#in the three days i didn’t have class i fucked up my sleep schedule amazing

[wawataka]

i thought about this panel during my math class. i’m not the best at coloring skies but i tried my best

[gucciwins]

A Family of Three Grows

A/N: Thank you to the lovely Nonnie who brought back inspiration for this story I wrote in 2020 and last gave an update in 2022. Who knew 2024 would be the year I brought it back. This was fun to write and go back to this family's dynamics. Hope you enjoy, my sweet friends 💜

Word count: 3234

Adore You / Three Time / Leather and Lace / Family / Ask

+

Harry loved his family. 

Y/N and Atticus were everything to him and when Y/N broke the news their family was going to be growing, he was over the moon. It’s something they talked about but never rushed because they had Atticus, their sweet angel who would not stop growing. 

Atticus was the smartest boy. He was the top of his class and loved to read chapter books with Y/N. Each night, they would read a chapter and discuss their thoughts over breakfast in the morning. Harry’s input was asking questions so he could stay in the loop. Harry still remembered a summer day where he went to run errands, leaving them at home reading in bed and came to find them cuddled with ten books laid on their bed. He knew his son valued this time with the woman he called Mum. 

Life had treated them well. Y/N was writing, going to the studio when Atticus was at school. Harry adhered to the schedule and was open to working extra hours. Y/N and Harry were the perfect team. She helped create the entirety of Harry’s house. It was an album he felt captured their life in their own way. The grammy’s that year were a pleasant bonus to round out the amazing year they had. 

Y/N and Harry were in the studio today while Atticus was at school. Harry was in no rush to push out a fourth album. He enjoyed being in the studio with Y/N. It made him fall in love with her all over again. The ideas she brought were something he didn’t take for granted.

Y/N was sitting at the piano wearing her favorite oversized Ferrari sweater. The girl clung to her worn-out shirt, despite its tears. Not that he would ever make her. He had his fair share of tattered shirts in his closet. 

She was beautiful. How lucky he was to have her as his partner for the past five years. Their family is everything he dreamed of when he was a young boy. Without looking, she called for him to sit beside her on the bench. He did so without a second thought. 

“I wrote a song–well, it’s unfinished,” she tells him as she plays the soothing lullaby she wrote for Atticus when he was six years old and was having a hard time sleeping through the night. It’s something she played repeatedly until Atty would fall asleep. 

“Can I hear it?” 

Y/N shifts. She seemed reluctant to reveal it to him. 

“Well, it might not be any good,” she defends, and she pulls her notebook. 

Harry frowns. Y/N being insecure in the studio is unheard of unless it’s something she’s been holding in her chest for a long time and is finally letting it out. She passes him the notebook. There’s a picture holding the place she wants him to read. One look at her is all the encouragement he needs to open up the book and read the first words: For Atty.

He reads line by line and by the time he reaches the last words, there are tears fighting to fall from his eyes. Y/N wrote a song for their song. It’s a rough draft, and he knows she wants him to help her finish it. 

“Atticus knows how much we love him–how much I love him. But I want him to hear this song and know that my love isn’t something that will ever go away. If anything, it’ll only get stronger.” She tells Harry. 

It takes everything in him to not break down because he never expected to be loved this much in life. He expected to be content, but this was beyond anything he could ever dream of. “It’s fucking perfect.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, it’s not even–” 

Harry stops her, reaching for her hand. He brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her hand. “It’s amazing. You wrote a song for our boy. Sure it’s not finished, but you wrote those lyrics calling our sun the light of our life. The reason the world turns. I have never been able to put into words how much he means to me, but you did it.” 

“I love you,” Y/N reminds him.

“Love you, too. So fucking much.” 

“Will you sing it?” Y/N asks. Those beautiful eyes are staring at him and there is no way he can tell her no.

After so many years together, Harry understands how Y/N writes songs. He can see the melody written out. It’s something that frustrates Tyler because he doesn’t pick up on her cues. Harry tells him not to sweat it, it’s something only they have. Something they have as the perfect pair. 

Y/N plays the melody on the piano as Harry sings the lyrics. The longer he sings, the more he feels his throat close up and by the final lyrics, he’s got tears streaming down his face. “I don’t think I can sing it without crying.” 

She laughs. “You’ll have to try. I want us to record it for Atty. Maybe get it on a record for him.” 

Harry gives her a long kiss. “That sounds like the best idea.” 

Y/N and Harry spent the rest of the day in the studio, knowing Atticus was with Anne for the day allowed them the extra time to be in the studio. By the time dinner rolled around, Harry had ordered them food from her favorite Chinese food restaurant. Y/N reminded him three times not to forget her spring rolls. Over dinner, they discussed the song and how they might want to surprise Atticus. Y/N made him promise not to tell him until they could have it produced by their good friend, Tyler. It would take some time, but it would be worth it. 

Y/N had a last surprise for Harry. They were back to sitting side by side on the piano bench when she passed him her notebook again. “There is one last surprise,” Y/N tells him. She flips the notebook a few more pages. There is a paper. He thinks nothing of it until Y/N turns it around for him.

A sonogram. 

It’s a black photo with a small gray blob in the center. Harry isn’t sure what to think. It can’t be true. Can it?

He squints, picking up the paper, and in the corner has Y/N’s hyphenated name.

“Baby, is this?” He gets out.

“What is it?”

“Are we–are you?” Harry lifts his head to meet her eyes that are brimming with tears. “Are you pregnant?” 

Y/N lets out a joyous laugh, one that finds a place deep in his heart. “Yeah,” she confirms. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” 

“Oh, my goodness.” Harry looks back down at the sonogram. He wants to know everything, but all he can do is cry. Y/N stands up from the bench to move closer to him. Harry turns his body, resting his head on her stomach, Y/N settles her hands on his shoulder. She lets one run through his hair as he takes in the news that they are going to be giving Atticus a sibling. Something he would ask for constantly. They were making a dream come true. 

“Hi, little pea. I’m your Daddy.” 

Harry pulls away from Y/N when he hears a loud sob. “I’m sorry,” Y/N apologies for startling him. “That was–I don’t even know how to explain it, but fuck, you’re so amazing.” 

He drags Y/N to sit in his lap. Harry holds her close, rocking her back and forth, kissing her neck, whispering, I love you. This is something they talked about endlessly. Atticus was their boy. They had always said their family was perfect. Whether they added to their family or not, they are happy, but getting this addition into their life felt right. 

Y/N isn’t sure how much time passes, but she is ready to go home and be with Atticus. As they’re packing up, Y/N steps towards Harry, knowing he might be upset with the only downside to the news of her pregnancy. “H, we can’t tell anyone. Not Atticus. Not even Anne.” 

“But love, how do you expect me to resist?” 

Y/N’s smile is sincere. She knows he wants to scream it from the rooftops. “It’s early,” she stresses. “I want us to make sure everything is okay. That we make it past this first trimester. I know that’s asking a lot for you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not at all, Lovie. I understand. Your health and the babies are important. I respect that.”

She gives him a kiss. “Thank you.” 

“Let’s get home to our sweet boy.” 

They leave the studio with their hearts full. 

+

It’s been three months and Y/N’s doctor gave them the all clear. Their sweet bub is growing at a good rate and Y/N is doing spectacular. No morning sickness, no weird food cravings (yet) and is glowing. Harry was excited because that meant it was time for them to share the news with their family, but most importantly, to Atticus. 

Harry spent the day getting the surprise ready. The vinyl was in a special box ready to be opened and then played. They’d be doing that first, then give Atticus the news. While Harry ran around getting everything perfect, Y/N laid in the hammock in their backyard with Atticus. They each had a book in hand. Atticus at 9 was reading the Percy Jackson series, something Y/N was excited about because they were some of her favorite books when she was growing up. Now she got to see her son experience everything she did at his age. It helped that she could answer questions he had, without spoilers, of course. 

Y/N set her book down, running her hand through Atticus’ brown locks similar to Harry’s. She knew he’d made a great older brother. She also feared he’d think she’d loved him less with a baby around, which was far from the truth. Atticus was hers, he was her baby boy and nothing or no one could take that from her. Harry likes to joke and say Atticus is her twin instead of his because he takes after her. Atticus has all of Harry’s looks but is everything her child for he has her love of reading. He loves the ocean and could spend hours in there with them. Atty was charismatic and had everyone’s attention as soon as he walked into a room. He exuded confidence and skillfully commanded attention with his voice. Y/N liked to say he picked up on both of their traits, but Harry assured her Atticus was a piece of her. It never failed to make her cry. 

“I love you Atticus.” Y/N told him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

Atticus bookmarked the page he was on. “I love you too, Mum.” 

Y/N wanted to blurt out the news to Atticus, but knew Harry would be upset she did it without him, so she held it in. 

“Forever going to be my sweet boy?” Y/N asks. 

“Course. Going to take care of you all my life,” Atticus promises. 

Y/N smiles. A very Harry answer. “Much appreciated. I think your dad has got you covered.”

Atticus shrugs, “two of us looking out for you isn’t bad.” 

“Glad I’m in safe hands.” 

Atticus goes back to reading but Y/N stays lost in thought, waiting for Harry to announce his arrival. It isn’t much longer when Harry rushes through the backyard, box in hand. Y/N sits up, eager to give it to her son, but Atticus doesn’t seem concerned about his reading. 

“Hi bud, got you something?” Harry shakes the box softly. 

“Two pages left,” Atticus mumbles. 

Harry frowns. “This is your fault.” He points at Y/N.

Y/N gasps. “Please, who bought him an entire library?”

“Again you,” he defends. 

“Technically, your money.”

“Our money,” Harry corrects. 

Atticus is entranced in his reading and Harry uses the time to steal a kiss from Y/N. They refrain from anything too much for Atticus’ sake, but he never minds seeing them give a bit of affection. 

“Chapter done,” Atticus shouts. “Gimme. Gimmie.” He makes grabby hands, but Harry shakes his head, telling him they had to head inside. 

Y/N holds onto Harry’s arm as Atticus rushes inside to the piano room. It’s his favorite room in their Malibu home. The view is perfect. You can see the tides rolling in, one landing on top of another. The sounds perfect to lull someone to sleep. 

Harry sits next to Atticus while Y/N kneels in front of him, her hands pressed together under her chin as she watches him tear the paper. Y/N remembers doing that as a child and knows her mother was a saint for the patience she had. Y/N is close to ripping it herself, but when she sees the brown box, she settles down for a single moment.

Atticus pulls out the record. It’s in a sleeve with a beautiful print of Y/N, Harry and Atticus running through the sand a few months back. Anne had taken it and it became their favorite picture as a family. Harry

thought it would be the perfect fit, and it was. On the top of the cover it read “Atticus’ Song”. His small hands ran over the words as he sounded it out. 

“Is this us?” 

Y/N stroked his cheek. “Yeah, bubs. It’s for you.” 

“Can you play it?” Atticus asks Y/N. 

Harry knew Y/N was nervous. Hell, he was too. There was no worse critic than an honest nine-year-old. As Y/N placed the record on the player, Atticus fiddled with the string of the bracelet he made the other day with Harry. They all had a similar one on their wrist, Atticus having made Y/N’s matching them. Y/N walked back, squeezing next to Harry. Atticus closed his eyes to focus on the opening notes of the song. He was just like Harry, a true critic and admirer of all music. This time was no different. 

The song was slow and had the melody of a lullaby. Harry’s voice welcomed them into the song, with Y/N’s joining him in the chorus. Y/N saw Atticus’ lip twitch during her solo and she couldn’t help but squeeze Harry’s arm. The song ran its course, and they waited patiently for his thoughts. 

“Nice. It was really nice.” 

Y/N let out a deep breath she was holding. Atticus cries, and Y/N panics as she swoops him into her lap before Harry can even move. She holds him tight to her chest as she meets Harry’s worried stare.

“Darling, my darling boy. I got you. I always have you.” Y/N whispers, brushing his hair back, trying her best to soothe him. Y/N rocks him back and forth, letting him get out all his emotions. 

Atticus pulls back, his sniffles the only sound in the room. “Promise I like it.” 

Harry laughs. “Tears would say otherwise, bud.” 

“It–I–I” Atticus isn’t sure how to explain what he felt. “Can we play it every day?” 

Y/N presses a kiss to his temple. “Anything for you.” 

“You wrote it Mumma?” 

Harry scoffs in defense. “What if I did? Huh?” 

Atticus giggles. “Okay, Dad.” 

Harry pouts. Y/N is the stronger song writer, there is no fighting it. “Fine, she wrote most of it.” 

“We did it together,” Y/N answers. 

“It’s my new favorite.” Atticus declares proudly. 

“Good. That’s good. We do have one last surprise.” Harry is eager to share the news.

He stands up and goes for the frame they put the sonogram in for Atticus to keep in his room. While Harry steps out, Y/N settles Atticus in the middle of the sofa for Harry to sit next to him. Honestly, she wants to record this moment but decides it’s better to keep it private between them. Harry comes back with his dimples on display and Atticus is quick to be suspicious. 

“Now close your eyes,” Harry orders. 

Atticus looks weary but does as he’s told. Harry places the frame in his hands and when Atticus opens his eyes, he is looking at their most recent sonogram. It’s clear there is a baby in the middle with its head and body. Atticus would be quick to put it together, but even if he didn’t, the frame reading “Best Brother” would be a dead giveaway. Atticus’ jaw drops at the news. His eyes were not leaving Y/N’s as if he was waiting for them to say “just kidding” because he had waited a long time for this moment. There was a baby in his mum’s stomach. He was going to be an older brother. 

“Is that why you’re always snacking?” Is the first thing Atticus says. 

“Atticus,” Harry shouts playfully. Harry spares a glance at Y/N, unsure how she will react. She’s been a weeping mess, even if she denies it’s the pregnancy hormones. Instead, she surprises him by laughing. It’s a full belly laugh that makes her tear up. 

It is true Y/N had been snacking recently, always something in her hand from a mandarin to banana chips. Harry had stocked up on different snacks on his weekly run to Tesco. He was sure Y/N had almost finished them, but he didn’t mind making all the extra runs out. Anything for his wife. 

“How long do I have to wait to meet them?” Atticus asks when Y/N’s laughter has died down.

Y/N places her hand over her stomach. She hasn’t popped yet, but her doctor told her it would happen soon. Harry had taken photos every day, so she had seen the difference. “About six months to go, Atty.” 

His eyes widened. “Too long.” 

Harry laughs, pushing back Atticus’ growing curls. “Trust me, I know. But we’ve got an important job during this time.”

Y/N smacks Harry’s shoulder. “You don’t have a job, baby. We want you to keep being you. You can talk to us about the baby, about anything.” 

“Can they hear me?” Is his follow up question. 

“Mmm, you can talk to them all you like. Your Daddy certainly likes to do so.” 

“Hey,” Harry pouts. “Thought you liked it.” 

Y/N gives Harry a kiss. “I love it. One of my favorite parts of the day.”

“Okay. Can I do it now?” Atticus asks. 

Harry nods and gestures for him to settle on the couch with Y/N. He sits on Y/N’s lap while Harry is quick to try to move him, wanting him to be careful with her. Y/N simply pulls him closer, and it reminds him of how perfect of a mother Y/N already is. 

He joins his family on the couch, all snuggled close, while they listen to Atticus talk to his sibling. It’s one of the best days of Harry’s life and he can’t wait to make more memories in a few months’ time. For now, he will enjoy these special moments. 

[malleux]

spell [2]. | corpse husband

part one ; part three

-> Pairing: Corpse Husband x Fem!Reader

-> Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst

-> Warnings: Hate Comments, Self Doubt, Anxiety, Cursing

-> A/N: thank you for 1k notes on part one! i’m so glad everyone likes my work. it’s really nice getting this much love after taking a hiatus on my fire emblem writing blog. i hope y’all enjoy it and stay on the lookout for part three!

corpse husband taglist is closed!

Two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since you joined Sean’s Among Us stream.

While that was your first public appearance, you had joined three others after that and already you were blowing up on almost every social media platform you had. The attention was kind of nice, you had to admit, but sometimes the anxiety of becoming a public figure weighed heavily on your shoulders.

During that time, you turned to your friends who were used to such scrutiny: Sean, Felix, and now Corpse, who you’ve been talking to every day for those two weeks.

It was another one of those nights where, at 1am, you were on Facetime with said man. His screen was dark, as usual. He hadn’t shown his face yet and you respected that. You didn’t need to see him to talk to him, or be his friend, or develop a slight crush on him. All of which you did.

The call was relatively silent on your end. Corpse was on Facetime with you, yes, but he was also on a call in Discord, once again playing Among Us.

You often wondered if playing that game was all your new friends did anymore.

You stayed quiet, letting Corpse play the game and avoiding his fans finding out about your call. You had college work to finish anyways, so the silence was rather helpful.

“We should ask Y/N if she wants to play. I wanna meet her.” Sykkuno’s voice rang out from the Discord call. He was right- you’d never met him. He and Corpse seemed extremely close, though, so you’d love to talk to him. A friend of your crush friend was a friend of yours.

“She’s busy tonight.” Corpse responded.

“Yeah, she’s got an exam coming up- wait, how do you know?” Sean joined in, questioning Corpse.

“Uh, I mean we’re on Facetime right now, I guess.” Your heart sped up- now his fans knew. “She’s studying. We’re just hanging out.”

“Didn’t you guys ‘hang out’ last night as well? It seems like you’re trying to take my best friend away from me.” Sean joked back.

“I mean, I definitely am.”

Your breath caught in your throat. What was that supposed to mean? Sean was obviously kidding, but the tone in Corpse’s voice wasn’t the one he used when he was joking as well.

Felix suddenly butted in. “Ooooh, I think Corpse-y has a little crush.”

“And if I do?”

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

꧁꧂

Three weeks, now, that you’ve been talking to Corpse daily.

One week since Corpse’s crush comment and one week that you’ve endured countless mentions and tags on Instagram and Twitter, constantly talking about #CorpseY/N.

You didn’t really mind the shipping, often losing yourself in daydreams about driving those two hours down from your apartment in Los Angeles down to San Diego and running into his arms. It didn’t help when he mentioned wanting you to come visit one day.

You just worried about how Corpse felt about them. He was still relatively new to blowing up on the internet as well, his fame suddenly skyrocketing in the past few months, so you weren’t sure if he was comfortable with them. You didn’t want to bring it up, either, fearing that the discussion would make things awkward between the two of you.

For now, you were rather content with just scrolling through the #CorpseY/N hashtag, looking at the pictures and nice things people had to say about you both.

“they’re so cute when they talk to each other, you can just tell Corpse meant it when he said he was trying to steal Y/N away.”

“#CorpseY/N is my new favorite thing. Everyone shut up this is all I’ll be talking about from now on.”

“God why can’t they just be together already? #CorpseY/N”

Everyone was so supportive and sweet, it almost made you feel like you already were Corpse’s girlfriend. Although your heart hurt when you were brought back to reality, you couldn’t help but love the comments that everyone left. They were amazing.

Until they weren’t.

There are always two sides of the same coin. Along from the supporters and their loving actions, there were also those who seethed at the idea of you and Corpse.

They scrutinized everything about you to the point that you made your Instagram account- already with 30k followers- private.

Haters talked about you. Your body, your personality, how you weren’t worthy to even talk to Corpse and the rest of the Youtubers, and so much more. You’ve spent many nights with your Facetime mic muted so that Corpse couldn’t hear the small sobs coming from you.

These thoughts were almost always on the back of your mind, but you were sometimes able to push them away.

Like now- as you focused on your exam. Well, tried to focus. There comes to be a time where one can only hear so many negative things about themselves before they can’t ignore it anymore.

But alas, you tried your hardest and finished your exam, before walking out of the room and pulling out your phone. Now, you had a break before your new classes started and you’ve never been more relieved. You pulled up a certain contact and clicked on the message icon, beginning to type.

you:

i’m finished! up next, a break.

corpse:

I hope you did well. How long is your break?

you:

two weeks!

corpse:

Come spend it in San Diego

You stopped in your tracks, taken aback by the offer. You really didn’t think that he’d invite you over, but you weren’t about to complain. Instead, you sent back an ‘I’ll pack tonight :)’ and rushed home to do just that.

Corpse called you as you packed, just like he calls every night. You were used to the routine now, often falling asleep around 3am as he stays on the phone, doing whatever he does with his ruined sleep schedule until you wake up and say good morning.

Tonight, however, you were too jittery to sleep. You stayed up all night with Corpse, talking about anything and everything, like usual.

What wasn’t usual, though, was how distracted he sounded. It made you nervous- was he having second thoughts about inviting you over? Was something wrong?

Your thoughts nearly overwhelmed you, forcing you to say something.

“Are you okay, Corpse?” You tried to hide the small shake in your voice.

“Hm? Uh, yeah, yeah, everything’s good. Why?”

“It doesn’t sound like it. What’s going on? You’re acting off.”

His side of the phone was silent for a moment, before he let out a sigh. “I’m just thinking about what I’ve got to do before you get here tomorrow. Like, cleaning and stuff.”

“Pshh, that doesn’t matter to me.” You waved your hand, even though he couldn’t see it in the darkness of your room.

“It’s just that, my apartment isn’t… the best. It’s small and there’s only one bedroom and it’s kind of shitty. I just don’t want it to be even more shitty.”

“Corpse, I’m coming there to spend time with you, not your apartment. I don’t care what any of that shit looks like. I’m going to be looking at you and hanging out with you. Not your apartment.” You didn’t mean to go on a tangent of reassurance, but you truly meant all of your words. “Hell, I might not even see the apartment because I already know I won’t be able to look away from you.”

“I- God, give me a minute. That took me off guard.” He laughed. “But thank you. I may not even be able to clean because I’ll be distracted too.”

“By what?”

“You, standing in front of me, in person.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “That’s a fucking dream come true.”

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taglist: @namjoons-crabssss @lookingforaplacetosleep @teenloves @princess00wifi @pillowjj @nvm-idgaf @creativedogs @wildflowerwhore @chillininahottub-withaghost @whyisquill @holosexualunicorn7000 @ourheavenlyemotions

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[miekasa]

mie….could we please get college au eren headcanons👉🏽👈🏽

Of course. I’m always thinking about his big head anyway <33 might as well put it good use.

One thing he learned in college is how to make his hyperfocus/fixation episodes work for him; that’s why he schedules all his classes as close together as possible. He’d rather have class back to back for 5 hours, than have it spread out with hours in between lectures, because that increases his changes of cutting.

You can always tell when he’s in class and/or what class he’s in by how much he responds to your messages. If he doesn’t text back at all, he’s in a class that hard or one he enjoys, or both. But if he’s sending you iMessage games, then you know he’s in his elective that he couldn’t care else about (and is probably cheating in someway somehow lmfao). 

He usually puts his phone on dnd when he’s in a class that’s important, but you’re in his favorite contacts, so your messages always ring through. What if it’s an emergency and you need him for something? Advanced Roots of Human Biology can wait. 

Some days there are one or two our breaks between his lectures, that’s just how the scheduling works out. When that happens, he usually sneaks into one of your lectures, or goes to your place to take a nap. Your roommates have become accustomed to him, honestly they’ve been considering giving him a key. 

Once, he didn’t realize that your lecture was basically a seminar, with you, the prof and maybe six other students. He still stayed lmao, and the prof was so amazed by his dedication, that she didn’t even mind. Occasionally, you’ll catch the two of them talking after lecture. It’s pretty cute the way she’s adopted him into the class even tho he’s not on the roster. 

You... have to show him where the library is lmfao. He genuinely has not stepped foot in one until you bring him to one. He likes it tho lmao once he gets used to it. 

Speaking of which, do not give him standard directions to find your classes on campus because all you’ll get is, “Babe, I’m gonna keep it real with you, I’ve never heard of the ‘West Quad’ a day in my life. What building are you near.”

He usually comes to see you in the library after all his lectures are done for the day. Sometimes he does homework, sometimes he’s just fucking around on his computer, sometimes he’s just bothering you. When you have to leave to go to class, he stays behind to watch your stuff so you don’t have to pack everything up and come back. 

Very protective when it comes to keeping your seat for you. No, you cannot take that chair to your table you good for nothing freshman; it’s reserved for you. 

He’ll drag you out of the library if you’ve been cooped up all day, tho. Eren will use his height and his strength against you to get you up. Placates you with kisses when he sees your angry expression, and promises to buy you food.

He takes your backpack for you when you’re walking together,m. His backpack is frustratingly light all the time, even during midterms. You swear all he’s got in there is a pencil and some flashcards. 

If you have night classes, he sticks around to walk you home after, especially in the winter when it gets dark faster. If he’s not already on campus, he’ll walk/drive back to meet you; he just doesn’t like you going home alone. Even if your friend/roommate is in the class with you, Eren will walk or drive the both of you home for his own sanity. 

He plays sports, so he usually has practice most evenings, but he’ll find a way to make time. If practice was particularly brutal, he’ll probably crash at your place.

He loves it when you come to meet him after practice. His whole face lights up and he waves obnoxiously, before he gathers up his stuff and all but sprints towards you. You get a cold water bottle to the face, or a bit of water splashed on you usually, which he takes immense amusement in. 

He knows it’s not possible for you to make it to all of his games, and usually it doesn’t bother him much; you’ve got your own life, and work to worry about. All he asks is that you wear his jersey, or any item of his sports apparel/merch on game day (he’s partial to hoodies).

By the time junior year rolls around, he’s not all that interested in attending parties that aren’t hosted by your friends; so, unless it’s at Connie, Jean, or Reiner and Bertholdt’s place, Eren will usually decline. Even team parties, he’s not crazy about unless it’s to celebrate a championship or something. He’d much rather celebrate with you. 

He does get excited about hosting parties though, and he and Jean become pretty damn good co-hosts. They don’t throw ragers, and that’s probably why Eren likes it so much. It’s usually your friend group and a couple plus ones, some good music, games, weed, and take-out. 

He’ll buy you coffee whenever you ask for it. The first time, he just orders something plain, not really knowing the difference between anything; but give it two or three tries, and he’ll get it perfect. He becomes so good that he can order you something new/different and you’ll love it. 

That’s kind of the start of his own coffee addiction, and more often than not, when he buys you a cup, he’s on his second or third of the day himself. The flavor has really grown on him, okay. 

He much prefers your apartment, but on occasion, he’ll ask you to come to his. You’ve been studying for so long, a change of environment should do you good, he claims. He’s a fucking liar tho because that’s all Eren Talk for “I do genuinely want you to come over, but my plans are to coerce you out of doing your assignments and doing me instead.”

Lmfao he adds you on Apple Watch Rings just so you can see him close his rings every day and laugh at you. Even if yours get closed by virtue of walking around campus or working out or whatever, his numbers are stupidly high because he fucking has practice at least 4 days of the week. 

Of course when you’re running on a soccer field for 2 hours every day, you close your Move Ring five times, Eren. Leave the rest of us alone. 

He buys you guys matching accessories for your keychains. It’s something pretty cute, and slightly random, but it reminded him of you. It also serves as a reminder to himself to take his fucking keys with him when he leaves his house. 

He sleeps like a fucking rock, so do not let him fall asleep in the library. Waking him up is a mission, and he’s never happy to be woken up. He looks kinda cute tho. 

He schedules dates for you and his friends. Usually by accident, but hear me out. Sometimes he’ll make plans with Armin, then forget that he has class or a test or something; so his solution is to text you, “hey, i forgot min and i were supposed to go some aquarium tomorrow but i have a midterm so here’s the pdf of my ticket, go with him for me, thanks babe love u” then, boop, you and Armin have an aquarium date Friday evening. 

The same thing happens with Mikasa, though, she usually catches the scheduling conflict before Eren does, and invites you out herself. You and Mikasa hang out quite a bit anyway, so it comes to the point where she tells you when she’s gonna hang out with Eren, so you can make yourself free for when he inevitably remember he has a game that day. 

Mikasa is most amazed that you’ve put up with Eren this long lmao. You’ve certainly lessened her Eren & Armin babysitting hours, and for that she’s eternally grateful. Also, she’s just happy to have another close friend. She loves Eren and Armin, but they’re not the most social beings, and she was literally their only friend besides the other for all their childhood PLEASE she’s so happy you’re around. 

It’s Mikasa, however, who babysits you and Eren whenever you both get too drunk. Says you guys are two peas in a pod (affectionate<2)

If you tell Eren something important that happened, like an internship you got, or a good grade in a class, or something, he usually relays that information to his mom pls. He texts her every day, and if she doesn’t ask for an update on you first, he gives her one.

Carla calls you sometimes, too. At least once every few weeks, just to check on you herself. She really likes you for Eren, and is grateful someone is willing to put up with her hotheaded son. 

Eren’s always using your fucking chapstick. Always. You know he has his own, so why he needs to use yours is beyond you. Finds time to make some dumbass comment about how it’s an “indirect kiss” every time he uses it too. Like bro, we’re dating, and have had many direct kisses why are you like this.

He posts on Instagram every few weeks or so, but you’re on his story every few days. Usually, it’s just a video of you minding your business and doing your work while Eren slowly zooms in before making some loud noise to surprise you, all so he can get your reaction on video and laugh at it. He’s annoying. 

He’s a bit of a copycat when it comes to the products you use. He’ll buy the same brand of pens as you (for that matter, all of his school supplies mirror yours because what does he know about the difference between A4 and A5 notebooks?), put a little hand sanitizer on his backpack like yours (and a lotion, too, for good measure), he even copies your Starbucks order until he finds one he likes for himself. It’s one of his love languages <3

If you’re wondering where your eyelash curler went, Eren stole it to try it on himself, hurt himself, vowed to never use it again, went back because he wanted to “do it right and not give up,” liked the results when he didn’t pinch his eyelid, and now it’s his. 

That being said, stop trying to put your Fenty lipgloss on him, it’s never going to happen. Eye makeup, maybe, only if you sit in his lap and he can have his hands on your ass while you do it. 

What he does love is letting you do his skincare. He will set aside dedicated skincare nights, he adores it. Easily one of his favorite things ever. 

You have his wallet. Not because he’s your sugar daddy or anything (although, if you want something, he’d definitely let you use his card to get it; and even if you bought something without asking, he wouldn’t think twice about it), but because he put it in your bag once and never took it out. 

When you tried to give it back, he just shook his head and told you to keep it, “I have my ID in my phone case anyway, and you’re less likely to lose it. Plus I put all my cards on Apple Pay, so I’m good.”

When you do make it to a game of his, he’s all over you when it’s over. Not in a cocky athlete boyfriend kind of way; in a very sleepy boyfriend kind of way. He’s usually got ice on at least one part of his body, and he’s got half his body weight on you as you walk to the car. 

By the time you guys get back to your place, he’s practically sleep walking. The only thing on his mind is taking a hot shower to soothe his muscles, and heading to bed. The aftermath of game days aren’t all that bad though, because even if you didn’t show, you’re always there to kiss him when he’s home and massage his shoulders, and cuddle him to sleep; and that’s his favorite part. 

[bcdwhcre]

hiii hope your having an amazing day :) do you make headcanons? if you do and if you don't mind can i request headcanons for Izuku, Bakugo, and Denki about being in a secret relationship (i really love your stories about characters being in a secret relationship) and them accidentally outing their relationship because something happened (you can choose what happened) thank you so much!! also if you dont do headcanons you can choose one from the three on the imagine ❤️ I'm sorry if this is confusing 😅

“Secret Relationships,” Midoriya, Bakugou and Denki headcanon

YES IM GLAD YOU REQUESTED THIS UGH, I gotta do my sweet baby Bakugou first🥺

Summary: having a secret relationship with one of the guys and it’s get leaked.

Each section would probably be a little short, I apologize in advance🥺

Warnings: none!

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Bakugou:

The relationship between you and Bakugou was always strange but once the students had to move on campus in the dorms, it turned into a whole different story.

The secret meetups late at night in his room, turned into nothing more than a secret relationship. The way your sleep schedule was beyond screwed up from being up late in his room and having to wake up early to go back to your room before anyone noticed.

It had been going on for months so by now you were used to the secrets and sneaking around along with barely having any sleep the next day while in class.

