark

Nox - counter spell to Lumos that switches the wand’s light off

You tried your best to peer your eyes open when you heard the front door slam shut. You groaned, infuriated at how such simple tasks like breathing and opening your eyes required extra effort whenever you were sick. But getting sick was merely a consequence of your own actions, so you really didn’t have anyone else to blame but yourself.

You managed to open one eye, fighting back the heavy eyelid that threatened to shut and you searched the room for other movements besides your own.

“It’s 2AM, go back to sleep,” a voice said. Soon, it’s owner emerged from the shadows of the doorway.

Dressed in his all-black work uniform was San. His whole figure blended into the background too well that it almost seemed like he’d apparated back to your place. But with the faint sound of his footfalls, you concluded that he used the muggle way in.

You turned your head. You considered turning your whole body but everything felt sore and heavy. Plus, you were content with the way the comforter was wrapped around you—which was rare, even on better days. You watched San pass by the living room before heading to the kitchen. Though you couldn’t see him from the living room couch, you could see the shadow casted on the floorboards by the kitchen light he switched on. It danced as he moved around, probably to get a late night snack before heading to bed. You could hear him uttering hushed incantations followed by the faint clattering of kitchen metals.

“I’m glad you didn’t burn the house down while I was gone,” he said from the kitchen.

A smile crept up to your lips at his statement. You opened your mouth to utter a small thank you but you could only manage a whisper. You weren’t even sure if he even heard it from that far.

Moments later, he reappeared by the kitchen doorway. “But you were cutting it a bit too close though,” he continued, clutching a frying pan in his right hand.

The pan—originally gray—was now blackened from the mishap earlier. You had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking your own dinner, only waking up to the smell of burnt meat. The scent had been that thick that it managed to seep through your clogged nostrils. It was that bad. You ended up ordering take out instead. You forgot that you didn’t clean up the evidence.

A croaky laugh escaped your lips as you recalled the accident. San only shook his head, disappearing back into the kitchen to put the pan back to the sink. When he came back, he had two cups in hand. He walked over to set both down on their respective coasters on the glass center table of your living room. When he reached over to turn the lights on you stopped him.

“Don’t turn the lights on,” you said, your voice barely audible but he hears it, stopping before the lamp fully on. “They’re too bright. It’ll give me another headache.”

You see his silhouette nod. You could hear him flipping his coat around, shuffling to find something. You didn’t know what he was searching for exactly and you opted to ask him. But you soon find out what it was when you hear him whisper.

“Lumos.”

Where San stood, an orb of light began to glow. You soon realized that the light came from the tip of a stick. He was holding the fir wand in his hand, controlling its brightness until it was just right. Soon, it illuminated the room with a faint light—bright enough for you to see outlines of the room and the furniture scattered but not bright enough to make your eyes water like the lamps did.

He walked over to where you were before leaving his hand outstretched. “Sit up to drink your leaf water,” he said, earning a chuckle from you.

“Leaf water,” you repeated in a hoarse voice before taking his hand in yours, clutching it as you helped yourself up. You crossed your legs, tucking each foot beneath the opposite leg in order to give room on the couch for San to sit.

He handed you your cup of tea before he sat adjacent to you with his own cup in one hand and his wand in the other. Your eyes lingered on the wooden stick he gripped in his hand and on the fingers he had wrapped around it. All his rings were silver, representing the complementing color of his house, Slytherin. Or that was what you remembered of him back when you were still studying at Hogwarts.

You recalled when you used to watch him play Quidditch. He always kissed his rings first before putting on his gloves. He was deemed one of the more valuable players next to their seeker and you were just another student from another house. It wasn’t until your last school year at Hogwarts when you first interacted. The first time you both went beyond the occasional glances you shared whenever you were both in the same class.

Though your first time meeting wasn’t the best setting for the start of something new.

You were tending to one injury after another, working with the school nurse to cater every student who ran to the infirmary for aid or additional support in the form of potions. San had walked in alone and upon catching sight of his green sigil, your first instinct was to cast a spell to disarm him. But he didn’t have his wand raised, nor did he show any indications that he was about to attack. Your guard was up; he was still a Slytherin and fighting for the opposing side.

But he was still a student of the school with a bleeding arm. The rip on his upper sleeve revealed enough of his wound for your body to move on its own without much guidance. You led him to the nearest vacant bed, letting him standby until you got everything you needed from the cabinets.

In the time you were treating the wound, you learned that it took him half the war and a Sectumsempra to the arm (which was originally aimed at his chest; thankfully he was able to dodge it—barely) to realize that he was fighting for the wrong side of the Wizarding War. He was glad he was going to sit out the rest of it and vowed to—and you quote—“Never do stupid shit again.”.

The Dark Mark was still tattooed on his arm, a permanent reminder of decisions that did more harm than good both to him and to the people around him. The tattoo faded over time as the population of evil wizards gradually decreased.

Your brain was hot-wired to never trust a Slytherin. Or at least, it used to be.

Much to your surprise, San did keep his words that night at the infirmary. He spent his years after Hogwarts atoning for all the damage he’d caused, dedicating nearly all his hours into hunting the last of the witches and wizards who still practiced the Dark Arts.

San shifted beside you, leaning against the back of the couch before turning to look at you. He set his mug back down to its coaster before he pressed his palm against your forehead.

“I’m feeling a bit better, don’t worry. I think I’ll be fine by morning.”

“I still don’t get why you let yourself be sick when you can just—” he flicked his wand, “—it away.”

You set your own mug down after taking a sip, only noticing then that he pulled out the matching Hogwarts house coasters. His furrowed expression softened when you held his hand, peeling it off your forehead before sandwiching it between your cold ones.

“I’m trying to experience muggle living,” you answered.

Slytherins normally weren’t the type who liked involving themselves with muggle things, more so with the muggle way of living. But San wasn’t always like other Slytherins. Cheesy, you thought. But it was a fact.

You held his stare when his eyes landed on yours. You knew his mind was brewing some sort of egoistic line or anything short yet clever to say. But you were faster.

“You did well today,” you told him, drawing random shapes and symbols on the back of his palm.

Even after hearing it everyday for the past few years, San’s heart still warmed upon hearing the words leave your lips.

You said it the first time at the infirmary. At first, you were unsure if you were saying it to yourself as he heard you utter it after you patched him up. Later that day, you reassured him that it was meant for him. San, at the time, wasn’t too keen on accepting it. Nothing about what he did that day was worth the praise. But he soon realized you were referring to his decision to right his mistakes instead of staying ignorant.

You haven’t stopped saying it since then. The phrase became more of a part of your routine over time but it still held the same value as the first time you ever said it. You still smiled softly after saying it and you still looked at him fondly like you were genuinely proud of it. San was trained to easily catch whenever people lied—be it in the form of speaking or in acting. But he never found any trace of ingenuity whenever it came to you.

Somehow, that was enough to convince him that he could still make up for mistakes made in the past. It wasn’t too late yet.

You catch the moment the corner of his lips curved up into a smile. One sly finger up, you were ready to—once again—poke the dimple on the side of his mouth.

He hated that. But if he were to be honest, he could never really hate anything you did. One ‘Nox’ and a flick of his wand later, the light on the tip of his wand disappeared—plunging the both of you into complete darkness before your finger could even touch his skin.

“I hate you,” you muttered under your breath, drawing your hand back and crossing them over your chest.

You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you could tell the smirk from his tone, “Of course you do.”

#san scenarios #san fluff #san blurbs #ficscafe dpe #ficscafe #san #kwritersworldnet #kpopscape #san x reader #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #san imagines #ok g what else do i tag #toff.writes

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kithtaehyung · 4 years ago

Text

Room 3 | PJM

summary: it’s just another normal day for you at the wellness center until it suddenly isn’t. note: standalone for now! part 2 is semi-written but no solid plans atm. note 2 (june 7th, 2021): this will be revamped in the future! i really enjoyed this premise so i won’t get rid of it completely. pairing: idol!jimin x massage therapist!reader genre: fluff word count: 9,188

Thirteen.

The sidewalk underneath your feet has thirteen cracks in the little square you stand in. Sliding a small rock into one of them provides you with something to do until you hear the squeaking, screeching brakes of a bus struggling to a stop in front of you.

You adjust the strap on your shoulder as the doors open with a hydraulic hiss, and you give the driver a small smile before finding a place to stand. There aren’t many people commuting today, so it’s a pleasant surprise that you get to sit down for a change.

It was just another day in your life. You got up this morning and did your routine, listened to your wake up music on repeat, and checked that you had your wallet, phone, keys, and earphones before heading down to the bus stop. The very same earphones are still on as you now have your library on shuffle, and you hum along to the “na na na’s” of the current tune.

Living in Seoul for about a year now, you were pretty settled in. The people were accommodating, the quality of life was much better than where you were before, and you felt like you could live here for the rest of your days. It was insanely tough at first, but the initial culture shock and feeling of loneliness lessened as you made friends and befriended coworkers. You don’t have many people close to you here, but you can count on the ones that are.

You turn your head to gaze out the windows. Shimmering glass buildings tower over you, shops and street signs whiz by, and people look like they’re walking in slow motion as you follow them with your eyes. Blips of pastels and bold colors mingle together and you look down to observe your own monochrome uniform. For the place you worked at, you didn’t expect the clothes to look luxurious, but they’re actually designed very well. And they’re soft.

That’s enough for you.

Your stop is next, so you hook your arm around the nearest pole to prep. The steel has a coldness that seeps into your sleeve, but your only thought is wondering what you should eat for lunch.

Why do you feel so tense?

The sign right above you emits a sense of relaxation, but there’s a tightness in your shoulders. Odd. You lock your phone with one hand and grip the strap of your pack with the other before taking a deep breath. You count down from three before letting it out.

The hiss of your exhale mingles with the standard sounds of the city, and you concentrate on the flow of life both inside your body and the environment around you. You did this often when you felt out of place, and it served to recalibrate you and your thoughts. Storing your phone away, you make your way inside the frosted glass doors.

Working at one of Seoul’s prestigious wellness centers was definitely something you were proud of. If there was one thing you’ve wanted for years, it was for a way for you to massage yourself. Everyone seemed to love your massages, but no one knew how to massage you. That is, until you came here. You’ve never experienced people knowing exactly where you were hurting and effectively working out all of those kinks during one session. It was magical.

What is even more magical is the fact that you joined the ranks of those same angels from above. You love them, and they love you.

“Good morning! I hate you!”

Well.

“Morning, Yoon,” you respond lowly as you take your earphones out and store them. “Love you, too.” As you walk around front reception, Yoon smiles at you and comments,

“No, really, I think you legitimately repulse me now.”

You shoot her a look of pure terror. “What the hell did I do?”

“Nothing,” she sighs, dropping her eyes to the papers in front of her.

In a state of panic, your mind speeds through any events that happened since the last time you saw her. Did you accidentally ignore her once? Look at her funny? Yoon was big on body language.

You didn’t realize you were still staring at her until she tapped the glass counter between you two. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know you’re nervous. I just thought jokes would help.”

What?

“I’m not nervous, just tense for some reason. Although, you definitely made it worse,” you admit, “I might need to take a longer break today and somehow get Jay to rub my shoulders. Maybe I can bribe him with samgy--”

“--Uhh, forget him; have you even checked your client list for this week? I’ll do anything if you switch your schedule with me.”

Double-what?

“Okay, now you’re just being weird,” you chuckle, “But also, no, I haven’t checked yet. It’s Monday!”

In a sing-song manner, Yoon warns, “You better check your schedule before I snatch it...”

You laugh again and wave her off, but her words only mess with your head. As you make your way to the back room, you fidget and check your phone for any notifications you missed between when you exited the bus and now. You don’t know what you expected: still nothing.

As if you feel the weight of eyes on you, you glance up and notice some people are giving you looks.

What in the hell is going on? It’s 7am on a Monday and therefore way too early for people to be this upset with you. Yoon may have said she was joking, but by the looks of everyone else...

A hand claps onto your shoulder, causing you to yelp and feel like you rocket right into the ceiling. Only the hearty laugh beside you clues you in on who you were getting revenge on later.

“Geez, someone’s not looking forward to today.”

“You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Jay,” you seeth, hands rubbing your temples as you struggle to steady your heart rate. “Also, what’s so special about today? Yoon was being strange just a second ago, too.”

Your coworker looks at you like you have seven heads. “Okay, first off: if I had the amount of adrenaline in your body right now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. And second: you didn’t check your schedule yet?”

They didn’t know it, but they were going to be the death of you.

“No, I ha--It’s a Mon--you know what, I’m going to check now; you guys are killing me.” You leave Jay in a rush and race to the employee lounge. The anxiousness in your chest is bubbling over.

Jay’s on your heels, whispering loudly, “I can spoil it right now if you want!”

You respond in a low voice, “Don’t you have a client to see?”

“Nope!”

You round the corner and see the back room door is already open, so you power through and head straight for the docking table on the other side. Everyone working here has a personal tablet, and you unplug yours from the charging port. Pressing through the menus as quickly as the tablet allows, you feel a thin layer of sweat on your skin. Touch ID. Login. Main Menu. Scheduling. Weekly Outlook. Confidentiality Prompt.

Shit.

Confidentiality Prompts are for the therapists that have huge clients scheduled. They’re put in place for celebrities and business executives to have guaranteed privacy.

