#my washer is making weird noises again! fuck!

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

.

[d1s1ntegrated]

First of all, your writing is immaculate, chefs kiss 😘. I love how you write shigaraki. Anywaysss, is it possible you could make some HC about what he does with your bras/panties.

Weird ik but there’s something about an obsessed shigaraki masturbating into a pair of panties that just does it for me. If you don’t wanna do it that’s okay tho

👁️👅👁️

ouuuuuuu yes. my fuckkkk he's such a freak! need that man so bad.

nsfw!! freak!shigaraki x reader (stealing "clothes" edition)

tomura is a fucking kinky freak, we already know this

but his obsession with stealing your clothes has gotten a little out of hand.

at first it was a few shirts here and there but then he got bolder.

underwear and bras started going missing

even socks sometimes.

he likes to hoard them like a dragon with gems, shoving the dirty laundry into his pillowcase to hide them.

but at night he takes them all out and obsesses over them.

he lays them all out in neat little piles before picking which one is getting shoved in his mouth and which one is getting came on.

his favorite pair, the little purple thong, is just so fucking soft.

he likes to rub his throbbing dick along the fabric, feeling his precum mixing onto and re-wetting the crotch of your underwear.

the other pair, he sniffs and moans against the scent- this pair, you definitely were ovulating, because it smells so much stronger.

he doesn't mind if some pairs are blood-stained- in fact, he likes that shit. no, scratch that, he loves that shit.

god, it's like christmas when you start your period. he likes the smell of blood on its own, but for some sickening reason, the taste of yours drives him to cum so fucking fast it's pitiful.

don't get me started on the bras. he likes to shove his face into those as well, smelling the faint scent of your perfume, and imagining how soft your tits felt against the fabric.

sometimes he puts the bra over one of his pillows and just gropes them, pretending it's you.

his soft moans can be heard through the thin walls of the base but honestly, you don't mind.

you know fully what he's doing in there, teasing his rock-hard dick with various fabrics: silk, lace, cotton, nylon...

he pants and whimpers just loud enough for you to hear him until he takes a pair and shoves it in his mouth to stifle the noises he makes as his dick leaks onto all of the other pretty little pairs of underwear.

once he's spent, sweating and drooling, overall just a shattered mess of a man, he puts all of the abused clothing back into his pillowcase, smelling you mixed with his cum all night as he cuddles the pillow.

when they're all doubly soiled, he throws them into the washer with his clothes and suddenly, the 14 missing pairs are folded nice and neatly in your drawer, ready to be worn again.

you'd never tell him, but you leave your door unlocked and your dirty laundry easily accessible, because nothing beats the sound of him rubbing his dick raw every night to you.

[shorkbrian]

I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately. 

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.” 

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment. 

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way. 

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.” 

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie. 

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone. 

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed. 

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island.  It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words. 

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest. 

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face. 

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly. 

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it. 

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

[hoedorokishoto]

MHA Characters when you are pregnant/Dads.

Dedicated to my very best friend who is having a hard time at the moment, and I thought some headcannons of dilf my hero characters would cheer her up.

Eijiro Kirishima 

The cryer.

Crys when you are having sex to get pregnant, crys when the test is positive, crys while you are vomiting in the toilet and crys when your jeans stop fitting because of your bump.

Assures you that crying is manly and sticks by that.

Fusses over you as soon as you find out, even putting foam bumpers on tables and corners so you do not hurt yourself or your growing bump.

Is so excited to tell his friends. Calling Bakugo immediately after finding out, the pee was still warm on the stick as he dialed.

Yelled into the phone with just random words that had something to do with babies. No actual sentences.

Watches in awe of your body and how it changes. Loves all the stretch marks that you may grow.

Thinks growing a human is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done. Constantly asking weird anatomy related questions.

On that note says things like, “Babe, can you believe my cum helped make this tiny human growing in your stomach!”

As your due date gets closer, watches you like a hawk. Any slight noise you make, makes him thinks it go time. Already at the door with your bags and your just like “I literally yawned.”

When you do go into labour, he is right there next to you. Holding you close as he sits behind you, holding your legs back, your head rolled back and rested against his shoulder.

“You are doing amazing baby.” “God, I fucking love you.” “You are already the best mum in the whole world.”

Crys as soon as your baby is born, crys with you as he leans his head on your shoulder and watches you and your baby have skin to skin.

You wake up to him holding your only hours old baby. Whispering to them how much he loves them and nothing bad is ever going to happen to them and that they are the best thing he has ever done.

Katsuki Bakugo 

Gloats when you tell him you are pregnant. “Of course you got pregnant the first time, I’m the best.”

Even though he leaves the room with the biggest goofiest smile on his face.

The night you both find out he starts sleeping with his arm around you and his hand firmly cradling your stomach.

Wakes up before you every morning and makes you food, then hold your hair back as you vomit said food into the toilet.

Complains to no end. But never leaves your side and rubs your back as he puts a cold washer on your forehead. Wiping vomit and spit away from your face.

“We have to tell that old hag! She has been bugging us about having a brat since our first date.” He would say even though he is beyond excited to finally tell his parents.

“I’ve never been more excited! I knew you had it in ya!” This leads to dinner being over and the two blonds yelling back and forth.

Masaru just sits next to you and offers you some tea as his wife and son bicker. Both of you used to it by now.

You tell all his friends eventually. “Congratulation Kacchan!” “Shut up Deku, don’t talk too loud around my unborn child. I don’t want them to catch being a loser!” Even though you see the small hug he accepts out of the corner of your eye.  