The more the relationship progressed, the more Bakugou would steal quick glances at you and even when you were in the kitchen with the other students, he would purposely slide behind you and touching your back in the process.

One day in particular, the class had decided to have a game night and he wasn’t too thrilled about joining in. He had tried to convince you to come back to his room but you had told him it would make things obvious if only the two of you were absent.

He huffed, at this point he didn’t really care about the class nor their opinions on anything. He was a ball of fire afterall so when he saw you sitting with the class as they gathered up board games, he was over with keeping things a secret, he wanted it to be known that you were his and he wanted you upstairs in his room.

“I don’t wanna play this stupid game night.” Bakugou said in front of everyone but he was directing it towards you and you tried to ignore him.

“That’s fine, you don’t have to be here dude.” Kirishima patted his back, sitting down at the table and he huffed out a breath dramatically, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m not talking to any of you idiots.. Y/N.” He said your name sternly, like he was giving you a direct order by the look of his red eyes.

“Why are you so worried about Y/N being here with us?” One of the classmates mentioned and you had cursed under your breath, Bakugou was acting like a child.

“Because I want my girlfriend upstairs with me.” Bakugou angrily said, everyone growing quiet and you had gulped the lump in your throat, well there goes the secret.

Everyone’s eyes had landed on you and your cheeks turned a dark shade of red before you slide the chair back and stood up. You have never felt this embarasssed in your life, he could’ve done this any other time in a completely different way but of course the asshole had to make everything a big deal.

“No way,” Denki mumbled, trying to hold the laugh that was begging to come out.

You dismissed yourself, walking over to where Bakugou was and punched his arm as hard as you could, cursing under your breath and he smirked while wrapping his arm around your shoulders, winking back at the rest of the class.

“God, you’re so fucking embarrassing, Katsuki.” You muttered, following him to the elevator to go up and he tugged you closer.

“Oh shut up, you love it.”

As you two waited for the elevator, you couldn’t help the feel the classes eyes on the both of you. It was even more humiliating as you had to wait for the doors to slide open. You heard a few of them whisper about you two being a thing, some had mentioned how obvious it was and some mentioned had you two were complete opposites.

Bakugou obviously didn’t care, instead he liked to annoy everyone, especially you. So hearing people whisper about had fed onto the asshole ego he had, making his large hand grab your chin and give you a rough kiss on the lips in front of everyone.

The way your face was completely red at this point and all he did was give the classmates a evil grin before dragging you into the elevator and pushing the button for his floor.

“Why can’t you ever be casual?”

“Do you not know me? I’m far from casual.” He nudged you gently, laughing at your tomato red face and moved his thumb to brush across your cheek.

“Yeah, clearly.”

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Denki:

You had a crush on Denki for what seemed like forever. Since the first moment you met him on the first day of school till now. It was pretty obvious how much you liked him. Eventually you became bold enough to ask him to hang out.

Now you two have been dating for only a few weeks, you both had agreed to keep it private to enjoy the privacy and the time alone before the classmates end up finding out.

Of course you knew Denki a little too well at this point, you knew he would end up slipping up the secret sooner or later but it didn’t entirely bother you that it’ll happen.

And you were right, after a training exercise and having to go through some obstacle course that Aizawa had set up, he had sparked a fuse and as his brain suffered a shortage, his mouth had instantly opened and talked about you.

You couldn’t help but be over protective when he did go through that shortage phase, quickly taking care of him and making sure he was comfortable was a habit you picked up.

“So pretty.” He muttered as he reached for you in front of everyone and you froze in your place until he had wrapped his arms around you, clinging onto your body.

Your cheeks flushed, grabbing onto his body and holding him up straight so he didn’t lose his balance. He continued to mutter words like how you’re so pretty and he even slipped up how he was lucky to have you.

“Aww, Denki is in love.” Sero had laughed at his state, making you roll your eyes and become more protective.

“Nothing wrong with that.” You admitted, stroking your fingers through his hair and dragged him over to sit down.

His head had rested on top of yours, his tall frame giving you a tight hug and you had choked on the air you were breathing on from how openly clingy he was acting in front of the entire class including Mr. Aizawa.

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Midoriya had teased, the smirk on his face made you grow embarrassed.

“No.”

“Yes, we are.” Denki cut you off, his arms still around yours and the goofy smile on his face only got bigger.

“Y/N is mine. Only mine, I don’t want to see- I don’t want to see any of you near... what’s mine.” He managed to stumble out, his face turning blank like he had forgotten what he was talking about.

“Jesus,” You laughed, putting your hand over his mouth, glancing at your classmates.

You stayed quiet, dragging him away from the rest of the class and forced him to drink some water and sit down on a chair to relax until he went back to his normal state.

You will admit that he was cute and the way he openly told everyone what was his, which was you, had made your heart flutter.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Denki.”

“Am I?”

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Midoriya:

It had taken forever for Izuku to catch onto your hints on liking him and wanting to hang out with him more. Of course he was very oblivious and didn’t catch on for weeks, even months before you got frustrated and had been straight forward with him.

The both of you being completely shy balls made everything a lot more difficult, the hints he threw at you and the hints your threw at him had completely flew over both of your heads, it was quite ridiculous.

You knew Midoriya wasn’t going to make the first move, you knew he was too big of a anxiety nut to even be bold enough to tell you to your face that he likes you in ways that was more than friends. So you did it on your own.

It hadn’t even been a week of you two officially dating until Izuku slipped it up to Todoroki when ranting about how amazing you were and how much he loved watching your quirk in action.

Once he had revealed the secret, he had told Todoroki to keep his mouth shut and not talk about it again but later that day, Izuku slipped up to another one of your classmates, Ashido.

It wasn’t long until he had slipped up to the whole entire class and now everyone knew that you two were a fresh couple. The side comments the students would make to you both and embarrass the both you, making the shyness in you two grow and cause you to stutter to no end.

“I think you two are cute!” Ashido had mentioned, trying to assure you that it wasn’t a big deal that everyone already knew.

“You knew Midoriya can’t keep a secret for long.” She commented, making you laugh and agree to what she said.

You couldn’t blame him though, he was a little too excited to be dating his crush that he couldn’t help but talk about you constantly to all his friends. He couldn’t help but stare at you and want to talk about how pretty you are and the characteristics he liked most about you.

It was in his nature, he was proud and lucky that he just had that urge to tell the whole world about you and it made butterflies explode in your stomach and it also made you want to kiss him desperately but you decided to not do that in front of everyone.

“I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to tell anyone right away.” He mumbled towards you, the look of guilt washing over his features and you shook your head, embracing him in a tight hug.

“Don’t be sorry! I’m glad you told people.”

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ANNND finished, I’m sorry it’s short. I usually go longer when it’s one character at a time but I hope it’s good🤧

PLSSSS send in more my hero requests!! I’m obsessed

• Main Masterlist •

• MHA Masterlist •

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Western AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

(my saddle’s waiting) ride it

Iwaizumi “Big Guns” Hajime x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: Being ridiculous in front of your crush. Porn With Plot. Not researched strippers industry. Lowkey exhibitionism. Oral in a public space (bathroom); Cock-blocked Interrupted orgasms; Masturbation/fingering; Fingering  in public (street), then while driving. Driving while fingering? Unsafe driving. Fucking against a door, then a wall. Alcohol and mentions of drugs. Side Tendou/Oikawa. Bit of a teasing, overconfident Iwachan.  A poor excuse of oblivious colleagues to lovers.

Word count: WAY TOO BIG. +11k.

Note: 🤠 Brought by your wicked duo degenerates, Saint Dymphna and me:  LAWBREAKERS MULTIVERSE 🤠 electric bogaloo

You guys know the drill @dymphnasprose​ started this all with their tempting ways! It was the image of Iwaizumi all oiled up,  working in his garage like Channing Tatum that made me cave and do this. Once again, being with Dymph is nothing short of amazing and I LOVE THEM  🥺💕💕

This is wayyyy too ploty for something where I just wanted people to bang, but you guys know how I get with Iwaizumi. I’m not totally happy about how this turned out but honestly I have no time to work on it and it has to be out. You guys will realize I went full myself with Reader’s crush on Iwaizumi in this. Sorry not sorry.

Biiig, huuuuuge thanks to both @vanille--kiss​ and @oneblonded​ for their help in beta-ing this, you guys are incredible.  💕 As always a big thanks to @mixedhell​ who always helps me when I’m troubled <3

Iwa’s song: Pony (of course)

You can also read: MAKKI | MATTSUN 

You check your phone and realize you’re late… again.

You hate, hate, hate morning classes, but if you want to be in time for your internship and still have time to study and, well, live, you’re obligated to accept the first class of the day on a Friday. You hate it, and you hate it even more that it’s how you have to end your week but you’ve made peace with it. 

That doesn’t mean you can actually get there in time, reason why you’re twenty minutes late running with your keys and coffee in one hand while you try to balance both your books and your backpack with the other. And when you push the door with your hip, it makes a loud squeaking noise while opening, ruining both your quiet entry and bringing everyone’s eyes on you, of course, because when have you ever been granted a fucking break, right?

“Sorry!” You murmur while trying your best into making a curt bend, and your professor looks over his glasses to you in a very pointed manner but other than that he  resumes what he was speaking on before.

You know he hates you being late (especially as a repeat offender) but you’re a fairly participative student and you regularly earn one of his top grades, so you think that buys you some slack -- and leverage. You go to your habitual seat by the wall, and try your best not making any other noises while you set everything in their places and, thankfully, a moment later, you’re able to breathe while in your seat, with your open computer and notes ready. You give yourself about twenty seconds to drink a bit of your coffee and check out where in the topic the professor is lecturing about.

“That’s why Iwaizumi-san will be receiving your papers. I’ll be returning to the next week, and in the time being, he’ll be doing the full TA hours. If you have any questions just ask him and remember to schedule appointments before-hand, if possible.” Your professor states something that makes it clear you lost some important announcement at the beginning of the class and your eyes fly to Iwaizumi in response, but the man is just sitting at his normal place, front class, quietly nodding to the professors’ explanation while his big hands fly over his notepad. 

You sigh, wistfully, and take another sip of your coffee while your eyes thread over his form, clad in loose jeans that still seem tight in those amazing thighs of his and a hoodie that doesn’t do much to hide those incredible arms. Iwaizumi isn’t very tall, but he’s still taller than you and his shoulders are broad enough to engulf anything behind him when you stand too close. God, you wished Iwaizumi would do full TA hours on you anytime. He could work you into overtime too, you certainly don’t mind. 

You gulp down the saliva that overflows your mouth with some coffee and leaves another small breath to accompany your thoughts. 

You snicker just a bit and Iwaizumi’s eyes are suddenly on yours and your blood pressure peaks in a second while you choke on your coffee. Your teacher asks if you’re okay and you are obligated to answer yes while trying to shrink into the chair. 

See. Incredible track-record.

You manage to not make a complete clown of yourself during class again and even win over some praise from your professor for your contributions in the debate about ethical issues and patient safety. It’s usual that you and Iwaizumi end up interacting with each other’s input in debates but he was quiet today and when you’ve made an addition to his comment about unhelpful patients and mandatory rest all he did was nod and roll his jaw. As if you know what the fuck that means.

You chalk it up to him stressing over being in full TA hours for the week and when the class ends you stay in your seat while finishing typing some notes before you blink and they’re suddenly lost in your brain. When you look up and start packing your things you realize there’s only you and Iwaizumi left in the class and notice he’s looking directly at you, almost as if he was waiting for it.

You don’t think there’s another man who can look so dashing before ten am and with just a small corner lip smile, but hey, you’re not complaining.

“Hey,” he says a one-word greeting and holds his hand up and your heart leaps before you can manage to send a smile his way. Ah, it’s really unfair how cute he is. 

“Hey Iwa,” you greet back in a fair tone even if you feel a bit hot in the face, “You were unusually quiet today.”

He smirks and his hand clasps his neck for a moment while he scratches his hair. “Aa, just busy.” He hooks his backpack over his shoulder and walks over to you while you’re still packing your books. “You lost the warning, right?” 

“Yeah, late. Something important?”

“Nothing big. It’s the deadline for the midterm article, which you lost the explanation to but here--” He extends you his open notepad and you see the notes and instructions there, scribbled in block letters not very neatly, but fairly organized. You look it over briefly, confirm that is nothing different from the normal and bring your phone to take a picture. 

“Thanks, Iwa. Do you need any help with the TA hours?”

“Nah. It’s all fine. I organized my internship last month to have this week off.”

“Oh, smart,” you say as you swing your backpack over your shoulder and pick up your purse and the single book that couldn’t fit with your laptop in it. Iwaizumi makes you nervous. You’re fairly sure it’s because of the massive fucking crush you have on him. “Well, let me know if you need help.”

“Thanks,” you notice that he stays there looking at you for a second more... And then a few seconds more. 

“Is everything okay?

“You’ve been getting to class late a lot,” his eyes turn wide when he realizes what he just blurted out and the small pink dust atop his cheeks could be the thing that ends up killing you. Your brain gets lost in a chant of CUTECUTECUTE and for a moment you resist the urge to clench your books to your chest. “The professor asked me to see if everything was okay.”

“Oh, ah…” You actually force a bit of laugh out at that, surprised and a bit breathless. Dammit, you monitor two classes and then suddenly being a little bit late becomes a crime. “It’s nothing, actually. I’m just not a morning person. And I hate early classes, but I needed to get this one because of my internship, so I’m struggling with the time.”

Iwaizumi nods and even gives you a short smile while you two start walking alongside one another out of the class. “Ah, you should really fix your sleep schedule. You know the drill, eight hours every night.”

“You mean that impossible thing?” You laugh and thank him when he opens the door for you two to pass. Hot and a gentleman, God really has favorites. “I’m trying, but it’s easier said than done and I’m something of a night owl.”

“Brat. You’re just on your phone until late,” Iwaizumi snickers and you all but gasp, and before you can say anything he’s signaling to the other side you’re going. “I still have classes, see you on the TA hours?”

“Yeah, I have two days of TA next week,” you manage to squeak out without making a fool of yourself after he calls you a brat and even smiles his way despite the way you feel a sudden heat wave over your body.

“Nice. See you then.”

“Bye Iwa.”

You scurry off the other side and when you turn a corner you stop and do something absolutely ridiculous that is an internal scream with your head against the wall. You press your forehead against the cold tile and breathe about two or three times, all while your mind goes into overheat after a small talk with Iwaizumi Hajime, the hottest, most amazing Teacher Assistant this Physical Therapy course must have ever had.  

You hear someone saying your name while you try to recover and when you look to your side your heart sinks to your stomach as your eyes turn into plates. Hajime is looking at you funny, holding out a small paper to you and probably wondering if you’re okay in the head. Of course it’s him. It wouldn’t be you if this didn’t happen. 

“Ahhh, hi again?” You squeeze out in a weird breathless voice and Iwaizumi’s eyes seem to turn a pretty dark shade while his lips spread in a grin.

“You let this fall.” 

Sure, of course, you dumbass did. 

“Are you okay?”

“Thanks, Iwa. I was uhhh just…” You press your lips because your mind is blank and then God decides to cut you some slack with a momentaneous brilliance. “I forgot an important thing was due tonight and yeah, I was just screaming at myself.”

“Anything I can help with?” 

Yes. Marry me. Or just fucking, you’re not picky. 

Your whole face burns and you lower your eyes for a moment because the images assaulting you are just too much. Iwaizumi looks just so good up close, all sharp jawline and hard planes on that spiky jet-black hair and green eyes. Jesus Christ, looking like that should be illegal.

“No, it’s just something for this bachelorette party I have tonight.” God decides to grace you with some more lying skills and you thank them internally. There’s even a smile on your face. 

Iwaizumi nods away with your explanation.

 “Ohh,” He says with a smirk and your heart does a leap. “That’s nice. Give the bride my congrats.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell her.” Then, he extends the paper again and you finally grab it, once again making a fool of yourself to him. “Sorry, thanks for this.” 

Iwaizumi just nods and smiles your way, quickly turning back and leaving after saying goodbye and waving your way. This time you have half a mind to search a bathroom before screaming for real.

-

Honestly, you cannot believe where you are right now. Lawbreakers. The name is written in a pretty calligraphy font in bright fucking neon that simply demands attention in the dark of night. It’s the final stop of the bachelorette party of your good friend to which you are late. From the group text, everyone is at least nicely buzzed and you’ve been laughing with the ridiculous pictures the group of women have been sending you non-stop while calling you a buzzkill. 

As your car pulls into the front of the place, you just can’t help but snort. It’s cheesy, definitely tacky but nice, a use of the western theme that actually plays well. 

Outside there’s a neon cowboy riding a horse and you just… can’t help but be amused. There’s a small line of women waiting even when it’s already late but you walk up front as your friend had told you too, perks of being a member of the VIP entourage of women partying in the allegedly last night for your friend to be free. 

The doorman lets you in quickly and just as you’re passing the threshold a tall, pretty and lean, but built man clad in nothing but a white outfit rolls to your side, offering a flute of sparkling wine from a tray.

“Well, look at that.” The smile he sends you is trained, but charming and you can’t help but smile back. “We truly do have the prettier customers. Can I offer you some champagne? Maybe something stronger?”

You’re just bringing your hand up to say no when you stop, muse about how much catching up you’ll have to do with your friends inside and shrugs. “Well, better get a head start, right?”

“Yes!” He congratulates you, standing too close as he brings you a flute and deposits on your fingers, his hand trailing on your pulse for a moment before he lets go. Then, he throws you another charming smile, the mischief reaching his eyes this time. “That’s a good girl~”

You try to hide the way his charm works by letting your mouth fall in a small laugh, but something tells you he catches that either way. That, you think, is what you call a seasoned pleaser.

“Thank you.” 

Your cheeks are heating the tiny bit as you scurry off the corridor to the club insides, following the loud music and increasingly louder screams.

“Enjoy the show!” The man chuckles behind you and you raise your glass in acknowledgment, hurrying inside to do just that. 

Honestly, it’s not what you were expecting. 

As you pass the wooden saloon doors at the end of the corridor, the sound of screaming surrounds you as physical waves, washing through your body in such a high pitch you stumble in your heels. The energy inside makes you unable to not enjoy yourself automatically, surrounded by tables of women and a few groups of men all completely enthralled on the show that’s already happening inside.

For starters, western decoration aside, you were definitely not expecting to see your friend, the bride-to-be, being grinded on stage. 

The strawberry-blonde male is thrusting against the center of your friend's legs, precise and exciting wave-like motions that clearly are making everyone inside, your friend included, lose their minds. He grinds and holds himself up, moves your friend around as if she’s a doll and humps her behind. It looks so sinful and still in perfect beat with the song and for a second your mind just-- short circuits, hand shooting to your mouth as the laughs tip over loud and hearty. Your friend is burning in embarrassment at the way the man is moving and grinding on her, hands almost locked on her body as if she thinks she can’t move or something will just blow up. 

Then again maybe she’s the one who’ll blow up, being so close to such a fucking hot man. You can definitely see how that would make her blow a fuse, completely not used to this kind of thing. 

You manage to stop laughing at your friend losing it on stage and quickly spot the table, the balloons that have been featured in lots of pictures making themselves seen: bright teal things stating “one dick forever”. Every single one dressed in black and with their current bright plastic cowboy hat. It could be worse; if the place wasn’t so fitting with it’s bright lights and mixed decorations ranging from cowboy neon signs and saddles in place of stools.

By the time you manage to walk over amidst the screaming and join in on the girls fun, the showman has finally let your friend go in prol of fishing another happy bride and she looks every bit completely shaken as you’ve thought.

“Hey, baby, you good?” The slit in her white dress is higher, clearly a side effect of the way the man hiked her legs just so…open, and you chuckle at how she huffs a breath out and let herself fall against the cushions, both parts pent up and mortified. 

Well, you’re already liking the place. 

Then, one of the other bridesmaids presses a full plastic flute of champagne to your hand, calls everyone up to a toast and you let yourself fall back into the festivities. Your friend seems to be having a hard time coming back from the heated grinding session in the middle show, to which she excuses herself from the table and reassures everyone that she’s fine. Still, you pull her on the side, ask her once again if she’s okay, to which she just explains she needs some air.

God, you understand.

You were about to follow her when another bridesmaid pulled you into a hug, happily chatting about how this place was incredible, and trying to fill you in on the fun you missed by being late. Your eyes accompany your friend for a moment, seeing as she walks a bit clumsy but otherwise fine to the corridor that leads to the bathroom. Well, she would be fine.

The current show ends and the lights glow brighter, finally allowing you to check out the place. The Lawbreakers Club is nice and full; filled to the brim with groups of women and men around and apparently yours is not the only bachelorette party taking place in the western-themed strip bar. The waiters are wearing skimpy little clothing, the place decorated as a cross-theme of magic mike and an imitation of a western saloon.

Then, before you can even finish the current drink you have in your hands,  the lights go down once again while the stage is lightened up in bright neon. You’re all close enough and with an amazing stage view to catch when a very tall, very pretty, brunette who welcomed you earlier comes to the middle of the stage. 

The crowd goes immediately wild as the song is lowered to a simple mumble in the background and the man walks slowly to the center stage, open hands and the devastating smile of someone who knows they’re all that and more. 

Bit obnoxious but hey, there’s a literal horde of women screaming for him. You’d say it’s acceptable.

“Well, well, well, look like we have a full house tonight.”

The screaming reignites, sounding even louder since they also come from your own table and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Are you guys ready for the next show?” The crowd screams a resonant yes. “Good. Let us make a lot of noise for two of our best, biggest outlaws around.” As the cheers erupted once again, you can actually hear some names being called, all revolving around names with big, pretty or animals thrown around. 

“Did someone actually scream for Issei Horsecock?” You ask the bridesmaid closer to you and both of you laugh when she says yes. “Oh, wow.”

 “Yes, yes, you know the ones. Now, let’s make our Big Guns flustered with the warm welcome, you know what a big softie he actually is under all that hard, big, brute exterior.” It’s actually enthralling to see Oikawa dealing with the crowd, you can’t help but laugh away at his faces and double meaning. Then he stops, winks at the crowd and goes, “Maybe he just needs a ride. So, ride it, ponies.”

It’s clear the announcement everyone was waiting for, as the crowd loses right there. The lights are once again focused on the stage, dripping low as the music picks up in a sexy beat as two big, broad and athletic men make their ways to the center stage, Oikawa nowhere to be seen anymore.  

You cannot believe your eyes. You blink them once but then become completely unable to tear your vision from the image unfolding in front of you even for a second. The men comes to the front of the stage, holds onto the pole dance and undulates in a sinful, unholy trusting motion that has your mouth watering and he falls backwards with his hand supporting himself as his legs part on the metal pole and he keeps trusting in time with the bass, a honest-to-god mimic of sex that has you swalowing dry and drooling, your body heating up at the simple images that ellicit in your brain. 

He does a twirl in the air, falls in a plank and holds a hand up to hold his cowboy hat all while supporting his body in only one hand. He undulates in thrust motions, twerk his ass in the air before pressing down and takes his hat off his head as a display of strength you never in your mind thought would get you this bothered. 

His jet black hair is short and spiky, mussed by sweat and you immediately licks your lips at the salacious thought of licking it up from his skin. He falls with his back on the floor, start once again to proove just how fucking incredible it would be to ride him and then gets up in one single jump that knocks the air of your lungs. 

You take in all of him as the light catches on his perfect body, wearing nothing more than an open black leather vest with beaten dark jeans and a big, daunting belt buckle and the cowboy hat in his hand. 

And you feel as you have a out of body experience as his face registers in your mind, that mischievous smirk gracing his lips making your whole brain crash into a halt because you recognize that man as no one other than Iwaizumi Hajime, your long-time crush and Teacher Assistant with whom you were just earlier today.

Your eyes are unable to look anywhere but him, completely enthralled by the simplest realization that that single amazing piece of man is actually your long time crush, kind-of-friend and colleague. It feels unreal, impossible, to wrap your head around that piece of information and you’re rendered speechless, mind-blown and enchanted, eyes locked on his glistening muscles, the spanse of his skin on show growing by the minute as he does movements straight out of a wet dream. 

Yours, to be even more specific. 

It’s clear he doesn’t see you with the dimly lit room and the crew of women chanting. You’re sitting dumbfounded, mouth agape and blood reeling enough that your forehead seems like it will explode, but also feeling as if you’re suspended in a haze - as if Iwaizumi’s body undulating on the air as he holds himself on a pole is something of a spell and you’re definitely sucked in by it.

You can pinpoint the exact moment he sees you, as his show’s ending and the lights around the stage start shining once again. It’s painfully clear how Iwaizumi tenses from the realization, his eyes falling wide and curses tipping from his beautiful lips, the top of his cheekbones lighting up as he all but runs from the front of the crowd and in a moment you’re mirroring his embarrassment, face heating at the bizarre situation you’re finding yourself into. 

Your TA is a stripper. And a very good, famous one at that. 

What exactly are you supposed to do with this information?

It’s almost an hour and about three shows later where you’re filling your head pounding by the beat, unable to relax even as delicious men pass through your table and play with your friends. 

You feel tense, paranoid at what exactly has happened and where Iwaizumi may be, stomach turning and unresponsive as you try to sooth it with booze until you give up, rising on unsteady legs. Muscles strained from how long you’ve been sitting still, afraid to look anywhere and be slapped across the room with some other shocking news.

You take a deep breath as you balance yourself once again on your heels and walk to the bathroom for some needed cool-down, latching on the opportunity when another show is already rolling, a hot but unapproachable-looking man with blond hair and streaks on it owning the stage as if it’s his territory.

As you’re turning on the corridor, however, you’re circled by big arms and yanked from the ground, a yelp turning into silence as you take one look around and find dark green eyes boring into yours, a harsh look on Iwaizumi’s face that make you embarrassed at what it does to your guts.

He scurries off with you inside a place that looks like a private room, fairly dark with red lights around and a ominous pole-dance stage in the middle that makes your mind overheat at the images it summons: the man in front of you clad in nothing but a black jeans rolling his hips up into the air as if daring you to take a ride.

Well, shit.

Iwaizumi’s arms leave your sides and you stumble a bit, eyes diverting down as your face burns. You realize he takes that the wrong way when he sounds gruff and pissed. 

“What? Can’t even look at me now?” 

You look up in time to catch his arms crossing around his front. You wish he didn’t do that, as now you have one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen all angry-looking with bulging arms oiled and shining, clad in nothing but removable pants, leather chaps, vest and a black cowboy hat. 

You groan something unintelligible as you lose the ability to speak and Iwaizumi’s expression turns sour, lips pressed so hard it almost seems like he’s pouting, his hard eyes looking anxious and downcast. 

That’s what helps your brain kickstart, completely unable to see Iwaizumi looking remotely sad and acutely aware of how this must be taxing on him.

“Sorry, I-- It’s not you,” You wince as his eyes center on you, unimpressed, “I mean it! It’s just-- I was caught off guard.”

Iwaizumi makes a humming noise and centers his eyes on you as if he’s waiting for you to keep going but your brain is completely blank, staring at him with wide eyes and burning surprise. You have to make a serious effort to avoid letting your eyes wander his frame.

“So,” you start, unable to handle the silence and Iwaizumi groans, pulling his cowboy hat off to thread fingers over his hair in a nervous display that you’re sure he did not mean to be sexy but ends up being anyway. “I’m not sure what to say here.”

“Shit. What are you even doing here?”

“Bachelorette party,” you answer without missing a beat and he all but groans again, as if just remembering is an actual thing that exists- and probably gives him lots of money if tonight was anything to go by. 

The clear display of his anxiety actually helps you get a bit more at ease, and you can’t help but crackle an awkward smile. “So... you work here.”

“Yes,” Hajime brutal honesty shows he’s regaining his composure. “It’s good money if you work well and the hours are flexible.”

Not the only thing that’s flexible. You bite your lips at the thought to stop the words from actually spilling from your lips.

“I take it you're not public about this?”

“As little as I can considering the pictures and social media. The club is kinda famous, too.”

“I noticed.”

The silence stretches for a moment as Iwaizumi looks around nervously, his stance unmoving. You take a deep breath and sigh, lips falling in an odd, astonished smile. “Wow, Iwa, that’s…”

“What?” He bites back, defensive. You just end up chuckling, long breath falling from your lips as you look at him and can’t help but be once again dumbfolded at how fucking perfect this man is.

“Nothing, it’s just-- I would never expect it. It’s amazing, though. You’re amazing.” You wince at your own words and how telling they are, but carry on despite the burning on your face. “You seemed like a completely different person out there.” 

Definitely not the quiet TA you’re used to. Definitely still completely gorgeous.

Your body tenses as your heart does somersaults in your chest, hunger flaring enough that your throat constricts and your face burns once again.

“Don’t you think it's bad?” It comes out a bit strained, his eyes trained on you, tense and vulnerable. And you just about fall deeper for him right there. 

“Why? It’s your work.” You try your best smile, and after a little consideration Hajime’s shoulders finally seem to relax, lips jutting up just a bit as he breathes deep.

“No one in the university can know though,” Iwaizumi says quickly, eyes on yours with a little, tiny smirk. “Obvious reasons.”

That makes you giggle.

“Of course. I’ll keep your secret.” You agree in earnest, honest and clear, and this time when you smile at him, your whole body warms at how his eyes fall down to look at it. 

“Good.” His voice goes down a tone, husky and gruff- and making unspeakable things to your already poor state. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Your heart seems to shoot up to your throat, and you try to squeeze words out around it.

“I… uh… yes, I mean, sure. It was… quite incredible.”

“Really.” Hajime smirks and you try to swallow your heart before you choke. 

His green eyes stare deeply at your face, drinking the burning on your cheeks, the quick beat of your pulse on your throat, the pursed, wet lips and the way you tremble when he all but takes a step closer. You brace yourself, eyes lifting from the ground to center on him and the sticky, hot sensation spreads through your lower limbs at the burning heat you find there.

“Well, there’s another one to be done.” That tone comes again and you’re forced to press your legs just a tiny bit closer, suddenly aware of the fact you’re both alone in a dark room. He takes another step closer and your eyes fall on his lips, smirk starting to split his face in two, “Stick around.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out and Hajime’s eyes turn darker. 

"Iwa-channn~'' 

It's so close it sounds loud from across the half-opened door and Iwaizumi seems to fall back on himself, annoyance furrowing his brows. He takes another deep, heated look on you but tears his eyes away before you can’t say anything.

“Sorry, have to go.”

Your breath leaves you in one go. It feels like you just stepped off a rollercoaster, blown off the ground and slow to catch up. 

“Okay, uh, good show?” 

“It will be,” Hajime’s eyes are warm on you. Meaningful. “Watch it all, okay?”

And then he leaves, the brightness from the corridor snapping you from your haze as you suck all the oxygen left in the room and then screams silently against your hands. 

Iwaizumi feels nervous for the first time since the first time he stepped on stage, about two years ago. It feels like he has something to prove and conquer in this single performance and it doesn’t help that Makki comes running late, smelling of sex and sporting marks that tell just of that, too. But for once Hajime decides he has his own stuff to worry rather than the shit his friends pull.

When they step on stage, his eyes zoom-in on you immediately, something spreading on his skin as he finds your attention centered on him - bulging, enthralled eyes and warm appreciation. 

Hajime smirks. They haven’t even started yet.

On cue, Mattsun, Makki, Oikawa and Kyoutani slide on their position and Iwaizumi is delighted that your eyes remain on him. 

When the show starts, among screamings and money being waved, he follows the steps nicely, out of habit. Iwaizumi tilts his hat at you and you burn so bright he feels his skin heating at the newfound power. 

His vest is the first to go off and he makes sure to have his hands running around his chest more than once, teasing slide until the leather chaps as he thrusts his hips, waving motion that covers his whole body. 

He circles, back muscles in the spotlight as his hands come up behind his head, holding the cowboy hat snug in his head, ass tight in the black briefs as he keeps the motions and then turns to fall down on a plank. Iwaizumi grinds down on the floor, blinks and smiles at the ladies but his eyes are only searching for you. 

He gets up with an elaborate move and puts both his hands on the pole, holding himself up sideways before circling it, dropping and incorporating some break dance Kyoutani teached him. 