With a start, you wonder why the hell Yoon wanted your schedule. Everyone here is wary of high-profile people. It’s a whole different experience since they basically hold your life in their hands in each session. You recall a horror story that happened when you first started working there, and still don’t know where that employee ended up.

Your only problem is that you’ve never had to deal with this before. Jay, Yoon, and a bunch of the veterans have, but this is going to be your first.

“Damn, yours is longer than mine was,” Jay observes before you squeeze your tablet to your chest. “That looks intense.”

“Umm, snoopy much?” You shift your body away from him and speed read through the very long, very wordy window. When you hit Accept, another window pops up that you have to read through. This one is even more fine print. You suddenly realize something and dart your eyes up. “Wait, you got one, too?”

Jay nods and looks away, and he actually looks nervous. “Yeah, we all got them this time.”

Now that is alarming. This client must be something else.

Window after window comes up and you wonder if you should probably read these in earnest. It’s starting to genuinely scare you.

If this is that big of a deal…

You banish that thought from your mind as soon as it appears. Elephants would have to fall from the sky before you believe someone from that group is booking you here.

You hit Accept before you realize you didn’t actually read and instead mindlessly scrolled through the prompts. As the screen buffers, you bite your lip.

The screen goes back to normal and presents your schedule for today. Your coworkers are living their normal lives, putting their stuff in their lockers and getting materials ready for various sessions. Jay is being completely normal as he can’t stop laughing at your expression.

And your life is anything but normal anymore because elephants are dropping from the clouds and the words Monday, 8am, Park Jimin are staring you right in the face.

“You mean to tell me that you cleared your morning schedule just to see my reaction?”

Jay laughs in earnest. “Yes, and it was so worth it.”

You are failing to stop bouncing your leg as you wait at one of the tables in the employee lounge. There’s a cup of coffee in front of you, but you already know you aren’t going to drink a drop of it. You are about to be in close quarters with the equivalent of a royal family member, so coffee breath is out of the question.

Suddenly self-conscious, you ask, “Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

“I actually do. Let me grab it.”

As your friend gets up, you scrutinize the table in front of you to avoid peoples’ lingering stares. How everyone somehow knew your upcoming client before you did was a mystery, but you don’t really care enough at the moment to find out.

Jay hands you what you asked for and you thank him before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. After you brush your teeth like a madman, you check your face for discrepancies and sigh at your choice of almost no makeup today.

You can’t help but wonder if the thirteen cracks in the sidewalk are laughing at you at this very moment.

Checking your smart watch, you realize you have either the longest or shortest 30 minutes of your life left before your appointment with Jimin.

You huff out a laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. You refuse to believe this is real until you physically see him in the room. Confidentiality forms or not, the name Park Jimin or not, you still can’t wrap your head around the situation.

Speaking of the forms, you assume that they were printed out for company records as soon as you submitted yours to sign. You decide to head back to the front desk after throwing Jay his spare toothbrush, to which he responds with pure disgust.

It was like Yoon was waiting for you because as soon as you open the glass doors, she’s hounding you, “So what did you do in a past life? Did you save an emperor? Rescue a prophet?”

“I don’t know about a past life, but I did save a turtle when I was five.” You tap your fingers on the reception desk and stare at the orchids on the counter. “Or at least I thought I did. I probably just made his life harder. Can I see a copy of the forms I signed?”

“I’m gonna go with the saved prophet. Which one was it?”

“Yoon,” you beg, desperate as you glance at the abstract clock above her and see that you have 20 minutes left. A mere 20 minutes until he is supposed to arrive to check-in.

“Okay, okay! Hold on,” she chuckles and rolls her chair away from you and towards the printer. “By the way, if I wasn’t the one checking him in, I would’ve hijacked your entire day already.”

Her words are garbled since you are laser-focused on rubbing an orchid petal between your fingers. Its soft and supple touch is calming you, and just for a second, you are able to clear your thoughts.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when Yoon hands you the forms. The paper is still warm as you thank her and head towards the doors.

“Oh, wait,” Yoon calls behind you, and you turn to see her grabbing another small stack of papers. When she extends them over the counter, she explains, “I was waiting until you saw your schedule to hand these over. Read through them carefully.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, even more anxious than before.

Your heart jumps into your throat when you see what Yoon handed over. You don’t even remember the walk to the back lounge and to one of the secluded tables; all you can focus on are the papers in front of you. They look like they were written on and scanned before being sent over to the wellness center.

It’s Jimin’s handwriting.

You’ve seen his penmanship before. There is no mistaking the neat, determined strokes. Even the way he checked the boxes and circled the pain points on diagrams proves very... well, him. Any other uncertainty dissolves after you see his birthday filled in, as well.

This is really happening.

You gently slam the papers on the table and hunch over to commit the information to memory. Months and months of schooling have sharpened this ability of yours, and you are determined to imagine this as just another client you have to memorize.

Light to medium pressure. Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back. Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points. Facial area priority.

A trip to the countryside right at this very moment sounds like a fantastic idea.

Jay plops into the seat in front of you, and that thought bubble bursts. “This color on your face suits you. Reminds me of what’s-his-name, Edward.”

“How much time do I have,” you question, not even acknowledging him.

“Seven minutes.”

“Of course,” you mutter before standing, the irony not lost on you. “I’ll go prep now.”

You don’t see Jay waving you off. “If you survive, I’ll see you on the other side!”

A laugh escapes you. Personally, your only goal is to make it through five minutes. If you pass away after that, you would have no regrets.

You stand behind the reception doors with your tablet to your chest, staring at the wall across the way. The subtle wallpaper pattern is a great choice for this place, you decide.

Indescribable anxiousness and fear aside, you have a job to do. As long as you keep your outside actions professional, your inner turmoil can be whatever the hell it wants. You’ve been in this profession long enough and you know you’re ready to do this. You’ve seen the whole spectrum of human emotion in this line of work. No matter how well of a job you do, there are still people that are never happy. As long as you focus on keeping the client’s wellness and health in mind, you keep your consciousness clear.

Then again, you haven’t had to deal with a client like Park Jimin before, let alone a high executive or well-known actress.

A muffled “Good morning and welcome” reaches your ears and you push yourself off the wall. The frosted glass only allows you to see so much, but you can make out a few guys standing in the front area. Two are taller and only wearing dark clothes, and the other is a bit shorter. The latter is looking to be wearing a beanie, light colored top, and dark pants.

You can’t hear anyone talking other than Yoon, but suddenly the shorter one makes his way to your doors.

It’s him. You’re absolutely sure.

Steeling your resolve, you pull your side open. With a smile, you look straight at your client’s sunglasses-and-mask-clad face and greet him just like you would anyone else, “Good morning and welcome. Am I speaking to Mr. Park?”

He stills for a second before he nods.

“Nice to meet you. We’ll be in Room 3.”

Jimin bows to you slightly and whispers a thank you, and you follow him to your room. Your heart is rattling nonstop as you note the height difference between the two of you. It isn’t as bad as you thought it was.

The door to Room 3 is already open, and when Jimin enters you stop at the entrance.

You lied earlier. None of this feels real. He’s physically in the room, and you still don’t think this is happening.

You let Jimin put his bag down on the corner chair before gliding into the formal greeting, “Since this is our first session, please let me know if there’s anything you need. I did go over your forms, but if there was something that wasn’t specified, feel free to ask. I want to make sure all of your needs are met today.”

“Your name?”

You falter. “What?” Did he just...

Jimin takes off his sunglasses, and you feel all oxygen leave your body. He’s still wearing a mask, but you can see that his eyes are creased just a tad. “It wasn’t specified on the forms. Your name?”

A part of you just chalks this up to being standard Jimin behavior, but the other part of you wonders if he really didn’t know whom he was getting a massage from. Did Yoon not tell him? Check-in is supposed to confirm your specialist.

You also note that his voice is infinitely softer in person. TV and recordings did not do this man justice.

Keeping it professional is all you must do. You tell him your name, apologizing for not introducing yourself already. It’s also on your tablet, so you show him while you talk.

Jimin leans forward to read it and smiles again. “Ah. Pretty.”

Are your five minutes up? Can you pass away now? He’s a mere six feet away from you but it feels like his presence is engulfing you.

All that escapes you is a tiny thank you. “So, mhm,” you clear your throat and yell at yourself to get it together, “Go ahead and undress down to your comfort level and lie down on the bed with the sheet on top of you. That remote there is connected to my tablet, so just take it off the charger and bring it to the bed. You can press the green button whenever you’re ready.”

Jimin looks towards the console table next to him and sees the white remote. It’s docked in a sleek charging port and stands out against the light wood. He nods, and you give him one last smile before reaching out and closing the door.

The only words your brain can process at the moment are not work appropriate, so you just go on autopilot to the employee lounge. You expected Jay or even Yoon to be chomping at your heels as soon as you left Jimin by himself, but neither of them are around. That was completely fine: employees aren’t allowed to divulge anything that goes on in client sessions unless it’s dangerous to either of you.

You help yourself to a cup of water and down it before pouring another. The fruit flavor for today is strawberry, and you watch the fruit and ice swirl around as you stir the big glass container. There are pastries and assorted breakfast foods calling your name in the clear cabinet next to you, but you refuse. Your adrenaline is hindering your appetite.

People are still giving you daggers for stares, but after seeing Jimin in person you really can’t blame them. Even when you couldn’t even see his face, you felt his presence. His aura filled up that entire room and he only spoke around ten words. It would be a lie to say that you aren’t intimidated. You can already count the number of times you almost bolted out of the room on two hands. But you made yourself proud: as long as you keep your outer actions calm, you can get through this. Your voice was fairly level for someone whose heart was bouncing out of their ribcage. In the end, you want to make him feel comfortable and safe. Emotions cannot exist right now.

Self-deprecation comes into play as you wonder if this is a huge mistake and if Jimin is already out the door to find a better therapist.

Oh, well. At least he said your name was pretty.

Your doubts are casted aside as your tablet dings.

Jimin’s ready for you.

When you enter the room, you can see that your client followed your instructions completely. You glance at the corner chair and see that he even folded his clothes and set his jewelry neatly on the thin, long table. Since Jimin can’t see you from his position, you allow a warm smile to grace your features.

You close the door as softly as you can. The way the room is designed, the clients lie down so that their head is opposite the doorway. It takes you a few steps until you reach the head of the bed. You gingerly take the remote from where Jimin placed it next to his neck and turn around to redock it, and start to dim the lights with your tablet. Per standard, you ask, “Mr. Park, is this okay, or would you like the lights lower?”

His voice is projecting straight towards the floor, but it still sounds so light, “This is good, but please, call me Jimin.”

That’s definitely not what you expected, but you are touched. You nod before realizing that he still can’t see you. “Do you have a music preference for today?”

“Whatever you prefer is fine.”

Jimin is being so agreeable that your nerves start to dissipate. You were expecting him to at least be a little particular at some things, but he is being really easy to work with. The atmosphere starts to feel safe enough for you to joke, “Well, it does depend on my mood, so for now I’ll play Standard Spa Chord Progression, No. 5 instead of No. 3.”

The small chuckle you hear melts your heart. “Ah, is that the one with the harp?”

“No, that’s Spa Concerto, No. 4. We don’t have that one in our library, but I think it’s terrible anyways.”

Jimin’s head lifts from the table in an earnest laugh, and you can’t help but laugh with him. It’s infectious.

You select a random song on your tablet, and you weren’t lying when you said it was standard. The song is less of a song and more like a bunch of reverberating chords in slow succession. That’s one thing you noticed about this place: modern tech but very outdated music. Get with the times! At least have some nice piano covers to choose from.

“Not having Spa Concerto, No. 4 may be a deal-breaker for me,” Jimin comments, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You’re still tapping on your tablet to get to his file, and you make your way back to the door. There’s a clear slot on each room’s door to hold employee tablets, and as soon as you store yours, you can finally start. “I don’t blame you, even though I think it’s awful, that one still topped the char--Oh, shit!”

You aren’t watching where you’re going, so you don’t see the shoes in your path. It’s so dim in the room and his shoes match the floor color but none of that matters because right now you are falling and you are falling fast. Your first instinct is to grab the table, but that would risk pulling the blanket off of Jimin and you would rather die than do that to him.

So, floor it is.

Your hand not holding the tablet breaks some of the fall, but your face definitely makes contact with the ground. You can feel the slight burn on your nose and hand, and a sharp lingering pain follows.

Okay, now can you pass away. Someone from the heavens can come claim you now.

Drowning in shame, you don’t help yourself off the floor right away. Not only were you breaking your rule and joking around, you also weren’t paying attention and now possibly ruined Park Jimin’s shoes.

You’ll look up good resigning practices later tonight. You have enough money saved up to make it a couple months without a job, you reckon.

When you finally lift yourself off the floor, you turn around and see Jimin pushed up on the table. His whole upper body is bare and twisted towards you, and this is the first time you see his entire face. It’s more beautiful in person, you conclude, even though it conveys nothing but concern right now. “Are you okay?”

You nod furiously and stand up completely. Your voice is shaky as you apologize, “I am so sorry. One moment.” Before checking yourself, you check your personal tablet. To say it was worth more than you isn’t that far of a reach. No scratches, though. Praise be.

“Don’t apologize… Did you trip on my shoes?”

Embarrassment washes over you as you nod, not looking at Jimin. Placing your tablet gingerly on the console table, you dust your uniform down and inspect your hands and feel your nose. Luckily, there’s no blood, only slight rug burns. If there was blood, you would have to postpone the appointment until you effectively sanitized. With what you have, you just need to go wash up.

Jimin is still watching you intently, which makes your face burn even more. What a mess. He’s probably second-guessing this whole thing.

You bow, feeling tears at the corners of your eyes. “Mr. Park, I am so sorry.”

“Jimin.”

“I’ll just need to clean my hands and then I promise we will start as soon as I get back. I know your time is valuable so I’ll make up for the minutes we lost.”

“I… Okay. Thank you.”

You make your way out of the room, still courteous enough to shut the door quietly. Rushing to the nearest sink, a small sob leaves your throat as you wring your hands under the water. Life is kind to you at this moment because no one is around. You would never live it down if someone saw you coming out of Jimin’s room crying.

After splashing water on your face and drying it, you take out a cotton pad from one of the glass containers on the counter. You press it onto your eyes, decreasing the evidence of your current state.

So much for making Jimin feel safe and comfortable. You’ve only made it awkward.

With a deep breath, you enter the room.

Jimin turns his head and puts it in the crook of his arm to look back at you. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t help you…”

You go over to his shoes and move them under the chair, wincing when you see visible tears on them. Guess you’re withdrawing a chunk of your savings to pay Park Jimin for damages.

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you state firmly, but soften, “But I’m really sorry about the shoes; I may have torn them. I can pay you back.”

You hear sheets shuffling, and when you face him, Jimin’s fully on one elbow and turned towards you. “No, please, don’t worry about those. I should’ve put them out of the way. I feel bad.”

“It’s definitely my fault,” you countered, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jimin uses your name, which stops you in your tracks. “Everything’s okay, I promise.”

You should feel many different things, like pride in getting to see this man in person, or happiness from him actually addressing you by name. But all you can think about in this moment is how disappointing you’ve been to another human being, and you sigh.

You nod, but still plan to pay him back. You know enough about designer brands to know those aren’t cheap, and they’re shoes you’ve seen him wearing a lot in photos.

“It’s okay to lie back down,” you say softly, unmoving.

Jimin searches your face one more time before settling back face-down on the table.

It’s a normal day at work, you tell yourself. Go through your routine.

Launching yourself into action, you move to the far end of the console table. Grabbing a bottle you’ve clutched so many times before that its label is wearing down, you uncap it and oil your hands and wrists. You also unstopper a bottle of lavender oil and pour a few drops into the nearby bamboo diffuser and start it.

You make your way to the head of the table and grab a rolling stool from a corner of the room. The wheels on your chair don’t make any noise, which you fixed up yourself. This day isn’t any different - it’s still silently gliding on the carpet. Plopping your devastated self onto the cushion, you scoot towards Jimin’s head. You’re about to place your hands onto his bare shoulders to start, but you whisper,

“It’s also okay if you want to cancel and reschedule with someone else, Mister--Um, Jimin.”

You can’t believe you just gave Park Jimin a way out of a whole 60 minutes with you. Where did this conviction and restraint come from? Is this going to be the regret of your entire lifetime?

After a long silence, Jimin answers with his face in the headrest, “If you call me Mister Jimin again, then I will.”

You huff out a laugh at his unexpected answer, and your shoulders finally relax. It seems like he’s still fine after everything that’s happened, and you thank any deity you can think of for this second chance.

Light to medium pressure. Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back. Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points. Facial area priority.

You aren’t a fan of light pressure, but you understand why people prefer it. Not everyone can handle the deep tissue or harder pressure massages.

Jimin’s shoulders are incredibly tense, though, so you feel bad that you’re limited in what you can do. You allow some medium pressure to the worst spots, and when you approach the insides of his shoulder blades you lessen the intensity.

Gliding your fingers back to the ridge between his neck and shoulders, you feel that his right is still tight. You use your left elbow to work that knot, careful to press even lighter than you would with your hands.

Jimin grunts, and you still. “Is that too much?”

“No, I like that.”

You keep that in mind as your hands travel over the rest of his upper back area. From time to time, you reapply the oil to allow for less friction. It lets your fingers slide deftly across muscles and quickly work any troublesome areas, which Jimin has a lot of.

It makes sense: you can’t even imagine the amount of pressure all of the boys were constantly dealing with. There was a lull in their activity recently, so you knew something was in the works. Between recording songs, shooting music videos, fulfilling their brand contracts, and whatever else they do, you’re surprised you don’t feel more knots under Jimin’s skin.

The soft chords of the next song float around the room, and you lose yourself in your movements. You can’t see his face, which makes it a lot easier. You worked through his whole upper body, neck, and upper arms area so naturally that you were admiring his wrist tattoo before remembering who you were massaging.

For the seven hundredth time that day, you cannot believe this is happening. You really hope Jimin does feel safe here despite your whirlwind of thoughts. Have you kept it professional enough? Neutral enough? He seemed to be fine with your joking earlier, and he didn’t seem upset about the shoes in the least.

But still… Maybe he was just tolerating you because it’s the same situation for him, different place and day. Putting yourself in his shoes, you would feel pity for you trying your best to accommodate him. The pressure over everyone everywhere you go had to be exhausting. It couldn’t ever be normal.

Your shoulders suddenly slump under the weight of what you feel for him.

And Jimin seems to notice. “Really, it’s okay about the shoes. Those were getting pretty worn anyways.”

You still. Of course he thought you were still fussing over the shoes and not over his life. His unending consideration was like a burning hearth: it made you feel so warm.

“Okay,” you respond softly, “I understand.”

“Good. If you worry about them again, I’m walking out barefoot,” Jimin says sternly, even though you know he’s kidding. “And don’t test me, I’ve done it before.”

Your words leave you before you think. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh?”

Jimin puts his hands on the table and you yelp, “Okay, okay, stop!”

He laughs and plops his arms back down flat. You lament as you still can see how his muscles bulge in your mind.

You shake your head and sigh before rolling to his left and softly taking his arm. His skin is so soft you don’t even need the oil, you notice. You work his forearm before moving down to his wrist and fingers. Thinking about Jimin’s threat, you are pretty curious. “Be honest: did that really happen?”

“It didn’t,” he responds immediately, “But I thought about it once. My shoes were killing my feet so I thought about walking without them until I found a shoe store.”

It sounds so childish to you that you chuckle. “Where was this,” you ask, completely intrigued now.

“Ah, I honestly can’t remember. I think somewhere in Europe.”

“...Did you just pick an entire continent because you couldn’t remember?”

“...There’s seven continents and one of them is Antarctica! Picking one out of six is easy.”

This man is something else. You finally finish off his right side, and you gingerly set his arm down on the table. With a mental pat on the back, you get ready for the next part of the routine. In your softest therapist voice, you instruct, “Okay, go ahead and turn over and slide down until your head is on the table.”

Jimin obeys right away, shifting over and moving down. The white sheet slips down his body a bit, and you diligently pull it up until it’s covering everything up to his neck. During this, you feel rather than see his eyes on you, so you don’t dare yourself to look.

You go back to your plethora of containers to re-oil, and roll your chair to the foot of the table. All that time, Jimin thankfully has his eyes closed.

You were equal parts dreading and looking forward to this part of the massage since his face was going to be visible. This way, you can’t escape the reality of the situation.

But you decided to follow the flow of the conversation. You learned the subtle nuances of human communication throughout your experiences: when people wanted to talk or stay quiet, if they were liking the conversation or not, etc. Jimin seems to be fine with talking despite your assumption that he was going to be quiet for the most part. It has definitely made this easier for you, though.

“I want to visit all seven continents one day,” you decide to admit.

“I do, too,” Jimin responds, eyes still closed. “How many do you have left?”

You start on his feet, working along the smooth skin.

“Uhh, well,” you whisper, “A good chunk. I’ve only been here and back where I’m from, and I just moved here around a year ago.”

After you tell Jimin where you were before, he sounds amazed, “You seem like you’ve lived here for so long. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He’s definitely being nice. You are just now getting decent at the language and customs, but there is still a lot you have to learn.

“But, I do want to start traveling again for a specific reason,” you divulge, sighing to yourself as you think yet again about your lofty dreams.

“Which reason is that,” Jimin asks, and you somehow know his eyes are open now.

Your own eyes betray you as you connect your gaze with his. “I want to experience different techniques in person.” You don’t know he can feel the fire behind your eyes. “There’s no better teacher than experience, at least to me. I know I’m good at what I do currently, but there’s so much out there that I want to learn and get better at.”

You debate whether to keep going or not. Jimin’s eyes are alight with curiosity, so you take that as your cue. It’s surreal that you get to talk about your dream with him of all people, so you strive to make it count. “Take music, for example: everyone agrees that music is healing, therapeutic. But, there’s so many genres, so many ways to create it. I see massage as the same way: therapeutic, but many different ways to make people feel better.”

Jimin is silent as he tears his gaze from you to look at the ceiling. You concentrate on his ankles, working them as delicately but effectively as you can. A part of you wants to keep talking, but you don’t want to push it. You may have said too much as it is.

The next song has soft chimes to accompany the rippling chords. Lavender wafts through the air and quells your nerves. You continue to Jimin’s lower legs and glide your fingers along the flow of his muscles. When you feel a break or disturbance, you stop and tend to it until you feel it’s balanced. After his lower legs are done, you move on to his thighs. You feel tightness all over, and you apply medium pressure to these areas because of how much muscle they contain.

Jimin’s legs are a work of art on the outside, but so chaotic on the inside. The chakra highways are disjointed, and you have worked through so many kinks in the roads. If you imagine yourself as someone walking down a path, you are stopping every 10 steps to smooth over a pothole or breakdown a hill in the way. You can’t see how this person can even walk, let alone perform on stage like this. All of them never cease to amaze you.

“Where would you start?”

Jimin’s sudden inquiry throws you. You swear he was silent for a good ten minutes. “What?”

His eyes are glued to the ceiling still. “Which places do you want to visit? Like, where would you go to learn?”

“Well…” You are almost too stunned to speak. He has been thinking about what you said this whole time? Aren’t there plenty of more important things he needs to be thinking about right now? “There’s this technique called amma that originates in Japan, and there’s an American technique called esalen that I want to learn, too. I think that one is from California.”

On a high from Park Jimin’s interest in your life, you ramble about a few more, your voice getting more animated the more you talk about different things. It can’t be helped; you’ve been passionate about traveling and learning for so long. You’ve just never been able to really try it since money was part of the equation. Or more so out of the equation. In addition, you didn’t really get to talk about it with anybody. No one’s actually asked. But somehow, Jimin did.

When you realize you actually stopped massaging his thigh, you look up in horror to apologize, “Oh, I am so sorry - I didn’t mean to stop.”

Jimin’s head is turned to the side, his hair falling into his eyes. The smile gracing his face is soft. “It’s okay,” he assures you, “I feel much better already anyways.”

Your cheeks flush before he even stops talking. “That’s good,” you whisper, “We’re almost done so I would hope so.”

“What!” Jimin’s eyes dart to the clock on the table. It’s already 8:50am.

That saddens you a lot more than it should.

“On second thought: I feel tense in my hand, I think you need to go back and redo it. Here.” He’s extending his right hand towards you as if to shake hands, and you laugh.

“Nice try, Jimin,” you say, “But I do need to work on your face for the last part. Close your eyes for me, please.”

He stares at you for a second before obeying. The smile from earlier makes a return.

You roll your chair back to the head of the bed and plop down. Jimin’s face is angelic even upside-down, and you pray to the heavens that you massage it perfectly.

When you start, you quip, “See? You’re so happy we’re almost done.”

“No, no!” Jimin laughs. “That’s not it. You just called me Jimin - it was nice.”

“Oh.” You swear steam is billowing from your head. How can he affect you so intensely? And how were you keeping yourself together?

With the resolve of a thousand emperors, maybe including one you probably did save in a past life, you steady your hands on his temples. Rubbing in delicate circles, you start the last segment.

Face massages are your favorite. Even the smallest movements are invigorating, and you feel very refreshed after one.

“When I come back, Spa Concerto, No. 4 better be available.”

You smile. There’s no way Jimin will be back, but you appreciate his friendly nature.

“It’s not even all that great, but I’ll let them know,” you play along. “I’m more of a piano person, though. There’s a lot of piano covers saved in my phone that are way better.”

Jimin’s eyes flash open at the same time he proclaims, “Ah, I love piano covers! Especially on rainy days.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, “I can listen to those all the time.”

Your heart drops like a stone as you glance at the clock and see your time is up. The hour absolutely flew by. Dropping your eyes back onto Jimin’s face, you take your hands off his cheeks and say, “Okay, that’s the end of our session today.” You get up to dry your hands and lower arms with a cloth while going over the last steps, “I’ll leave you to get dressed, and I’ll come back to the room to give you water and some stretch and wellness recommendations moving forward. Just press the green button on the remote when you’re ready, like last time.”

When you turn back to him, Jimin’s fully propped up with his hands behind him. The blanket over him is draped across his body, just enough to cover his ribs. He’s smiling right at you as he speaks, “Thank you. You’re really good.”

You bow in thanks, face lighting up like wildfire. “You were great, too,” you comment in return, immediately cringing inside. “I’ll be back when you’re ready for me.”

Right after you leave clients is when you start filling out their evaluation and wellness recommendations on your tablet. You just worked on them, so the memories are fresh. The forms are a mix of multiple choice and fill-in, and you recommend some specific stretches and deeper pressure for Jimin.