Hajime’s hand slid easily with the oil on his skin, slowly planting his thumb under the loops of his leather chaps to the sound of screaming. He feels electricity edge through his skin -- someone’s eyes focused solely on him and the thrill of it it’s nothing he’s ever felt before. Suddenly he understands a bit more about how Oikawa feels with Tendou around. 

Iwaizumi thrusts his hips forward once, snaps his belt off in the air with one pull, making the crowd gasp and scream and the itching on his skin turns south. He watches as your eyes follow the hard planes of his abs and the tight squeeze of his thighs on his leather chaps and then snap back into his face. The fact it’s you only makes it all the more exhilarating.

The choreo is once again on the floor, and he drops to it in a wave motion, hips humping on nothing without faltering, tight ass in the air winning cheers and waves; even so, it’s your silent appraisal that rings the louder.

He gets up again, circles the pole in a charming, teasing manner as he holds the metal bar and grinds on it. Iwaizumi lets his hat on the ground and turns his back to the public in time to snap his pants off in one go, at the same time as the other men on stage, staying in nothing but a ridiculously tight, dark, leather brief. 

When he was first presented to the thing, he hated it and opted to go comando into some shows, which earned him some nice money and was always quite the surprise to the patrons. Now, as his eyes lock on yours and your wicked tongue peaks out to lick your plush lips in nothing but appreciation, Iwaizumi is rendered quite fond of the offending thing -- who’d thought this day would come.

Your eyes are glued to him and it almost hurts Iwaizumi that he can’t go straight to you, bring you on stage with him and glide your hands all over his body. He’s unsure of how to proceed but there’s no chance in hell he’s throwing this shot away. 

He’s been crushing on you for far too long to do that. 

In fact, the dumbfounded look on your eyes is quite endearing, much like all the fumbling and tripping over yourself that he got used to expect every time he sees you. Iwaizumi just assumed you were a bit clumsy and quiet, but then he got to know you and it all blew in his face. 

You were a bit of a dumbass but also beautiful, kind, dedicated and attentive. The crush that started as a endearing feeling quickly escalated into opressing and Iwaizumi was all but rendered stupid around you at all times, firm believer that you never truly looked at him like that.

However, as you stare at him unblinking and eager, the picture of hunger in the most delicate predator, Iwaizumi realises he may be wrong and that thought alone is enough to ignite his veins.

 Oikawa fishes a lady, pushes her on Kyoutani then does the same with another for Iwaizumi.

He smiles at her, professional, and brings her hands to his chest, his hips drawing circles against her. As her tentative strokes and fondling turn into frantic holds and clawing nails, his eyes can’t help but slide sideways, taking in the way you’re hanging out of every move of her hands. 

Fuck, Iwaizumi can’t get hard. But there’s a clear throbbing threading south at your concentration. He can’t help but wonder if you’re imagining your hands on his body instead of hers; your hips against his as he grinds on hers; your mouth on his biceps when she kisses his trademarked asset, the ones that gave him his stripper name. 

The woman slides several singles around his briefs, not without copping a few and your mouth falls open in an indignated breath. Iwaizumi tries hard to avoid it going to his dick.

He fishes for another woman in the audience as he lets the groups slide more singles not only on his briefs but inside his boots. Iwaizumi pulls one while she’s sitting in the chair, deposits it on the stage and grinds on her enough that the woman is overheated, hands faltering by her sides. Hajime’s eyes search yours once again, drinking, basking in the envy he pinpoints.

 Does that mean you wish to be under him, like that? To feel his body against yours, his hips between your legs, his lower body shoved on your face? 

Hajime ends his routine with this one halfway, unable to let them feel what you are doing to him and then - finally - he’s free to walk over to your table. Semi-naked, with his boots, hat and slow-rising hard-on.

He’s done this enough times to be able to keep up with the choreo while he’s navigating the tables, hips thrusting and circling, strangers hands sliding on his oiled body to deposit dollars anywhere they can. They’re mostly handsy, few grab his dick and scream, others palm at his thighs and chest. There’s both numbers and dollars being thrown on him but Iwaizumi is used to it - and that’s definitely not his focus tonight.

Iwaizumi stops for a moment at the table before yours. Joining in the fun as Oikawa is happily grinding on his roommate. It gives Hajime a chance to look your way, enough to find you completely enthralled by his body, wide eyes unwavering, mouth open in a breath as your hand fists the flute you’re holding, the perfect depiction of surprise and enchantment and fuck, Iwaizumi is thrilled.

When Hajime finally stops in front of you, you’re looking at him as if under a spell; mouth hanging softly as stars shine in your eyes and he can’t be faulted for fisting your hair, pulling you up to meet his chest, even if he’s careful with where he touches you. 

Iwaizumi pretends his lips gliding against the shell of your ear is not a planned thing.

“You’re looking too hard. Are you enjoying the show that much?”

Your lips move without words falling from it and having you speechless all but set him on fire. Iwaizumi thanks every god (and begrudgingly Oikawa) for his expertise in what he’s about to do. His hand slides on your hips, feeling the way you sway with tremors and stop on your back to support you as he bends you backwards. His mouth skims the skin of your neck and dips lower, so his nose can cross over your cleavage, softly caressing the spanse of your collarbones. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’ll start thinking things, princess. Interesting things, physical things.” Iwaizumi lets his teeth close on the fabric covering your neckline as his eyes look up on yours to find every hint there can possibly be of your warm desire. “Seems like we’re reaching an agreement, too. Do like what you see, hm? Do you want me to do to you the same things I did with them?” 

“No,” you tell him in a steady tone and Hajime’s eyes shoot up to yours, confused, until you sigh a breath against his face. “I want you to do more.”

He groans, pulling you tighter against his chest for you to feel the effect you have on him, choosing the momentum to circle his hips in what can be disguised as performance despite it being anything but.

“You can’t just tell a guy that. I may believe it.” His hands drop on your ass, gripping as he guides your hips to work with his and you all but melt, blown out eyes falling on his mouth.

“I’m hoping so. I’m pretty much using all my courage to tell you this.” Your breathless chuckle all but obliterates Hajime’s thinking and he has to put some distance between your faces before he takes your lips in a kiss. 

There’s a ringing around his ears and he identifies it as the performance’s end approaching. He has to go back on stage to strip naked and his cock is going to give a show of his own tonight. 

“Go wait for me in the corridor, quick.” It's a plea and a promise as he forces himself to let go of you and turn on his heels to get back on stage.

Oikawa gives him a hand up back onto the stage, eyes all knowing as they survey the whole big thing going on inside his briefs. 

“Nasty, Iwachan~” His smile is a annoying little thing, but then he slaps Iwaizumi’s ass in encouragement, “Sneak off stage before the end, go, quick, I’ll cover.”

Iwaizumi grunts a thanks and as the boys line up one behind the other, he’s able to lock eyes with you and signal with his head before he dips through the backstage drapes.

You’re not sure what’s the plan when Hajime disappears through the back and your spine immediately shoots up, leaving your friends with a half-assed excuse as your legs carry you towards the corridor that leads to the backstage once you choose neither left or right, but only forward. Your eyes are focused, body overheating as your heart gallops in your chest, clinging to the words Iwaizumi whispered in your ears during his show as it repays again and again over your mind’s eye. 

The door to the backstage is signaled with nothing, the only hint of its location being the in and out of men from it as their shows end and they leave the place to either mingle along the audience or enter a private room for privé little shows. Honestly, if it was for Hajime, you’d blow a hole in your wallet for every single second of his time. 

However, as you’re closing in on the hidden door you start growing strikingly aware of the fact you have no idea how to actually meet him there and having to knock on it makes you feel both silly and self conscious.

Luckly, you don’t have to do anything.

Iwaizumi burst the door open in time to fetch you and drag you inside as you let out a little yelp, and suddenly you’re surrounded by the smell of weed, cigars and sweat along with men; Iwaizumi’s hot, sweety skin is sticky against yours and you have the fleeting thought that maybe that would be off putting to you if you didn't have the all consuming need to drop to your knees and lick it all from his fucking skin.

“Iwa,” leaves you lips for no reason, just for the fact it’s his name and you let your neck fall back against his shoulder, turning your head to finally taste his skin. Iwaizumi’s arms tighten around you in such a way you feel the rumble of his growl and he all but tow you deeper inside.

 You can barely get a look around the dimly lit, dirty backstage room before you’re past the messy lounge and into a tight corridor that ends a small, locker-room styled bathroom where Hajime quickly dips inside. 

You get one look at the metal lockers on the side, the two sinks with mirrors upfront and the four bathroom stalls on the left, two on each side before you focus back on Iwaizumi’s jawline, nibbling on whatever you can find and relishing on every little noise that tumbles from his lips. 

Hajime’s arms leave you for one moment, depositing you on unsteady legs so he can turn the lock on the door and by then his hand is burying itself in your hair and closing at your hip, forcefully pulling you to him as his mouth closes around your neck and he proceeds to kiss, bite and suck at every spanse of your skin. 

“Fuck, I didn’t want to do this here,” Iwaizumi starts with a gruff voice that makes your center weep, the force of his hands around you enough to render your feet useless as he strides over to the sink, imediatelly hiking you over it with his big hands over your ass and a hard bite at your shoulder as if he’s pinging you as the culprit of his angish. “But I can’t fucking wait anymore.”

He sounds so pained, so raw, that you can’t help but groan, mouth searching his quickly as your hands reach for his hair and shoulder, nails digging on whatever you find to secure your hold on his slippery skin. He tastes of whisky and weed, but it’s the fact that it’s Hajime that renders you intoxicated.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he admits as his teeth nibble on your bottom lip, a trail of kisses making their way down so he can bite at your neck, licking  it over just so he can suck on it, your eyes rolling back inside your head as your body all but trembles. “I was sure you weren’t interested, fuck.” 

That is probably the one thing that could pull you from the haze settling in your brain caused by the fucking thrill that having Hajime kissing and holding you is enough to cause. 

“Are you insane?” You whine back at him, tilting your head away from his mouth as your fingers pull at his hair to look him in the eyes. Those beautiful, heated and earnest florest-green eyes that have been your demise since day one. “Iwa, there hasn't been a day I wasn’t interested.” 

There’s an edge of surprise on his face, along with a hint of something soft you can’t name and you all but moan at him, unable to form words of just how much you’ve wanted him and for how long. So you choose to show him, instead, legs circling his frame as you press your chest against his and hold his neck with both hands to pull him in a kiss that leaves you lightheaded, toes curling on your heels and heat burning through your veins, melting your insides until it spills on your underwear.

A rumble in his chest tells you about the groan he keeps inside and Iwaizumi’s hands take hold of the flesh of your ass and thighs with bruising strength, violent heartbeats making both of your bodies tremble with need. But then he angles himself back, breaks the kiss and curses after one look at your face.

Next thing you know Iwaizumi’s down on his knees between your thighs, holding you open with big hands under your knees and your brain just ups and fries. Your panties are sticking to your drenched folds and there’s no way the flimsy triangle is able to do much to hide you from Hajime’s attentive eyes. He groans, fingers dipping under the sides of your underwear and he pulls it to the side, baring you the best he can.

He doesn’t really say anything past throwing you a burning look, kissing up the inner part of your thighs, and then he’s mouth is on you - tongue lavishing at both sex and fabric, circling your clit with wondrous expertise and licking along your inner lips like they’re about to spill all your secrets.

“Fuck,” slips from you as your head arches back, hitting the wall. “Iwaizumi...” 

Whispered from you that way, his name is the only thing that conveys all of the feelings bubbling on your chest: the glee of the mutual crush, the excitement of being this close, the massive bliss igniting your nerves at his ministrations. If the way Hajime doubles down on his efforts between your legs is any indication - tongue slipping up and down then back up to circle your clit mercilessly - you’d say he agrees.

You feel suspended in time, tense as a tight coil that’ll tear with a single harsh pull. His tongue dances around your cunt as much as he did on stage: perfectly. Deliriously bringing you to a high you’ve aren’t sure you’ve ever tasted. And then he brings his fingers to calmly, slowly massage around your entrance. 

“Oh fucking christ!” Your burning moan bounces around the empty space loudly and you swear you feel him snickering against your cunt, only you’re way far gone to care. “Haji-fuck!” 

Your hand slides over his hair, fingers delighted at how soft they feel and you use your palm to press his face further against your folds. Your hips humping anything they can because staying still feels like an impossible task with the way your blood is boiling inside your veins. 

But then someone is pounding at the door loudly and your eyes snap open as your high slips from you, Iwaizumi’s lips abandoning your sex to throw a nasty glare at the door. 

“C’mon Iwa-chan~” someone calls outside, sounding unbelievably pleased at the interruption. “You know the rules! We need to use the bathroom~” 

“Two minutes!” Iwa snarl back and as the pounding on the door doesn’t come back, you think he got himself a deal. “Fucking assholes. Can’t give me one fucking moment when they’re the ones always doing this shit.”

He sounds so pissed it’s actually awfully endearing. Red in the face with swollen lips glistening in a pout, and despite the throbbing on your cunt, you can’t help but laugh. His eyes come back to you and a renewed wave of pleasure curls on your pussy by the clear shift into softness you find there, so you pull him back up standing and make a point of kissing him so hard you’re licking your juices from his chin. 

Two minutes apparently go by awfully fast, as the door is nudged once again. Softly, this time. 

“Fuckers,” Iwa mutters after he breaks the kiss, eyes as daggers aimed at whoever is outside the door. “Give me ten minutes and meet me outside?” You realize by the tone of his voice that Iwaizumi is nervous and your heart does a sickening loop inside your chest as if you needed a heads up of how much you’re gone for him. Your face must do something weird, as his eyes scrunch up and his hands grip on your hips with a tiny bit of strength, pleading. “I just need to change and get my stuff, I’ll be real quick, promise.” 

Jesus Christ, didn’t he get it yet?

“Iwaizumi,” His name sounds gruff past your breathless throat and you see the way his eyes turn steely, bracing for heartbreak. “You could tell me to wait forever, and I’d be dying outside waiting for you.”

You make a point of holding his eyes because it feels like it’s important and you’re thankful for that as you can watch the exact moment Iwaizumi lets a long breath out, eyes warming as his lips descend upon yours - one time, then once again; his fingers drawing soft little patterns over your skin.

“I’ll be outside,” you tell him before someone disturbs the moment between you two and he helps you down the sink, your panties choosing this moment to slide to the floor, showing the fact that all that pulling ended up causing a rip. You choke up a gasp and Iwa chuckles, hand sliding to your bare ass to pat at the plush flesh.

“Well, one less thing in the way.”

Getting out of the bathroom and outside the backroom ends up being the most embarrassing thing about it all, as you’re forced to pass through a horde of almost-naked men that throw you all-knowing grins. The pretty man that welcomed you into the Club is the one with the wickedest grin and you can see by Iwaizumi’s grimace alone that he’s in for a hell of teasing. 

If the hand gripping your hip is anything to go by, you’d doubt he’s paying it half a mind. He leaves you at the door, tells the ones around there to shut it as they watch, and breathlessly promises you he’ll come in a bit before closing the door.

Even so you can still hear the immediate hollering going on inside and you chuckle for a moment, until you try to take a step and your legs betray you, shaken. There’s a smile etched to your face that you can barely contain until you’re painfully remembered of the fact you’re dripping between your thighs. That’s all you need for your heart to beat on your face, burning so bright you’re surprised you haven’t melted to the floor.

You’re breathless and antsy as you wait for Iwaizumi to come back, the club visibly emptier after the final performance. Your friends have left already, only waiting around until you came to pick up your purse, all of them tired and drunk and leaving in group after calling enough ubers and making sure you were fine. 

And not without teasing, of course.

God, you were more than fine. But you’re throbbing, uncomfortable wet and empty, increasingly aware of the fact you’re standing there pantiless as the horny fog dissipates a bit in the absence of one Iwaizumi Hajime to end your logic thinking.

You get antsy of waiting around in the bar despite the bartender trying to make nice small-talk and instead trudges over to the corridor, standing there awkwardly fidgeting as if he’s taking hours and not literally a few minutes.

The door opens with an urge and Hajime’s eyes zoom in on you, long strides that only serve to make your body once again acutely aware of it’s poor state, arousal spiking to the point where you press your legs together to help with the feeling. 

But then he’s reaching for you before he’s even really close, and you’re quickly running to him and latching your lips together with urgency. Now that you can kiss him it feels like there’s no point in any other greeting that doesn’t involve his mouth on yours. 

His hair is dripping wet with a recent, clearly quick shower and he’s wearing the same clothes you’re used to see him with day by day and, somehow, that just makes it all worse, a literal groan passing your lips as you reach once again for his lips but this time Iwaizumi stops you with a groan, turning you in his arms so both of you can eagerly trudge out of the Club.

Hajime tries to be mindful of you as he shortens his long strides to be able to accompany yours. You’re balancing yourself to run on heels, laugh bubbling out of your chest at the exhilarating feeling of glee of a mutual crush. Iwaizumi throws you one amused look, sharp smile turning teasing as his hands come to circle your waist, hoist you up and hurry the remaining distance to his car.

“Too slow!” Iwaizumi teases with a grunt and chuckles against your neck, big toothy smile against your skin. “Hurry up!”

“Someone’s eager,” you tease but he’s already rounding his car, pressing you on the side to attach his lips to your neck, soft bites and circling hips that show you just how much that sentence is true.

One of his hands surrounds your neck and his thumb tilts your head up enough for his lips to capture yours, a soft kiss contrasting with the need in his grasp on your hips. 

“I think we’ve waited too long.” 

“Yeah? Who’s fault is that, dumbass?” You nibble on his lips and grind your hips on the impressive burning length that presses on your belly. Iwaizumi chuckles, biting on your neck as his hand slides past your hip to close on your ass. 

“Yours.” 

Your outraged gasp is lost on his lips, passionate kiss blowing your rational thinking with a nuke. Would you ever recover from Iwaizumi Hajime? God, you don’t think so. 

You pull him closer, pressing your chest against him, pressure building once again as your nipples stand to attention. Your leg rakes up on his side as if you’re not on the middle of the street and Iwaizumi lets his hand slide to the underside of your thigh; fingers dipping lower, digits gliding over your drenched slit once before he dips them carefully past the tight ring of your entrance. It’s barely anything, but your mind short-circuits, head falling back against the car.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Iwaizumi sounds anguished, teeth punishing his lips as his eyes bore on yours. His fingers slide deeper inside you and your mouth opens in a silent moan. “I can’t wait to be inside this pussy.”

That ends you, pussy clenching so hard around his barely there fingers it’s painful to feel the remaining emptiness. You puff a hot breath of air on his face, eyes dazed and blood boiling as you tense and throb. 

“Iwa,” Your nails press on his skin so hard your own hand hurts, “if you keep doing this we’ll be doing it in the street.”

Something burns in him, as he presses his fingers deeper inside you to watch your eyes fall close and then pulls them all out, quickly opening the door.  

“Get in.”

You obey, having half a mind to wonder if it’s really happening until he’s closing the door and circling the vehicle. “Iwa!” You plead, as somehow it feels like abandonment, your whole being hurting and boiling, a whine in your lips as Hajime slides in the driver's seat and turns the car on, driving it out the curb and down the street as a madman.

“We’re doing this right,” Hajime tells you as he drives, drinking your panting form from the corner of his eyes. His jeans are tight, hint of what awaits you forming a very clear pattern and you feel overheated, frenzied, throbbing with need. So as it turns out, you’re far past the point to care. 

You adjust yourself in the seat, legs spreading to allow your hand to reach the appex of your sex as the other closes on a clothed breast. “Iwa,” you sigh in bliss as the pressure finally seems to give in just that one tiny bit. His eyes shoot to you and fall comically large at the view, turning hazed in sequence as his cheeks color red.

“God, baby, don’t do this to me,” Iwaizumi grunts, hand adjusting his cock through the jeans as his eyes try to flit between you and the fairly empty streets. 

“I’m not doing anything to you though, I’m doing it to me.” You moan and the car loses balance for a second, sliding to the side and back as you laugh. 

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“Try not to kill us, Iwa.” Is all you answer, moan slipping out at the way you let your fingers alleviate the pressure at your clenching center. Iwaizumi looks as if he’s in pain. One of his hands shoots down to hold on your left thigh, bruising strength delicious.

“You wanna play dirty, huh? That’s what you want?” The tinge of aggression in his voice makes your pussy throb around your fingers and for a moment it feels like he knows. “I can play dirty, baby. I can either make you cum like a good girl or let you hang the whole night like a brat, so what do you want?”

Your voice is nowhere to be found and your eyes are locked on Hajime as if he’s the one who hung the moon and stars. He even has the gal to smirk.

“I can be so good, baby, but I’m even better at being bad.”

You skyrocket shamelessly into a little bout of pleasure, a short-lived thing resembling a climax that’s caused by the whiplash of Hajime’s dominance and the pressure bursting inside you as you abuse your own fingers' expertise. 

You tremble on his side, head thrown back with a moan of his name and Hajime curses loudly, hand at your thigh awkwardly reaching your slit to slide over it and push two fingers inside, catching the last of your short-lived climax. His face turns solemn, eyes darkening with hunger as a vein rises in his jaw and a renewed wave of wetness stains his digits.

Those forest-green eyes settle on you as he speeds down the empty street. “I’m going to end you,” Iwaizumi presses deeper and you arch your body, legs falling wider for him as fingers you effortlessly, driving and stretching you on thick digits that make you gasp on your own breath. 

“This is how it’s going to be.” Hajime starts, voice rough and hot. “Once we’re out of this car and private enough, I’m burying myself inside this pretty pussy in one go.” Your whole breath leaves you in one quick breath, eyes falling open as Hajime’s thumb rounds your clit and a third finger starts pushing inside your walls, burning stretch making you delirious as his words take you apart, one by one. 

“Then, I’m fucking you the whole night until you cant even think about a time where I wasn't inside you,” his fingers curve inside your walls, calling motion and upwards thrust that makes your pleasure sparks through your whole body, one hand closing around his wrist as the other locks on a breast. “Until you feel empty without me inside.”

He pulls his hand back as you all but sob, eyes literally welling with tears at the loss of your quickly rising bliss but one look at Hajime has you sobering up, his focused eyes on the street as he hurries down the rest of the way. 

As it ends up, Iwaizumi stays true to his words. 

He presses you up against the door of his apartment while you two are still on the corridor, brings his hands to your thighs and hikes you up against the door, your dress sliding way past your ass as your bare, throbbing pussy glides over his clothed length. Your whole skin feels like a live-wire, hypersensitive and vibrating.

Hajime’s mouth is closed in a bite on your shoulder as he uses his abilities to open his door without interfering with the sinful way you roll your center against his big cock, needy and lost, pleading for him to just fuck you. 

When it clicks open, both his hands fly to your ass as he pushes past the door and close it with a bang as he presses you against it. His mouth is back on yours, tongue invading your lips with a groan and hand flying to tear his jeans open and down just enough for his big, hard cock spring free.

"Yes!" You break the kiss to cry at the first touch of his weeping, hot cock against your cunt, the sheer amount of wetness making it slide from your hole to your clit and then down again. 

Hajime sucks a breath to still himself, slowly angles his hips back and let the thick head slide to  your entrance with perfect precision, slamming himself half the way inside with one powerful thrust that have his head falling on your shoulder with a blissful groan, your cries of agreement thrown around the air above as you angle your head back.   

Your walls fall open for him brutally, soaking wet and ready but still struggling against the stretch. It burns, his fat cock pulsing inside you and as you clench around his girth you realize he's not even all the way inside. 

"Oh my god," you breathe out and Iwa sighs, fist slamming on the side of the door as he braces himself and rolls his hips, pushing steadily, sheathing his cock inside you slowly. You choke on a breath, suddenly silent, legs kicking out without your brain to rein on it.

"Jesus," Iwa grunts as he bottoms out, his legs trembling from the effort of holding himself back, mind stumbling as every single cell in his body seems overwhelmed by the feeling of reaching paradise. “You feel like heaven.”

Hajime tells you mostly because he wants to feel you clench around him and you do, his heart soaring with the delicious high of knowing exactly what makes you tick; but the throbbing of his cock reminds him just how long he’s been forgotten and Iwaizumi adjusts his stance, locks his arms around you and simply mutters, “Now, to fucking you the whole night.”

You skyrocket quicker than ever, few presses and pulls igniting a supernova bliss in your veins, tongue useless as it feels alien in your mouth, brain short-circuiting at his thrusts. You’ve never felt like this and you’re pretty sure you’ll never would, not without Hajime.

You’re so lost you don’t even realize he moves you from the door to the wall, Hajime’s hands grabbing a handful of your hair to pull you to a blistering kiss, the trimmed hair at the base of his cock doing wonders against your clit every time he bottoms out, nestled inside a place you never even felt before. 

You’re so oversensitive, wound up and tense as your pussy holds him as a vice, grunts falling from his lips that make you skin all but burn at the delicious praise. 

As you squeeze “Hajime” past your mouth in a painful breath, frenzied eyes searching for his,  he soothes you with kisses all over your face. 

“Go ahead, baby.” He tells you with his lips against your skin, “I got you.”

You explode. 

There’s no other way to explain the way your pleasure blows you over, sharpshooter through your veins and short-circuits your brain. It feels like being caught in an ocean wave, unable to swim as it carries you underwater and the tides hold you down, unending twirls that assault you through every side until you’re finally reaching shore, rising above to suck a deep breath.

Hajime is peppering your face with kisses as you settle back inside your skin, blinking hazy eyes to his perfect face with a ridiculous smile that must show just how fucking much you’re smitten. But there’s an edge of something painful on his face.

“Wow.” You breathe and his cock responds inside you with a nod of agreement.

Hajime chuckles, plants a big kiss on your wet lips and tries to smile despite the strain on his face as he calls your name. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” you smile dumbly at him, loose and fuzzy around the edges. “Go ahead. Not sure I’ll be of much use, I think I just had a outer body experience.”

“Hmmm,”  Hajime smirks, tight around the edges with his throbbing cock buried in your pulsing heat. as he seems pensive  “No can’t do, baby.”  He rolls his hips for a moment, lecherous noise echoing around the silent flat, then decides to bring you across the short distance to his couch, letting his ass fall on it graceless, cock pressing deeper with the movement. He drinks the little gasp straight from your lips. 

“I think I’ve earned my turn to sit back and relax.” Hajime smiles, predatory, hungry and you decide you just may love him like this. “So why don’t you do us both a favor and ride it?”

-

[kneelesssharks]

How to Lose the Lottery

Hi! This is my first actually story post on tumblr so please give me feedback! :) 

George Weasley X fem!Reader (Muggle!au)

Inspo: this song

Summary: You’re remembering the night that you broke up with George Weasley. Looking back at your relationship you’re missing the good, but you can’t forget the last day you were together.

Warnings: Angst

If you have to go on one more ridiculous date you’ll scream. Ever since you and George broke up your friends had been insistent that you find someone else, or at least try and break out of your slump. 

You had been with George since your second year at university. He had already graduated and was working on becoming a computer sciences professor. He was in grad school, and you were a beautiful, fresh faced sophomore. It seemed simple, he had a decent enough job that he had a nice apartment close to campus. You were just nineteen, he was twenty-three. It made sense, guys your age were focused on partying, rather than being responsible young adults. 

Your first couple dates were fun, he’d taken you on the London Eye, and taken you for some really amazing food after. He was really sweeping you off your feet. A couple weeks into your relationship you started to spend more and more time at his apartment. You’d stay over on weekends and spend the week at your dorm to get your work done. Every Saturday morning you’d make pancakes in one of his old shirts he’d let you sleep in. You always woke up before him, used to your classes being earlier in the day, while he scheduled his for after ten am. He told you how much he loved waking up to you making breakfast in his shirt while playing music quietly as to not waking him up. 

Every morning he’d walk up to you half asleep without a shirt on and wrap his arms around your waist, placing a light kiss on your temple before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He used to love hearing you giggle. Used to. 

About a year into your relationship he’d asked you to move in with him. Obviously you were excited. This is the first long term serious relationship you had ever been in. You really felt like George was the one for you. You really loved him.

Then everything sort of... stopped. The hugs from the back, the sleeping in his t shirt, him waking up to drive you to class. Being together all the time made all the niceness of being together fall to the wayside. There wasn’t any excitement in your relationship, even when you’d tried to surprise George with dinner and a tight dress, with a beautiful and delicate lace lingerie on underneath, he’d be working late at the library. You’d changed out of your dress and into one of your pj sets and packed up the food into the fridge by the time George got home.

Then Angelina entered the picture. She was a transfer from Oxford that George had been assigned to show around the Comp Sci department. She was brilliant and beautiful, and closer to George’s age than you were. You were a little jealous of how perfect for George she seemed. She was tall and into computers too. Her and George even started to work on their projects together. Your first reaction was to worry, but you’d convinced yourself that you were being paranoid. That it was good for George to have a friend outside of Lee and his brother Fred. That you and George had built a relationship on trust, that there is no way that he would ever be willing to throw what you had built away.

Then it happened. One night in the heat of the summer, he came home really late. You were awake, waiting for him. Sitting in your pjs watching one of your favorite movies. You had already eaten your dinner and put his in the fridge to reheat if he was hungry when he got home. So when he came back at two in the morning, you were surprised to say the least. 

“Hey babe, are you hungry? Do you want me to heat up your food,” you asked tiredly. 

He dropped his bag on the ground and huffed, causing you to look over at him. He looked utterly defeated. You immediately stood up and went over to him. Your hands went to hold the sides of his face, but he gripped your wrists before you could touch him. 

“George what the hell is going on,” you asked in a quiet worried voice. His face looked so guilty, he wouldn’t look into your eyes, your worry dropped, replaced by a sinking feeling in your stomach. “George, what did you do,” your voice was eerily calm as you pulled your hands from his grip.

His eyes finally meet yours. He looks teary, but not sad, not sorry for whatever he doesn’t want to tell you. “Y/N...” he started. 

“Don’t bullshit me George just tell me what happened.” Your eyes started to fill with tears, dreading what he would tell you. He stayed quite as you quietly yelled, not wanting to wake the neighbors. His back slid down the door until he sat on the floor. 

“I found someone else,” he said barely above a whisper. But you heard him. You wished you hadn’t.

Your jaw dropped and you backed against the wall that sat across from the door, the one that separated the kitchen from the living room in your shared apartment. You slid down as your throat felt like it was closing. You tried to blink back the tears, not wanting George to see them fall, but they slide down your cheek silently.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally looking up from the floor to look at your stunned and hurt face. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Is that supposed to make it better,” you ask, your voice betraying you and cracking. “Is that supposed to make all of this shit better? That you didn’t mean to ‘find someone else’ after we’ve been together for almost three years? When we live together,” your voice starts to raise, as tears fall down your face with reckless abandon.

“You have to know I didn’t mean to hurt you,” his voice is raised a bit now, his head squared as he finally has the courage to make eye contact with you.

“Oh,” you ruefully laugh, “well then it’s all better then isn’t it? I’ll tell you right now that it’s a little too fucking late to say that. To say that like you haven’t been hurting me for the last year of our fucking relationship.”

“It’s not my fault that you stopped trying for us,” he stood up. 

“I stopped trying,” your feet launched you up. “I’m the one who cooks for you every single day. I’m not the one who won’t even get up to take my girlfriend to school when it’s five minutes away. I’m not the one who spends all of their free time away from their house as to avoid their girlfriend. No George, that was all you.”

“Oh don’t blame all of our issues on me. We both had a hand in the end of this relationship.”

You stormed into the bedroom to start packing some of your things to leave. You can’t stand to look at him for one more second, much less to stay in the same apartment with him for one more night. 

“What the fuck happened to betting everything on us? You swore to me that you wanted to be with me for the rest of our lives. You told me that meeting me felt like winning the lottery. What happened to that? What? Some girl comes all the way from Oxford and all of a sudden all of that was bullshit?”

“Don’t bring Angelina into this, you know we were falling away from each other before she ever came into the picture,” George grabbed your arm to get you to look at him. His face morphed from his angry excuse making mug to something much softer, showing the small part of him that still cared at all for you. When he saw your tear stained face and the pure and painful hurt in your e/c eyes.