This time, Jay is in the employee lounge when you come in to wait. His legs uncross and he pops up from one of the modern loveseats that are just as firm as they look. “She’s alive!”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the flush in your cheeks. “I’m here, but barely,” you chuckle, your tablet dangling in your hand by your side, “I still can’t believe that actually happened.”

Jay leans in so that no one can hear what he has to say, which makes you suspicious since there’s no one around you. In a low voice, he reveals, “Yoon and I made a bet.”

“Wonderful,” you drawl, “I’m gonna walk away now.” You can already tell this is one-hundred percent not in your favor.

“No, wait!” His whisper is loud. He bounces after you to the water and food station. While you fix yourself a cup, he continues, “Yoon thinks you’ll get done with the appointment unscathed, but I think you’ll come out of it with a problem.”

Jay’s words remind you like alarm bells.

You need to pay Jimin for damages.

“Oh, shit, I need to get something,” you say in a rush, grabbing your tablet off the food station and scurrying to the locker room. In the wellness center, the employee lounge is in the back, and the locker room is in the back of the lounge. You think you still have time before Jimin is ready.

There’s a notebook you keep in your bag along with a pencil case. Tearing a sheet from the notebook, you write down what you think is a good estimate for the shoes. Before you write anything else, you pause.

You only skimmed through the confidentiality prompts, but you do remember a section about personal information. Therapists aren’t allowed to give out their personal information unless specifically asked, and there has to be solid intent behind the client asking. Jimin didn’t need to ask you for yours; he just said not to worry about it.

After a good thirty seconds of your pen lingering above the paper, your tablet chimes.

A split second decision has you crumpling the paper and chucking it in your bag. You tear out a new sheet and tuck it with the pen under your tablet as you head back to Room 3.

You get to the room with a paper cup of water you grabbed on the way, and since you have things in both hands it’s a bit difficult getting the door open. You try the handle but it only jiggles a bit. One more try has you pushing the door right as the handle gives, and it works.

Jimin goes to you immediately when he sees your hands full, and you almost reel back from having him so close. Which should be odd, since you were literally just with him for a full hour, and he was not fully clothed. In the end, his presence alone is enough to affect you no matter the situation.

You extend the cup to him and he grabs it with a small thank you.

“I filled out your evaluation and it should be printed at the front already. Make sure to drink more water after you leave,” you say with a smile, your chest heavy. This was most likely the last interaction you would ever have with him.

Jimin nods, his mask covering his smile but not his eyes. He doesn’t say anything more.

You almost leave it at that, but something in you doesn’t want this moment to end, so you take your chance. “And, umm,” you stutter as you fumble with the pen and paper. You just lay your tablet on the massage table to free your hand, and click the pen open. “How much should I pay you,” you ask, your gaze ironically on the very shoes you tripped over earlier.

Jimin sets his cup down on the console table before taking the paper and pen from your hands. You watch him write something - a price in Won most likely - as you explain, “I’m a big believer of making things right, so please let me pay for your shoes. I should’ve seen them on the ground.”

He folds the paper and hands it back to you with the pen. “If you insist. But don’t check this until you get home.”

“What, why?” Your eyes dart to his face.

Jimin stares at you before responding, “Nothing bad. It just might shock you.”

Immediately, your gaze lowers. If you tell anyone how your day went today, you would think they were weird if they believed you. If you tell anyone why you’re suddenly broke come this Wednesday, they would be lying if they just went with it. “Okay, I won’t,” you assure him, and you’re telling the truth. You are equal parts surprised and nervous that he’s allowing you to pay him back.

With a deep breath, you give Jimin your best soft smile. Your heart is hurting as you send him off, “Well, it was a pleasure. Have a great rest of your day, Jimin. Until next time.” You catch yourself in a sea of emotion as your words die on your tongue. The boys have schedules on schedules, so the likelihood of him stepping foot inside this wellness center again is minuscule at best.

If anything, you’re grateful that you get to address him by name, and you succeeded in making this as smooth and safe as possible for him. At the expense of a scraped nose and hand, but rather you than him.

Jimin hoists his bag on his shoulder, the water cup you gave him already in the trash bin. He walks right up to you and stands there, and you swear both of you can hear your heart beating. One of his hands comes up to his masked face, and he speaks softly as he advises, “Ointment will help your nose if it still hurts.”

Warmth blooms in your chest and cascades all the way to your fingertips. Mirroring him, you bring a hand up to your nose and nod. Your words tumble out, “Oh, yes, you’re right. I can check if we have any in the back.”

Satisfied, Jimin nods. “Until next time,” he offers, his eyes creased and warm.

You smile again and bow slightly. He puts on his shades before heading out the door frame and into the hall, and you feel emptiness in his wake. The world is fuzzy around your vision and you are trying so hard to commit everything that just happened to memory.

Until the doors to front reception close, you watch Jimin’s retreating back. When the frosted doors close shut, you close your own door to Room 3 and lean against the wooden frame. The scrap of paper is creased in your hand as you clutch it to your hammering chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. It takes a good minute for you to compose yourself before pushing off the door and getting the room stripped and ready for the next session. The whole time, you replay everything in your head.

Jimin was just as nice as you have seen him through the lens of cameras. If that was the case, all of them had to be the same way. You are proud to like these wonderful people.

You’re so happy you got to actually spend all this time with him, but that just magnifies the sadness you feel when it’s over.

The room is done and cleaned up, and you go through the rest of the day on autopilot. Not even Jay’s constant teasing could free you from your euphoria-numbed state. The only thing that throws you back into focus is Yoon, and it happens at the very end of the work day.

You push open the doors to front reception, and smile big at your friend behind the counter. She’s beaming right back at you, and she puts her chin in her hand and shakes her head.

“That must’ve been one hell of a message,” she says through a barely contained smile.

Your hand flies to your forehead and you nod. “I can’t believe that happened, Yoon. I mean, it was really him. Opportunity of a lifetime… I just hope he enjoyed the whole thing.”

“You could say that,” she chuckles, “Enough to book you again, at least.”

What?

“He did?” Your breath leaves you in a rush. “If you’re joking with me, I’ll--”

“--He did. It’s not for a long time, but he asked for you specifically.” Yoon gathers papers in her hand and starts to organize them in the containers behind her. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

“Love you, too,” you whisper, your head completely above the clouds. You grab your phone and start checking your schedule from the wellness center app you have installed. Grabbing the door handle, you absentmindedly wave back to Yoon and call out, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The sun emits a golden glow at this hour, and the glass buildings along the street bask in its shine. You head towards your bus stop while skimming your calendar for Jimin’s next appointment, but you’re already four months out and see nothing. Not losing hope, you keep going and see a booking six months in advance. Your heartbeat skips as you click on the appointment, and almost skids to a halt when you see his name written down.

As soon as you enter your small apartment, you head straight to your bed and drop your bag on the comforter. Your whole body bounces as you plop yourself down next, and you stare straight at the ceiling.

Your life is still normal, right? Sure, you were able to spend an entire hour with Park Jimin, but that didn’t mean you aren’t still completely and utterly average.

You close your eyes and go back to Room 3. The scent of lavender fills your nostrils and you can still see his number tattoo as plain as day as you massage his wrist.

In all honesty, it still feels like a fever dream. That was someone else’s life you were able to live, someone else there with Jimin and you just decided to hitch along for the ride.

But that was real, and so is the amount of money you still need to withdraw from your bank account.

With a sigh, you reach into your bag and take out the piece of paper. You were dreading this moment all day since he left. Unfolding it, you prepare for the worst.

But all you can do is stare.

Jimin didn’t write down a price at all.

Your name is at the top, and the rest is as follows:

Save your money for traveling and learning new things, not on me. I can’t wait to see what you’ve learned when we meet again.

a/n: thank you for reading! if you guys have any comments or feedback, please feel free to let me know!

#text #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #bts fics #jimin fics #room 3 jimin #room 3 #ryen writes #member: jimin #long post #grammy nominated singer fic!!#ryenwrites

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wreckofawriter · 4 years ago

Text

Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader also Blaise Zabini x reader if you squint.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Blood, swears twice? Angsty (fluff ending)

Summary: Hanahaki Disease AU! You are despareatly in love with your bestfriend. His unrequainted love causes flowers to grow in your lungs which you are forced to cough up until death overcomes you. The only removal of this sickness is a spell which also takes every memory of the loved one with it.

A/n: look at my dumb ass post late for my own event... this fic is for the first week of Cliche Month. My cliche was Hanahaki Disease. Check out the other writers work. They are amazing!!

Roses used to be your favorite flower. Their delicate petals stained with glaring crimson intrigued you since you reached for one in your mother’s garden and pulled away with a bloodied hand. They could be found around you constantly; arranged in sparkling vases and patterned on your dresses. Bouquets were gifted to you by friends and family during holidays and birthdays, they surrounded you.

Now as you coughed into the toilet of the girl’s lavatory you wished to never see a rose again. You could feel the thorns tearing you apart, your throat sliced to ribbons as you clutched the stark white porcelain. You heaved a final time, petals falling into the clear water, the blood upon them staining it pink. You felt dizzy, copper thick in your mouth. You choked out a sob, tears spilling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. You brought your hand to your face, whipping your mouth with its back and blinking back a fresh wave of cries. You pushed yourself to your feet, knees sore from resting on cold tile too long. You flushed, watching as the red and white petals spiraled from view.

You stepped from the stall going to the mirror and dabbing away melting makeup, a few practice smiles at your reflection flashed before you exited the secluded room.

Hanahaki disease had been glorified around you for years. The aesthetic and purity of its cause and symptoms making it seem like some dream or fairytale. You had learned quite quickly it was anything but. While everyone talked of the beauty of growing flowers within you they never talked about the pain of thorns piercing you with every breath or the blood which lingered on your taste blood because of never-ending cuts and tears of skin. They never talked about the stab you felt each time the person you loved looked your way or the times you had to swallow petals to keep your quickening death a secret.

Blood and roses painted a pretty picture but they stopped being so charming as you choked them out every few hours.

You walked quickly to class, each step you took emitting pain in your chest, pain which you had gotten phenomenal at ignoring. Snape didn’t bat an eyelash, despite the fact that you were six minutes late. The stabs grew searing as you took a seat next to the scowling blonde who had unintentionally bloomed flowers in your chest.

“Where the hell were you?” Draco scoffed his tone cold.

“Bathroom.” You replied plainly, eyes tracing the slope of his nose as he turned away from you. Your eyes continued to follow his profile, creating trails on his jawline and under his light grey eyes.

Draco turned back to you, “Is there something on my face?”

You shook your head, feeling petals flutter in your stomach, thorns following.

He said nothing, eyes flicking around your profile, looking for clues of your strange behavior. “Are you sick?” He asked, “You look pale.”

You shook your head yet again, “I feel fine.” Lies came so easily recently.

Draco didn’t give in easily, his gaze searching your own as if he could read through your words to your failing heart. “You’ve seemed off recently,” he stated turning back to the lesson.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You replied. Lying really had become effortless.

Draco didn’t like your sudden disappearances and untrustworthy excuses. You had been distant and unfamiliar in recent days. Your schedule seemed skewed, jokes, and laughter seeming to die as you rushed to unexplained meetings with no one before reappearing thirty minutes later with blood on your sleeves. You always smelled of the liquid, copper had replaced your floral shampoo and tropical perfumes. Everything about you simply felt wrong, like an invisible switch had been flipped leaving you as an imposter.

You forced a thin smile at the girl across from you as she said her greetings. Pansy dug into her plate of eggs, glaring up at you suspiciously. Your relationship with the girl had always rested on the edge of a knife. She despised your relationship with Draco, her eyes going green whenever you were seen together. You wish you could tell her there was really nothing to worry about.

“You’re hiding something.” She satiated plainly.

You scrunched your nose in mock confusion, “What?”

A scoff rose from her lips, “I’m not stupid y/l/n. Something is up with you, everyone can see it.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You huffed rolling your eyes, hoping she didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms, fear of being discovered chilling you to the bone.

Blaise sat down next to you sensing the tense atmosphere and glancing between you both, “This about Draco?” He asked cautiously.

You shook your head quickly, a stab of agony shooting through you at his mention.

The boy shrugged, snatching a bagel and beginning to dress it with jam, “Anyway, you guys are coming to Hogsmeade right?”

Pansy answered excitedly her high pitch making you wish you’d stayed in bed. The conversation droned for a moment and you focused on your breathing. You knew the time which you would be able to do such a necessary act was limited. It was only a matter of time before thorns punctured a lung or pushed through your heart.

“You’re going right y/n?” Blaise asked, drawing you into the words spoken between them.

You bit your cheek, “I don’t think so.”

Blaise groaned, “Come on, we always go! It’s like a tradition.”

You frowned, “You didn’t go last week.”

The trap he had fallen into struck quickly, “Well doesn’t matter, you need to go.” he recovered.

“And why’s that?” You hummed nursing an orange juice that tasted of copper.

“Draco gets pissy when you don’t come.” He explained. The words would have made your heart soar if vines weren’t threaded through your veins. “Especially after quidditch practices.”

You sighed, “Draco isn’t my responsibi-” you were cut off by a spear thrust into your chest. The glass you held fell from your grip and shattered on the table. Eyes darted towards you in confusion as you bent over in agony.