“Get the fuck off of me George,” you shoved him with all your strength. He didn’t even fight back as he fell to sit on the bed behind him. “I’m getting as much of my stuff as I can right now.” You wipe the tears from your cheeks. “I’ll stop by tomorrow when you’re in class and get the rest of it. I’ll leave my key on the counter. Then I never want to hear from you again. I don’t want to see you if I even hear your name anywhere close to me I’ll walk away.”

“You don’t have to do all that. It’s three in the morning you have nowhere to go. I’ll leave and you can stay here for tonight,” George sighs.

“I can’t stand to be anywhere that reminds me of you right now,” you glare at him over your shoulder. “I can stay at Cedric’s for the night and figure things out from there tomorrow.” George scoffs. You roll your eyes and turn to him. “What?”

“Of course you’re running to Cedric,” he bites.

“The hell do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” he rolls his eyes, “just seems convenient that you know you could go over to his place at this time of night. He always had a thing for you and you know it.”

You finish zipping your suitcase and stand up, looking at him. “Well it doesn’t matter now, does it? Because one of us already chose someone else.” You felt too calm. You knew you shouldn’t feel as relieved to leave as you do. That you should feel a little more crushed by the ending of your relationship. That you should be screaming and begging for more of an explanation. That it shouldn’t be as easy as it was to walk out on what you thought was going to be the rest of your life.

“Whatever, just go,” George’s eyes looked just as detached as you felt right now.

God, this is really ending, isn’t it.

[tomtenadia]

My knight in shining armour

Rowaelin month Day 2 - University AU

I literally just finished this. I wasn’t going to write for this prompt but then an idea finally hit me.

The title as usual is bad... sorry

2k words

-----

Aelin had days in which she hated men. That was one of those days. 

After finishing high school she decided to took a challenging course at the University of Terrasen. Her dad, before he retired, had been an airforce pilot. She had grown up going around his base, visiting him when he was back. In doing so, she had become obsessed with planes. As she grew up, her dad had let her get friendly with his engineer and the man had started teaching her all she needed to know about aircrafts. From the basic physics to the more obscure detail of how the jet worked. Aelin had been fascinated. She had started reading all the possible books, and as she got older, her dad’s engineer had also started having her to actually help her in the hangar. In the summer when school was out, she would actually get a part-time job as an apprentice at the base and she had loved every moment of it. She had also become very close with the two female pilots and together they had spent time talking about the life of a woman in a boys club. The two women had become her role models very quickly.

Terrasen was quite and open minded country but some ideas were still quite obsolete.

In high school at the question “what you want to be when you grow up?” She always answered an aircraft engineer for the airforce. She never faltered or never doubted. That’s what she wanted to, that was her path.

But when time for uni arrived and she applied for a degree in aeronautical engineering, that’s when she realised that the boys club extended far more than she expected.

She was basically the only woman in the class. None of the guys had approached her and on the first day she had walked in the classroom, one of them had the guts to tell her that the humanities department was in the annex c. She ignored the bastard and sat down at the front. She belonged in that room and she would prove it to every single one of them.

Day after day she had shown her knowledge and surprised her professor who was amazed at the fact that she could answer such in depth questions. Last time it happened, she had turned to Chaol - the asshole who had told her about the annex c, and gave him a smirk. That had removed his stupid grin from his face. It felt amazing.

During a private one-to-one with her professor she had confessed to him she had been working at the airbase as an apprentice during the past three summers. Her teacher had luckily been very supportive and encouraged her to keep up the good work.

Now, six months in, she still hated with a vengeance the arseholes she had to study with. Some of them even had the guts to ask her for some help after they realised she was actually good. She had answered that surely they didn’t want the help of a woman, and walked away.

After another class it was finally lunch time and she was meeting Rowan down at their spot on the grass. They were a couple. He had asked her out in the summer after high school was over and they had been together ever since. He was a med student and he knew her pain about choosing a challenging degree. Both their degrees were very intense and required a lot of time so they would just try and spend as much time together as they could. They had a flat together but the public library was were they spent most of their time.

And when their schedules allowed it, they would enjoy lunch together, venting about their academical choices.

“I fucking hate that bastard.” She raged, dropping her bag on the grass and sitting at his side, depositing a kiss on his lips. She felt better almost immediately, being in his arms was all she needed to feel okay again.

“What did he do now?” Asked Rowan knowing of her struggles in her classes.

Aelin grabbed her bag and pulled out her food, the dinner that Rowan had prepared the previous night and then packed away for both of them.

“The teacher gave us an exercise where we had to design an aircraft with what we had learned so far.” She told him, while munching away her food “He was up first and his project was a effing disaster. Seriously, I’d wouldn’t want to fly on a plane designed by him.” She took a sip of her water “the teacher asked us to say what was wrong and it took me ten minutes to stop. I mean, a two year old would have done a better job with lego bricks.”

Rowan giggled at her side “then my turn came and the bastard had the guts to tell me that the aerodynamics of my plane were off and that my ailerons where wrong as well and would not allow the plane to function properly. I took my laptop and shoved it in his face and told him to find the error in my math. He had no clue.” Her face turned smug “then the teacher took over and said that actually my project was, among all, the only one that could actually fly. I felt smug as fuck.”

Rowan pulled an arm around Aelin’s shoulder and pulled her to him. He was proud of her. Every damn day.

“Then after class, he threw me a paper plane and inside it had a message saying this is the only plane you will ever build or work on. I swear, the guy is still alive only because I am not looking forward to finishing my degree via distance learning from a prison.”

She calmed down “how was your day?”

Rowan leaned back against the tree “I had anatomy and physiology. Today we covered the endocrine system and it must be one most boring of them all.”

“Well,” she added with a big smile “when you cover the reproductive system you are welcome to practice with me…”

He laughed and squished her to her chest “I am a very big fan of your… bits.” She kissed him deeply not caring that they were in public, she wanted him and hated that they had more classes before being able to go home and then alas, study more. Maybe for one evening they could study something different.

“Aelin?”

“Yes, buzzard?”

His tongue gently teased her and she opened for him while his hand brushed off a rebel strand of hair.

He pulled back “Nothing, you had tomato sauce on you lips. I was just wiping it off. Did you think I wanted to kiss you?” 

Aelin gently punched him on the shoulder, in return he gave her a massive grin. Rowan was a very reserved man who struggled with stranger, but she had her own version, the goofy one, the one who made jokes and loved to cuddle with her. She would treasure that version forever. That was just for her.

They were busy chatting away and she was showing him on her laptop the exercise she had been working on and her plane prototype and although what she was saying was greek to him, he still listened to her in fascination.

She was telling him how a plane flew and the four forces when a figure stopped in front of them.

“It must be exciting to brag with your boyfriend about your hopeless projects.” Said the man.

Rowan raised his eyes and finally saw the face of the man that had been making Aelin’s life miserable.

“What did you just say?” Rowan stood and towered on the brown-haired man by twenty centimetres. Chaol also looked frail compared to Rowan’s muscular frame.

“Chaol, you’d better go.” Not that she cared about the man, she just didn’t want Rowan to get into trouble for a petty man.

“You’d better give up while you still can, Galathynius. Aeronautical engineering is not a field for a woman.” He crossed his arms at his chest trying to look intimidating but the look in Rowan’s eyes told her it was a useless attempt. Her boyfriend was ready to attack. She knew he had never hit anyone, but had a feeling that if Chaol didn’t stop it could be a first for Rowan.

“Chaol,” she stood as well and growled his name in warning.

“Oh, so you are one of those arseholes who believes that certain jobs can be done only by those who were born with a penis. It’s the fucking 21st century. Grow up, idiot.”

Rowan swore, alarm bells rang in Aelin’s head. He only swore when he was extremely mad, something that her unflappable boyfriend rarely was.

“Oh look, Galathynius, you have a knight in shining armour.”

Aelin moved between Rowan and Chaol, trying to separate them when her boyfriend moved a step closer to the other guy.

Chaol chuckled “Did you sleep with every professor—” but Chaol never finished his sentence. She saw the scene develop in slow motion in front of her. At those words Rowan’s face had turned feral and as on instinct his arm moved and a second later his fist found its target in Chaol’s face. 

Rowan then grabbed Chaol by the collar and lifted him up slightly “You take it back, immediately or I’ll smash all the twenty two bones in your skull.”

“Go on,” said Chaol, nursing a broken lips.

Aelin stopped in between and grasped Rowan’s hand gently “Put him down, Ro, he is not worth it.”

Her gaze then turned to Chaol “now you go back to whatever shithole you came from and perhaps go back working on your project and design a real aircraft.” She moved closer to him “I know what the fuck I am doing. And I know I will have a job in the airforce after this. You will just go back being daddy’s little spoiled boy.”

Chaol glared at her and Rowan finally let go of him, bur before he fully released him he pulled the man close enough that his mouth was near his ear “you disrespect her like that one more time and you’ll finish your degree from a hospital bed while sipping your food from a straw.” Rowan flashed his teeth in a threatening gesture “you leave her alone, because if I hear you have been a bastard to her one more time, I will make your life a living hell.” And eventually released him. Chaol shrugged his t-shirt back into place and walked away without adding another word.

Rowan sighed and then turned to her, his expression back being soft as soon as she looked back at him.

“You didn’t have to punch him,” she said while snuggling against his chest. His arms quickly around her.

“Yes I had to. What he said….” She felt him tense up again “he made me so mad, fireheart.”

“Seeing you thump him was very sexy,” she kissed him gently on the lips “my knight in shining armour.”

Rowan chuckled and looked into he blue eyes “you don’t need a knight. You are fierce, brave and strong and do not need any protection,” he added, his lips on her head. Nesting under his chin was her favourite position. They fit perfectly “I, on the other hand, as a male who is hopelessly in love with you, felt the desperate need to avenge the sullied honour of my amazing other half.”

Aelin giggled hard “you really sound like a knight.”

“Come on, Sir Rowan Whitethorn of Wendlyn, let’s finish our lunch, I have an hour of mechanics of flight coming up and I need sustenance.”

“Yes, my queen,” he said kneeling in front of her.

Aelin laughed and kissed him deeply “maybe I can be your queen tonight in bed as well.”

His smirk grew wider and Aelin felt heat pool at her core at his expression.

“Whatever m’lady commands.”

They finished their lunch in peace without any more interruptions and eventually they parted ways, going to their respective classes.

Chaol did not bothered her anymore. He didn’t even met her gaze and him ignoring her was all she asked. She was there to learn, he could just go and sulk in the afterburner of a jet, perhaps while on, for all she cared.

Aelin texted Rowan a thank you and his reply was a simple To whatever end.

[allforhader]

Our Little Secret

Officer Slater x (F) Reader

Requested by: @berkmansbabe

Warnings: Langauge, Some Smut

“Hey, you finally fucking show up” Y/N laughs at the three finally joining her at the park.

“Well unlike you, we have a schedule that isn’t in our control” Seth states sitting on the picnic table on the bench while Y/N sat on the table itself.

Fogel sat on the other side of her with a nervous smile. Little does she know that he likes her. But Y/N only saw the three as friends, nothing more.

“I gotta get a new lighter if we’re gonna pass this shit around” Y/N smiles twiddling with a joint container before getting up. “Anybody wanna go to the liquor store on the corner with me or am I walking solo?”

“I’ll go!” Fogel got up from the table stumbling a bit making Seth and Evan groan. They know he likes her but won’t say anything about it.

“Alright. I’ll get drinks while I’m there as well. I know the owner” Y/N smiles walking with Fogel to the liquor store.

Y/N opens the door for them as the jingle of the bell caught the owner’s attention.

“Y/N!”

“Sup pops” Y/N smiles high fiving the owner over the counter leaving Fogel confused.

“Is he your actual...?”

“No my good man, no I am not. And thank god for that one” the owner laughs as Y/N rolls her eyes going to get what she came there for.

Fogel waited with the owner while Y/N not only went in the back to snag a few drinks without pay cuz the owner is used to it with her, but grab a lighter.

“McLovin’??”

The owner’s attention draws to the two officers stepping in as he quickly grabs his permits and such.

“Oh hey! What are you doing here?”

“Beer run my guy” Micheals pays his shoulder. “Then yknow. The usual with cops on a break”

Fogel nodded pretending he knew what he meant.

“So what are you doing here McLovin? Not here for alcohol yeah?” Slater laughs with Micheals.

“No I’m here wi—“

“Y/N NOW YOU GOTTA BUY THE LIGHTER IF YOU’RE GOING TO USE IT” The owner yells as Y/N steps into the isle to the door lighting the joint already before freezing when she noticed the cops.

“I am gonna buy it old man...just uh. Who called the cops?”

“No one ma’am, we’re off duty” Micheals smiles as Slater locked eyes with Y/N while she took a hit with a smirk on her face.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer” Y/N laughs catching Slater off guard.

“OH! Yeah. Officer Micheals. Officer Slater. This is Y/N. She’s who I came here with”

“Oh is she a lucky lady?” Micheals teases while Slater straightens himself still getting a longing look from Y/N.

“Nope. I am very...single” Y/N smiles handing the owner the money she owes for the lighter. “Now, we are out.” She grabs Fogel’s arm pulling him out of there as the two watched them. “Later officers...”

“See yeah...”

“A college girl. He’s aiming high” Micheals laughs going to the beer with Slater.

“College?”

“Yeah man. You didn’t seem the college lanyard hanging out of her pocket?”

“No...but did you get the name?”

A few days went by and Y/N sat outside of her class’s building finishing up a note from the previous class when a few whispers caught her attention along with a pair of black boots meeting hers.

“Well. I would ask where you get your boots but I don’t have to now” Y/N smiles looking up at Slater. “Now how did you know where my college is?”

“Officer Micheals has a great eye for detail” Slater points to her lanyard now hanging out of her backpack. Y/N laughs a little smiling.

“Anything I can do for you officer?”

“I uh, wouldn’t mind taking you out on a date”

“Oh?” Y/N smiles closing her notebook and leaning forward. “How about coffee first? See if you actually like me...cuz I really like you”

One coffee later...leading to four dates later...and they can official say they’re dating. Or well. Keep it to themselves.

“Sneaking off somewhere ma’am?” Slater smiles leaning against his cop car as Y/N had just reached the parking lot to her complex.

“No sir, my boyfriend awaits at his place. Or so I thought” Y/N smiles walking over to Slater and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Are you off?”

“You don’t see Micheals with me now do you?” Slater brought her close before kissing her lovingly.

“So, the cop car being here?”

“Mm. That one thing you told me”

“Oh?”

In an empty parking lot, Y/N sat on the hood of the cop car smiling at Slater. He likes to admire for a moment and so does she.

“You gonna keep standing there looking pretty?” Y/N smiles grabbing the sides of his shirt the second he got closer to her.

“I’m admiring the beauty here, love” Slater smiles kissing her lovingly before getting more heated.

Y/N pulls away a bit to get her shirt off and Slater instantly planted his lips on her neck enjoying himself. She ran her hands through his hair smiling more.

“You going to make me feel good baby?”

“Mmm...yes yes I am”

A few moments later...

Y/N gripped onto Slater’s back with her nails and her legs around his hips simply enjoying themselves in the backseat of his cop car. He made sure not to go too hard with his thrusts since her bare back is against the door. But she didn’t care and begged for him to go faster.

“Slate I—“ Y/N moans getting close as Slater kept an arm wrapped around her waist and one pressed against the window while he thrusted.

“I’m almost there” Slater got rougher shaking the car.

“Kiss me, kiss me baby” Y/N begged grabbing his face the second he looked toward her pressing her lips against his.

Slater deepen the kiss the moment he climaxed along with Y/N both moaning into each other’s mouths. He parts from Y/N kissing her cheek and neck before calming down.

“Jesus Christ....”

“Hm?”

“God you’re amazing...” Y/N pants laying back as Slater opens the door behind him knowing no one is out there those late slowly pulling out.

“You’re the amazing one here” Slater took a deep breath saying so, pulling the condom off and tying it off.

Y/N brought herself up taking Slater’s shirt and putting it on before seeing the mark ups.

“Well you truly like to show that I’m taken” Y/N laughs talking about the hickeys on her thighs, neck, and chest.

Slater laughs putting his pants back on before handing her her panties and shorts. “I want everybody to know you’re mine” he smiles sliding back in and kissing her once more. “You wanna head back to yours or mine?”

“Mine, since I’m hanging out with the three stooges tomorrow” Y/N says with a frown knowing she’d reschedule if he had the day off since it was hers off school and work.

“I can sleep over still right?” Slater smiles making Y/N’s returns with a nod. “Your cat isn’t allowed in the bed though”

“Awww come on Tiger bites you that ONE TIME” Y/N laughs kissing him once more.

The next day came around and Y/N sat on the hood of her car waiting for her fools to get out of school. She was a little upset that she had to give Slater his shirt back but she knew she’d seen him tonight so she has all the time to steal it back. But the only clean shirt she got was a tank top and it fully revealed what he left on her besides her jacket covering the few on her shoulders.

“Y/N! Yo” Seth smiles doing a handshake with her as did Evan.

The moment Fogel joined his eyes obviously trailed elsewhere. Y/N caught on but didn’t think it was toward the hickeys.

“Hey” Y/N snaps with a smile. “My eyes are up here Fogel”

“Oh! Yeah sorry sorry”

It didn’t take long for Fogel to find Officer Slater and Micheals that evening since he just checks where they’ve been before. Fogel practically can get into the bar without getting ID’d because they’ve been with him before and not every bar is smart enough to double check.

“McLovin what the fuck are you doing here?” Micheals laughs setting his beer down as Slater looks up from his phone over to the distressed Fogel.

“Dude you good?”

“NO I AM NOT!” Fogel got into the bar stool now having both of their attentions. “So you know Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“We were hanging out earlier right? And she was like...a little revealing”

Keep it cool Slater

“Okay? Aren’t a lot of college girls revealing?”

Micheals you fucking bastard

“ANYWAY—She had all these fucking hickeys and stuff but like I didn’t know she was seeing anybody! I really like her and I don’t know what I’m going to do about it”

“Is there...anything you really can do? She’s seeing somebody” We can’t be subtle for shit.

“I mean you can jump the gun and think she’s...a whore but I know she’s not! She’s too classy for that”

“College does shit dude. You don’t know what she be doing” Micheals laughs again as Slater laughed along even if he wanted to punch his partner. “You should just be straight up with her if you really like the girl”

Y/N stares at Slater after he told her what happened. She couldn’t help it. She started laughing at the fact that Micheals would say that about her and that Fogel likes her. Like it’s cute that he has a crush on her but she thought the obvious disinterest in the three would’ve stirred that away but guess not.

“You take this super well”

“Well Slater, other than you. I’ve only slept with one other guy in my entire life. So the whore comment doesn’t affect me and you two are breaking up A LOT of college parties where some act like whores. You two see it a lot. But like I’m fucking smarter than that. I have a full ride through college, I have a decent job, good friends, and a boyfriend that I love. Yeah I get high sometimes but that’s about it” Y/N’s laughter calmed down as she moved her physics book off her bed along with her notes. She turns back to Slater moving himself to tower her. “Oh? Now what’s this?”

“You love me?” Slater smiles laying on top of her as Y/N brought her arms around him.

“I do, I love you”

“I love you too Y/N” Slater continues to smile getting many kisses from Y/N once he said that.

It didn’t take long for Fogel to find out. Well. It did. But it wasn’t...hard

Fogel one weekend went to Y/N’s school knowing she had a class on Saturday with the confidence to tell her but the second he spotted her, she was in the arms of Officer Slater.

So he did what was best in his mind.

Flip out.

“YOU FUCKING—“

Y/N’s attention immediately darts to the pissed off Fogel as she parts from Slater.

“Fogel—“

“I TOLD YOU THAT I LIKED HER AND YOU IMMEDIATELY SWEEP HER OFF HER FEET TAKING HER FOR YOURSELF”

“Okay I’m not a prized possession—“

“SHUT UP Y/N”

“Woah Fogel. Calm down don’t make a scene—“

“MAKE A SCENE?! YOU’RE A BACKSTABBING ASSHOLE” Fogel tried punching Slater as he has already kept pushing him back before he can even get in a “good punch”. But the more aggressive Fogel tried to be, Slater cant let it slide when he’s in uniform.

“Okay okay. No. This is assault of an officer and you’re under arrest” Slater states knowing this triggered Y/N at first since she didn’t know what was the plan here.

Fogel tried to fight the restraints aka the handcuffs being put on him. Slater immediately bringing him to his cop car as Y/N looked at everyone who watched anxiously before quickly following the two.

“You need to calm down”

“SLATER”

“No. Seriously. You need to calm down” Slater states putting Fogel in the back and taking the drivers not letting Y/N in until this was settled. “If she shows no interest you shouldn’t force it at all. And before you say “that’s what you did” I didn’t. She had every right to rejected me when I asked her out but she didn’t. The two of us got close and we fell in love. It’s not rocket science and I know you care about her. But shouldn’t you care more if she’s happy or not more than if she’s with you or not”

Wow.

Fogel didn’t really think that hard into it. Yeah, he has the reasons for liking her. But he didn’t think of how she’d feel about it. Only wanted to tell her everything. And after hearing what Slater said, he’s happy he’s with her. She’s got someone that loves her and will always put her first.

“Wow...I’m sorry Officer Slater, I didn’t even think about that”

“It’s fine Fogel. You’ll learn one day with the love of your life. I say that as a friend. But as an officer...don’t come throwing punches at me again or you will actually be arrested”

“Yes sir”

“Good” Slater faces forward gesturing Y/N to join the two in where Micheals usually sits. “We worked it out”

“Good. Cuz Fogel, he can’t do it because it’s wrong on so many levels. But I’m not afraid to kick your ass for throwing punches at my boyfriend” Y/N threats through the mesh cage separating the front from the back.

“Sorry”

“It’s okay, now let’s take you home”

[forever-rogue]

A Good Man - Part 1

A/N: So...this turned out to be much more than I intended. It’s not a one off, oh no, could I ever really do that? It’s going to be three parts (and yes, I am committing to three and three only before this gets away from me), and yes I guarantee you there will be smut. You can’t have professor Javi without some smut, after all. Shout out to the amazing and lovely @rosetophighlander​ for listening to my ideas and inspiring me! As always, comments and feedback is welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know! xx

Pairing: Professor! Javi x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: none

A GOOD MAN ‘VERSE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

JAVIER MASTERLIST 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javier Peña was a good man. At least that’s what he was trying to convince himself. He was a good man with a bad past. A past he had pointedly left behind in Colombia. But even now, years later, memories haunted him at night - it wasn’t a regular occurrence, but it was often enough. Enough to have him startle awake, drenched in sweat as his chest heaved up and down. Enough to make him feel like a bad man again.

But that wasn’t him anymore - no. He was a bad man then and he was trying to rectify that now by being a good man. He was a good man, and what was in the past was in the past. It didn’t matter it anymore; he had to bury it and let it die. But every time he thought he had, he still found himself plagued by the memories. Shit. 

He’d returned to Texas when everything was said and done, and taken up a post as a university teacher. It was boring; drool, but most importantly, it was a safe bet. A college professor, who would have thought? If you would have told him this a few years ago while he was in the midst of the drug war trying to bring down both Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel, he would have laughed in your face and told you to fuck off. But that was then, and this was now, a very different reality with a very different version of him. Well...no. Javi was still Javi underneath it all, the same man he had always been, he was just trying to be the best man he could be. Trying to make right what in his head claimed made him so bad. 

He was regimented now, almost to a fault, keeping up a routine that claimed most of his mind that wouldn’t let his mind wander too far off track. Gods, he needed a therapist. He knew he did; it was forever on his to do list. Forever the one thing he would get to eventually because it wasn’t pressing enough. Forever the thing he would do when he had more time. Instead he found solace, a small sense of reprieve in his small four-legged friend. 

He was a small, wiry thing with ears that always seemed perked up, colored like sweet milk and honey, affectionately named Stevie, much to Steve Murphy’s chagrin. He served as a good distraction and pseudo-therapist for all that seemed to bother the ex-DEA agent. Sometimes Javi felt bad about how he confided in his little friend but Stevie loved him back all the same, showering him in affection whenever he could.

His routine was the same almost every day, allowing for some variance on weekends. It was strict, almost authoritarian but he had come to have a certain reverence for it. Up at six, out for a jog or walk with Stevie, breakfast for the two of them followed by a shower, at work by 9, a morning class full of mainly bright eyed freshman, followed by office hours where he would check on the dog and then return to eat his lunch by himself, almost always a sandwich, coffee, and some sort of berry, two afternoon classes of disinterested juniors, seniors, and those who seemed to never leave college, followed by a few hours of paperwork and grading before arriving home between six and seven, followed by a simple dinner for himself Stevie. To pass the time he’d read or watch a movie or show, but it was almost always lights out by ten. Sometimes he’d fall asleep quickly, other times it would take him hours. Hours of his brain buzzing with repressed thoughts and emotions that he put off until he fell asleep and repeated his routine the next day.

Weekends allowed for some flexibility instead of the monotonous rigidity. He let himself sleep in longer, go for a long walk with Stevie and have a leisurely lunch, and laze about the house. Sometimes he’d meet up with a friend, usually a coworker from another department and have a drink or two, nothing too excess, before turning in well before midnight. On the rare occasion where he felt restless enough and couldn’t be alone with his own thoughts, he’d go and take himself to a movie, a play, a museum, something that would keep his mind occupied. But by Monday morning he was back to routine. Back to that rigid pattern that kept him on track.

And it had been enough. It had to be enough...right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

Teaching at his alma mater of Texas A&M in the sleepy town of Kingsville had proven to be both a curse and a blessing. When he’d left the DEA, unsure of what to do, what do he really wanted to do with his life now, he had turned his attention back home. One thing had let to another and, surely with some help from his former cohorts at the DEA, he’d lined himself up a fairly easy teaching gig. It wasn’t anything he had ever really given much thought to, but just like his routine, it had become familiar, mind numbing, and easy. It didn’t take much before it had become part of his regimented life. 

He enjoyed the almost anonymity of it all; no one really knew who he was, the things, both horrible and great, that he had done, no one knew his previous reputation, no one judged him before they had the chance to meet him. He was, first and foremost, Professor Peña. The students came and went; no one questioned who he was truly was and he never offered. As far as his students were concerned, he offered them the tiniest shred, if any at all, of his personal life. It had it easy - simple - to keep things strictly business. 

There had been a few times, a few moments when his heart had almost stopped, that a student would stop by his desk after he’d dismissed everyone and ask him his past. It hadn’t been more than maybe four or five in total, but it had still brought a grimace to his face each time. But instead of completely dismissing anyone, he’d politely decline to answer anything beside easy questions, the kind that were of public knowledge. 

Otherwise he insisted that if they ever have any questions related to the course, exams, or homework, they were welcome to come to see him during his office hours. He had a presence about him, not intimidating per se, but firm and strong that usually deterred people from questioning him any further. They almost never came to his office hours; pretty much no one did. Which was completely fine by him because it always gave him a chance to stay on top of the mountains of paperwork the university imposed on everyone.

Much to his chagrin, however, this year the school’s newspaper had decided to start a professor spotlight column in their monthly magazine. Something about connecting students and professors and creating more of a sense of community. A load of bullshit, was what he thought, but he didn’t push the envelope. He wasn’t trying to ruffle any feathers, to step on anyone’s toes; no, he aimed to blend in. But something about having been the man to help bring down Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel made him a subject of interest; naturally it was only a matter of time before eager, hungry eyes were turned to him. 

But Javi knew he couldn’t really decline, it would have been against decorum and he wanted no eyebrows raised in his direction. So, he answered the curious student reporter’s questions with basic answers, just enough to give a taste and satiate them, but not enough to have to dig deep. He let them take his picture, let them publish it in their magazine, hoping that not many students would actually read the column, and just gloss over it. He wasn’t sure if he could handle tons of students only signing up for his class for him. He had not plans on indulging them any further into personal life.

But his routine, regimented schedule was all fine and dandy, and surely he thought they would be enough. They had to be enough, right? That’s what he thought. Surely the monotony of teaching countless students would be enough; that’s what he had come to believe anyway. It had worked out for the two prior years, surely it should have been the same going into his third year there.

Until the day you stepped into his classroom on that first day of that brand new semester and school year. You weren’t like the others...you looked excited, alert, like you actually wanted to be there. Like you wanted to listen to him teach. Like you cared. The swarm of students surrounding you barely looked alive, but you did. There was a certain magnetic charm that you possessed that happened to draw in everyone around you, including the man at the front of the room. The man that was determined to adhere to the strict routine that he had concocted for himself; the man that vowed he not stray from his class structure. The man that so desperately just wanted to be a good man. 

He hadn’t noticed you at first, keeping his gaze focused on the papers and stacks on his desk, picking up the roll call sheets and running through them with a sense of disinterest. Name after name of students that probably just took the class because they needed some sort of credit. They responded in voices that were barely audible, tones that strongly suggested that they did not care whether he made a note of them being in attendance. 

But when he got to your name, calling it out softly, and he heard you confidently and happily respond with a loud here, his deep brown eyes almost jumped out of his sockets. He paused and looked up, taking a moment to push his thick, dark rimmed glasses up his noise, before searching for you in a sea of students. But he knew he had found you when he spied the beautiful face beaming back at him. You offered him the biggest smile he had ever seen within the confines of the small lecture hall.

He was momentarily phased, but the corners of his mouth lifted up slightly as he returned your brilliant smile with the best he could muster up. But before he could get too caught up in anything, even a singular thought that roamed freely, someone loudly coughed and snapped him out of his trance. Quickly switching back to his professor mode, he looked back at the roster and called out the rest of the names, tic marks and blanks boxes galore down the long sheet. 

Like his life, his class structure was regimented, and while he thoroughly enjoyed history, he found it difficult, tedious even, to drone on about pre-revolutionary war America for hours. Sometimes it was enough to make his eyes almost glaze over; while it annoyed him that it got to his students as well, he couldn’t always blame them. But there was something about today, the way that you had smiled at him, that sent a spark off deep within him, and something just snapped. He found himself moving more about the lectern, his hands waving more animatedly as he gave his introductory lecture, and most importantly of all, he found himself stealing glances at you. And you met his glances, almost in a challenging way, never looking away when his gaze lingered a few seconds longer than necessary. 

But, like everyone else, you were eager to pack up your bag and leave when he was finished and excused everyone. You glanced at him a few times as you slid your notebooks and textbook back into your satchel, wondering if you should introduce yourself, or hell, if he really even cared. But instead of acting on any impulses and potentially making a fool out of yourself, you hitched the bag further up your shoulder and left along with the rest of the crowd, letting them swallow you up and allowing you to blend in. It was the end of the day, everyone was eager to get home, especially after the first day of the new semester. Javier was too; first days were always tiring just alone with administrative tasks and getting to know hundreds of new names and faces. But none of them mattered, not really, they were just more students in an endless sea that he would teach and then forget about as soon as finals were graded and returned. 

But somehow...you stuck in his mind. Your face, your curious eyes and soft little smile were already burned into his mind. He found himself musing on it, on how intently you had scribbled down notes, even if he didn’t feel like there was anything to memorize, how your leg bounced up and down the few times your mind seemed to wander as you had glanced around the room, taking in the other students. A low sigh escaped his lips as he slid his paperwork, texts, and other items into his book bag before throwing it over his shoulder. He wasn’t going to let his mind get hung up on you, or anyone or anything else for that matter. 

Sure, you were pretty, very pretty, but so were plenty of other students. He wasn’t going to lie to him; he could admit, at least to himself, when he found a student attractive. Sure, you had a smile that had spoken to something within him, but  -no. You were one student in a sea of hundreds the had for the semester. You would forget him as soon as you turned in your final and went on winter break. He was sure of it. Javier Peña was trying to be a good man, and letting his thoughts go wild about a student was definitely not part of that plan.