A muffled voice broke through your momentary disconnection from the conscious world.

“Y/n are you okay?”

Your eyes fluttered open as you gasped for air, tears pooling in your eyes, “I’m fine.” you rasped standing quickly from your seat as you felt petals push up your throat. You sprint from the room without another word, hand clasping over your lips as you desperately tried to swallow the floral arrangement crawling up towards your lips. You managed to make it three corridors before collapsing to the ground, heads turned, eyes locking with you as let out a rattling set of coughs.

You didn’t hear the words of concern or cries for help as your mouth filled with blood. You felt something push from your mouth landing on your hands lightly. A rose blossom stared back at you as you opened your eyes. Its white petals unfurled stunningly, deep crimson puddles pooled between them. Red dripped lazily down your hands and you began to cough again. Thorns tore through your flesh escaping into the light of the world drenched in red, petals floated in the small puddle of blood around you like tiny boats in a lake of fire.

You hiccuped twice, the pain the action caused forcing tears down your cheeks. Your ears rang with shouts and gasps, your hands tightening around the flowers you held, only then noticing the cuts which littered your palms.

Blaise thundered around the corner, shoving people out of the way to see what they had gathered around. His eyes widened when he saw you, blood drenching the front of your uniform, tears mixing with crimson as they dripped off your chin. But the most alarming thing which sat in that hallway where the roses. Four of them, in full bloom, were littered around you, their meaning sinking terror into Blaise’s head. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands coming to your shoulders.

“Shit y/n,” he mumbled feeling his eyes prick.

You were sobbing, wincing with every shake your body gave, “I can’t forget.” You whimpered, “Please, I don’t wanna die but I can’t forget him.” Your begs were cut off as you began to cough again.

You felt numb. The potions you had been given driving away not only pain but every other feeling your body had manifested. Moving felt like wading through thick mud, the weight of the blankets adding to the confusion of your nerves.

The ceiling of the hospital wing had become boring hours before, the dark of the night staining the white a deep blue. Your brain ran through memory after memory, thinking that if they replayed through your consciousness enough they would be stuck there, even after they were cut from your body with the flowers within you. You could hear his voice, smell his cologne, and feel his hair. The pain of your body had left but that of your mind had been so deeply engraved it was hard to distinguish from the former.

The ache you felt from the image of his angry tears and hoarse screams were far worse than the occasional stab of a thorn. Maybe it would be better to forget. Forget the pain, the love, all of it. To forget him. Yet every time you thought of the idea your eyes welled with tears and that unsettling ache of your chest worsened.

Memories became more and more recent as the melody of the platinum blonde continued to play. Those of a few hours ago were the freshest, still crisp around the edges, full of brilliant colors.

You didn't want him to find out, let alone find out from someone who wasn't you. Yet Blasie had told him the second after he had dropped you where you now lay, betraying everything within you.

He had come into the wing still dressed in his quidditch robes, broom in his left hand as he stormed through the previously quiet area.

"How dare you." He had seethed, broom hitting the ground with a clatter.

Your eyes had become focused solely on him the second his voice had graced you.

"How fucking DARE you!" His eyes were glossy with fury.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Pompfery shouted behind him

You were in a confused daze, dull pain shooting through you as Draco neared. "What?"

He was in front of you now tears sliding down his flushed cheeks as he gripped the metal of the bed frame.

"You can't just fall in love with me!" He shouted, "You can't just, j-just," his voice faltered and fell and he slumped forward.

You sat up wanting to move towards him, "I'm sorry." You whimpered a hand coming to rest on his own.

He snatched himself away from you, "You were just going to let yourself die?"

You paused another stab of pain dulled by medication sending white to your vision. Were you going to let yourself die? Die for the memories of this boy? It seemed a bit pitiful as you thought about it. "I don’t know."

Draco was appalled, his mind reeling as you stared up at him, eyes wide and glistening, "Don't put your blood on my hands." He hissed turning and storming from the room.

You called after him, voice straining, throat burning. He didn't spare a single glance back and you were left staring at his disregard broom as blossoms bubbled in your throat.

Draco had always had an easy way out when he was younger. His mother loved to spoil him and his father would keep him out of trouble with little effort. He had easy choices that were made for him. But recently things have been different. The expectations of his parents raised as he wanted to do nothing but flee from the life they had given him.

You had been safety for him. Your lack of questions and secret intent made you a safe haven. He didn't have to worry about your thoughts of him because he knew they were positive. He didn't have to be concerned with his reputation or his future or his family. He could just exist with you. Exist freely. The bonds which held him to the earth disappeared in your presence and he could float amongst the pink clouds which you lived.

You were his best friend. And now you were going to be ripped away from him. And there was no one to blame but himself. His unreturned feelings were killing you, this was all his fault. And now your memories would be pulled from you and you would become nothing more than a stranger.

It hurt to know you may have died for him. Died to keep him in your mind. It hurt to know all the blood you had spilled stained his palms.

The dorm rooms were darkened, the murky waters of the lake filtering soft moonlight through their depths. Sleep seemed like a faraway friend to Draco as he stared out at nothing. His thoughts were washed together like paint doused in water. A strange dream-like haze had rested over his life since he saw you on that bed. His thumb ran over the bumps of his knuckles, where your hand had rested hours before.

"You shouldn't have blamed her."

Draco didn't look up, his eyes locked into the dark waters, "I know."

Blaise sat down next to him, legs crossed, "You should apologize."

"I know."

There was a long pause. Neither boy knew what they were supposed to say.

Draco felt his eyes sting, resent bubbling in his stomach, and having nowhere to go, "I don't want to lose her."

Blaise sighed, "You are either going to have to lose her or love her. It's up to you."

But it wasn't up to him. He couldn't choose to love you.

The next day was unsure like a scene that was cut from a movie. Draco spent his time lingering in his hazy consciousness. The thoughts of losing you slowly driving him insane. His vision swam with your image in hallways, eyes falling through him. He would be a stranger to you. And he would have to keep it that way for your own safety. He would be forced to watch his best friend live her life without the memories they shared. The sting of realization grew with each moment.

Your pain had begun to fade. You weren't sure if it was because of the medication or if your body was simply shutting down. The latest you could get McGonagall to cast the spell was tomorrow night. Then every moment you and Draco had shared would be flushed away.

At least the coughing fits had stopped, thorns no longer tearing your throat to pieces. No more roses covered in blood. You felt a sense of peace.

Your far away mind was drawn back by Madam Pompfery's shrill voice.

"You may absolutely not visit her!"

"I just want to apologize!" Another tone retorted.

You sat up quickly, blankets shoved to the side as your bare feet made contact with the ground.

The argument grew louder as you neared, words turning harsh.

"Draco?" You called, peeking around the corner to see Madame Pomfrey standing with her back to you blocking the doorway, the blonde just in front of her.

"You should be in bed." The nurse scolded me, turning to look at you.

"I want to see him." You stated firmly.

She had now turned to face you fully, "Go back to bed y/l/n."

You glared back at the woman, "Let him in."

There was silence, you're gaze unwavering as the older woman slowly caved.

"Make it quick Malfoy."

You wanted to choke on the awkward silence that followed after the woman departed. Dracos eyes were glued to you as your own darted between your feet and the nearby wall.

“She’s right. You should be in bed.” he spoke.

You shrugged, “I was feeling better. The medication helps.”

“You shouldn’t be standing regardless.” He huffed walking past you towards the bed you had been in a few minutes before.

You rolled your eyes but followed him, knowing he was right didn’t make you feel any better.

“I'm sorry about before,” Draco mumbled as you set yourself against the headboard. You tilted your head in a silent question, “I shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday. It's not your fault.”

You cracked a small smile, head tilting back until it hit the wall. “Of course it's my fault.”

Draco was silent and you gazed at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes were cast at his feet, the melancholy look on his face making you sour.

“Please don’t be sad.” You muttered, “I can't have my last memory of you be sad.”

Despite your plea, his eyes grew misty, the weight on his chest so heavy he thought it might crush him.

Your feet felt light and for a moment you thought you might be dying. Your head felt so clear, you wouldn't have been surprised if Draco started saying you were floating off your bed. Your chest felt warm and fuzzy, like hot chocolate after hours in the snow.

“I can’t lose you.” Draco sobbed, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “I can’t lose you, y/n. Please don’t leave me.”

Part of you wanted to slap him, “It's not a choice.” You swallowed thickly, “I didn’t choose to fall in love with you.” It was the truth. You didn’t choose to plunge into the deep waters of absolute devotion. You were pushed. Pushed by each smile and laugh. By each joke and eye roll. He had pushed you into the whirlpool of love and you had been sucked deep under. And now you couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t watch you forget me.” He croaked his head held in his hands, “I love you y/n, you can't become a stranger to me. I couldn’t watch you live without me. I couldn't live with these memories knowing you don't have them.”

Suddenly the lack of pain made sense. The light, fuzzy feeling overwhelming your body was comprehensible, “Say it again.”

Draco met your eyes, “What?”

“Say you love me again.”

His eyes widened, momentary surprise taking him before it was pushed aside by a rush of relief, “I love you.”

It was like a drug drawn from his lips, it burnt like whiskey down your throat, warmth filling you. You sat forward quickly, hands coming to cup his cheeks, damp and sticky with tears. Droplets of your own gathered, rivers of relief dripping off your chin.

Your lips met hastily. The taste of salt mixed with the bitterness of blood was unsavory but neither of you seemed to care as you pulled him closer. Kiss deepening as his hands fell to your waist. You found yourself sinking deeper into the water you had fallen into, oxygen suddenly filling your thirsting lungs.

You were unaware of the thorns that filled Blaise’s. Yellow petals spilled from his lips, his throat filled with blood. As you tucked your head into Draco's chest, his was buried into his hands, tears filling his eyes. He was hopeless, the thorns would tear him apart and you would put roses on his grave

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wastelandcth · 3 years ago

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Coney Island - cth

summary: Will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

author’s notes: this was...wow. i hope you all enjoy shoutout to @in-superbloom and @hoodhoran for letting me give them sneak peeks to hype myself up over it!

warnings: mentions of a car accident, mentions of a hospital, angst, sorry there’s a cliffhanger.

masterlist || request || more songs for calum

You’d always been told that finding your passion at a young age was a blessing. That finding the one thing you wanted to do for the rest of your life and running with it was a blessing in disguise. You’d never understood why everyone would say that to you, you loved making art and there had never been a downside to creating art. There had never been a point in your life where your job had become a stressor and where you’d regretted ever wanting to chase the thrill of canvas and paint. Every day you’d wake up and have the time and space to create scenery you’d seen in dreams or in real life, little pockets in time you could freeze on canvas for the world to see. It’d been a rough start, selling your work for whatever amount you were offered until you had your break and found yourself in a museum overseas staring at the large painting hanging on the wall of some museum you’d dreamed about. You’d been standing there in the empty halls, breathing in the quiet of the hall, the occasional footsteps bringing you back into the moments before a shadow next to you brought your attention away from your splatter of colors and lines to the person who stood next to you. And that’s how you first met Calum, in the silence of an art museum where his eyes studied your work as if he’d been trying to find all the secrets you’d hidden in the paint. It was where you’d told him about the painting, where you’d both found one another in more ways than one.

That’s when you finally understood the blessing in disguise.

Coney Island had always been a warm and distant memory to you, the boardwalk lined with thrills on either side, waiting to be explored. You remembered cotton candy dreams and spending days in the sun with your friends. Coney Island has been love and laughter, sunshine and summer days, and a place where the pit in your stomach was gone. It had been all you could think about when summer was mentioned, an inspiration to the painting you’d whispered to Calum about. The colorful swirls of paint and oils that gave you your first real break in the art world had all come from the place where boardwalks and rides had brought you nothing but happiness.

But now, the boardwalk was silent and you felt like a ghost walking through it.

The ocean was inviting, a teasing view from wherever you stood, tempting you to step into the sand and sink into its secrets. The boardwalk echoed with every step you took, bouncing the noise up into the sky where it returned as a sharp crack of thunder. The empty bench you’d found was hard and cold, leaving your bones aching with a chill you weren’t sure would ever go away. The wind thumping against your ears as you took in the cold ocean air into your lungs, letting the salty breeze burn them and leave you gasping for air. Your eyes searched the water, a muted gray and blue that seemed to stretch on for as far as your eyes could see, swirling with white foam from the waves that crashed onto the sand every so often.

The lights from the amusement park flickered against the shore, strobing in and out of view which left you shaking and with teary eyes. The waves filled your head with the screeching of tires and breaking glass. The swirling of the ocean putting the same fear in the pit of your stomach as when you’d heard Calum’s scream. The scream that had been cut off as the call went dead.

“I know I promised I’d be able to make it to dinner…” you mumbled hesitantly, frowning as you heard Calum’s sigh, “But I-”

“Let me guess, you have a very important gallery show and it just happened to slip your mind again so you’ll have to skip dinner with the band?” Calum mumbled, the annoyance in his voice obvious, “Yeah, I’ve heard it before. It’s fine, you’ll still make it to the show, right?”

“Well…” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair as the busy streets of Brooklyn surrounded you, “I’m really sorry, Cal.”

“Are you serious?” he scoffed, “We’ve had this planned for weeks now! You can’t just-”

“Calum? Calum?! Honey?”

The hospital had become a maze, turns, and twists that only led your farther and farther from your destination. With every squeak of your shoes against the vinyl floor, you felt yourself drifting farther away from him, from the man who’d you’d been putting second to your job and the one you didn’t know you’d be able to see again. Your adrenaline had been on high since the moment the emergency worker had answered the tenth call you’d made to Calum’s phone, telling you the what, when, and where had happened to Calum. You’d raced through the busy sidewalks, trying to find the hospital where Calum’s unconscious self was being sent to. But even as you walked through the barren halls, hands shaking and dried tears on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but blame yourself for it all. What if he never woke up and the last words you’d shared between one another was a fight? What if he never knew that you loved him more than anything in the world? What if all the nights away from him could’ve been switched for time spent together?

“Darling?” one of the nurses said softly, breaking you out of the hurricane of thoughts, “Hey, take deep breaths, how can I help you? Are you hurt?”

“Where’s….they said he’d be here but I don’t..”

“Who are you looking for, honey?”

“Where did my baby go?”

You’d been ready to answer, to tell them that you needed to see Calum and hold his hand. To make sure he was okay and that he’d be able to make it to his show that night, to be happy on stage. But that was all thrown out the door when the doors opened, bringing a gust of cold and rainy wind into the room as well as the man you’d talked to on the phone only minutes before. Your breath caught in your throat, your body going stiff as you watched them wheel him into the building and then away from you. He was bloody and bruised, his eyes shut in a way that seemed too peaceful for the situation he was in. His hair was flat against his head, the usual curls that had roamed freely on his head now matted with blood, and you couldn’t help but rush out of the building. The walls had started to close in, trapping you in as you watched Calum disappear behind a crowd of nurses and doctors, and you finally took a breath of air as the door shut behind you and the hospital was behind you.

The waves were louder now, crashing against the shore with a force so strong they shook the boardwalk beneath your feet. You hadn’t realized how far you’d walked, not until the familiar lights of the boardwalk shone beneath the fog that had come with the rain, how far you’d walked away from him again. It wasn’t like he’d want you there anyways, the annoyance in his voice had been a clue if you’d ever seen one. You had just pushed him aside again in order to go to another gallery you knew deep down you could afford to miss. It had been like that for weeks now, you both danced around the fact that you hadn’t been in the same city for months on end. Daily phone calls or text messages were replaced with a silence neither of you enjoyed and airplane trips became lonely. You’d been off traveling the globe as your newest works were displayed all across and Calum had been off promoting the band’s latest album. It hadn’t been the first time both of your jobs had overlapped schedules and being away from one another for this long had happened, but the silence was new.

Which is why the fact that you were both finally in the same city was so important for Calum, and for you. But the idea of finally seeing him had caused the pit of anxiety to form and you found yourself looking for excuses to push him away. And now your last memories of him would be seeing his bruised body being wheeled away from you, the way his voice had cut off with a squeal of tires, and the sound of glass breaking. All because you’d put a distance between the both of you because you felt that intense feeling that you could no longer ignore. It had first started that night when his back became a canvas for your art, and his soft gasps whenever the cold paint hit his skin had ingrained themselves in your brain. The gasps and giggles mixed in with the smell of paint and you felt yourself falling more and more in love with Calum, seeing yourself old and gray with him. It had been terrifying and the shapes you’d made with paint had become nothing but a blur of colors.

“I love you,” he mumbled against his arm, watching as you’d started packing up the paints and brushes you’d just used on his skin, “You know that?”

“Mhm, and lucky for you,” you teased, pushing down the pit of fear into the back of your mind, “I am deeply in love with you.”

That’s what loving Calum had always been, a blur of beautiful colors.

The air had begun to pick up now, swirling and swinging around the sky as the storm grew closer and closer. Not that it mattered much, your face was already soaked with tears and stained by the black mascara that had been running down ever since you’d walked out of the hospital. You wished he’d be by your side, hugging you and telling you it would all be okay. If you closed your eyes and focused hard enough you could hear his voice, modulated over the speaker of your phone as he told you about his day. He’d been trying to distract you again, the frustration of your newest piece not looking how you’d imagined bringing you close to tears.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah? And then you can paint all over my body so you can find inspiration. I promise.” he chuckled quietly, probably laying in a dark room across an ocean.

“I miss you,” you sighed, watching the sunrise out your window and rubbing at your tired eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered, a smile in his voice, as if those were the only three words you needed to hear. Maybe they were, maybe those were the three little words you would remember before the crash pulled him away from you.

Time seemed to tick by slowly, almost torturing you, as your eyes drifted from the ocean storm ahead to the screen of your phone. You knew it was coming, the call that would change your life forever. The one that would leave you broken and shattered on the beach like the shells that had crunched under your feet. Soon enough, the buzz of your phone would bring the time with Calum to an end. Soon, it would just be you, the ocean breeze, and the memory of Calum. The crack of thunder shook the world around you, almost making you miss the sharp shrill that came from your phone, the screen lighting up with a picture of Calum you’d taken a few months back. Your lungs froze, hands shaking as your thumb slid over the screen and accepted the call, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

“H-hello?” you asked, mentally preparing for the tears that would fill the ocean with salty tears.

“I think I-I forgot to say your name and they wouldn’t let me in no matter how many times I asked,” you stuttered out, your feet carrying you back towards the sidewalk, towards Calum, “I love you so much I’m so sorry I’ve been so far away.”

That’s what you would’ve said to Calum, if you’d only had more time and if you had said no to more events. You would’ve spilled your heart out to him, telling him all the secret words you had only whispered in the darkness of the room when you were sure Calum was asleep and his soft snores confirmed he’d never hear them. And even then, as the static of the ocean makes it hard for you to hear the call connect, the waves crashing onto the shore as the wind picks up doesn’t matter. Nothing matters then because the sharp inhale of air brings them to a dangerous silence, a silence that hurts your ears as the ocean, the waves, thunder, and air all come to an end with a soft whisper.

“Baby?” Calum’s voice spoke out, the softness of it laced with a pain you wished you could take away. But it was Calum’s voice and that itself felt like a lightning bolt to the chest, a breath of fresh air, and a cold wave to wake them up.

And that cold bench on Coney Island feels like the warmth of his voice.

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akumaalert · 3 years ago

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Medical Log Sixty-nine

Karl Heisenberg x AFAB Reader (Uses She/Her); Explicit Content, 18+ ONLY

CW: Medicplay, medical kink, medical examination, voice kink, roleplay, consensual voyeurism

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31802593

"Medical log...this is my...sixty-ninth attempt."

You rolled your eyes. Of course he would go for a sex joke the second the recording snapped on.

Staying still was a difficult task. The steel table was chilling your back and your muscles screamed at you to purse away from the cold.

The warmth between your legs, however, demanded that you stayed.

Heisenberg began exactly as he said he would - listing off your name and age with that ever lilting voice that made your cunt clench in delight.

"Body is in...fuck...the most gorgeous condition..."

Playing dead was so hard when he was out of view. Heisenberg was so expressive and you were missing all the nuances you so adored. You could only picture him studying you - licking those delectably thick lips that you loved to nip. The fact that he was fully clothed and hovering over your naked body was as thrilling as it was nerve wracking.

Part of you willed stillness on the sheer fear that if you moved, the spell would be broken and Heisenberg’s role of doctor would be traded for actual work. Convincing him of doing this had not been the simplest task. The first time he caught you listening to one of his medical logs, he had raised a quizzical eyebrow and chuckled lightly at your blush. When you laid in his arms after making love one morning, you had shyly admitted the desires that had been ignited simply by listening to his voice.

"I think they umm...I think it's technically called medical play..."

The swiftness with which he cut you off still made you feel shame. "I'm not experimenting on you."

It took all the strength you could muster to look at him despite your cheeks absolutely burning. You placed a hand on his own cheek to rub the pad of your finger over one of his scars. "No. No...that's not what I meant. It's pretend. For fun. Roleplaying basically..."

You loved when his glasses were missing from his face. Green eyes flickered - studying you intently - before his lips stretched into an attractive smirk. "Would that turn you on, buttercup?"

And so the two of you had planned. It was convenient that the toys you needed were inconspicuous medical equipment. Most you already had and the others were obtained from the Duke without suspicion. At least you hoped. He was always a jovial fellow and at least didn't question the use for the pinwheel. Where the rest came from, you did not question. It wouldn't do to dwell on the purpose or origin when living in the shadow of Miranda's clutches.

When Heisenberg's hand ghosted near your head in the present, you repressed the want to moan.

"Proceeding with inspection..."

One leather clad hand cupped a cheek while a bare, calloused fingertip lined your lips. You could not entirely make him out like this, but you could see his green undershirt in delightful detail if you rolled your eyes high enough. His trench coat and his outer shirt had been discarded and the thought made your skin prickle. The spirals of his chest hair peeking from his shirt made your fingers tent with a want to touch him.

But cadavers couldn't move. So you swallowed and resisted the temptation to dart your tongue to meet his caress.

"Subject has the softest lips...prettiest damn thing I've ever studied."

Heat and the ever lingering static that was Heisenberg radiated just a breath behind you. If you had any courage to move just so, you imagined that his crotch sat just above your line of sight.

Would he already be hard? Heisenberg had held his typical swagger when you had mapped out your wants and respected his limitations. But you could tell that hesitancy still sat not so lightly on his shoulders. Perhaps he would need to drag things out - let his pleasure build as yours boiled in every limb.

Eyes half lidded, you nearly missed the scalpel floating gingerly through the air. As Heisenberg had insisted, only the handle touched your skin. Beginning at the curve of your jaw, it traced ever so slowly down your throat like a breath. Despite the lack of danger, the sensitive skin pimpled and your throat constricted.

"It's as if I built her myself...everything I could ever fucking want. Absolute damn perfection," he muttered. Feeling drunk off his words, you struggled to keep up with them all. After all, you were not sure how sensitive the recording would be. Heisenberg was a loud man - a grand man - and so rarely whispered as he did now. "A lovely neck...if only I had found her sooner...might have given her a necklace of teeth marks to wear."

When the scalpel slipped to your chest, your gasp could not be stifled. But instead of stopping, Heisenberg simply removed his fingers from your face to set both hands in a frame on either side of your head. He was adjusting and leaning and soon his eyes met with yours. Though you could not see anything below the rugged slope of his nose, you imagined his mouth as slightly parted.

His eyes were normally flecked with golds and browns, but the darkness there now was not an uncommon sight. You saw it when he was angry - returning from family meetings or trips to the Dimitrescu castle. Whenever his facade had been tested for too long with his "mother" and the walls came crashing down the moment the doors to the factory were closed.

You also saw it when he was lost to lust - when he used arms as steady as steel to hold you to him until you were both limp messes on the floor or the desk or the shower or the bed.

It was a color you so treasured - especially when the hints of softness clouded them as they did now.

Heisenberg's voice careened and curled just like the scalpel's handle around your breast. So light but so heavy.

"I don't need any damn notes for these tits...have them fucking memorized. Fuck what I wouldn't give to put my mouth on them. What a damn waste. Body is so cold and those nipples are perked up so nicely. Inspecting..." He audibly swallowed, clearing his throat. "Inspecting chest in detail now."

While the scalpel handle swirled against one of your nipples, Heisenberg's gloved hand went to your ignored breast in a firm squeeze. You were already so worked up by the mere prospect of your play. To have it as a reality with Heisenberg towering over you and switching his attention from your breasts to your eyes to your lips and back again was absolute torture. The leather on his fingers did nothing to help you. The gloves were old and worn into a fibrous texture that made every hair on your neck stand on end.

Your lover was a cruel man, but not a patient one. With his pointer finger and thumb, he twisted your nipple. Eyes clapping shut, you shook when you realized a tremble in the scalpel. A telltale sign of his passions rising and his powers thrumming along with them.

"Color?" he asked in a voice of gravel.

It took you a moment to understand his inquiry. Your stoplight system. That Heisenberg was already checking in with you filled you with a whole new type of warmth. Nodding with flushed cheeks, you ran your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

"Green," you muttered.

So he continued.

"Nipples are extremely responsive." The scalpel and his hand pulled away but for a moment before the sides were switched. But with them came the feeling of his bare hand on your equally bare chest. "I could stand here all day just admiring the view. Not a damn thing to say to do it justice."

He flitted between a tender touch and a rolling, twinging pinch. The scalpel rolled along with it all, though there were intervals when it remained still against your skin. As if his mind could not keep up with it all. It would start back again with a lurch and small grunts of frustration from its master.

"Moving to the lower torso..."

Your body arched when he moved and broke contact with your skin. The scalpel's trail became steadier as it looped around your breast to slide so terribly slow down the middle of your chest. Down it slipped and once again your fingers were fidgety. The skin of your stomach felt particularly sensitive, especially when the scalpel began to dance in patterns too quick and too slow for your mind to process.

"These hips of hers...the legs...hard not to get too ahead of myself..."

Though you could not see him at all now with your head locked in its position, it made the situation all the more welcome to your growing need. In your mind he studied you - watched your body with all the appreciation he was so fond of giving it. He might pay attention to your stomach - to the invisible designs he was tracing there. But his eyes would inevitably flicker to look between your legs. There was no gown or sheet to protect you from his hungry gaze. There was nothing at all preventing him from doing the myriad of things that you longed for him to do.

By the sound of his breathing, you knew Heisenberg was not left unaffected.