When he got home that evening, he walked in the door and left his bag on the small dresser he kept in the hallway, followed by his keys and shoes before eagerly greeting Stevie. He’d stopped by between classes to take check on him, always making sure he had plenty of food, water, and pets before he had to go back. He glanced around the small kitchen, already pondering what he would make for dinner, knowing he was stocked up on everything he would need for the week. In his retirement from the DEA he had become a meticulous planner, something that easily kept his mind busy, and Sundays had become his grocery shopping days were he loaded up on necessities for the week. It was robotic and allowed for little free thought; routine, routine, routine. 

But before he could flick on the soft kitchen light, his hand lingered on the switch, fingers drumming lightly against the plastic plate while he contemplated his next move. Instead of flipping it on,  he dropped his hand and grabbed Stevie’s leash off of the counter-top, dropping to his knees as the small dog wagged his tail in sheer excitement at the prospect of a walk. He gave him a few pets as he clipped the lease on, making sure his large ears received a good scratch.

“What do you say you and I go and pick up some pizza, huh? We’ll even get some beer. Call it a guys’ night,” Stevie made a small sound of excitement, clearly acquiescing to Javier’s plan. He stood back up to his full height, his joints crackling lightly as he grabbed his thin windbreaker, wallet, and keys, slipped his shoes back on and walked out the door, his mind already on the pizza place a few blocks away. It wasn’t even anything he really gave too much thought to, it was most certainly not part of his plan. No, this was all new - a break.

It was the first Javier Pena had strayed from his evening routine in almost three years. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you stepped through the door of your apartment you let out a long sigh as you tossed your book bag onto the floor and stumbled into the living room, flopping face down on the well worn couch. Sarah, your closest confidant and roommate throughout your college experience, looked up from her book and with a small smirk on her face. She’s gotten out of her classes and finished for the day hours ago. 

“First day was that good, huh?” she pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, as you turned your head to glare at her. She was in her last year of school too but had been smart, so you’d come to realize, and taken more classes than she needed in earlier years so her last year would be a breeze. You envied her and wished you’d done the same; now you were stuck with classes that were long, tedious, and required more thinking than you would have liked. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this semester,” you admitted with a heavy sigh; you had no one to blame but yourself. It still didn’t make your little pity party any better, “today’s classes were...boring at best, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a teacher that cared less than my last one. The topic’s already not my favorite, clearly not his, and I have no clue how I’m going to survive the semester, and this stupid class was the only one open that satisfied one of my last requirements. I’m trying to be excited, you know, to trick myself into liking it, but I dunno if that’s gonna work out.”

“If it all goes to hell, there’s always next semester,” she offered with a shrug before closing her book and tossing it on the coffee table, “what class it is?”

“Pre-revolutionary war American history,” you groaned as she gave you a pained look. Nothing about any of the words that spilled forth from your mouth sounded even remotely exciting, “aka hell. Whoever decided that there should be a whole dedicated college course to this subject clearly wasn’t in their right mind.”

“Hey,” she said suddenly, slipping out of the arm chair and trekking into the small kitchen, before rustling through a static of old mail. She was silent for a few moments before letting out a small aha and grabbing something out before tossing it at you, “I thought that class sounded familiar. Isn’t the guy teaching it the one that in the teacher highlight thing for this month or whatever?”

“You actually think I read this?” you scoffed and took the small magazine, shifting through the pages as you tried to find what she was referring to you. You made it almost to the end before finding the small article hidden and tucked away at the back. Quickly skimming it, you found your professor’s small, grainy, black and white picture staring back at you, “Javier Peña. Yup, that’s him.”

“He’s hot,” Sarah quipped over your shoulder as you silently rolled your eyes at her. That was most definitely not why you had signed up for the class. While you weren’t about to admit you mirrored her thought, you couldn’t help but think she was right. There was something about the small photo looking back up at you that suggested he was...very attractive. Hell, you’d seen him in person, and could confirm. The few times you’d gotten a good look at his face, when he wasn’t bent over his notes or facing the board, you couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Tan, golden skin, thick dark hair and eyes, a handsome face. Yeah, he was hot, but you weren’t about to dwell on that, “do you think he’s single?”

“Sarah,” you groaned at her as you read over the article, surprised to find that was ex-DEA, having apprehended some of the most notorious criminals in recent history. He had seemed anything like the man they had discussed in the article when he had stood in front of the class earlier that afternoon, “that is not...no, that has nothing to do with anything. I just need to satisfy a few more credits in history and I’m done. That’s it; nothing more.”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugged before giving your shoulder a playful nudge, “a little eye candy doesn’t hurt. Especially when you’re taking a class like that. Good lord it sounds awful, I wonder how he got stuck teaching that. Was he as good looking in person?”

“Sar-ah,” you said with her namely slowly as you shook your head at her and sat up. She picked her book back up, a small playing across her features, “none of that matters. But, if you have to know, yes. He was very good looking, in that older guy kind of way.”

“Go on...” she feigned innocence but you could already see the gears turning in her head.

“There’s not much less to say,” you insisted, internally groaning, “wore glasses when he was teaching, white button up, I dunno, the average professor look.”

A damned white button up that had fit him perfectly, highlighting his broad chest, trousers that were slightly tighter than they needed to be, and a silver watch had sat on his wrist. Simple, effective, but yeah, a very good look.

“The average hot professor look, “ she sighed wistfully. The two of you, while best friends at heart, were polar opposites in many ways. While you namely cared about classes and just getting it done, she was more prone to getting lost in her daydream fantasies and pursuing matters of the heart, “I’m just saying! There’s nothing wrong with finding your professor good looking, as long as you’re respectful. Besides, he doesn’t need to know if you think about him at night or when you’re with a boy that you wish was a man like him. Besides, Javier Peña. Professor Peña. That even sounds hot.”

“Why are we friends?” you sighed as you rolled off the couch, a tone of amusement coloring your voice, “why are you the way that you are!?”

“You love me!” she called out after you as you made your way to your bedroom, deciding to get a head start on some work so you wouldn’t already fall behind.

“I’m questioning that,” you stuck your tongue out at her as you grabbed the magazine off the floor and took it along with you. You hoped she wouldn’t notice, but you were sure that her eagle eyed gaze wouldn’t miss a thing, “goodbye and good riddance!’

“Have fun staring at Professor Peña!” your cheeks felt warm and you were sure a deep crimson was already creeping into them. You remained silent as you grabbed your book bag and walked into the room, letting the door slam behind you.

Setting the bag onto your desk, you flopped on your bed as you reopened the magazine and looked back at the small picture again, re-reading the article. It didn’t say much about much him, or speak to who he really was. it was strictly related to business, just like he had seemed to be as he stood in front of the class and gave an almost two hour long lecture with no breaks. He didn’t seem much like a man that was running around and taking down criminals in the heat of Colombia. He had just seemed like a tired, worn out, disinterested man. A far cry from what was presented in the short little article.

And yet...you couldn’t help but think of the few times he met your eyes when he’d occasionally looked up from the board or his lecture notes. You swore there had been a smile on his face then, even if it was a small one, but then again, maybe you had been lost in your own delusions as you had watched him. 

You’d even done your best to actively pay attention and take notes, both wanting him to know that you cared about class and because you knew it would be your downfall if you allowed yourself to miss anything. Even if it wasn’t your cup of tea, you wanted to give him your attention; it wasn’t his fault that it was a tiresome subject - someone had to each it after all. You’d felt bad as you looked at everyone around, all so zombie like and disinterested, looking like they would rather have been anywhere else in the world. You were sure he had noticed it too. 

But you’d already decided to make an effort to actively participate in his class and do your best. You’d quickly scribbled down his office hours and told yourself that if you needed help or had questions you’d ask before you’d let yourself fall behind and struggle. Maybe he didn’t care, he didn’t really seem to, but you did. You somehow felt a need to prove to yourself that you could handle this class, and to prove to him that someone cared, that his efforts were worth it. 

As you dogeared the page with his article on it, you closed the magazine and chucked it into your desk. You didn’t know what his deal was, or wasn’t, but you figured you’d be able to something out of him. Maybe learn more about the man from Colombia, and not just the professor that seemed so lost and wrapped up in his own head.

He had seemed so tired, so...run down that for someone reason it seemed to oddly affect you. Maybe it was because you had seen a glimmer of a smile on his face, watching as his dark eyes had crinkled up the few times he caught your gaze, how it almost reached them fully. Maybe there was more to him, maybe there was more to him than he had wanted to give out. But you were determined to find out what it was. 

You were set that you would try and pull something out of Javier Peña, even if it was just a full smile. Something about him spoke to you, something had drawn you to something, causing an itch that you desperately needed to to scratch. And you sure as hell would.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[violetarks]

Can you please make a happy end part 2 to Let Her In? I literally cried reading it 😭

Let Her In

Anime: My Hero Academia

Character: Bakugou Katsuki

Summary: A break was what they decided on, but it was more easy said than done. But somehow they weren't as confident as they were a few weeks ago.

Song: Certain Things — James Arthur (ft. Chasing Grace)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Y/N woke up, the sun shining towards her through the window. She shifted in her spot, sitting up and wiping her eyes. It was warm this morning, how ever shivers ran up her spine from the feeling of her body waking up. It didn't help that an arm laid on top of her waist.

It had been a week, maybe two, since Bakugou returned his copy of her apartment key. Since they last hugged and were a couple. They made no move to contact each other but didn't delete their numbers, nor try to ignore their social media.

Bakugou saw all the times Mina and Jirou came over to have movies or dinner, just to cheer Y/N up. Or Y/N when Kirishima and Kaminari took him out to drink or try to cook for him. It was nice to know the two of them were doing okay.

She glanced down to the person beside her. Y/N's apartment bed was big enough for at least three people to sleep comfortable in. She got this bed when she and Bakugou slept in the same bed for the first few times. He would toss and turn and squish against her because of their small space. So she got a bigger bed, although Bakugou got lonely and kept her closer to him. It was usually cold on Bakugou's side so he'd go over to hers.

It still smelt like him. The pillow beside her.

It was kind of weird, considering how he hasn't even set foot in her bedroom in the past few weeks.

The arm around her waist shifted as Y/N moved to stand up. She looked behind her and placed a hand on the arm. "I need to get up and make breakfast." She said, a smile on her face.

The arm pulled away from her, hearing a groan in return, "But Y/N, it's only like... 7:30!"

"No, Mina, it's 10:00." Y/N chuckled, standing up and stretching, "Why don't you just cuddle Kyoka?"

"We have separate rooms for a reason, Y/N." Jirou replied, on the other side of Mina with her eyes still closed. She then peeked over her shoulder to Y/N, who was getting a hoodie over her head. "What are you making?"

Y/N replied, walking towards the doors, "My famous omurice. I'll call you when I'm done."

She closed the door behind her before walking into the kitchen.

The girls had been staying with Y/N in her apartment for a while. At first, it was just check ins and such to make sure Y/N was travelling smoothly. And she was for a bit, until Jirou walked in on Y/N just staring at herself in the mirror in her bathroom, just playing with the ring around her finger. When Jirou touched her shoulder, Y/N began crying silently and made no move to stop. Mina and Jirou slept over from then on.

They were afraid Y/N would lose her mind over the 'break-up'. She was so excited to announce to all their friends that they were engaged and ready to be happily married.

The proposal was only three weeks before they separated. If you didn't know the two well, you would've thought they shouldn't have gotten engaged after six months of dating. But Y/N and Bakugou had been friends since UA. They'd been around each other since forever ago.

Bakugou's proposal was more of a spur of the moment decision. Of course he'd been thinking about it for ages, but it slipped out when Y/N was cleaning his wounds with alcohol. He just plainly asked 'do you want to marry me?'. And she replied with 'if you're serious, then I'd love to. But we should wait until we find the right time'.

The 'right time' being once Bakugou had free slots in his schedule, and when he confessed that he loved her. Needless to say, that would be postponed until further notice.

During breakfast at Bakugou's house, Kirishima and Kaminari barged through the door with takeout. They cheered for their friend, trying to lift his spirits.

Bakugou needed a distraction. Something to do. He took out his frustrations on the villains, nearly beating them to a pulp. He would also cook a lot. He was so used to cooking for the both of them so it was weird only cooking... so little. Kirishima and Kaminari picked up on that when they came over unexpectedly and Bakugou had set up two plates of curry. He didn't even realise until the boys asked if someone was coming over.

"Bakugou! We got you some ramen from the place you like!" Kirishima called, placing the meals on the table, "We were gonna' try and cook here, but we decided that it wasn't a good idea."

Kaminari pouted, pulling out chopsticks and napkins. "Y'know, I can make pretty good ramen too." He claimed, placing the bowls on each spot for the three of them, "You just never wanna' try it out."

Kirishima rolled his eyes and placed a hand on his hip. "That's because the last time you cooked, you somehow got your quirk involved and it electrocuted Sero's tongue." He stated before looking around the kitchen and living room, "Where is Bakugou? He said he had a day off today."

Kaminari shrugged his shoulders. They had decided to go check it out and see if Bakugou was anywhere inside the house. The two travelled towards the bedroom, seeing the door half-open.

On the bed meant for two, Bakugou was sitting on his side, flicking through his phone. He was hunched over, obviously stalking her and her friends' social medias. He gave a sigh before falling back into the mattress. It was then that he realised the two standing at his door.

"What the fuck do you want?" Bakugou questioned, wiping his face.

"Bakugou, I don't think it's healthy for you to check her page every few seconds." Kaminari said, rubbing the back of his neck slowly.

"I'm only checking to make sure of something, idiot." Bakugou said, tossing his phone onto his pillow as he closed his eyes.

Kirishima hummed, leaning against the door sill, "And what is that?"

Bakugou opened his eyes and glared at the ceiling. "That she doesn't give up on me." He sighs out quietly.

The last photo he check was the one Mina had posted a few minutes ago. Y/N was wearing a hoodie and shorts, standing in front of the stove with the egg on the pan. She looked at the camera with a soft smile as Jirou looked away. Y/N gave a small wave, letting Bakugou see the band still around her finger. It was still there.

He was worried that she'd give up on him. The first few days were Hell, all the anxiousness of Y/N taking off the ring was clouding his mind. Bakugou put all his trust in Y/N. He needed her to remember that she loved him and she said she'd wait for him.

Y/N hated to admit it but she was scared that Bakugou would never come back. Maybe he'd realise that the reason he never said those words was because he truly didn't love her. Or maybe he'd believe his statement that nobody would wait for him to be ready, and just leave. Bakugou was straight-forward. He wouldn't want to waste time.

Kaminari sat down beside Bakugou, Kirishima on the other side. His hand rested on Bakugou's shoulder as he sat up. "Dude. You sure you don't wanna' move on?" Kaminari asked warily, "You seem... stumped."

It's not that he didn't like Y/N, but Kaminari didn't like seeing Bakugou like this. Y/N and Bakugou were amazing and Kaminari loved their relationship. He didn't know where it was heading and if it should keep going. So he tried to make it better for Bakugou, as he knew the girls were doing for Y/N.

Bakugou glared at Kaminari. If looks could kill. "Fuck off, Dunce Face." He scowled, standing up and walking towards the bathroom, "I'm not gonna' move on from her. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't. We're in this shitty mess because I couldn't just tell her that I..."

Fuck, he thought, too much.

Kirishima sighed once he stopped. He knew the situation. Bakugou had been beating himself up about it for days on end. He even once asked Kirishima for help, whilst saying 'hypothetically' to make it seem like he didn't really need help.

He couldn't leave her. Not when he was addicted to everything she was and is. She was the reason he hadn't gone mad yet and he'd be damned if he wasn't allowed to be in her arms again.

But maybe she'd get tired of waiting.

"What are you gonna' do?" Kirishima questioned, getting up and nudging Kaminari to do so.

"I'm hers." Bakugou whispered softly to himself, staring down at the sink. He wasn't going to cry with those guys in his room. "I don't want to be anyone else's. Just hers."

Kirishima and Kaminari heard it. They only smiled a bit before calling him to eat breakfast.

The first time they fought, like really fought, was after the Bakugou Rescue Mission. Y/N had gone with the group to save him. And he was a wreck on the way back. Y/N stayed with him at the station and walked home to his house before going to hers.

He was angry with her that she went. At the point, they were barely even friends. Well, to Bakugou, as Y/N viewed him as one of her best friends already. She had told him that she couldn't let him go. Y/N wasn't even in his class. She was in the Support Department, one of the students who worked on his suit. Which is how she met him.

He got even angrier. Why was this... person caring for him so much? He was going to yell at her when Y/N just placed her hands on his cheeks, holding his face in her palms. She glanced at him seriously before saying that she adored things and ignored others. She decided that Bakugou fit into one of those categories and it certainly wasn't the ones being ignored.

He was calmed down before heading inside.

A lot more weeks was all it took for Bakugou to finally realise that Y/N was still there.

Really, it had been seven months later. But it felt like just yesterday they had left each other.

At the supermarket, she was grabbing milk and butter. It was Mina's birthday soon and she wanted to practice making Mina's favourite cake. Y/N was determined not to mess up the recipe. Bakugou had turned the corner with his basket to get some yoghurt when he noticed her.

"Kyoka, are you sure she wants red velvet?" Y/N asked into the phone, the voice catching Bakugou's ears. He couldn't believe it. Y/N looked on the other side of the aisle and saw amounts of tubs. "Mina really likes ice cream. How about we make her something with that? What? Oh my God, Kyoka, she's 21, she want an ice cream cake."

She stopped a moment on the phone as people passed Bakugou. He was frozen in his spot, standing in the dairy aisle like a lost kid. Y/N then giggled, "Oh okay, she might. I'll try the velvet and then we can do the ice cream cake. You have sprinkles at home, right?"

He stopped on his tracks. His heart beat increased almost immediately. His eyes felt tired from staring too long. It wasn't until she turned the corner and out of his vision that he snapped back into reality.

He got his things and paid, heading home. He was thinking about Y/N, how she still looked good in her clothes and how she picked the same milk he got. A habit she got from him. Y/N was still so amazingly enchanting.

In his driveway, Bakugou hooked his fingers around the bags and pulled them inside into his house. He set the bags on the table and began to unpack them.

Y/N mentioned something about Mina's birthday party, which meant that he would have to go. It'd be the first time in months that he'd properly see her. She hadn't talked to him in ages. Would her voice still sound the same as it did that long time ago? Would she still light up when she saw him.

He would have to see her again, have to speak with her again. Maybe he would be able to say the things he never said. Bakugou's been working on himself. He really has. Just the thought of her was enough for him to drive forward.

"Was she wearing her ring?"

He mumbled it to himself. A question that drove him insane almost instantly. She was wearing. Of course! She never took it off.

Right?

So why couldn't he remember seeing the ring?

She's given up. Hasn't she?

Another two months and it was Mina's birthday. Also, by this time, it had been nine months since they last spoke or interacted. Nearly a year. It was amazing that he could last that long without talking to her.

The party was held at Mina's apartment. Jirou had reluctantly allowed it because of the last time they had one at their apartment, they spent the next two days cleaning up. Y/N offered to do it at hers, but Jirou declined. She didn't know how Y/N would feel having Bakugou at her place again.

Mina dressed Y/N up in a dress, much to her dismay as she wanted to wear jeans and a nice top. It was down to a few inches above her knees and the sleeves ran just off-the-shoulders. The dress was Mina's, and she said she wanted Y/N to look her best tonight.

Y/N knew Bakugou would be there. They were all friends, of course. She was... nervous.

Maybe Bakugou had made up his mind and said he would move on. He went out more with the guys, Sero even bringing him to the club every once in a while. Kirishima and Kaminari got him drunk a few times. Even more than he did before. But Bakugou was still himself, perhaps just more independent than before.

So he didn't need her, did he?

"Hey, Y/N!" Uraraka and Midoriya called, walking up to her, "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Y/N chuckled, holding her drink to her chest, "Yeah, it has. The last thing I remember was helping Ochaco with her new upgrades." She smiled at the brunette before shrugging her shoulders. "How's it going between you two, anyway?"

Midoriya and Uraraka were married at this point. Midoriya had proposed and they got it sealed only two months later. To say Y/N was a little envious would be true. But she was happy for them.

Midoriya rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually, we're celebrating our one year soon." He claimed, making Y/N widen her eyes at him, "Ochaco said that she wanted to spend it with everyone, so we're planning to have people over to celebrate. You're definitely one of the top people on our list, Y/N."

Y/N giggled in return, covering her mouth a little to make it look convincing, "That's great! I'd love to come, we've been friends so long!" She downed the rest of her drink. "I'm so happy for you, Ochaco, Izuku."

Uraraka held onto Midoriya's arm closely. "Thank you, Y/N!" She laughed happily, rosy cheeks as she rings shone in the light, "Speaking of which, how are you and Bakugou?"

Y/N stopped smiling at that point. Truth be told, she hadn't tried to reach out to Bakugou mainly because of fear. The fear that he would ask why she was contacting him. The fear of Bakugou saying that he didn't want to continue this 'relationship'. The fear that he would... just let her go.

Her throat was tightening up and she felt her head spin. "Katsuki and I..." She began, fiddling with her skirt, "Well, I don't know how to say this—"

"Y/N! It's been so long!" Kirishima called out, walking towards her with his jacket on his arm, "How've you been? You look great tonight!"

Uraraka and Midoriya must've noticed the change in mood, because they quickly excused themselves as Kirishima dragged Y/N away to the balcony. He shut the door behind them, turning around to see Y/N already staring at him.

"Thank you, Eijiro." She said with a soft smile, breeze running through her hair, "I don't know how to tell the others. It's kind of difficult."

Kirishima shrugged it off easily. "It's okay. I know how you feel about Bakugou." He spoke, leaning against the balcony with her, "About that... You know he's here right?"

"Of course I know." She replied, watching the cars rush around beneath them, "You, Denki and Katuski arrived together. But don't worry, it's fine. He doesn't have to talk to me if he doesn't want to."

Kirishima glanced at her before looking away. "I'm pretty sure he does want to talk to you, Y/N." He states, tilting his head to the side, "He saw you already and made an excuse to go to the bathroom. I just think Bakugou won't know what to say."

"He should."

Kirishima looked down to her. "What do you mean?" He mumbled out to her.

A few minutes of silence passed through them.

Y/N stood up straight, hands leaving the balcony railing. She fixed her dress skirt and took a deep breath in, making sure the off-the-shoulder parts were comfortable. Walking towards the door, she looked over her shoulder.

"Because he knows that if he wants to get back together, he has to tell me something."

The door shut behind her and she walked back to get a refill on her drink. Whilst at the sodas, Jirou came up and tapped Y/N's shoulder. "It's nearly time for cake. It's in your fridge, right? Do you want me to get it?"

Y/N shook her head and gave Jirou her cup. "No, I'll get it. Just come and knock at my door if anything goes wrong." She said, making her way to the door. Jirou nodded her head.

Y/N opened the door, waving 'hello' to Yaoyorozu and Ojiro who were on the other side of the room. She failed to notice the vermillion eyes following her moves.

TAGS: @jazzylove @urmomsshousee @multi-fandom-fanfic @shydeepblue @silentw-lkr @bakugousflowerprincess (anyone crossed out was unable to be tagged)

[sinisterlyhan]

01. lee minho / 9486 words

fwb!minho, oral (f & m receiving), unprotexted sex, female reader, slight angst and fluff, romance, lots of kissing, mc being kind of a brat, minho being kinda dominant 

a/n: ahh, i finally wrote for minho! i hope this is good ;;

the thee bags of sugar you poured into your cup of hot coffee have probably been completely dissolved by now, considering the obsessive way you kept stirring the liquid with your teaspoon and not actually drinking it.

keeping your eyes out the glass window by the coffee booth, you allowed your mind to drift off to a familiarly foreign place as you mindlessly watched the passersby.

your lashes fluttered along with each shift of your eyes, your gaze jumping from one insignificant person to another as you accessed the idea that people are literally everywhere around you—annoying kids, depressed students, tired parents, and the slow folks.

the concept, more than often, flies past you on a daily. therefore, when you sit down and truly acknowledge the number of people you brush past every day, it is quite a staggering fact.

but what’s more bewildering than that, though, was the fact that out of all these people you could meet and think about, the only person who has ever really been on your mind was lee minho—a nice classmate, a good friend, and a few quick fucks.

a few. you heaved a lonesome sigh and replaced it with a bitter huff of laughter.

you wished it was only a few quick fucks. you should have stopped after a few of them and you should have never picked your hand up and sealed his ‘fuck buddy?’ deal with a firm handshake. but you were lonely back then, dry and lonely.

you had wanted love, genuine or not, and minho’s seductive kisses down your body were the closest thing you could get to feeling appreciated, so you made the biggest mistake of agreeing to be friends with benefits with him.

it has been half a year since you two established the relationship; the sex was frequent during the first few weeks, and then the passionate nights started to space out a little until you two spent more time with plans to hang out than to fuck each other.

your immature mind hadn’t been smart enough to fathom the idea of you ever falling in love with somebody like minho, because you knew you weren’t the type to blatantly fall for someone out of your league. it was the kick that got your to seal the contract.

but alas, minho has been more than irresistible the past few months.

he wasn’t just a fuck buddy, he has never been just that from the start of it all. nothing about your new relationship was awkward despite you two being silent classmates for so long until a house party came and messed it all up. and unlike what you expected, he never tried to distance himself to keep that sole status.

he wasn’t aloof, nor did he act like a stranger. minho was a good friend, a good classmate, and a good fuck if you may say so.

he has helped you with your classes numerous times; printing assignments last minute for you in the library because you were too sleepy to do so last night, scanning his thorough notes for you unprompted because he noticed you struggling during class, reading through your materials out of his class time just so he could further explain something to you.

he’s also been the best emotional support you’ve had; he has never complained when you unreasonably snapped at him because of too much stress, he puts up with your constant overthinking and temper tantrums, and he gets you snacks on his own grocery run because he thought you might get some cravings sometime during the day.

and, of course, the sex has never once been dull ever since you met him, but it was in a lot of the little things he does that makes your heart ache the most; it was him always making sure you’re okay, and him constantly giving you praises. how he loves to make eye contact and hold your hands. how he knows exactly when to be soft and when to be hard.

when did he stop being just minho to you, you haven’t the faintest idea. but your feelings for him have changed drastically over these amazing months, and it became your downfall because he has not contacted you for weeks.

just complete radio silence, nothing, gone.

“i’m telling you he likes you, okay?”

you rolled your eyes as you snapped out of your trance. turning your head to look at jisung, you pursed your lips and shrugged in bland disbelief. “shut up.“

“no, you shut up and listen to me,” he leaned forward on his seat, his eyes glaring because he was sick and tired of being ignored by both of his friends. but now he’s got a fifty-fifty chance of being a matchmaker, so he planned to go all out. “i have known minho for as long as my fat baby legs can waddle to the sandbox in the park, okay. and not once have i seen him run away like this.”

“this, this thing that he is doing?” his finger excitedly jammed against the surface of the table as he stared at you pointedly, emphasizing his words with each jut of his jaw. “this is serious, and what serious thing can he be afraid of?“

you waited for him to speak, but the silence he purposefully left out was urging to be filled in. you looked away, baffled, and you scrambled your mind to think of something to say.

“i don’t know? faili–“

“wrong!”

“a dise–“

“terrible answer!”

“ma–“

“zero points for yo–ow!”

“knock it off, jisung!” you scolded with annoyance after you flicked his forehead with your fingers, shoving his head back to the cushion of the booth seat. “i know what you want me to say… i just won’t say it.”

“he loves you, (name),” jisung said, hiding every bit of uncertainty behind his persuasive facade—his presentation face, as he calls it. “i really think he does.”

and he wasn’t lying. jisung gave the situation a fair share of analyzing, and he concluded with the fact that minho might just have fallen in love with you. because one thing he knew about minho was that while he is kind, he is not nice.

there is a distinctive difference; kindness is selective, it is earned, it is given by choice. nice is blind, it is a mindless thought, a moral conscious.

anything that goes between minho and his goal, or his dignity, or some dramatic factors as such, minho will not hesitate to lash out. he is kind, not nice.

and you—you’ve been plucking the kindness out of him like he was a river that could never run dry.

disrupting his study schedule to tutor you? ditching his long-term friends to keep you company? apologizing first and being the bigger person in petty arguments?

minho was good to you when he didn’t have to, and he still was kind to you when he didn’t want to. he wanted to keep you happy, he gets the thrill of being able to take care of you, and you can feel comfortable around him.

jisung would even go so far to say minho was head over heels for you now, with his heart bleeding dry for your sake. and he’s running away from it because the concept, the feeling was foreign to him.

“just go to his house, find him. he probably misses you like crazy,” he urged tentatively. “talk it out, or fuck it out if that’s what you guys are used to.”

“do you think it’s that easy? like i can just go up to his home and kiss him?“ you asked, exasperated that jisung didn’t seem to understand the limitation of your tolerance for humiliation and appearing desperate to other people.

“sure, why not! i’d totally do that if i were you!” he boasted, clapping his fist to his chest as he huffed through his nose. “it’s not like he isn’t jerking off to the thought of you anyway! it’s either that or he’s crying himself to sleep at night!”

“that’s…” your voice awkwardly trailed off.

“too much?”

“no, no, just…” you hummed with a slight shake of your head, unable to break through his innocent gaze and not sure how to tell him you missed seeing minho in his naked glory. so instead, you chose to back down. “nothing.”

you blinked, still processing his previous words in your head as you finally brought your coffee up to your mouth to take a short sip.

the sugary taste was barely seeping into the bitterness of your coffee, the last three bags of sugar you added having done nothing to help you savor the taste. and you thought about how minho would probably switch his drink with you or offer to order you a new one if he was here.

jisung watched as you put down your cup and reached for another bag of sugar. he laughed, shifting his legs and leaning against the back of the booth. “the sugar is bad for you.”

“i know,” you muttered as you shook the bag and let the content spill all over your drink.

jisung watched with nonchalance as you picked up your metal spoon and started stirring your coffee again. and he didn’t say a single word.

minho pushed his glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose, and he continued with his note-taking as his eyes focused on the massive text displayed on his laptop screen.

it was all he has done this day. right after morning classes, he headed out for lunch by himself and simply went home. he tried to ignore the stubborn unfamiliarity of spending most of his time alone, hoping the ghost of your voice would eventually stop haunting his heavy steps into the local boba shop, or even just to the edge of his bed when he decided to take a short nap.

he woke up alone, dazed and annoyed. but he was mostly tired; tired of being alone when he knew you were a call away, tired of drowning in chosen solidarity because he wasn’t brave enough to confront his feelings, tired of being scared that you wouldn’t return the affection his heart discreetly held for you.

it was very unlike him, and the change was frustrating. minho never thought himself to succumb to romance yet here he was, making bad decisions and pushing you away when all he wanted was to hold your body close.

the uneven grip on his pen caused him a sudden scrape across the lined-paper. he glanced down the rogue tweak of the letter 'r’ and he clicked his tongue. dropping the pen, he rummaged through his crowded pencil case for a white-out, just in time as the doorbell to his apartment rang.

he furrowed his brows as he perked up, his head turning to look behind his shoulder at the door. discarding the matter at hand, he stood up and made his way to the front door, where he sung the door open and immediately revealed you standing before him.

“hi,” you breathed out when you met eyes with him, your gaze hardening slightly in sudden timidity.

minho gave you a quick scan before he nodded. he, too, feeling rather awkward at what felt like a confrontation to him. “hey.“

“can i come in, or are you going to keep shutting me out?” you laughed meekly, pointing into his apartment and letting your eyes move away from him briefly before returning to his face. “i’m already here anyway, you might as well.”

“i… yeah, sure, come in,” he said, taking a step aside as he opened the door for you. he watched you head inside, kicking your shoes off and shoving them to the side. he eyed the plastic cup in your hand, and he attempted to make light conversation out of it. “you got coffee?”

“oh, yeah. i was hanging out with jisung just then,” you said, turning to face him. you stuck your hand out, giving him the cup. “do you wanna try some?”

“no, i’m good.” he waved his hand.

you looked at him, a faint pout forming on your face before you shrugged and brought the straw up to your mouth. “okay then, it’s probably better for you anyway,” you sipped the coffee, “i dumped like… six bags of sugar in it.”

the change of facial expressions on his face was priceless. he went from processing your words in confusion, then his eyes widened in surprise, and at last his brows furrowed in dismay that you were still sipping the drink like you didn’t just turn it into a liquefied candy cane.