"Subject...is gonna fucking pay for making part of my work part of her play," he growled. "Do you have any idea how distracted I'm going to be every time I go in for an actual log? But you don't care, do you? It's all about you."

Tension hung in the air and one of your legs stretched upward, suddenly aching.

Heisenberg's hand came down fast to push it back into place.

"Didn't say I wasn't gonna indulge you," he said, playfulness in his voice. He gripped your knee still held in his hand with a soft touch. "Just that you'll pay for this later."

Lightly nodding, you felt his hand leave you. Your entire body tensed when the scalpel - ever streaming down your skin - began a descent that told you just how impatient Heisenberg had become.

It didn't help that a series of items - familiar and agreed upon in advance - floated over you on a glinting silver tray. You could not tell if they moved slowly due to his powers flitting with his emotions or if he simply was intent on you seeing them.

A bottle of lube. A bullet vibrator and its controller. The Wartenberg pinwheel. Another scalpel for the hell of it.

If the scalpel on your skin ran near your aching cunt, you never felt it. The next thing you knew, it was landing on your thigh and stalling.

As if he could not help himself, his hands were on you again. This time instead of pushing a leg onto the table, he pried both of your legs open with a prodding touch.

Though it broke your play, you took a large inhale of air. You could not recall ever being so wet or so ready.

Heisenberg let out a low whistle.

"You're soaked, buttercup." A pause. The telltale sound of buckles being clicked and dropped to the floor.

You could not take it and spoke with a whine.

"Not fair...I can't see you."

The chuckle he gave was dark. "A shame. It's like someone asked for this. Ironic. You're such a whore that your little game is preventing you from watching me. And I know how you love to watch."

The asshole took his time to slowly unzip his pants. The heat in your body was palpable and painful. A small gratified groan told you all you needed to know about where his hands had gone.

"Pretty, pretty girl..." he cooed. "Show isn't over yet. You had some requests and what kind of a lord would I be if I was to ignore one of my subject's pleas?"

The knowledge that he was stroking himself - languid even as your longing screamed through your very soul - made the pit of your stomach pulse with delayed pleasure.

Trying to even your breathing, you focused on the ceiling laid brown and bare above you. Or at least you tried. Heisenberg chose the absolute worst moment to bring both the second scalpel's handle and the brand new pinwheel onto the scene.

Huffing heatedly, you scrunched your face into a grimace. What a sight you must be - a scalpel on each thigh and a pinwheel hanging dangerously close to your cunt. You pushed the thought aside, unable to bear the image in your head.

"To the main event," he announced, voice returned to a rumbling purr. "Planting the 'control device.' Inserting now."

When he had added lube to the bullet, you did not know. Probably somewhere between your embarrassment and the blood pounding in your ears. Small and sleek, it entered your folds gently but awkwardly. Heisenberg's powers going on the fritz would never cease to endear you. He was so strong - so normally loud and wearing whatever mask that a situation called for. But in these moments with you, he was raw and his powers were unhinged in the most intimate of ways. It made you feel powerful - the ability to bring this lord of metal to timid movements when he could likely destroy the whole village with enough metal and mental will.

Rounding its way deeper and deeper inside of you, the bullet suddenly stilled. The sensations of the scalpels skating up and down your legs combined with the threat of the pinwheel overwhelmed you. If you had wanted to speak in that moment, it would have been quite out of your ability to remember how.

"Insertion complete."

Babbling during sex was another staple of Heisenberg's. But he was eerily quiet and controlled in the seconds that followed right up to the click of the controller.

The jolt to your core was immediate and you gasped in hurried breaths against the most exquisite pleasure you had ever felt. The fight to keep your fingers extended was lost as all ten fisted. You were so wet that the lube had been a moot point. The bullet buzzed inside of you and your hips shook with the herculean effort of staying still.

Heisenberg exhaled, voice faraway and dreamy.

"Ausgezeichnet...excellent. Progressing faster than expected."

You choked on air. Beyond your control, your body flinched against the hum of the bullet.

"Fuck," bit out Heisenberg. "Have a proposition for you...since you're going to be punished for making me work, I'm going to go back to the recording-"

"Oh God!"

"I'm going to go back to the recording," he repeated gruffly, ever incensed at being spoken over. "And I'm going to count the seconds that it takes for you to come. And however many seconds that is...that's how many spanks you'll be getting. Right on that luscious fucking ass of yours."

Another click of the bullet's controller made your eyes roll to the back of your head. Fingernails bit into your palm with the want to hold onto something - anything. How could you be so stimulated yet so far from release at the same time?

"I can see everything from where I'm standing," he continued. "Can you feel that wetness of yours? Dripping into your ass...pussy such a pretty pink shade. It'll go so nice with a red ass. One, two, three...you're building up to quite the spanking. Might want to hurry it along."

He was indeed a cruel man.

But not a patient one.

The pinwheel's weight was noticeable, but not deep. It pinched and rolled its way directly down and over your clit and the sensitive flesh splayed and shaking from sensation.

How you hated the gargle that you let out. It was ugly and incoherent.

"Too much!" you cried.

"Scheisse!" The pinwheel flew to the floor as the scalpels stopped. Even the bullet seemed to rumble ever lighter. "Color?"

It took you several breaths to gather the ability to nod. When Heisenberg remained quiet, you grunted. "Green...green...fucking green. Floor it."

Heisenberg laughed - all throat and no breath. "Floor it. Gotcha."

Making a strange sound - somewhere between a groan and a grunt - Heisenberg returned his hands to your body.

The hand free from leather stroked your thigh. The leather, however, fondled your mound and found your clit with practiced speed.

Barely able to keep up with the bullet and the scalpels and the trembles and the sound of Heisenberg's guttural encouragements, you closed your eyes and focused on the circles he made against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

You could not open your eyes or close your mouth. You could not do anything but chase a high approaching as sure as any sunrise.

Apparently taking pity on the mess you had become, Heisenberg only took one swift last round on your clit before speaking.

"Now to pass a current...through the body...using six volts..."

The words had no time to settle in before the action was done with his gentle hand on your quivering thigh.

Screaming, too, was beyond your control.

"Come on," he said through the return to your clit and the massage in your cunt and the swirls of scalpel handles on your legs. "Come on, come on, come on."

"KAR...k...kah..."

Your orgasm knocked the very air from your lungs. Pins of light erupted as your eyes squeezed with every furious flutter of pleasure. Your cunt was actually twitching and the glove on Heisenberg's hand felt so exquisite as it barely pressed down on your clit.

"Yes! Yes!" Egging you on with a happy laugh, Heisenberg uttered praises that registered in a haze. "At last...wonderful...what a good girl."

As the absolutely mind-numbing orgasm faded into your very bones, you lay there exhausted and beyond satisfied. Breathing became a chore that your throat seemed unused to performing.

Heisenberg moved as efficiently as ever to complete his work. The bullet was removed with care by his own fingers. When it had turned off, you had no recollection. The scalpels clattered to the table with a metallic hiss.

Sweat built on your brow and dragging down your temple, you swallowed and swallowed again. The sound of rushing water perked your tired body. You were slow to rise, testing fingers and a palm burning with indents of your nails. Soon, however, you had sat up. A swirl of satisfaction still sat low in your belly.

As satiated as you were, you could not help but enjoy the sight of Heisenberg standing before you. In one hand was a glass of water begging to be brought to your parched lips. In the other he held the recorder. You watched with hooded eyes as he clutched at the recorder before dropping his hand to adjust his pants.

Pants that hung low on his hips with the zipper pulled wide. The adorable swell of his lower belly was visible underneath his shirt. His cock was curved at such a beautiful angle above silver hair. It was blushed a dark pink with veins reaching up to a head that was nearly purple with need.

Bringing the recorder back to his mouth, Heisenberg eyed you before huffing.

"...ending recording."

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenberg #resident evil #re village #ao3 #smut #kinks with karl #x reader

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mochegato · 4 years ago

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 30 – Written in the Stars

Chapter 1 Chapter 29

“Congratulations Officer Grayson!” Bruce boomed, raising his glass along with the rest of the room of friends and family. A loud cheer rose up in agreement with his comment.

Dick smiled at them graciously and clinked his champagne glass with Marinette’s juice glass, pulling her closer into his side with his other hand. Marinette squeezed him back and looked up at him with a proud smile.

“Finally, someone who can fix my tickets,” Jason cheered.

“Not going to happen. In fact, I might write more up for you. Did you know parking your motorcycle in an alleyway is a moving violation?” Dick answered with a smirk.

Jason gaped at him, every inch of him conveying the betrayal he felt until he finally looked down to Lucy in his arms with a sour look. “Man, fuck the police. Can you say that? Fuck. The. Police.” He enunciated each word slowly for her.

“Language Master Jason,” Alfred chided.

“Jason, do not teach my children to badmouth their father,” Marinette warned with an accompanying glare.

Jason huffed and returned his attention to Lucy. “Fine whatever. But the cursing’s okay, right, Pixie?”

“No,” Dick answered quickly before Marinette could respond. He really wasn’t confident what her answer would be considering the language she used when she and Jason were hanging out.

“Wasn’t asking you, Dickhead,” Jason singsonged while making faces for Lucy.

“Don’t badmouth their father while they can hear you, Jason,” Marinette repeated with a sharper edge to her voice this time. “And I’m fine with you teaching them to curse as long as you’re willing to deal with the repercussions of Alfred and my Mother finding out exactly where they learned it from.” She shrugged casually as she said it but the smirk on her face when she looked up at Dick made it clear she knew exactly how much of a threat that was.

Jason pouted and focused on Lucy. “Your Grandmother and Grandfather are both deceptive bad asses. Never cross either of them.” The room broke in laughter as Alfred grinned smugly and nodded in approval.

“So what are you going to do now, Officer Grayson?” Stephanie asked as she bounced Rob to quiet his fussing.

Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t really know. Hang out with the family, I guess.”

“I have a celebratory dinner planned unless you have other plans, Master Dick,” Alfred stated, looking at Marinette questioningly.

Dick looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment before answering cautiously. “I don’t think I do. Do I?”

“It’s up to you. I was thinking maybe we could go out for a celebratory dinner. Together. Just the two of us,” Marinette offered quietly.

“Like on a date?” His face brightened considerably.

“If you want it to be,” she answered shyly, suddenly not able to look in his eyes. Suddenly, it felt dangerous to offer. Her heart was pounding. What if he changed his mind, which was ridiculous because he still acted the same as he had when they first started dating. But some part of Marinette, the anxiety controlled part, insisted there was still a chance, and as always happened when anxiety entered the arena, it took over, regardless of rationality.

Dick wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him, adoration shining in his eyes. “I do.”

Marinette let out a relieved sigh and an exhilarated smile spread across her face. “Great! I know just the place.” A devious glint appearing in her eye. The same look she got whenever she had come up with a brilliant plan. She looked him up and down, taking in the dress blues he was still wearing from his Academy graduation. “You should change before we go though.” She looked down at her dress. “I should too if we’re taking the bike.”

“I’ll watch the rug rats while you’re gone,” Jason offered as he wiggled Lucy’s hand that was wrapped around his finger.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll watch over the infants to ensure they are safe and adequately mentally stimulated while they are awake,” Damian offered loudly, a confident look on his face.

Dick raised his eyebrows in surprise at Damian and looked down to Marinette to see if he was really hearing what he thought he was. That was by far the strangest outcome of the situation, Damian taking his position as the twins’ uncle with deathly seriousness. He watched over them like one of his pets, until they started crying. Then the twins were their parent’s or someone else’s problem.

Marinette smiled knowingly at him and nodded almost imperceptibly to assure him that Damian was in fact offering to babysit. Dick subtly glanced to the more responsible people in the room to see if they would be there as well. Barbara, Alfred, and Bruce all nodded at him to assure him they would stay as well.

“I’d help too, but… I have plans,” Adrien shrugged, deftly changing the topic of conversation before another fight over who the best uncle was could break out between Jason and Damian. Which was absolutely ridiculous anyway. Clearly, he was, precisely because he did things like taking this hit.

“With Wally?” Marinette asked innocently.

“Yeah,” Adrien answered a little too breathlessly.

“Ooooooohhhhh,” Marinette teased with a knowing smirk. Dick grinned. He had introduced Adrien to the Titans when they stopped by to meet the twins and take a second shot at meeting Marinette, this time without them having to hide anything and with Plagg sequestered in Dick’s bedroom, nowhere near Garth. As expected, Wally and Adrien hit it off extremely well, the enthusiastic, bubbly, romantics, that they were.

“Shut up. It’s not like that,” he grumbled looking away from them. He wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of seeing his lovesick expression.

“Yes, it is,” Marinette, Dick, and Stephanie all chimed at the same time.

Adrien’s cheeks blushed a deep rose color and he growled halfheartedly at them as he left. “Good luck,” Marinette called to him. He waved and stuck his tongue out at her as he closed the door. Marinette giggled and turned back to Dick. “I’m going to feed the twins while you’re changing.”

“Okay. I’ll take a quick shower too then.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek before making his way to his bedroom.

Marinette nodded and took Lucy from Jason, who only gave her up grudgingly. “And we’re going to get you ready, too,” Stephanie informed her as she slung her free arm over Marinette’s shoulder.

Marinette laughed and shook her head. “We’re going to have about two hours between when they eat and when I have to be back to feed them again. I’m not wasting any of that time on appearances. If Dick is still willing to go on a date with me after sharing a room with me when I hadn’t showered in I don’t know how many days, he will be fine with me not having a ton of makeup on.”

“Okay fine,” Stephanie groaned before immediately brightening again. “I’ll do stuff while you’re nursing then,” Stephanie insisted, completely ignoring Marinette’s objections.

Marinette sighed and shook her head. This was not worth the effort. She was not willing to put what little energy she had into debating personal boundaries and priorities with Stephanie, and apparently Cass, judging by the excited glint in her eye. “Fine. Just don’t get any makeup or hairspray on Lucy or Rob while they’re eating.”

Stephanie squealed and handed Rob off to Barbara as she and Cass raced to her room to get everything ready. They only had about ten to fifteen minutes to treat Marinette like their own personal doll and they weren’t about to waste any of it. Marinette looked over to Barbara and Tim with a questioning glance. “Either of you two want to get in on this?”

Tim waved his hands in front of him. “Hell no. I’ve seen them in this mode. I’m not getting in the middle of that. Good luck.”

Barbara laughed and rolled over to her. “I’ll come to help. At the very least I can hold one baby while you feed the other one… and laugh at you while they work their magic”

Marinette giggled at her as she rolled her eyes. “So very magnanimous of you.”

<><><><><>

Dick’s entire body relaxed as he sped through Gotham’s streets. He had missed driving through the streets of Gotham with Marinette’s arms wrapped around him. They hadn’t done it since she was only a few weeks into the pregnancy then quickly had to switch to a car when it became too dangerous and awkward for her to ride with him. He loved feeling the rush of the wind against him and the warmth of Marinette’s arms and body pulled tight against him. The way their bodies moved in sync with one another as he turned or changed lanes.

“Make a left here,” Marinette yelled. He nodded his acknowledgement and made the turn. They were in a very familiar neighborhood. “Right,” she yelled again. He nodded again and made the turn. They drove straight for a few blocks until Marinette yelled the final time. “We’re here.”

Dick chuckled and shook his head as he pulled off his helmet. “Batburger?” He raised his eyebrow at her.

Marinette shrugged and pulled her helmet off as well, giving him a sweet smile. “Thought we could try it again when I’m not pregnant. See if it really was just the pregnancy that made it taste so good.”

“Want to eat in the park again?” he asked as he secured their helmets. He took her hand, entwining their fingers as they walked into the restaurant.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” she nodded at him.

“I think that sounds brilliant,” he assured her, pulling her against him and circling his arms around her waist.

“You ready to order or what?” the cashier asked in an annoyed voice.

Marinette giggled into Dick’s chest. “Not a fan of romance,” she whispered.

“Two batburger deluxe meals, please,” he looked over to Marinette to get her approval. When she nodded in agreement he returned his focus to the cashier to pay.

Their order was done in just a few minutes and a few minutes after that they were looking out over the same park and sitting on the same bench they had sat at during their first date. Marinette took her first bite and quirked her lips to the side before continuing to chew.

Dick laughed and swallowed his bite. “So, what do you think?”

“It was definitely the pregnancy. But it’ll do. It was more about the nostalgia.” She grinned up at him and took another bite.

“How about you? What do you think? Are you excited for your first day as a Gotham Police Officer?” She grinned up at him, the proud look gleaming in her eyes again.

He smiled at the look, his chest puffing out ever so slightly at the way she was looking at him. “I am. I’m really hoping I will be able to make a difference, within the police department more than anything else. I think if I can make a difference there, weed out as much corruption as I can, then that will feed out into the community, more than anything I could do as a single police officer.”

Marinette nodded in agreement. “I think you’re right. I’m worried about you though.”

Dick grimaced and considered not telling her the next part, but he’d promised her and, more importantly, himself, that he wasn’t going to keep things from her just because it might worry her. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve already been approached by one of the families to work for them. Saw him talking to a few other cadets as well.”

“Dick!” Marinette gasped, eyes wide with concern.

“It’s okay,” he assured her with more calm than he felt. “Commissioner Gordon and I expected it. It would actually be more concerning if I didn’t get approached by anyone.”

“I know. It just makes me nervous.” She looked down at her burger and took another bite so he wouldn’t see her concerned frown. “Your fellow officers are supposed to have your back, not stick a knife in it.”

“I can handle myself. I’ve been trained since I was nine to take on more than a few rampant officers.” He puffed out his chest in an exaggerated motion to distract her. “I’m like Captain America in the elevator. I can take on all of them with nothing more than a stick and win.”

Marinette giggled and buried her face in his shoulder trying very hard not to laugh at him. She finally pulled her face out of his shoulder to look up at him in adoration. “You’re better than Captain America,” she assured him. “Just as skilled, better moves, smarter plans, better leadership, and all without the need of a super serum.” She brushed his hair away from his forehead and traced along the side of his face down to his jaw. “And much handsomer.”

She guided his face to hers and pressed her forehead to his. She let out a deep breath before continuing. “Just… make sure you come home to me, to us, every night.” She looked back up at him with concern etched deep in her features. “Please.”

“Every night? Forever?” Dick asked hopefully.

Marinette paused to think about it. That was what she had meant. Without overthinking it, without letting anxiety dictate her thoughts, that was what she had wanted. That was what she was asking him for. They had been waiting so they could figure out some issues they had between them and within themselves. Dick acted to protect without sharing. She hid away entire parts of her life. They both had needed to learn to open up more.

She was ready. She was ready to break down the last bastion of secrecy hidden in the depths of a magical fortification. If Dick wanted, she was ready to let him in. The question was whether he was ready.

She nodded slowly, her forehead still pressed against his, her breath fanning across his face. “I’m ready. I’m ready to move forward, but I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want to rush us if we aren’t both ready. I want to make sure we last.”

Dick grinned and ran his knuckles along her cheek. “We’ll last. It was written in the stars. The universe brought us together. And we’ll take on the universe if it tries to tear us apart.”

“And win,” Marinette giggled affectionately, the smile on her face brilliant and hopeful.

Dick grinned against her lips. “And win,” he agreed solemnly. “That’s a very important part.” She grinned at him and gently brushed her lips against his. She started to pull away but he followed her, pressing his lips against hers more urgently. She pushed back against him, bunching her fists into his shirt, pulling him closer with it. He wound his arms around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

She whimpered against his mouth as his hand moved up her back until it wound into her hair. The sound made his heart race. God, he had missed this feeling, the feeling of her lips against his, of her body against his, the exhilaration her sounds produced in him. He missed knowing she was his to touch, that she wanted him to do it. He missed the way they fit, like a perfectly engineered puzzle box, each piece fitting into the other so precisely, anything else felt wrong.

She moved her arms around his neck, working her fingers into his hair to pull him closer. She needed to be closer. She had missed his warmth and the way he touched her and now she couldn’t get enough. She needed more. She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, opening her mouth to grant him access. She moaned as his hands traced her face and worked down her sides and back up her back.

She finally pulled away breathless after a few minutes and smirked at him. “Definitely more enjoyable without the nausea.” She rested her head against his neck as she fought to recover her breathing.

“Glad to hear it,” he laughed. He hugged her closer to him, keeping his arms tight around her. “I missed kissing you,” he whispered as if afraid to break a spell.

Marinette grinned and kissed his neck. “Me too. I missed kissing you, hugging you, being held by you,” she looked pointedly at their situation, “sitting in your lap, calling you my boyfriend.”

He hummed in agreement and nuzzled his head against hers. “I’d prefer fiancé or husband, but I’ll take boyfriend for now.” He smiled thinking of the ring he already had stuffed away in his drawer.

“You’re ready for that move?” she pulled away in surprise.

“I’ve been ready for months. Even after our fight, I’ve never changed my mind. I love you Marinette. I am completely, utterly, ridiculously, unapologetically in love with you.” He leaned down to kiss her, slowly, sweetly, passionately. “I know what I want my future to be. I’m just waiting for you to decide if it’s what you want too.”

Marinette stared at him in awe. She shook her head and buried it in his neck again as tears began to fall. “Marinette?” he asked carefully, trying to pull away far enough to look her in the eye. He wasn’t expecting tears. That was… a concerning reaction. He didn’t think suggesting they eventually marry would make her cry. Damn it, way to kill the mood just as they were getting back to a great place.

She took a breath to steady herself, a breath that very much smelled like Dick. She pulled away enough to look up at him, love shining in her eyes. “I don’t know exactly what I want for my future, but every time I picture it, you’re there with me. Every iteration of it you’re there with me. Sometimes with just Lucy and Rob, sometimes with more kids. Sometimes in the manor, sometimes in our own place. Sometimes in Gotham, sometimes somewhere else. Sometimes I’m running a major fashion label, sometimes I’ve become a WE employee. Sometimes you’re still an officer, sometimes you’re a detective. But every version, every iteration, you’re there with me. I know that much. That’s all I know. I love you and I want my future to be with you.”

He examined her eyes to look for any indication of uncertainty in her words, but her eyes were confident and adoring. He surged forward to capture her lips in another searing, breathtaking kiss. The moan she let out into his mouth made his body react viscerally. They needed to get somewhere more private before they continued. “Maybe we should take this home and away from prying eyes,” he gasped out when he was finally able to force himself to break away. She nodded wordlessly, still trying to catch her breath.

<><><><><>

“Perfect timing,” Barbara smiled at them. Lucy was rooting into her chest searching for something to latch onto. “They just started fussing and searching for milk in places they won’t find it.”

Marinette laughed and took her from Barbara. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. I feel worse for her. She’s never going to find what she’s looking for here. Hate to be a disappointment.”

“If it makes you feel better, they find me to be just as much of a disappointment,” Dick offered. “No milk, no value.” He shrugged.

“Come here, sweetie. Don’t let them shame you for knowing what you want.” She stuck her tongue out at them and left the room with a smile.

Dick picked up Rob from Duke with a smile and a nod of thanks. “Anytime,” he shrugged as he handed Rob off. “So… how did it go?”

“Hm?” Dick responded absentmindedly, checking Rob to see if his clothes needed to be changed too or just his diaper.

“How did it go? How did the date go?” Stephanie elaborated annoyed by his lack of attention.

“Oh,” Dick’s eyes brightened and he grinned excitedly. “It went brilliantly. We’re back together and we know where we want to go with our future.”

“So… proposing within the year or within a few months?” Tim asked with a smirk.

“Pft. Knowing Dickieboy, within a few hours,” Jason scoffed popping a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Dick ticked his head to the side. “Considered it, but I want to make it romantic.” He turned to Tim with a wink. “Give me a few days. Come on, Rob. Let’s get you changed and ready for Mommy. Night guys.” He smiled at them as he carried Rob to the family bedroom.

“Have fun tonight,” Stephanie called after him with a laugh.

“No more babies tonight,” Jason called immediately after. “Turn the movie up. I don’t want to hear them ignoring me,” he grumbled to Duke.

Dick made it up to the family bedroom just in time to change Rob’s diaper, reswaddle him, and switch Lucy for Rob so Marinette could nurse him. She took him with a smile. “Did I hear Jason yelling?”

“Yeah, he was just saying how happy he was that we’re back together,” Dick assured her with a laugh.

Marinette chuckled then immediately quieted when the movement startled Rob. “Sorry Rob,” she cooed at him.

Dick swaddled Lucy quickly and laid her down in her crib. “How about I set up a movie in the other room?” he whispered into her ear as he gently ran his hand over Rob’s head.

Marinette hummed in appreciation and pressed her head against his. “That sounds wonderful,” she whispered back.

He kissed her temple and quickly made his way to his bedroom. He pulled out a few fuzzy blankets and navigated to a movie he thought she would like. He ran down to the living room where the rest of the family was and grabbed one of their bowls of popcorn and a few drinks. “Thanks,” he called out to them as he ran away before anyone could stop him. He set up the popcorn and drinks on the side table and propped up a few more pillows for them to lean against while they watched the movie, if they did in fact watch the movie, though he really hoped they would be too busy doing something else.

He kicked off his shoes and double checked that everything looked perfect. Assured that it was, he made his way back to the family bedroom. He had expected Marinette to be done already and come find him. He silently opened the door to check on them and smiled at the scene in front of him. That was why Marinette hadn’t come to find him. She had fallen asleep nursing Rob. Rob was lazily sucking at her breast in his sleep. Dick shook his head at her.

Dick picked up Rob and put him back in his crib. He fussed sleepily for a few seconds, trying to get back to the nipple, but quickly fell back asleep. Marinette opened her eyes at the movement, arms reaching out to keep Robert from falling. She looked up at Dick with a hazily confused look. “What’s going on?”

Dick smiled at her and made his way back to her, picking her up in a princess hold and carrying her to her bed. “We have the rest of our lives to watch a movie or do anything else. Tonight, I think you need sleep,” he told her quietly as he gently laid her down, pulling a blanket over her.

She hummed in response and pulled the blanket closer around her. He kissed her cheek and ran his fingers over her face lovingly before pulling away to get ready for bed. Before he could move away from her, she caught his hand and pulled him down next to her. She looked up at him with soft, affection filled eyes. “Please stay?”

Dick’s heart stuttered at the request, so open and vulnerable and filled with love. He smiled at her and climbed into bed next to her as she lifted the blanket for him. “Always,” he whispered into her hair. He settled in behind her and gently pulled her against him, feeling her warmth against him as she curled into him and he curled around her in a perfect harmony.

The End

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#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - ring #wally's gonna be racing dick to the altar

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