“okay, no, i’m confiscating it,” he said after allowing you a few more obnoxious sip. he grabbed the cup away from you and held it out of your reach, ignoring your continuous protest. “do you know how unhealthy that is?”

“yes, but it’s sweet!“ you complained.

“it’s sweet until you get type-two diabetes.” He rolled his eyes, turning around and heading over to the fridge located in the open area where the kitchen was. “especially when you don’t just drink one cup of coffee every other week, you drink it several times a week, which can toll up to a lot of sugar intake and i am not about to let you run around self-sabotaging your health–”

he stopped talking when he turned away from the fridge and immediately saw you standing before him. the proximity of your faces was a little too close for his liking—not his subconscious, just his stubbornness—and he didn’t know what to do when he was confronted with it so abruptly.

he hasn’t seen you in some time, which gave him no opportunity to create such intimacy. and even though he had missed being able to feel comfortable with you being close, he suddenly didn’t know what to do. he would love to keep his emotions in check, and he would love to not spill secrets he had no intention to tell.

you glanced down to his lips and automatically huffed. jisung’s words flew back into your mind then, telling you to just kiss him now that you’ve made a mistake of stepping into his personal bubble. it wasn’t like minho was actively pushing you out anyway. you could just try, and if it doesn’t work out in your favor, you could just play it off.

a gasp left his chest when you suddenly leaned in and kissed him. your hands went up to cup his jaw, bringing him closer to you when you felt him starting to reciprocate the kiss. you have longed to do this for so long, sometimes it felt like you’d forget the way his lips feel if you go without it for one more day.

the nervousness within was slowly started to vanish, but part of your brain registered how minho wasn’t kissing you with the same vigor he used to whenever you two share a kiss. it felt out of place to feel his mouth move so slowly against your own, and it was not in a harmonious way.

his lips slacked against yours because his brain wasn’t functioning well. minho has missed you more than ever and this—this was practically a dream come true! he was finally kissing you again, and he wanted nothing more than to keep going, to put roam his hands all over you again.

but he couldn’t. he couldn’t allow himself more depths to fall for you, he couldn’t keep digging his own grave with uncertainty and doubt.

he would rather guarantee he can still be friends with you after sorting out his feelings, than risk you not returning his affection and jeopardizing your comfortable relationship.

“w–wait, (name)–stop–” he pulled away from you, taking in a breath of fresh air when his lips detached from yours. the air was eerily cold, he didn’t like it at all.

your hands dropped from his face, your heart sinking to your stomach the same way. that was enough indication—him pushing you off pretty much told you everything you needed to know about how he felt, and god, you felt so conflicted at the discovery.

you were mad at yourself for letting him allow so much control over you. the sheer anger that bubbled in your chest when you felt tears brimming at the back of your eyes was immeasurable. you warned yourself about this, you warned yourself about him, yet you still fell. and now you felt weak and hopeless because he didn’t love you back.

you also felt wronged somehow. the fact that minho has been such a kind friend to you has given you the false assumption that he would at least give you an explanation. if he didn’t want to keep the sexual relationship, he should have just been truthful to you instead of trying to ghost you for weeks and leaving you to your lonely thoughts.

but you wouldn’t have cared if you didn’t like him. him ignoring you wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t fall for him.

“what is your fucking problem, minho?” you asked, your anger boiling up. but despite that, your voice was more leveled than ever, as if you were exhausted. it was all being suppressed in your chest, burning and rotting away.

you smiled at him a little, the forced kind of smile, and you sarcastically laughed when you spoke, “if you got bored of me, you could have just said so.”

minho opened his mouth, surprised. but the light glimmer behind your eyes created a new kind of chaos in his head. he has seen you cry before, and this time it was all him.

“i–no, that wasn’t the problem, i just–”

“did i do something then? are you mad at me, or something like that?“ you cut him off with a scoff, shaking your head slightly as you frowned at him. “because you left me alone for weeks. you were a terrible friend to me, and i had no idea if it was me or you.”

“i’m not bored of you, (name). neither am i mad at you,” he replied quickly, sighing as he looked at you with softened eyes. “it's—something personal happened, nothing was your fault.”

you pursed your lips together, feeling slightly less agitated as your questions slowly got resolved one by one. “what is it, then? what happened to you?“

“i…” i fell in love with you.

you waited for seconds for him to talk but all minho could do was look down at the floor, fearing for what would happen to you and him if he ever told the truth. a sigh left your lips at his silence, disappointed that he couldn’t give you a proper answer.

“fine, don’t tell me,” you said, turning around to leave the kitchen area.

“hey, wait, where are you going?” he followed suit, panic flooding into his eyes.

“away from you,” you muttered as you put on your shoes. “don’t worry about seeing me again, i won’t bother you anymore.”

minho hasn’t realized he was unintentionally ruining the relationship until this point. in his attempt to keep his feelings secured and hidden, all to prevent the breakage of your friendship, he failed to notice the damage all the avoiding did to it.

now you were planning to leave him forever, to walk out and completely cut him out of your life. and oh, he was scared. he could not bear to never seeing you again, or even just to stomach the thought of you hating him because of his stupidity.

“wait, no, hold on–” he grabbed ahold of your hand when you grabbed the doorknob. before you could fling him away, he turned you around to face him and, impulsively, grabbed your face to crash his lips against yours.

yes, crash. with the amount of force he was using, the word crash would deem fit. you tried to push him away from you, but your little fists were futile to his broad chest, and soon enough he had you weak at the weeks with the exasperating way he was kissing you.

you could taste this one, his emotions were vivid at the tip of his tongue as he finally learned to surrender himself into you. he was desperate, he was lustful, he was burning at the tips of his skin just to kiss you like there is nothing else he could mean more than this exact moment.

when he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes. it was intimidating and confrontational, everything he thought he couldn’t handle now being pierced through his action so he could prove a point.

“i didn’t…” he shook his head. “i’m so sorry for ignoring you, i did it because i… i didn’t want to ruin our friendship… because i realize i won’t be able to fall out of love with you if we keep being friends, if we keep sleeping together.”

that took such a drastic turn. you never thought things would turn out this way for you, but here minho was, looking so deeply into your eyes and telling you he avoided you because he was scared his love would ruin your friendship. what a damned miracle!

“you… you coward, stupid, dumb, annoying–” you lightly punched him across the chest, feeling such staggering relief that you felt like crying. “you didn’t even give me a fighting chance, you just assumed i won’t like you back.”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t even try to drop hints, how was i suppose to let you know i love you back?”

“i know, baby girl, i’m sorry.”

the shock within him vanished quickly. he didn’t have the time to express his delight the way he would want to. you were standing before him in all your glory—beautiful, genuine, emotional.

and he wanted you with him in a way that was much closer than this.

nudging his nose against yours, minho let his lips meet yours at a slower pace this time. he was gentle with you, his arms holding at the side of your waist to pull you closer as you two kissed.

your hands flew to circle his neck as you stumbled out of your untied shoes and into his chest. minho let himself linger on your lips for a while before he started to trail his kisses down your jaw.

your neck was a territory he has marked many times before, and he never fails to make sure he adds something new every time his lips touch the skin. his teeth grazed past your neck before he met at the crook of it, and he obnoxiously sucked a dark bruise on your skin just so you would whimper in surprise.

sigh—how he missed that whimsical little sound. it was always so heavenly to hear, even when the action that caused it was more than devilish.

he marked his way back up to your lips when his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. he slipped his hand under it, his palm touching your bare skin for a brief second before he retreated them to clutch at the fabric of your shirt.

“can i take your shirt off, baby?” he mumbled into your mouth, his hand already raising slightly in anticipation.

you nodded, raising your arms as he complied and pulled your shirt up. you two broke apart to allow it to go through before leaning back toward each again. minho discarded your shirt off to the ground, his hands couldn’t wait to finally meet with your torso.

he kissed you fervently, his fingers holding the same amount of enthusiasm as they glided past the small curve of your waist. up and down, a faint squeeze to hold you in place, and then he pushed you forward so your back hit the door.

putting a hand between the back of your head and the hard surface, minho reluctantly pulled away from you, this time with no intention to dive back to your lips again because of all the other access to your body you’ve given him.

he breathed heavily, his voice growing raspy. “i’m gonna make it up to you.”

“i expect you to,” you replied boldly, causing him to raise his brow.

that was not something you would otherwise say in a situation like this. minho would have put you in your place if you ever attempted to give him an attitude. but he planned to let it slide this time, after all, he did hurt your feelings and he was at fault here.

“good.” was all he said before he started to move down your body.

his lips met at your collarbones, then to your chest where he skipped over your bra and went straight down to your stomach. he planted light kisses all over your skin, his tongue occasionally swiping across to wet up your body a little more.

he was kneeling before you by the time his hands met the waist of your pants, and he looked up with brows raising teasingly at you as his hands circled to the front. his fingers carefully popped open the button before they hooked through the belt loops and slowly pulled them down to your ankle.

your knees trembled at the touch of his hands, gliding up and down the back of your thighs and ever so slightly tugging you toward him. your breath hitched in your throat when he leaned up to kiss your clothed core, the sudden touch sending a surprise jolt across your mind.

foreign but familiar—it just came too sudden. you hadn’t realized this was actually happening until your panties were dragged past your thighs, the cold air a stinging proof that you’re with minho right now, and his lips were getting dangerously close to where you’ve been aching to have him these past weeks.

his hands curled around your legs, gripping your flesh firmly to keep them apart as he liked it. he moved up your inner-thighs. he continued to send tingly sensations all over your body until he stopped for a second, as if waiting for a dramatic effect, for a lingering thought to vanish before he latched his lips to your pussy.

his tongue darted out to lick between your folds, feeling the wetness gathering at your entrance upon the pleasuring stimulation. your moan went straight into ears, lighting up the delight inside him, and he continued to lather himself all over your cunt, wasting no time to poke his tongue in and out of you rhythmically.

you grabbed a messy chunk of his hair, pulling at it as you desperately tried to rust against his face, taunting him to shove his tongue deeper inside your heat. the position made your legs feel sore, and the mere attempt to grind down on him was just difficult, but you could take none of those into mind that when his mouth mercilessly sucked at your clit until it was red and swollen.

he was luxuriating himself in you—in your taste, in your voice, in your movement. your essence dripping past his tongue in a slurpy motion, your walls clenching at the digits he had graciously slipped into your heat, and ecstasy took your voice up into a milky whine when his teeth barely grazed past your clit as he sucked at you.

the heat in your chest expanded and engulfed itself all over your body. without yourself even realizing, your legs have moved apart to give minho more access to touch you even more.

“fuck, minho, please!” you exclaimed, your head hitting against the door.

ahh, you still know how to beg. perhaps not as profusely as he would have wanted you to but you were polite nonetheless. not to mention, your fingers scratching through his soft locks was enough indication that he was doing a splendid job. and he couldn’t wait to hear more of you, to feel more of you.

moving his face down to your heat, he drove his tongue inside you once again while his thumb went to press circles on your throbbing clit. you let out a choked moan, the sudden change of stimulation a very pleasant surprise, and he has your climax pinned at his mouth in no time.

gathering up your juices into his mouth, minho finally pulled away from you and stood up. he didn’t bother to wipe your essence off his lips, he just went straight for your mouth as he pressed his lips against yours. and you were in too big of a haze to distinguish the taste of yourself and his saliva, still trying to come down from the orgasm you’ve missed having from him.

minho brought his hand up to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb carefully as he contemplated his next move. perhaps he was putting a little pressure on himself to make sure this encounter would be perfect, because he thought it somehow needed to be after hurting your feelings.

but part of him also ached for a good fuck after so long. not just with anybody but with you. the scorching desire in his chest would ultimately fuel his instincts today, and maybe he’d not be able to keep his cool when he could finally be inside you.

just the thought of it made his insides burst. he should have never distanced himself from you. it was such a stupid idea.

“up,” minho commanded as he leaned down to tug at your thighs. and you listened to him, jumping up so he could catch you around his waist, your arms going around his neck as your lips moved past his face to run freely down his neck.

you were enjoying the feeling of his skin, kissing him all over in ways you wished you had been able to. your teeth bit down harder when you heard his tiny giggle at your almost amateur attempt on leaving him a hickey, a frown appearing on your face at the fact that he wasn’t taking you seriously.

he brought both of you over to the couch and he dropped you down on the surface, his body quickly hovering over yours as he got onto the couch as well. you looked up at him, your eyes smiling funnily in a way that made him pause his movement. 

this was supposed to be a heated moment, yet somehow a single quirk of your lips was able to make his walls crumble.

“what’s so funny?” he asked, pinching your waist and causing you to squeal at the itch.

“nothing! it’s just…” you reached down for his hand and brought it up to your face, kissing his rough knuckles as you smiled at him. “i’ve missed you, that’s all.”

minho wavered, the glint behind his eyes dimming with a sense of being completely enamored. at the way your lips would smile, at the way your gaze held all of him, even just at how your smaller hand gripped his own. he was so infatuated, he could see no end to it.

“i’m sorry for suddenly leaving you,” he said, leaning down by dropping onto his forearm. your fingers still clung into his palm when he moved it up to your chin, his thumb tracing the tip of it before it moved up to your lips. “i promise i won’t do it again.”

his thumb traced your lower lip, a movement so sensual that you couldn’t think about much of anything else. just the mere fact that you got him back, and that he too has fallen in love with you, was enough to make you drop every ounce of your sanity.

you felt like you’ve got all you need already.

“kiss me, minho,” you pleaded quietly, opening your mouth more so his thumb would shift across your teeth.

he felt your legs move underneath his body, pressing together in a squirm. and he knew you wanted him between them, he knew you were waiting for him to pull them apart instead of doing it on your own. because everything needs to be done by his hands, that has always been the way you two worked, and you would obey him with ease.

flashes of your naked body came before his face. flashes he imagined when he was alone at night, trying miserably to replace you with a toy, or sometimes even himself. his lids dropped as he shifted to look down at your body, soft and awaiting his instructions, and he lightly growled to himself.

impatience suddenly took over him then, the previous moment gone in a blink of an eye. he leaned down to capture your lips, his hands going to your knees to spread them apart so he could place himself right in the middle.

you complied with him, kissing him back and tugging at his shirt as a signal that you wanted it off his body. minho huffed through his nose, slightly annoyed that he has to break away from you but he quickly yanked the collar of the shirt and pulled it over his head.

the flex of his arms was visible as he did so, and your eyes widened shyly without looking away. god, you’ve always loved the way he was built—just muscular enough to ogle at and not too much that they become uncomfortably distracting.

having second thoughts after seeing his toned chest, you decided to sit up from your spot and pushed your hands against him. minho frowned at you, his voice silent but his head-tilt asking a thousand questions. he was going to kiss you, why have you stopped him!

you grinned as you pushed him back, using your body weight to make him fall to the other side of the couch until he was under you this time. you laid on top of him, your small frame trapped between his legs as your head right at the crook of his neck.

minho was about to verbally ask you for your intention, but his eyes rolled up into a close when you kissed his neck. your hands roamed across his chest, your nails dragging ghostly against his skin in an unrecognized pattern as you peppered your kisses and kitten licks all over him.

he sighed in content, feeling your lips on every inch of his body, hot and loving. and he loved being treated this way, like he was being worshipped, like he was a god and you some mere peasant who had to rely on him for a living.

“(name),” he said, his voice sharp as he opened his eyes.

you perked up at him from the waist of his pants, your hands teasingly located near the middle. they had been scattered all over his abdomen, touch here and rubbing there, but never once did they meet at the middle where the obvious bulge of his pants was.

looking at his unsatisfied expression, you could only feel a sense of amusement as you pouted. your lashes fluttered up at him as you scooted back a little for better access. your smile was unfading when you leaned the lower side of your cheek right on top of his clothed member.

“what?” you asked, your smile widening at the hiss he let out.

“stop teasing me,” he said.

“hmm…” you pursed your lips, your finger dragging past his thigh to your face, then you palmed down on the shape of his member. “but it’s so fun.”

for someone with a waterfall dripping past your lips, you sure could find some time to be bratty like this.

rolling his eyes, his tongue poked at his inner-cheek as he turned away for a brief moment. when he looked at you again, his gaze was less hooded than it was amused. but it wasn’t your kind of amused. it wasn’t playful but degrading, the glimmer of it making you shiver.

“you want to say that again, baby?” he asked, his hand moving down to your head. he gently ran his fingers through your hair before he tugged at your scalp, his action light but not without harshness in it.

you whimpered under your breath, your brows furrowing helplessly as your head tilted to the side. “no.”

“good girl.” he released your hair then, gesturing toward himself. he nodded at you, smirking, “keep going.”

you didn’t mess around this time. your hand reached to the rubber waistband and easily pulled his sweats down to his thighs. you scooted your body up, your mouth salivating at the mere sight of his clothed member. you quickly tugged down his boxers, letting his cock spring out before you carefully grabbed its base.

minho sucked in a deep breath at your touch, your small hand covering around the base of his shaft. he closed his eyes with a blissful sigh when your lips finally touched his tip, giving him a little kiss before pressing them against him to dart your tongue over his slit.

licking past his red tip, you trailed your tongue over his shaft once before you went back up to his tip. then you finally took him in your mouth, your head bobbing up and down at regular speed as your hand rubbed the uncovered area.

minho groaned, his hand quickly flying down to your head. he let it lay there, only wanting something for him to hold onto as you sucked him off. great pleasure released from his abdomen, spreading all across his body as you hollowed your cheeks and licked him up as your head moved.

he opened his eyes to look down at you. for a second, you were focused on keeping him in your mouth, but you seemed to have felt his eyes on you so you glanced up at him.

he cursed at your wide-eyed, innocent—well, as innocent as you could look with his dick in your mouth, at least—expression then. his chest doing a flip as you slowly dragged your lips up to his tip to add stimulation to it, the smooching sounds you let out deafening to his ears.

there was something about your facade. it was the way he knew you were just putting up a naive front to rile him up, looking as pure as possible as your lips printed a smile on the top of his shaft, your tongue still poking out to lick him irregularly as if you get to be in control here.

(and, yes, to a certain level you do have control. to a maximum level, you have his utmost attention and all of his heart.)

holding onto the base of his cock, you tilted your head to the side and squinted your eyes mischievously at him. dragging the side of his tip against your cheek slowly, you let out a lewd hum, something like a relieved moan but it didn’t lack a tinge of questioning noise in it, and you watched him as if waiting for his patience to crack, waiting for his tough walls to fall beneath your feet.

he was falling. his face didn’t much show it, and either did his muscles tense under your body weight. but minho was completely surrendered to you; how could he not? you’re such a pretty thing, your warm mouth feeling heavenly as they moved up and down his shaft in an agonizingly slow pace.

his breathing was elevated now, he could feel his chest suffocating with deep arousal, and he wanted nothing more to have your walls wrapped around him now. forget your lips, he needed the tightness around him.

“okay, no,” minho spoke after a moment of thought. he attempted to sit up, his hands moving out to grab at your elbows. “you, get up, now.”

you listened to him, sitting up from your spot while he pulled at your arm. you followed his lead, letting him bring you onto his lap where you heat met with his hardened member. The confusion that once lingered in your head immediately faded away when you felt his girth snug between your folds, a whimper leaving your lips excitedly as you grind down on his member, wanting more friction out of a mere touch.

minho huffed, a tingly sensation fixated at his abdomen. his movements were beginning to get hasty but he has a general direction of what he wanted to do. he wanted you, that was all he knew. and with you sitting prettily on top of him, his mind knew exactly what he had to do despite the pitter-pattering of his heart.

although clumsy, he was precise when he gabbed you by your waist and hoisted you up with your help. he moved his hand down to hold up his dick, angling it right at your entrance before he glanced up at you through his tousled hair.

his eyes were striking, dazzling you as he waited for permission to handle you. you weren’t able to say much, a knot present at the back of your throat that could only be released when you could finally feel full again, full of him. so instead of talking, you brought your hands to your sides where his laid, and you lightly spread your knees further apart to drop onto his cock.

minho moaned lowly, feeling the warmth of your entrance as his tip got lathered up with your essence. he took that as a green light, and with a tightened grip on your skin, he guided you to sink on his length by pushing your body lower and lower until you were sat with him stuck within your walls.

your eyes shut when you felt his stretch, opening you up so deliciously that you needed a moment to breathe. you took all of him in you, his length a pleasantly erotic sensation inside your cunt that even a small scratch of friction could get your head all fuzzed up in a dream.

you felt full, oh so very full, in the most delightful way possible. you felt like smiling when you adoringly looked at him, because you loved him so and you didn’t think you could get this back again. your walls unconsciously clenched around him when you felt like shifting your position a little, and the little breathy sounds he let out a kind of music you adored.

he stared back at you after the sudden commotion and his heart melted. your faint smile was an undeserved treasure you somehow decided to grant him on a daily, and the fact that you always made him feel so snug and good, both chastely and sexually, was nothing short of a miracle.

his hand slipped from your waist to lace through yours, holding you softly as lust blossomed in his eyes.

it has always been the two of you who could make each other feel this way. the thrill of first love, the nostalgia of being intimate, the fear of losing one another—no wonder you two fell in love, it was a match made in heaven.

he brought you down to kiss him, and your arms instinctively flew around his neck. you allowed him a second of solace before pulling away just enough to speak, your voice small with praise. “fuck, you feel so good.”

he laughed, biting at your jaw where his face got draped over by the falling of your hair. “good, but i’m about to feel even better,” he whispered before reattaching his lips to yours. between the tangled lips, you could hear a needy whine sounding from the back of his threat, and you giggled into his mouth. he wanted you to move.

you carefully brought yourself up, your walls scraping past his cock in the process and catching up a burn. then, slowly but still at a non-torturous pace, you lowered yourself back down on him. you kept up with the speed, going up and down on his lap and moaning with every new stretch of your walls.

minho’s hands slipped from yours to caress all over your body, touching you gingerly as if you were his pretty porcelain doll. when his hands met your chest, he gave a small frown at the bra that was still attached to your body, and he quickly unhooked it to expose you completely.

your thighs stuttered when you felt him clamp his palm over your breast, the sudden jolt of pleasure hitting your head. his hands moved to cup your side, his thumbs reaching to press against your nipples and twirling circles with it. then he leaned forward to take your perky bud into his mouth after kissing around the bouncy area, licking your milky smooth skin before his tongue swiped across your nipple.

he kissed across your chest, his lips unable to remove from your skin as you relentlessly moved up and down on him. the plethora of pleasure, the immeasurable amount of enjoyment manifesting into this electrifying sensation all across your veins. it was all from the way minho felt so good inside you, and the passionate touch of his mouth on your everywhere.

“ahh–min–” you hugged him close with a sudden scream, only able to utter his name halfway. the jolt had knocked the air out of your lungs when his cock brushed against your sweet spot, making your knees buckle weakly and your movement halting to a messy rhythm.

minho raised a brow, feeling playful upon seeing your drastic reaction. he pulled away from your face, his eyes searching for your face. “hmm? min–what?”

you furrowed your brows then, a blush escaping to your cheeks at his seductive voice. as you struggled to keep up with the thrusts, you pursed your lips together and flashed minho a soft grimace before you squeezed your eyes shut again at the sensation. you didn’t plan on finishing your cut off sentence and you just wanted to keep hitting the sweet spot over and over again, because god, it made you feel so, so good.

but minho wanted otherwise. unfortunately, he has the upper hand here. he wasn’t the one who’s been moving rigorously the past minutes, he still got lots of stamina stored up for him to hold you in place. you whined when he did, his hands pushing down on your hips to prevent you from sliding up his dick.

you looked at him, your eyes wide as sweat glistened on your forehead, sticking the hair to your pretty skin. the arousal was dripping inside you, aching to be moved around, longing to be penetrated.

hoping to gain an ounce of sympathy, you pouted with a slump of your shoulders and pleaded, “minho, please.”

“hmm,” he squinted his eyes, lightly snapping his hips deeper into you. “please…? please what, baby.”

you clenched your fists, feeling the annoying pain of his slow, slow thrusts. part of you wanted to see how long he could keep up with this, this burningly slow pace. but hellish ache at your pussy overshadowed your tendency to be bratty and childish. all you wanted was to feel the pleasure again, so you begged as he wanted you to.

“please fuck me, minho,” you asked, desperation pumping out of your mouth like gold, “please fuck me–your cock feels good, i–i want more!”

minho laughed lowly, the moany sound hiding under the edge of his voice when he saw how you struggled to speak. the heat on your cheeks adding to the overall flair of his sight, your bare appearance the greatest art he’s ever laid his eyes on. and your words made him soar off the moon, you needy little thing! you’d break yourself with embarrassment to keep feeling the euphoric feeling only he could make you feel, wouldn’t you?

how pathetically adorable. maybe he should help you out a little, the moment a silent fulfillment to his own desire to pound himself quicker into you.

he gripped your hips tighter by digging his nails into your skin and he helped you up on his length. he waited for a moment before he forced your fragile body down on his cock, earning a chocked strangled whimper from you. he continued in a regular rhythm. occasionally, he would push his hips up to meet with your pussy, adding to the strength of the pound and making your moan louder with the strike.

you let loose of your muscles when you felt that you’ve lost the control, and you pressed yourself closer to him in hopes to regain the previous position. the magnified gratification came unknowingly like a ghost, his dick finally able to find your g-spot again, and this time stayed haunting you with every slick thrust.

as your pussy started to salivate more with each snap of your hips, the squelching noise was also becoming harder to ignore. it mixed in with your heavy breaths, the sound of sex reverberating around you both, and you could feel your orgasm approaching inch by inch, threatening your release.

minho was watching you carefully, his eyes fixated on your face as he observed every little movement. your jaw hung open at the constant moaning, your eyes barely able to open clearly because of the overwhelming sensation—everything about you made him feel confident, possibly even narcissistic at some point.

but he really enjoyed the fact that you succumb to him so easily, and you shamelessly showed it through your body without even knowing.

he wondered if you knew you were clenching incredibly tightly around his cock. it didn’t seem to be a conscious action, considering how you could barely string a coherent sentence together. judging by that, though, minho knew your climax was approaching close, and he planned to get you to it with as much care as possible.

pulling you off him suddenly, he sat up quickly and pushed you on your back. he hovered over your body, only laying on top of you after he re-inserted himself inside of you. your legs went around his hips, bringing him closer by the back while he leaned his head down to briefly kiss your neck.

“hey,” he smiled, his hand caressing through your hair as he looked down at you with soft eyes.

you raised your brows at him, silent breathes huffing in and out of your nose as he started to thrust into you again. you touched his face, squeezing his cheeks with a smile. “what?”

minho was right. he does feel closer to you like this.

his eyes shifted down to your lips and back up into your eyes. affection engulfed him quickly, it does every time he stares into your eyes. he gets reminded of the way he fell in love with you again and again whenever he does.

and he never minded the constant reminder. he enjoyed the process. it was a lot of emotional talks, playful banter, and a lot of good sex. all of which he felt like he could have with you for the rest of his life, he wanted to have with you for the remaining of his stupid lifetime.

he unconsciously pounded deeper into you then, his mind wanting you to feel all of him to the rawest sense. you moaned at the sudden change of force but you welcomed it by opening your legs a little more for him.

your toes were curling after a few more hard thrusts, your stomach churning impossibly at the way his cock felt sliding in and out of you. when you felt the tightening feeling in your chest, you looked up at minho and grabbed his hand, huffing out hastily, “min–minho, i’m close.”

“i know,” he hummed loving at you, picking up his pace to bring you over the edge.

you arched your back at the feeling, a silent scream leaving your mouth. he pinned your hands to the side of your head, his hands hugging your small ones, and when your head moved back down to face him, he wasted no time to put his lips on yours again.

god, it was like he literally cannot keep himself off you.

your mind was getting foggy. you weren’t sure whether it was from the passionately way he kissed or from the burn between your legs, but you felt like you couldn’t quite process anything clearly anymore. well, anything except for one thing.

when minho pulled away, he kept himself close. his lips were grazing against yours but he wasn’t close enough to kiss you. and you could feel his lips move against yours ghostly when he whispered, “i love you.”

you processed that one. the words hit you really strongly too, your heart practically sunk up to your throat at them. you wanted to say it back, you planned to say it back, but you only sucked in a strong breath when minho rammed against the sweet spot in you. your eyes rolled back at the unprecedented attack and your back lifted off the couch once again.

“oh fuck–minho, please, please–ahh!”

he continued with a few more harsh thrusts before you released around his cock with a whine, your hands tightening around his at the pleasure. he had his head buried at the crook of your neck, his hips continued to move as he drowned himself in the scent of your body. he was chasing his own high now, his cock twitching inside your warm hold as he pounded into you.

your walls slurped him up, tightening around him to add stimulation. and when he felt like he was about to come undone, he quickly pulled out of you and sat up. his hand moved to his cock, quickly pumping along his length as his eyes trained on your sweaty, delicate body.

you looked at him before slowly sitting up, you went on all fours and crawled closer to him before positioning your face before his cock. minho shakily breathed out a sigh when you nudged your face against his tip, then you stopped at your opened mouth, waiting for him to pour himself over your tongue.

“ugh, you’re gonna swallow me, baby girl?” he hissed out, and he bit his lower lip when you nodded, widening your eyes naively at him.

he groaned, his abdomen tightening at the mere sight of you, hot cum sprouting out of his slit and landing on your stuck-out tongue. you held your breath, feeling the liquid dripping past your tongue before taking it back into your mouth and rolling it around. when you looked back up at minho, you grinned a little and stuck your tongue out at him.

his lips twitted at the sticky substance lingered on the tip, little lines stretching from your lips to your tongue. fuck, you filthy thing! how dare you make his heart all disheveled and gone.

“fuck, you’re so hot,” he muttered under his breath as you sat back on your heels.

you laughed, wiping your mouth and swallowing the last of him. “thank you, you’re not so bad yourself.”

he rolled his eyes then, the corner of his lips turning up into a graceful smile. he tackled you to the couch then, your hot body pressed against yours, but the atmosphere was more romantically chaste than sexual this time. you two were just two lovers naked in each others’ arms, putting complete and utter faith in each other that you would be held safe.

you two went quiet, basking in the silence. but you could hear him, his heart and his skin, pumping and brushing along yours.

would you have thought of this months ago when you first met minho? no. you have dreamt of it, but you never thought it could be true. and the dream was shattered when he suddenly decided to ghost you weeks ago.

but it didn’t matter now. you were here with him, he was holding you tightly like it was the only thing he knew to do.

“i meant to say it back,” you broke the silence first, “i love you too.”

despite knowing the answer already, minho still breathed out a sigh of relief anyway. he pressed a kiss to your head, his eyes closing calmly as he nodded. “i know.”

you smiled. minho has been a lot of things—a nice classmate, a good friend, and a few quick fucks. but you never indulged in the idea of you and him together. the idea that minho could be you and him together, that he could be a partner, a boyfriend.

the idea that minho could be an ‘us.’

[bqstqnbruin]

4 times he wanted to come over + one time he did

Ok, we’re going to ignore several things here, like the fact that this was an 8 page Google Doc that I put together in a few hours, the fact that said document had been blank since June, t y p o s, and the fact that it’s nearly three am and I have my first day of classes technically today (aka at 2 pm).

But here I am, with my second fic of the day? IDK but since classes are starting, my posts are going to be a lot less frequent, so hopefully you guys like this! -------------------

one

Your apartment was finally put together just the way you liked it; all your stuff had its place, it was decorated just the way you liked it, you even had a pantry full of food, a rare feat when you were in college even with living with three other girls. Your first morning in your new, fully set up place was going to be celebrated by yourself. You had planned to make yourself breakfast that would probably last into lunch, order Chinese food later that night, drink coffee and watch Seinfeld on Hulu until you felt like going to sleep. There was no better way to break in a new place than by just relaxing in it. 

You turn on your TV, setting your coffee and plate down on the table in front of your couch, and walk over to the huge windows you were lucky enough to have in the apartment. It was a picture-perfect day, and the sun shined right into your apartment, not a single cloud in the blue sky. You felt like you were in a movie like someone had curated the scene and that with the touch of a button, the green screen would be gone and so would the magic. 

Sitting down, putting your feet up on the table, you dig in. This was actually perfect for you. Your new job was going to be stressful and you knew it. The more you could find ways to relax in your home, the better the job would be. 

After three episodes and nearly spilling your coffee all over you twice, you decide to get up and move around. You were drawn back to your windows, still in awe at the scene on the other side of them. Across the street, it looks like someone was doing the same in their apartment. He was tall, handsome, shirtless, and covered with tattoos that you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

He waves at you smiling in a way that made you melt. It took everything in you to wave back and not do something stupid, mentally thanking yourself that the pajamas you had been wearing were athletic shorts and a tshirt from your sorority, and not something more embarrassing. 

You go back to your couch, knowing that he could still see you and probably what you were watching. You couldn’t focus on the episode, feeling as if he were still there watching you. You tried to force yourself not to steal glances at him but failed, every so often seeing him mirroring your actions, watching TV on his couch. You didn’t know that the entire time, he was also stealing glances at you. He couldn’t help it; never before had he seen someone look so naturally beautiful, so in their element and carefree while just sitting and watching TV. 

“Fuck it,” you say to yourself, pausing mid-episode and getting up to find the paper, markers, and tape you know you had stashed somewhere.

Messily scrawling ‘I just moved in, nice to meet you,’ on a piece of paper, you tape it up on the window, praying that you wrote it big and dark enough that he could see it.  Sighing when he wasn’t still on the couch, you get back on your own and press play on the TV again. 

Where could he have gone? And why were you more invested in the handsome stranger on the other side of the street than you were in the show about nothing that you had grown up watching? 

Your stomach growls, not quite late enough to order dinner, you wander into your kitchen to get a snack, looking over to the window of handsome man to see that he had left a note, presumably for you. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Pierre-Luc’ was written in print messier than that of a doctor’s. Thank god your best friend growing up had the world’s worst writing, having to ask him to rewrite it would have been demeaning and embarrassing. 

And so it began: you would write a note, watch an episode, then check to see if he left you anything back. He always did, 

His name was Pierre-Luc and he played hockey. After a quick google search, unbeknownst to him since you were assuming he couldn’t see what was on your phone, you found that he was a professional hockey player, player for the Blue Jackets. Great, as if he weren’t already being sweet, asking you questions, leaving you charmingly flirty messages on his window for you, now he was an athlete? Quite possibly one of the sexiest types of men in your opinion? Great. Amazing. 

‘What’s for dinner?’ he leaves on his window, disappearing somewhere into his apartment. 

‘Ideally Chinese food, where do you suggest?’ is what you leave for him, scrolling through Uber eats to see what was cheapest and nearby. You look up, seeing him writing on a notepad his answer, taping it to his window before sending you what you could swear was a wink. 

‘Best place to eat out is here at my place,” you read, bursting out laughing. Confident, this one. 

You roll your eyes, leaving a cheeky message about sticking to Chinese food and just ordering it from the first place that came up. 

The night went on, you not realizing you had spent the whole day flirting with a window stranger. He had liked talking to you, too, but it was pretty bad for the environment to be wasting all this paper when he could clearly see the phone that was in your hand or on your table. Writing his number on what he hoped would be his final piece of paper, maybe you would invite him over. Or he could invite you over. There was something about you that he wanted to spend time with you, not flirt with you while a city street separates you. Taping the paper up, he can see you, fast asleep on the couch, your TV screen asking you if you were still there. 

Closing his curtains, he hoped that you would use the number soon so you could actually spend time with him. 

 Two

You had been feeding that cat every morning for over a month. You loved that stray cat; there was a weird sense of satisfaction in feeding her even though you knew your apartment building wouldn’t allow you to take her in as a pet. But of course, the day you had your friends coming over for dinner was the day you had to run to the store to buy more cat food because you ran out the day before and forgot to get some yesterday. You didn’t know who put food out for the cat at night, or even if anyone did. 

You go to the bowl sitting in the alley way, seeing that it was empty, confirming your suspicion that no one else fed the poor cat. You would have to start feeding it at night, too. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to do this,” you hear someone say behind you. You get up to see him, the man from the window. 

“Pierre-Luc? Why don’t I have to do this?” 

“Because I’ve been doing it.” 

“No, I have,” you argue, knowing that this would lead to a never-ending circle of ‘me, no me.’ You had been texting each other for a few weeks, constantly trying to figure out when you could spend time together, but much like you and your best friend during senior year of college, your schedules never matched up, going a year before finally seeing each other. 

“When?” he asks, a cocky smile dancing across his face. 

“Every morning before work, what about you,” you ask, getting closer to him. You text relationship was flirty, you were sure of it. Every time you passed by your window when he was home, he made a point to check you out, he winked at you, he smiled. He exuded a welcome confidence that you weren’t used to.

“Every day when I get back from practice.”

“What about the days that you’re away for games?”

“I figured someone would feed him for me.”

“The cat’s a girl,” you say, the little feline coming up to you. “You would know that if you didn’t just assume other people were doing what you set out to do in the first place.”

“Well, my assumption was correct, wasn’t it?” he says, a devilish twinkle in his eye as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. 

“You know what they say about assuming,” you tell him, breaking your eye contact to put out some food for the purring animal.

“What’s that?”

“It makes an ass outta you and me,” you tell him, looking up at him towering over you as a laugh leaving his lips. Given his demeanor, you wouldn’t expect him to look as, what’s the right word, jolly? As he did. 

“How come you’re feeding her now if you usually do it in the morning?” he asks, bending down to help you.

Feeling your phone buzzing in your pocket that signaled your friends were already there waiting for you, you tell him, “I ran out of food yesterday and didn’t have the chance to get more until after work. Plus, I needed to pick some stuff up for tonight, anyway.”

“Tonight?” he asks, his head snapping up. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, ran through his head.

“Yeah, my friends are coming over for dinner. It’s the first time they’ll be seeing my new place.” You pause for a minute. He was here, obviously with some free time, but did you want his first time over your place to be surrounded by your nosy friends? They knew you were talking to an attractive neighbor, but you knew they would say things to him that would mortify you and send you running before he got the chance. 

But like the night you first moved in, fuck it. “Are you free tonight? I would love for you to come over,” you tell him, the smile on his face disappearing as soon as you asked.

“I have a game tonight, I can’t. I was actually about to change and then leave,” he says, looking sad. He wanted to come over, and as soon as you said you were having friends over, he knew that you were going to ask him. 

“Oh, that’s fine. Now I have a reason to watch a game, though,” you tell him, smiling. You had to admit, you were a little bit upset, but again, it was probably for the best that he didn’t meet your friends just yet. 

“If the game ends early enough, I’ll stop by, yeah?” he suggests, running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” 

Three

“Babe, you’ve lived here for like, what? Almost six months? You have a hot as fuck neighbor who you actually talk to, and he hasn’t come over yet? Why haven’t you asked him to come over?” Amy says with food in her mouth. Your friends were over, again, this time to hang out before they went out to the bars. You were originally going to go, but you were too exhausted, and having already promised to host the pregame, you weren’t going to back out now. 

“You call me babe more than any guy I’ve met, you realize that right?” you ask her, getting up to go over to your window. You knew he wasn’t home; you had the Columbus game against the Flyers playing on your TV, Pierre-Luc was on the ice as you absentmindedly went over to the window to see if he was there. “Plus, our schedules never work. Look, Aimes, he’s literally on our TV, meanwhile as soon as all you hooligans leave, I’m going to bed. 

“Come on, stay up for the man,” Jeff said. The only male in your group of friends, he always entered the girl talk, encouraging you to get with a guy just as much as the others. 

“I’m going out to breakfast with you guys in the morning, how cranky do you want me to be, Jeffy? You know I will not hesitate to throw a potato at you,” you say, the rest of the group laughing even though they know you’re serious. You have thrown stuff at him and only him during breakfast before, him never thinking you’d have the guts to cause a scene in public, but doing it anyway. 

“We all know you’d be less cranky if you got laid,” he says through a mouthful of food. Why did everyone talk with their mouths open?

“Tomorrow I’m ordering two breakfasts; one to eat and one to throw at you.” 

You tune out your friends for the rest of the night. You only paid attention to the hockey game, your eyes trying to stay focused on Pierre-Luc every time he was on the ice. You did really want him to come over, but again, the first time couldn’t be with your friends, not when they were full psychopaths when it came to any boy that you were talking to. What would you have done if Pierre-Luc was there when Jeff commented about you being cranky and needed to get laid? 

Why did the cute guy have to have such a complicated schedule? Every time you were free, he was to jet off somewhere in the country for a few days for games, then he would come back, sleep, go to practice, and then go to a game. From what you could tell, he never stayed up past maybe 10 pm on the nights he didn’t have games, he napped nearly every day after practices, and he really was only home to eat.

Not that you were stalking him. Or memorizing his schedule. You two talked all the time, having evolved from notes in the windows to texting, from texting to calling, from calling to him falling asleep before you while on Facetime. He was one of your best friends, and you had never actually hung out with him at your or his apartment. 

“So how long will it take for him to get home now that the game is over?” Amy asks, snapping you out of the trance that you didn’t know you were in.

You didn’t even know that the game was over; the Jackets beat the Flyers 2-1, the game apparently ending about five minutes ago. You never timed how long it took between the game being over and him getting home since it was different pretty much every night. You think. Again, it’s not like you were stalking the boy. “Uh, I don’t know, half an hour?” you guess, giving them what you hoped was enough information for them to not ask you more.

“So has he sent you any like sexy pics?” Tanaka pips in, you nearly choking on the water you were drinking. 

“What the ever living fuck?” you nearly scream, all your friends laughing at your reaction. “There is no way I would ever tell you. Guys, we’re friends. Yes, he’s cute, hell, he’s fucking hot, but we’ve never physically spent time together, so can we just drop it?” 

They change the subject, going back to the conversation from this afternoon that involved them trying to get you to go out. You loved your friends, they were your found family, but dammit they wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Wait, sorry, which apartment is his again?” Jeff asks in the middle of you telling them yet again why you weren’t going out with them. 

You all snap your heads to the other building, the one directly across from you now with lights on. “That one,” you say, Pierre-Luc appearing in the window, all of your friends running up to go wave to him. This was mortifying. Your phone started buzzing on the table, and with Pierre-Luc having his phone out for his friends to see, they knew it was from him.

“What did he say!” Tanaka yells, trying to grab your phone from you. 

“He said get your creepy friends away from the window,” you lie. If you told them he was asking to come over, they would steal your phone and make him come. “Guys, shouldn’t you be going by now? It’s almost 11, the deal at the bar ends at midnight and all of you are still sober,” you point out, praying that it would work.

“Let’s get drunk!” Amy says, grabbing her bag and marching out the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“Yep, I’m going to sleep. Text me when you’re all alive!” you say, pushing them out the door.

Your phone buzzes again, Pierre-Luc asking again if he could come now that your friends were gone. You wanted to say yes, but you knew that as soon as he came over, you would be asleep. Plus he just came from a game, there was no way he wasn’t also exhausted. ‘I’m about to pass out, I’m sorry. We’ll hang out eventually, I promise’

Four

You should be back in your apartment by now. You had told Pierre-Luc that you would be home by 11 pm. You had an early day the next day and staying out late wasn’t something you wanted to do, no matter how good your date went or how attractive you thought the guy was. 

Much to Pierre-Luc’s dismay, you had told him that your friend Amy had set you up with someone she knew from school. You were going out with him tonight, you Facetiming Pierre-Luc while getting ready. He should have just been over there, watching you get ready. No actually, he should have been the one taking you out, but at this point in whatever the hell relationship you had, the first thing that you were going to do in person with each other, besides that one time you fed the alley cat, was hang out in each other’s apartment. 

He was pacing, checking his phone to see if you had sent him anything about your whereabouts. You should have been home by now, why weren’t you home? If you weren’t home in ten minutes, he was going to call the police. No, they wouldn’t do anything. He would figure out how to hack your phone, try to find Amy on social media, something so that he would know you were safe. 

Sitting down on his couch, he positioned himself so he had a direct view of your apartment. As soon as you walked in the door and turn on the light to your living room, he would know. He needed that light to go on right now. 

‘Maybe I should go over and wait outside her door? Would that be creepy?’ he thought to himself, ‘I could say that I was just checking on you, which would technically be true. It’s not like you were going to bring the guy home, right? But what if you did and then I was there sitting outside your door. I can’t ruin things for you.’ 

Why has it taken him so long to even get over to your place? Or for you to come over to his? He hated that your schedules were just different enough that you couldn’t meet up. You were always running out the door when he was just getting home and vice versa. He couldn’t even fathom what he would do the first time he saw you in person.

He should have just kissed you when you were feeding the cat. He knows that he wants to date you, how could he not someone who was sweet enough to do something like that for a random cat but also unafraid to chirp him like his teammates? 

Your light goes on, him doing everything in his power to not jump up and go to his window, but that doesn’t stop him from watching what was happening.

Your date went well; you and David had really hit it off, leading to making out in the elevator ride up, stumbling into your apartment with your lips practically glued to his. You look across to Pierre-Luc’s apartment, him sitting there. You make eye contact with him, smiling because of David. David comes up behind you, starting to kiss you down your neck. You send a thumbs up to Pierre-Luc, closing the curtain as you let David do as he pleases.

Pierre-Luc sits on his couch, dumbfounded by what he just saw. That should have been him. He should have been the one in your apartment with you right now. 

+one

Saturday morning, sitting on your couch, watching Seinfeld. A cup of coffee, your phone, and a plate with some fruit on it, much like the first full day when you moved in. The sky was cloudless and blue, but you weren’t admiring it in the same way as you were that day. You were out with David last night, one month after your first date. You thought everything was going great, until he told you that he wanted to see other people. You shouldn’t have been surprised, he had been saying that he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt when he officially broke it off with you. 

‘You’re crying,’ a message from Pierre-Luc pops up on your screen. For a moment, you forgot your curtains were open, giving him a full view into your apartment. 

‘Yep,’ you reply back, not sure what else to say. He could see you, it’s not like you could lie to him. 

‘Need to talk about it?’ 

‘I don’t want to Facetime right now.’

‘Got it,’ was all he said. You look over at his apartment, just in time to see him shutting the door behind him. What the hell was he doing that he could ask you to Facetime and then leave right after? You let out a sigh, deciding to focus on the TV and try to force yourself to eat the fruit. You weren’t going to feel any better if your hunger turned into hanger, so you might as well eat the food that was in front of you. 

You didn’t know where your phone ended up; somewhere in the couch cushions maybe? On the floor? You didn’t even care, you just wanted to wallow and be dramatic for the day. What you weren’t expecting was the knock on your door, interrupting your favorite episode of the show. Getting up, not expecting anyone, you debated even opening the door when you hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/N, it’s me, open up.” You see Pierre-Luc standing there, a bag from the donut shop down the street in hand, a bunch of take out menus in the other.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, him pushing past you and plopping down on the couch, obviously already knowing the way around. 

“You were upset so I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says, taking out the donuts, putting them on the plate with your fruit, popping a piece in his mouth. “You don’t have to talk about it, but at least this way we’re finally hanging out in person.”

There was something about seeing him sitting on your couch that just felt right. He looked so at home, his feet already up on your table in the way you sat pretty much all the time. He had already started up the episode, replaying it from the beginning so he could see it when you sit down beside him, tucking your feet underneath you. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching his arm out. You cuddle up next to him, your head on his shoulder as he plants a kiss on the top of your head. It felt so right. So much better than with David, so much better than with any of the other guys you had been with. 

“He dumped me,” you tell him, even though you were sure that you had already texted him that last night when you were on your way home. 

“He didn’t deserve you,” you hear him say. He mumbled something else, something you couldn’t quite make out. If he wanted you to hear it, he would have said it louder, you figured.

“He said I play hard to get?” you ask, unsure if that was true or not. Were you hard to get? You slept with the guy on the first night, Pierre-Luc had seen the beginning of it through the window. 

“No, you’re not hard to get, you’re hard to earn. Any guy would be lucky to have you. If I had you, I’d,” he stops himself, mentally kicking himself for opening that can of worms that he really didn’t want to dive into yet. You hadn’t even been out on a first date. If anything, maybe, this was your first date. 

“You’d what?” you say, sitting up, hoping he would continue. This was his first time in your apartment. Something you had both thought about a lot. You wanted to hear what he would do if you were together, hoping whatever he said would actually happen. 

“I’d feed the cat with you in the morning and then do it by myself in the afternoon if I didn’t have a game or something,” he starts, laughing, “I’d go out to breakfast with your friends even if we didn’t go out with them the night before. I’d even hang out with them whenever you did, even though they are a little crazy. You love the people around you, the animals that aren’t even your own pets. You deserve someone who will love you back the way you love everyone and everything.” 

You sit there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I should have been the one that night in here with you, not him,” he says, finally admitting it out loud. 

“Do something about it now, then,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks, stunned. 

“Forget that night you saw me with David, and do something now,” you insist. You had wanted this just as bad as he did, so why were either of you waiting?

He starts slow, sweet, his hand on your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. His lips move with yours, his tongue swiping your bottom lip as his other hand snakes it’s way around you back, picking you up from the seat next to you and placing you in his lap. Your hands go through his hair, your mind blank. This was what you had been waiting for since you first saw him.

He pulls away, his cheeks now red, a smile on his face, “I really hope I’m the only one who ever looked through your window.”

“If anyone else is looking then at least they get a little bit of a show,” you say, kissing him again. 

[kanene-yaaay]

Sleep

Kanene’s note: Heya! It’s me, Mario!!! dfghjkrgthjk jk jk. Okay, that idea hit me in the middle of the night and I think it’s very cute!! So have a bit of tickles and fluff and teases today! 

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* This is Switch!Yamada with Switch!Aizawa. They’re in a romantic relationship. Around 2.200 words.

* The Ler!Aizawa part was inspired by these tickle-headcanons! They’re absolutely amazing!!!!

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Consume some of your comfort content! Fanfic, series, movies... anything that makes u happy! Drink water, sleep, eat and love! Today is another day and I’m proud that we’re both still here.

[~*~]

Yamada woke up to complete darkness.

 Which wasn't such a rare occurrence. With both his and his husband’s tendencies of having migraines their room was often bathed in a total lack of light, and that,  together with the fact of Aizawa being an incorrigible cuddle bug who soaked his ‘daily dose of morning snuggles’ – as Hizashi loved to call them and loved even more the other’s blushed face and deadly glare directed at him every time he dared to say such thing -  was enough for him to find no surprise at all in feeling the pressure of Aizawa basically using him as his own personal bed.

 “Morning, babe.” He maneuvered himself to gently kick Shouta’s legs off him, which resulted in the immediate locking of arms on the blonde’s waist, Shouta mumbling whatevers as he nuzzles his chest, making Yamada giggles quietly. He began to comb Aizawa’s hair with his fingers, both out of adoration with how much adorable his husband could be and to take it from his own face so he would be able to see what time it was.

 Eight in the morning. Yep. Time to start getting ready for their meeting with Nedzu and his usual Saturday patrol. He would also need some time in between those to call the Radio’s station and see if everything was ok with today’s interviewed, get a couple more of songs to play tonight and make sure to come back at two in the afternoon so he and Eri could have some quality time as Shouta slept a bit to not pass out on his night patrol.

 OK. That sounds like a plan! Time to begin the day with a proper breakfast since both were equally horrible in keeping a healthy routine and he would probably forget to eat lunch since Eri wouldn’t be there with him serving as an adorable, lovely reminder that humans have basic needs in order to be alive.

 He tried to move, receiving an annoyed growl as an answer, the arms squeezing a bit firmer. Hizashi snorted.

“Sho, I need to make breakfast and wake up Eri, okay?” He kissed the top of his head and traced an imaginary flower on his cheek, voice soft, feeling the other melt on him, humming happily. “You can sleep a few minutes more.”

 “No. Warm.”

 “I will bring you our cats, you can show your undying love to them, then.” Hizashi tried to pry the other’s grip from him, unsuccessfully. “Come on, let me go. We have a meeting to attend with Nedzu today, remember?”

 “Fuck ‘im.”

 Hizashi controlled himself to not bark a laughter, fingers itching to get his phone and amplify his blackmail treasures. “Shh, he will hear you.”

 “’don’t wanna cats,” Aizawa’s tune was slurred and he deposited a tired kiss on his bare shoulder, “I wan’ you.”

 And damn if that didn’t turn his weak heart in a happy gooey puddle, his smile going from one ear to another and his resolve to be a responsible adult and get out of the bed was almost burned to total inexistence.

 Key word: Almost.

 Especially when the raven haired adult sighs contently, his breath lightly tickling his neck and leading to a quite evil idea to gain form and color on his mind. His smile got wider, eviller.

 “Okay, babe.” Yamada’s hands rested on the other’s sides, going up, fingers smoothly running across his ribs, his nails barely grazing the skin as they went slowly back and forth, back and forth. A soft ‘tsk’ flew on the air as the smaller began to squirm. “Let’s have some fun then, shall we?”

 His index fingers stopped their dance to focus on his lowest rib, circling that sweet spot in the middle of it while the other fingers concentrated in clawing the horribly sensitive skin around it, staying firm on their task even when Aizawa jumped with the ticklish jolts that hit him.

 “H-hi-hizasshhhi.” His tone was low, warning. His brain still trying to wake up enough while his body wobbly fought to escape from the sensations, his struggles increasing specifically when his husband adjusted him so he would be laying on his back on the top of him, arms criss crossed on his chest.

 “Oh, is someone finally waking up? ~” Aizawa scrunched, Yamada’s breath hitting his ears. However, his attempts proved themselves futile as the other took as his duty to nibble, huff and puff on the ticklish spot, going from one ear to another with ease, finally breaking his husband’s barriers and being rewarded by a low, fast giggly fit. “I wonder what I did to deserve that my incredible, handsome decided to bless my morning with his sunny presence today!”

 “Hizashi, I am going to k-ILL” His snickers suddenly raised an octave as the blonde gave a quick squeeze on his hips that made his waist jerk instinctively.

 “Now, now, is that way to greet the love of your life?” Hizashi whined. “Stop laughing, Sho! I’m trying to hold a serious conversation here but something tells me you’re distracted.” Yamada kept lazily poking him, slow enough to leave him breathing properly, but quick enough to tear snorts and chuckles from his firmly pressed lips.

  “D-d-don’t.” His face was in flames as a barely muffled squeak fell from his mouth as Hizashi gave a quick nip right behind his left ear, letting out an adoring ‘Awww. Isn’t he adorableee?~’ in the process.

 “I am- I am going to get you back for that! You know I will!”

 “So grumpy, so cutee. ~”

 He tried to turn in order to give his beloved a deadly glare which usually made his students and villains fear for their lives, his eyes only barely catching his husband’s bright smile before his breath was stole when his partner resolved to attack, unmerciful squeezes mixed with a couple of thumbs digging energetically on his hips, kneading, tickling.

 His laughter filled the room.

 “HIZASHI!!” He kicked and trashed, but in vain.

 “What is it, babe?” The other started to switch between his tickle spots, knowing he couldn’t take it too long or they would be late. “Wow! I didn’t know you could be so alive in the mornings, love!! Have you been hiding that from your awesome husband all along?” Nails scratching on his armpits, fingers prodding his ribs, wriggling on his waistline, drumming on his belly. “All that beautiful laughter? All that wonderful snorts? And giggles? And squeals? Now, I am wounded, Sho! I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other!”

 When nothing except laughter and squirming answered him, he decided to stop, deciding the few minutes of fun were already enough adrenaline to maintain Shouta conscious enough until he prepared his coffee. He quickly laid the other on the mattress, resting some kisses on his face as his husband got his breath back.

 “You-” He gasped, hiding his smile behind his hand. “You better run.”

 In a second Hizashi was out of their bed, “OkayloveyousomuchbabeI’mgoingtowakeEriupdon’tkillmeIloveyousosomuchbye.”

 And run he did.

 [~*~]

 Shouta dumped his capture weapon on the couch, immediately seeing three blurs of fur dashing from his peripheral vision directly to the object, meowing and getting tangled as they fiercely ‘fought’ with it. Shouta knew that this being his weapon and therefore an important part of his work, he shouldn’t let his cats play with it. However, as he petted two fluffy heads that popped from the cloth and the exhaustion started to totally take over his body and actions, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had some spare scarves somewhere, he was sure.

 “Dumb cats.” He fondly remarked, scratching their newest kitten under her chin before adventuring to his room, stopping only to check on Eri and relax as he found her calmly sleeping on her bed. Good.

 His eyes narrowed as he noticed the light coming from under his bedroom, sighing and putting his eyedrops, already aware of the other fight he would have to face.

 “Hizashi,” it’s his greeting. The blonde hums, glare still clued on the screen in front of him, head resting on one of his hands, “it’s three in the morning and we have classes tomorrow. Turn that thing off.”

 “Hypocrisy, hypocrisy.” Yamada sings, hand rocking in the beat of his imaginary melody, the tiredness dripping from his words. Yet he took off his headphones, turning on his direction with alert eyes. “Are you hurt?”

 “Nah, slow night.”

 “Good.” Hizashi smiled. A small, true smile that spread a warm feeling across his chest and only made his resolute to protect his husband from every bad thing in the world grew stronger, even if the ‘bad thing’ which threatened him right now was his horrible sleep schedule. “We saved some dango for you.  It’s on the fridge.”

 Aizawa nodded, watching him turn back to his computer. “I’m going to grade 1-A tests when I am back.” And that perked the other’s attention, since both had the habit of grading tests together in order to get some quality time on their incredibly busy lives.

 That is why the taller was sitting on the bed with a pack of papers in his hands when Shouta came back, falling on the mattress face first, relaxing on the soft fabric. But, he couldn’t concentrate on that feeling now, turning to his left and trapping Yamada with his arms around his sides, legs entangling.

 “Sleep.” He clued his face on the other’s stomach, his voice vibrating across the skin and gathering a mix of snort and squeal, probably because of the ticklish sensation.

 Oh. Ticklish.

 “Babe, I really can’t right now. There are those videos I asked for my students to do and I really need to analyze and give them the results before the weekend.” Aizawa scolded his expression so his devil smirk wouldn’t be noticed by Hizashi, instead he looked up, locking their eyes, his features inexpressive as ever.

 Hizashi bit his lower lip.

 He frowned, intense glares.

 “Okay, okay! You know I am weak for those kitten eyes, your cheater.” The blonde pouted and pointedly ignored the smug shining on his partner’s face. “But this is only a break, ok? Just some cuddles and then I’m going to finish my work.”

 Aizawa hummed, not quite agreeing, not disagreeing. Yamada laid down and chuckled as the raven haired adult quickly hid his face on his neck, a hand absently running on his back and melting his strict pose.

 “Cuddlebug.”

 A yelp escaped from his lips as Aizawa used a thumb to prod the so, so sensitive skin between his shoulder blades. The morning events from yesterday fell on him as a bucket of cold water, sending shivers down on his spine, essentially when Yamada tried to wiggle away, finding his form very well secured on his love’s arms.

 “Shouta, no.” Shouta hummed, his voice vibrating on the sweet spot that was his neck, his stubble helping in nothing the giggles which already began to bubble on his throat. “Shouta, please, my love, light of my life,” he could almost feel the other’s wicked grin grow, the hand tensing behind him, “no, no, no! I can’t! You know I can’t! Shouta, I-”

 And with no warning a loud shriek - which didn’t break their windows due how fast Aizawa activated his own quirk - dashed from his mouth, laughter blooming as a mix of pokes, scratches and kneading along the whole extent of his upper back, even giving some special attention to his ribs and spine, kept him in stitches.

 His back arched at the tickly tickles, sending him directly to the unbearable nuzzles of his husband, the main reason for so many squeaks and squeals make themselves present on his uncontrollable laughter.

 “Tsk, tsk. One would think that such a known pro-hero would be able to put up with a better fight.” Nuzzle. Scribble. Unintelligible pleas of mercy. Raspberry. “Always so easy to read…You could at least try to pretend you aren’t loving every. Second. Of. It.”

 “Shouta! Nono! Shuhuhut up! Shut up!”

 “It’s not my fault you were always so defenseless to teases. What about we train you to endure them?”

 Hizashi shook his head, laughing and shrieking too much to gather a real answer.

 And, as sudden the attack came, it was gone. The hand went up to gently massage his scalp, tearing a relaxed sigh from Yamada as he fought to get his breath back, high-pitched giggles still tripping from his lips since the light tickles continued on his poor neck, sporadic kisses and eventual nibbles on the spot right under his chin maintaining his gigantic, bright smile.

 “So ticklish, so helpless. Just a few well placed touches and I can already defeat you.”

 “You talk as if you were any less susceptible.” A squeeze on his knee warned him about the possible consequence of his words. Hizashi pinched his thigh in retaliation, although much less energetic.

 “Don’t. Different from you, I want to get some real sleep.” And then he started to comb the blonde hair, Yamada’s eyelids began to drop, his tiredness now being much more present as the other used his number one melt spot against him.

 “Cheater…”

 “You will survive.” Shouta tilted his head up and kissed his husband’s lips, also starting to drift away as Hizashi’s arms pulled him closer.

 “Good night, babe.”

 “Night.”

[losille2000]

The Swan, Chapter 6

TITLE: The Swan CHAPTER NUMBER: 6/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Tom/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: Sequel to The Ugly Duckling. Astrid embarks on a two-week trip to London to serve as her sister’s maid of honor, hoping against all hope she might miraculously run into her Hawaiian mystery man. When her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law drag her to a production of Hamlet to meet the groom’s best man, Astrid gets the shock of her life. The situation, though, is anything but perfect. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: None in this chapter. AUTHORS NOTES: So... what can I say? It's been a while. If you want the whole story, you can look through my blog or message me. I'm happy to answer. That said, it's been a good three years since I did any serious writing. My writing muscles need to build back up to what they were before. Please be kind... and let me know what you think. :D

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - ALSO ON AO3!

Chapter 6 - Flying the Coop

Regret.

Astrid regretted ever stomping up those stairs to Tom’s bedroom. She regretted challenging him to make a move. She regretted letting him have his way with her. In the moment, it seemed right. Maybe if they slept together again, they’d find an incompatibility, especially now that the air of tropical mystery had dissipated and left in its place two broken flesh-and-blood people.

How wrong could she have been?

Now it was amplified, deeper, hotter, engulfing.

Only two weeks for whatever this fire was to fizzle?

It wasn’t, as the Brits say, bloody likely.

And here she was, smack dab in the position she didn’t want to be in; no matter how tangentially her current association with her mother, the family business, and Hollywood was, being connected to Tom in this way presented too many problems to even consider at this point. And fucking him—

“Astrid, are you even listening to me?”

Astrid jumped from the intrusion, letting out a slight squeak. She blinked hard and turned in her spot to look at her sister, who stood in the middle of the furnished but unoccupied flat. “Sorry?”

“Are you okay?” Tilde asked. “You’ve been spacey after the dress shop— and I’m just worried.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

“Let me worry,” she begged. “Let me be the big sister I never got to be.”

Astrid laughed ruefully. If only she could actually talk with Tilde about Tom. She wouldn’t understand, or at the very least, it could pose some very difficult situations in the coming days with the wedding right around the corner. But, Astrid guessed, Tilde meant the other elephant in the room... Astrid being the elephant, and their mother being a Class A narcissist. Because there was absolutely no way Tilde would know about what had happened at Tom’s home...

“It’s too late for that, Tilde,” Astrid said. “You know I love you. I just— there’s no changing her.”

Tilde grumbled and glided over to the couch in the living room. She dropped down on top of the cushions, barely displacing the pillow stuffing with her slight ballet-formed frame. “I should have never allowed her to do all this. I should have done it on my own, it’s not like Jim and I are so hard up. But I thought...”

Astrid held up a hand to stop her sister and sat on the couch more gingerly than Tilde, measuredly, so as not to displace any stuffing in the overstuffed couch, either. Something her mother had taught her, after all: If you’re not going to put in effort to look like a lady, you can at least act like one.

God, even that memory still hurt, down to the marrow in her bones.

“But you did.” Astrid shrugged and laid her head on the back of the couch. There, she sighed.

The sisters sat in silence for some time, listening to Duchess rooting around the flat for something to chew on. When the pug found nothing, she eventually jumped up onto the couch and snuggled into Tilde’s lap.

Astrid cleared her throat. “It’s not all Mom, either. I’m just tired from jet lag and getting everything together for the house party.”

And sleeping with the Best Man. She was pretty sure she’d read a romance novel or a hundred about this situation once. Did that make her a cliché?

“Oh, I meant to ask,” Tilde interjected. “How did that go? Tom was a total tool last night and I was worried about today.”

Astrid licked her lips subconsciously; she could still taste the sugar left by a bite of tiramisu Tom had given to her on a fork. If she concentrated hard enough, she was sure she could still taste the salt of his skin mixed in with it. She could certainly feel the tight muscle in her thigh that pulled every time she shifted, from the way he’d bent it and held it firmly in place as he’d had his way with her.

Frankly, it was a miracle they’d accomplished anything after they ended up in bed. But, she supposed, that was the weirdest part about the whole afternoon. They got out of bed, dressed without speaking and just... worked on what they needed to for the party. There was no discussion. No arguing. Tom stayed a respectable distance from her; she wasn’t sure if she had really wanted him to do it again, over and over, until they were both exhausted. They ate lunch quietly, they got everything organized and packed into his Land Rover, then Tilde showed up and they bade farewell, like it was something they did every day.

Nothing more was said about Hawaii, or a relationship, or lies, or having this end in two weeks. He seemed to be ignoring the topics all together, likely in the misguided belief that if he didn’t bring it up, then everything was fine. She ignored them because discussing WHY she refused to become a true part of his life was too painful.

Astrid pursed her lips and closed her eyes again. Isn’t that what she told him she wanted, though? To feel worshipped and then go about their lives, like nothing happened? Ignore all the elephants and enjoy the sex. No emotion, only sex. He was just following her demands, his need too great to put the brakes on their interlude in his bed.

The problem was that she did want more with him. She wanted emotion and relationships and rainbows and butterflies. When she had thought of him as some wealthy businessman she might once again bump into while visiting London, this had been possible. She had, after all, imagined a reality over the last eighteen months that included falling in love with him and living a life together.

But he wasn’t a businessman. He was an actor. He ran in circles she just couldn’t stomach anymore.

“It was fine. We finished everything and packed it all into his Land Rover for the drive up to Cliveden,” Astrid finally said. “The costume deliveries will be there when we arrive.”

“This really has gotten out of control,” Tilde said. “Part of me just wants to run to the register office and get it over with.”

Astrid shook her head violently. “You do that, and I’ll flip the fuck out. I put too much work into this.”

Tilde laughed. “Scared you, huh?”

“I’m serious, Tilde,” Astrid said, lightly smacking her sister’s thigh. Duchess popped her head up, and thinking it was an invitation for her, came over to her aunt. Astrid cuddled the dog close to her chest, breathing in her freshly bathed fur.

“She likes you,” Tilde said.

Astrid kissed Duchess’ head. “Small children and dogs, apparently.”

Tilde chuckled softly before letting out a long sigh. “I bet she would really like it if her Aunt Astrid were around more.”

“Aunt Astrid is a teacher and never has any time,” she replied directly to Duchess. Duchess reached for the hand that had stopped petting her and touched it with her paw. Her imploring buggy pug eyes asked Aunt Astrid for more.

Tilde huffed, but said nothing more for a long time. Then she cleared her throat. “How do you like the flat, anyway?”

“It’s nice,” Astrid confirmed. In fact, it was nicer than “nice.” This flat looked like one of those staged ads in a real estate magazine with lots of recessed lighting, soft gray colors, top-of-the-line furnishings and a ton of space.

“We’re trying to decide if we’ll sell it or keep it as an investment property,” Tilde replied. “It’s kind of a pain in the ass as a rental property, though.”

Astrid nodded. “You could just give it to Dad’s company to manage.”

Not that doing so was a great option, either.

If Astrid saw her mother irregularly, she saw her father even less. After their separation, he spent time in Las Vegas developing a new casino concept and then, when Astrid graduated from UNLV, moved his business operations permanently back to Sweden. Still, though, the relationship with her father was better than it was with her mother, simply by virtue that he was never around and didn’t have an opportunity to find the weaknesses in her armor like her mother. Tilde rarely spoke about either parent, but Astrid was certain their relationship was similar.

Tilde sat up and turned to look at Astrid seriously. “Or you could move into it.”

“Excuse me?” Astrid said, her heart skipping a few beats, from a sudden surge of anxiety and... something else.

“I’m serious, Astrid,” she said. “We don’t see each other enough and I want to spend time with you and make up for all those years we were apart.”

This wasn’t just some passing fancy. Astrid could see that as plain as day on Tilde’s face. Her sister was determined to convince her to move to London. But for what? She had no support system other than Tilde and James... and her career... well, that was back in Las Vegas.

Not that Las Vegas itself was the most amazing place to live and work.

“I’d never see you anyway,” Astrid argued. “You’re always rehearsing, or preparing to rehearse, or performing. And god knows James is going to be busy doing whatever.”

“Yeah, about that...” Tilde said, trailing off quietly. She picked at the dog hair on her sweater for a few seconds, then slowly looked back at Astrid. “I’m retiring at the end of this season.”

“What?!”

Tilde shrugged. “James and I want a family, and if I wait until it’s a ‘good time,’ it’ll never happen because of our schedules. And really, it’s getting harder and harder to come back from injuries and such. I just... I need a long break from being a performing ballerina. I don’t have the fire I once had, the same will to fight for every goddamn role.”

Astrid simply nodded. This was huge news. Ballet was Tilde’s life. She’d been doing it since she was a little girl, had impeccable skill and training and talent for it. The joke was that Tilde had come out of the womb in pointe shoes.

Which wasn’t that far from the truth, really. As soon as their mother could, she’d gotten Tilde into dance with the best instructors money could buy. Their mother, the failed ballerina, always lived through them. Which explained why she did not like anything about Astrid— Astrid did not have anything that would benefit her.

“Have you told Mom yet?” Astrid asked.

Tilde shook her head. “Of course not! And listen to her prattle on about how I’m a failure and she gave me so much and I’m just a terrible person? No, thank you. I’ll wait until she is permanently back in LA before I tell her.”

Even though Tilde had not yet told anyone else, it somehow eased the tension in Astrid’s shoulders knowing that Tilde would be in their mother’s crosshairs for a change. Typically, that wasn’t the case; their parents always treated Tilde like the perfect golden child. Of course, Tilde had always been one of Astrid’s fiercest allies… when she could. However, since Tilde spent most of her life in London studying at the Royal Ballet from a very early age, support and camaraderie had been scarce. Now, though? Now it felt like she and Tilde could weather the storm together.

Tilde continued, “Yeah. I’m thinking about opening up a dance studio and then after the baby thing happens, if I still have the performing bug in me, then I’ll start guesting. But I’m just so excited to start having babies.”

Stopping the smile from forming on Astrid’s lips was impossible as she registered the excitement on Tilde’s face. Astrid felt the enthusiasm coming from Tilde’s corner of the couch. “I’m excited for you, Tilde.”

And she was. She truly was.

Tilde reached out and grabbed Astrid’s hand. “I’m serious, though, Astrid. We never had a great family growing up, and I see this as an opportunity to right the wrongs of the past and create the family we should have had growing up.”

“I don’t know, Til.”

“James and I have both talked about it a lot and we both agree.”

“Tilde, even if I did move here,” Astrid began, “I don’t know the first thing about teaching in England.”

Tilde nodded. “I know. But James’ parents are retired teachers. I’m sure they’d be willing to help you make heads or tails of it.”

Astrid pursed her lips and turned to stare at the dormant fireplace sitting in front of them. Duchess, who had not moved, made happy dog purr noises as Astrid massaged the tiny velvet triangles of her ears. To be fair to Tilde, Astrid had often thought of moving to London to be nearer to her, but she never thought it would happen or that Tilde would actually need or want her here. The fact that she was wanted made emotion spring to her eyes and prick at them until they watered.

But then, there was the other issue.

The really, super, ginormous issue that came in the shape of a devastatingly handsome British man she met on vacation. If she moved to London, she’d certainly be seeing him more. No clean break at the end of two weeks like she hoped.

“And, you know,” Tilde said, “London’s arts scene is stupendous. We have the hook-up. I thought you could get back into it. You can hardly do that in Las Vegas.”

Astrid snorted. “Tilde, that part of my life is over.”

“Why? You’re amazing. I remember the video you sent of your college production of Othello. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

While Tilde’s appreciation for her talent warmed Astrid’s heart, it didn’t take away the sting of her mother’s actions. Astrid couldn’t even bring herself to discuss it with Tilde when it first happened, much less in the intervening eight years since the incidents that led to her total disavowal of all things acting related. Her silence on the matter, though, had finally come home to roost. First with Tilde telling Tom she was still an actor, and Tom calling her a liar because she told him she wanted nothing to do with it. And now, with Tilde staring her down imploringly. Tilde wanted answers just as much as Tom did, except for very different reasons.

Astrid could not force her suddenly leaden tongue to move in her mouth. Tilde would just have to live with not knowing the whole story, for now. Finally, she said, “If I move to London, I’m not going to be acting.”

“Well, I guess I’ll take that,” Tilde replied. “As long as you’ll still consider moving here to be with me.”

A knock at the front door startled them all, sending Duchess barking and wheezing to the door. The door opened and James popped his head inside. “Knock knock.”

“Come in!” Tilde sang back to him, jumped from her seat, and nearly leaped over the back of the couch to get to him like he was a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him squarely. For a brief, possibly irrational, moment, Astrid was jealous of her sister and the relationship she had built with James.

Which wasn’t a great feeling to have if the plan was to spend more time with them. How could she uproot her entire life— leave her students and friends— and move halfway across the globe just to be consumed by the green-eyed monster?

“Babe,” Tilde said, “tell Astrid she needs to move to London.”

James laughed and turned to look at Astrid. “Astrid… you need to move to London.”

“Thank you!” Tilde pecked his cheek and pirouetted in place until she was facing away from him. She started walking back toward the bedroom. “Let me go get my purse and we can get going.”

When Tilde was gone, and the flat was mostly silent except for more of Duchess’ puggy wheezing as she calmed, James’ smile dropped into a stony seriousness. He stepped over to her and quietly murmured, “We would love to have you here, Astrid. But I understand if you don’t want to come. The decision has to be yours, and if you decide not to move, I will handle Tilde.”

Astrid was grateful for James’ level-headedness in the situation. In the short time she’d known the man, she found that he was a gifted reader of rooms. That was why he was so good with Tilde— a steady anchor in a turbulent sea. Clearly, he understood the anxiety twisting her stomach into knots.

She set a grateful hand on his arm and squeezed appreciatively. “Thanks, James.”

“And don’t let my association with Tom cloud your judgement,” James said.

Astrid withdrew her hand like he’d burned it. Her eyes snapped up to his, then focused outward on the rest of his features and body language. She didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Tom must have told James, despite that she asked him not to.

Unless Tom had told James last night…

“How do you...” She trailed off, turning her gaze and trying to hide her blush.

“He’s my best man for a reason. We tell each other everything,” James replied. “I had hoped that your work today would allow you some time to figure things out before more of this wedding commenced and caused a problem.”

Astrid gulped. “Does Tilde know?”

James shook his head silently.

“Good,” Astrid replied. Good for two reasons, really. The first, because it confirmed for her that the invitation to come to London wasn’t Tilde playing matchmaker. The second, because she still didn’t want anybody to know about it. “Wait… how much did he tell you?”

James stared back at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. “That would be breaking the Code.”

Her face now completely aflame, Astrid bent down and grabbed Duchess into her arms. She couldn’t even look at the man anymore without feeling embarrassed. Hopefully, it would pass quickly.

“Bad news!” Tilde called from the hallway as she came back into the room. Her thumbs moved rapidly over the screen of her iPhone. “Mother decided we needed an all hands on deck dinner tonight.”

Astrid groaned. “In addition to or replacing the one tomorrow night at Cliveden?”

“In addition to,” Tilde said. “Tom can’t make it tonight because he has the cast party, and Dad isn’t even in England yet, so that’ll be the official one. Tonight is probably just more nitpicking.”

“Do we have to?” Astrid whined.

Tilde sighed heavily and dropped her phone into her purse with agitation. “Strength in numbers, dear sister.”

Her sister's proclamation made the summons to dinner no better, but Astrid and James dutifully followed Tilde out of the flat and out to the car. The only saving grace was that Tom wouldn't be there. Astrid could focus on one problem, not two.

[sondepoch]

Chapter 4

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

“Bro, you good?”

Satan blinks the sleep from his eyes at the feeling of a pencil tapping against his shoulder, groggily turning to face the owner of the voice that tore him from his precious slumber.

“...bwha?” is the educated response Satan can come up with in his sleep-addled mind.

Solomon snorts.

“Dude, this is the third time you’ve fallen asleep in class this week.” The white-haired athlete grins. “Keep this up and I’m gonna score better than you on tomorrow’s test.”

“We have a…”

Satan groans inwardly. He has a test tomorrow? The blonde blinks up at the board. It takes a second for his vision to clear, but then it registers that he’s in math class, and everything else falls into place. A quick scan over the whiteboard confirms that Satan didn’t miss anything important, that the chapter the teacher is covering is something Satan taught himself roughly two years back, but the boy still groans to himself in frustration. He doesn’t like to sleep through class. Ever.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Satan mumbles to his friend when he glances at the clock. It seems that Solomon let him doze for nearly the entire period, opting to wake him up a mere minute before the bell should ring. 

“No problem. But seriously, I’ve never seen you slack this hard. You good?”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired because…” Satan trails off, hesitant to confess that the reason he’s so exhausted is because of you. No doubt, Solomon would read way too deeply into that—nope, wait, it looks like Solomon figured it out on his own from the shit-eating grin he’s now sporting.

“Ah, your future girlfriend, is it?” Solomon leans back in his chair, grinning. “The love life is rough, buddy. Make sure you’re using protection at night, though.”

Satan has never been more relieved to hear a bell ring.

“Would you lower your voice?” He growls when a couple of kids passing by give him weird looks. Satan glares hard at Solomon, but the latter gives a grand total of zero (0) shits.

“Sorry,” Solomon says in a voice that makes it all too clear that he’s not sorry.

Satan has never hated his schedule more than in the next moment when he realizes that Solomon is in his next class and that they can’t split ways. Worse yet, it’s Physical Education—the stupidest course of all time because all it consists of is kids walking in circles for an entire hour and being “encouraged” to run. And somehow, to top it off, Satan always ends up walking with Solomon. 

“We’re not together,” Satan grunts to his friend when they’re outside doing laps around the track. “It’s just that it’s fucking hard to balance club duties, her volleyball schedule, and my own studies.” 

“I totally get it,” Solomon blurts. “But you’ve gotta get used to it, bro. Imagine how much harder it’s gonna be to when the two of you start dating! You’ll have to take her out on dates, and—fuck—have you ever been to one of her games? She has crazy stamina, man. The two of you’ll be at it all night.”

Satan thinks back to freshman orientation, wondering why, of all the places to sit, he chose the seat next to the most annoying person in the entire academy. 

“Solomon, can you shut the fuck up?”

Solomon, unsurprisingly, does not shut the fuck up.

With enough difficulty, Satan does finally manage to steer the topic away from Solomon’s matchmaking attempts and towards more normal topics. Namely, Satan’s matchmaking attempts. Of course, just as Satan places no weight on Solomon’s opinions on his love life, Solomon completely ignores Satan’s advice to stop beating around the bush and just ask Asmo out, the athlete having the nerve to say “I’ll ask Asmo out when you ask our volleyball captain out”—as if you and Satan have a remotely similar history to Asmo and Solomon, who, as now known by the entire campus, are both desperately pining for each other but are too dumb to see it.

Satan sighs, shaking his head.

Idiots, he thinks. I’m surrounded by idiots.

It’s to this thought that Satan hears someone calling his name in the distance: an extremely familiar voice, almost grating on the ears, but a voice he knows he should not be hearing. 

Satan shakes his head, deciding that he’ll clear up his schedule today so he gets a nap in because surely, surely he must be imagining you calling his voice. Surely you’re not actually on this track field. Surely you’re not cutting English, of all courses, a subject that Satan insists you pay extra attention to because it’s the single course you're most likely to fail.

“Bro,” Solomon whispers, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Satan closes his eyes, trying to see if pretending that he doesn’t hear your footsteps sprinting closer and closer towards him will make it so that they’re not real.

It doesn’t work.

“Satan!” You shriek, now close enough that he can’t pretend you’re a figment of his imagination anymore. “Satan! Satan, Satan, Satan!”

The blonde continues staring resolutely forward, committing himself to the ideology of I do not see it, therefore it is not happening.

Unfortunately, Satan sees it. And so it happens.

Without any warning whatsoever, you lurch forward and grapple on to Satan, wrapping your limbs around him like a literal koala as you yeet yourself onto him with enough force that Satan is just barely able to remain standing when you attach yourself to him while shrieking: ”Satan! Guess what, guess what!”

The blonde is at a loss for words, so dumbfounded and taken aback that it’s all he can do to sputter out a confused “w-what?” 

You grin at him with a smile so wide it looks like it hurts, and Satan can only stare as you reveal what made you so happy.

“I got an 85 on the Shakespeare test!” 

The Shakespeare test, the man thinks, trying to remember.

The Shakespeare test, he repeats in his mind, a vision of you cram-reading the final acts of King Lear flashing through his mind

The Shakespeare test! Satan realizes with a start, suddenly recalling how it was a test he expected you to fail.

Satan’s mouth drops open at that. He had been prepared for you to get a 20, a 30; the highest you told him to expect was a 60, and even that was below the fail margin, but an 85? Holy shit, Satan might cry if he got a grade like that, but for you, it’s a genuine accomplishment, and he’s fucking proud.

“You’re joking,” he blurts, already calculating how this will affect your average and, holy shit, it’s actually going to pull you up to a passing grade.

“I’m not!” you declare with so much happiness that it’s infectious, and then the two of you are hugging and laughing except that Satan’s literally carrying you so it’s awkward, but neither of you care because this is the highest grade you’ve pulled all year, and Satan is finally beginning to feel like the late hours and the sleepless nights are all worth it.

The two of you are grinning and beaming at each other even when you finally de-koala yourself from Satan and land on the ground; and it’s at this precise moment that Satan realizes just how many people are watching. 

The blonde clears his throat awkwardly. 

It felt so natural when you tackled Satan midair, but he’s now beginning to realize just how intimate that whole scene looked to any onlookers. He stiffens, and you seem to notice, your own demeanor turning sheepish in turn.

A low whistle from next to you diffuses the situation.

“An 85, huh?” Solomon slings an arm around your shoulder, sandwiching you between him and Satan as the three of you continue walking along the track field—effectively sending a message to anyone watching that the show is over. “Not bad, Captain, not bad.”

“It’s amazing, Solomon!” you cry out in turn, grinning as you lean into his shoulder. (Satan doesn’t feel weird when he sees that, he swears he doesn’t.) “I haven’t scored this high since, well, I dunno. I don’t really pay attention to the scores I get because they’re always so low!”

Solomon laughs at that, definitely remembering when he was the same way. 

“It’s all thanks to Satan, no?” Solomon prods, and the blonde shoots a sharp look at his friend. He’s up to something. Satan isn’t sure if he wants to know what.

“Oh, definitely! He literally read every single text out loud to me! I left this one book for the very last day, and he actually stayed with me and—”

“You need to get back to class,” Satan swiftly interrupts, his ears turning red. “You did well on one test, but you need to pay attention if you want to continue.”

“Oh, but—”

Satan practically shoves you away, gesturing wildly the whole time with a vigor that has you confused but compliant as you slowly depart, doubtlessly making your way back to the English building as slowly as you possibly can.

When you’re gone, Solomon snorts.

“You read to her?” He asks, expression brimming with mirth.

“It’s not—it’s an effective studying technique that we use to save time—”

“Oh my god,” Solomon mumbles under his breath, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Next thing you know, I’ll find out that she’s sleeping on your shoulder or something. Seriously, Satan, way to make a move early on.”

Satan is incredibly grateful that Solomon doesn’t see how his face changes at that part, a flush rising on his cheeks when he realizes that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder not once, now, but several times. 

“Shut up,” Satan grumbles, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“No way, man!” Solomon cackles with laughter, finding great amusement in his friend’s frustration. “Oh my god, the two of you are so perfect for each other that it hurts! Here, take a look at this—”

Solomon pulls up his phone and opens up his Photo Gallery, swiping twice before handing it over to Satan.

“Just look at that, dude—” he gestures vaguely at the picture. “You two already look like you’re dating.”

Satan stares at the image, his feet slowing down. It’s a picture of you and Satan hugging, taken conveniently when you were still koala-ing Satan with your entire body because of course Solomon was able to get a picture that quickly, and although Satan can’t see either of your faces due to the side angle, even he has to acknowledge that the two of you really do look like a couple.

“It’s not like that,” Satan mumbles, shaking his head as he hands the phone back to Solomon. 

This might be the first time, though, that he actually entertains the thought of what it would be if it was like that.

It’s not a terrible thought.

You hate away-scrimmages for a lot of reasons.

The first reason is that, more often than not, the environment is hostile. The other team is always bound to have more support, more cheering, more motivation powering them forward while yours has nothing more than the girls on the bench and the loud voice of your coach. 

The second reason is that they always feel like a waste of time. Scrimmages, by nature, are meant to be an extension of practice. So what’s the point of a scrimmage if you spend more time driving to the school than you spend playing against the school? It’s totally backwards, in your opinion, and pretty stupid.

The third reason is the most compelling reason, though. And it’s probably because this is the issue you’re dealing with right now: the fact that at away-scrimmages, if there does happen to be someone from your school who puts in the time and effort to come watch, the pressure on your shoulders instantly triples. Scrimmages are supposed to be fun, enjoyable. They’re nothing more than practice matches to collect data and get ready for when you’ll go against the school for real—but when people from your school travel such a long distance to watch you play not even a game but a scrimmage, it feels like you owe it to them to bring home a win, to succeed, to make the match worth their while.

And while Satan doubtlessly had no intentions of adding to your stress when he asked to watch you play at today's scrimmage, that’s exactly what has happened.

“Listen, girls,” your voice is low as your team groups up in what will likely be the last huddle of the match. “I want us to win this. Really badly. Do what it takes, but bring home that victory.” You take a moment to recite the weaknesses of the other team, trying to downplay their skill and build confidence in your own teammates, but ultimately, you all know the truth. “It all comes down to how we play this point, girls, so let’s play our best.”

You glance around at your teammates, stealing a glance at the bleachers where Satan sits, watching the scrimmage.

You want to make him proud.

“Wolves on three: one, two, three—”

“Wolves!” your teammates echo, raising their fists as the lot of you split off into your serve receive positions.

As it stands, match point is weighing against you, and your team is at a heavy disadvantage. From what you’ve gathered on the opposing team, their libero is a literal legend when it comes to front row saves, and they have an amazing right-side hitter, one that easily rivals your own skill. This entire game, their team has been leading, but all your team needs to secure victory is a measly three points, three points that you know you can obtain if you try hard enough.

You crouch low, getting ready for the opposing team’s serve.

The first two points are easy for your team to get: the first point comes when the opposing team’s outside hitter rams the ball into the net, and the second comes when your team's right-side hitter manages a clean hit through a line of defense that jumped a second too late.

The final point, as always, is the hardest to get.

It just so happens that it’s your serve, so you consciously aim at what you think is the weakest link in the opposing team, but they’re able to recover. From then on, it’s an intense volley back and forth until it’s just you versus the right-side hitter, #18, the two of you fighting it out in a rhythmic contest of pass-set-hit that just won’t end.

It’s at this time that you feel the pressure beating down on you heavier than ever before. More than anything, you want to win. Not just because you’re naturally competitive, not just because you really fucking hate #18 right now (seriously, what business does she have being as good as you?), but because you know that Satan is watching. 

You really, really, really want to bring home a win for him.

It’s to this thought that you set the ball over on the first touch, sabotaging the flow of the game and ruining the other team’s momentum. 

It happens in slow motion as the ball falls, slowly, slowly.

The entire room seems to hold its breath as three girls on the opposing team, #18 included, all pancake-dive for the ball. Sensing their success, you bend your knees, preparing for the ball’s return.

It never comes.

The blow of the ref’s whistle is surreal, almost as faraway as the subsequent cheers of your own team, so empty and distant as they instantly group up for a team tackle—but for the first time, you don’t join them. 

Instead, you’re left staring up at Satan who, from his spot on the bleachers, is grinning down at you with a proud look on his face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy to win a scrimmage. 

Everything else passes by in a blur. Your team regroups and changes out of your uniforms, and the lot of you board the bus that’s set to bring you back to the Royal Academy of Barbatos. 

You, however, stay back.

“I’ll get a ride from my tutor,” you tell your coach, bidding farewell to your friends. 

The man arches an eyebrow at you, asking once and then twice if you’re certain you don’t want to stay with the team, but you nod your head. 

Weird, you think as you go to find Satan, who’s waiting for you at his car. This must be the first time I’ve prioritized someone else over the team.

You decide not to dwell on that thought. 

Instead, you choose to think about how sick Satan’s ride is.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, gawking as soon as you see the car. “Satan, I knew you were loaded, but I had no clue you were this loaded.”

Satan laughs at your reaction, grinning when you can do nothing but stand and stare at the sheer beauty of it: a slick, black Bugatti with a single green stripe down the middle. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” you coo, marveling at the interior when you slide into the passenger seat and slug your volleyball bag unceremoniously in the back. “Satan, I think I like this car better than I like you.”

The blonde gives a short laugh, rolling his eyes as he gets inside next to you. “I’ll let you drive it someday,” he offers.

You’re quick to decline, shuddering to think about how many more sports scholarships you’d need to ever pay such a thing off if you were to crash it. 

Satan can only smile at that, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t hear.

“Your match was amazing, by the way,” he says before you can probe him about what he said. “It looked really intense. It’s impressive that you were able to keep a level head even at the end.”

You don’t tell Satan that your head wasn’t level, that you were practically dizzy with fear from the possibility of losing in front of him.

“It comes with practice,” you instead choose to say. “Something we’ve gotta do tonight!”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

You shoot Satan an innocent smile in response.

“Your match lasted a good hour, and I saw you practicing with your team before your bus left.” Satan shakes his head, a frown beginning to spread across his lips. “You’re going to destroy your muscles if you try to do any more. Even you need to rest.”

“Yeah, but resting is boring.” You lean back in your seat and stare at your palms. “Besides, that scrimmage was way too close for comfort. Didn’t you see number eighteen? She was, like, really good. If both our teams make it to the state tournament, we’re going to have a lot of trouble dealing with her unless we practice like crazy until then.”

“Exactly,” Satan says. “Your team needs to practice, not you. The best thing you can do for them is relax and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

“But don't you want to reward me for getting a good grade on my Shakespeare test?” A smile curls onto your lips because you know that's something Satan has been thinking about. “Come on, just a few balls? It’ll be quick, I promise. I just want to try a few moves out.”

Satan lets out an exasperated sigh that lets you know he’s agreeing.

“Yes!” You exclaim, resisting the urge to jump out of your seat and hug him because he probably won't be as inclined to help you if you make him crash his car. “Thank you so much, Satan! I won’t be long, I promise!”

The blonde doesn’t say anything to that, sighing softly as he switches his destination from the student parking lot to the on-campus gym you usually conduct your practice sessions in. It takes a while, but when the two of you get there, the spot Satan pulls into is far from the doors. It's a necessity since all the other spots are taken, but it makes you raise an eyebrow because this is the first time you’ve seen this gym even remotely filled up.

You nudge Satan out of his car regardless.

“Alright, so today I want you to make my tosses higher than normal. Number eighteen was taller than me, so I’ll need to increase my jump height if I want to be able to break past her defense.” You pull him to the door, wasting no time to get inside. “And don’t worry if your tosses aren’t perfect! It’ll be good practice for...for when…”

Your train of thought is disrupted when you see how packed the gym is.

“Damn,” Satan mumbles next to you, frowning. 

There must be some kind of athletic event coming up. That's the only explanation you can think of for the picture in front of you. As it stands, there are tons of students inside this gym, everyone practicing their own sport. It’s ridiculous, honestly, because even sports that are traditionally outdoors are practicing inside. You can see Solomon leading his soccer team through a few drills on the far side of the court, taking up one half of one of the six nets set up in the gym.

“They must be here because it’s so muddy outside. All the outdoor sports are practicing inside.” Satan crosses his arms. “Let’s come back tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to get an effective practice in.”

“No!” you immediately exclaim, if only because you see a group of people setting up to leave. “Look, we can take that side of the court. Let’s go! I don’t want someone else to get there first.”

It’s a bit harder to find a spare cart of volleyballs than it was to find a spot to practice, but after checking enough supply rooms, you finally find what you’re looking for. After that, it takes you all of two minutes to wheel the cart over to Satan where you present your findings to him proudly.

“Shouldn’t you stretch first?” He frowns. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

“Come on, Satan. I just came back from a match! My muscles are all loosened up, so let’s get straight into it! The faster we can get this done, the faster we can return to the dorm, so let’s hurry!”

The boy doesn’t look wholly convinced, but he acquiesces to your request nonetheless, throwing you a toss higher than usual as you jump to slam it down.

It’s only once the two of you have returned to your usual rhythm that you begin to feel the stretch in your thighs, and for a moment, you stop to consider the fact that it might have been better if you’d stretched after all, but you ultimately decide that you’ve already started so there’s no point in stopping.

The practice whizzes by, as usual. It's almost pitiful how quickly the end of it nears.

“Three more balls,” Satan says, glancing at the number of balls left in the cart. “Then we go back, alright?”

“Sure thing!” you exclaim with pride, the familiar sense of satisfaction after a practice session well-done setting in.

Satan tosses you the third-last ball, and your feet begin following it as soon as it leaves his fingers. Your feet follow a familiar pattern—left, right, left, jump!—and you force yourself to put in a little bit of extra power to increase the height of your jump, letting your palm collide with the ball just a few inches beneath the peak of the arc to let it slam onto the court at an angle so steep that even a reinforced defense wouldn’t have been able to save it.

“Perfect!” you shout the moment your feet land on the floor. “Two more like that, and we’re set!”

Even Satan can’t hold off a smile at that.

Already in-tune with you, he doesn’t bother asking if you’re ready before throwing the next ball into the air. 

Again, you go through the motions that have been ingrained into your muscle memory since you were eight years old. The sting of pain against your palm is familiar, too familiar, and you’re still high in your jump when the ball spikes down onto the floor.

What isn’t familiar is the immediate calls of concern from across the court.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn your head to the source of the noise, the loud group of soccer players who are on the far side of the gym and are all shouting to watch out. You stare at them in confusion for a moment, squinting to look for what they're all pointing at, because right now you don’t see anything to watch out for, and why—

Your eyebrows furrow.

Why are they all looking at you?

That thought is the only warning you get before your feet land—and the first thing you realize is that you landed way too early, that you should have been in the air for longer given the height of your jump. That’s when you realize that you haven’t landed, that your foot is instead twisting on top of a soccer ball that’s rolled directly underneath you.

Your hands go out to catch yourself when you fall, but there’s nothing you can do about the swell of pain that bursts from your ankle when the soccer ball pops out from underneath you.

There’s a moment of trepidation, a single second where your body is completely suspended in the air, and the gym is silent.

In that quiet moment, you hear Satan call out your name in a terrified voice.

Then, the ground collides with you and hard, and there’s nothing you can do as the pain you’d been feeling earlier blossoms out from all parts of your body.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: ive returneddd :D this chapter is dedicated to the vball captain who, in my freshman year of high school, injured herself. her injury was more dramatic, given that it was way more severe and it was during an important match, but irene, i carry you in my heart <3

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I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.