Keep his phone close to him regardless of what he is doing. Does not want to miss any videos or picture you might send of you bump. Or in case something happens.

Always brings home snacks that you crave. From gummy bears to celery. You name it he buys it. Again he complains and pretends you annoy him but he would do absolutely anything for you.

Wakes you up unintentionally in the middle of the night by spontaneously putting baby furniture together. Pre parental panic finally hitting him as he hammers different pieces of wood together.

“Tsuki? Are you gonna come to bed?”

“I can’t! I’ve got to get this together and then I’ve got to fireproof everything in case the kid gets my quirk and then……”

“Fireproof? You think it’s just gonna blast its way out of me and already have a quirk?” You laughed.

He smiles, finally calming down. Then gets mad again and says not to make fun of him.

Your due date finally comes and still nothing. Even after eating multiple pineapples, bouncing on many exercise balls and having as much sex as you could manage there was still no baby.

10 days later your water breaks and you rush to the hospital.

The baby getting stuck on the way down. Being as stubborn as their father.

You had to be rushed for a C-section. Katsuki never leaving your side. Refusing to go anywhere even as they prepped you.

He looks very good in scrubs. 

He stroked your face as he sat next to your head, the large curtain covering anything too gory from both of you.

Flinches when he hears the first cry, looks into your eyes and presses his forehead against yours.

“You did it Teddy bear. You are so fucking tough.”

Let’s a tear slip as he watches the baby get weighted.

Cuts the cord and watched the tiny little human you have made in awe.

He always though he was born to be a hero. Now he thinks he was put here to do this, be the best dad that he can be for his little brat.  

Shota Aizawa 

Being a dad falls into his lap accidently both times.

First with Eri and second with your 2-year-old daughter.

You met in the girl’s section of a clothing store, him holding up 2 equally as ugly sweaters and looking very confused.

You and your daughter walked up to him and offered him a hand and the rest is history.

Doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have 3 girls that he adores more than anyone else.

Can’t comprehend that anyone would want to treat you or your daughter badly and makes it his mission to treat you right every single day, so you forget all about the past.

Activates his quirk, his hair floating around his face and watches your daughter yell and laugh as she runs around and gets caught up in his capture scarf, Shota just catching her before she hits the floor.

Let’s both the girl’s braid and put bows in his long hair and blush on his cheeks.

You have photos but have been threatened that if anyone sees them, he will have to take drastic action.

Loves watching Eri and your daughter play together. Singing songs and hugging each other as you dance around the living room.

Takes the girls to U.A. to meet his students. All the students cooing over them, saying how cute they are. Midoriya making both of them candy apples as Mirio picks you both up and puts you on his shoulders.

You both fit it. It’s like you were the missing piece and now he is whole.

Starts to think that maybe it’s a good time to give the girls a sibling.

You agree but, in the meantime, you adopt 2 cats, both of them making themselves at home rather quickly.

Shota will forever be thankful that he picked up those 2 ugly sweaters as he looks at his bed which is currently occupied by his 2 daughters, 2 cats and you. Lightly snoring, small hand over your swollen stomach.

[homoose]

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just�� I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’  for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

[junosartsthetic]

Patching Things Up   

Wordcount: 3846

Character(s): Dabi, (Y/N)

Warning(s): Innuendos. Swearing. Mentions of sex. Angst. 

Note: This is an updated version of a one-shot I originally posted on my Quotev account.

__

 You snuggled deeper into the blankets surrounding you, your feet tucked under you as you leaned against the armrest. Your eyes fixated themselves onto the T.V. as you flipped through the channels with one hand, the other holding a mug of hot chocolate.

       A sudden knocking at the door caused you to pause your channel surfing and look towards the door a little ways away from the living room. You could see the rain pouring outside the window but spotted nobody.

       You raised an eyebrow and set your mug down on the side table before standing up, the remote being placed on the arm rest. Your socks slid against the wooden floor as you made your way to the door, covering your robe against your body to keep warm.

       You peered out the window and saw a figure, though it was too dark to make out the specifics. You flicked on the porch light.

       A young man with jarring purple blotches of skin all over his body held together by staples slouched forward, his hands gripping his side. Blood dripped from it.

       You let out a gasp. You recognized him as one of the members of the League of Villains— Dabi.

       Your hand went into your robe pocket and you pulled out your phone, getting ready to dial the cops before a harsh knock stopped you. Your eyes met a bright teal as you stared at his face through the window. His gaze was soft, softer than you’d seen from his pictures on the news. It looked strangely familiar.

       You slid your phone back and put a hand against the window, tilting your head. What was he doing here? Why your house?

       His mouth began to move, and you made out the words, ‘open the door.’

       You shook your head.

       He frowned. ‘Please.’

       You bit your lip before reaching for the handle and opening it. Now, only a glass door remained between the two of you.

       You reached out to grab the handle to the glass door, and pulled it open slightly. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ you thought, now holding it open wide enough for him to step inside. ‘He’s a murderer. A Villain. And I’m letting him inside because of some weird nostalgic feeling. God, I’m an idiot.’

       He grabbed the edge of the door and used it as a brace as he limped inside. He was soaked to the bone and blood began to drip onto your door mat.

       “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, closing the doors behind him. “I don’t even know you.”

       Dabi let out a breathy laugh which quickly devolved into coughing. His eyes held a certain spark to them, and you squinted at him. He shrugged his leather coat off and hung it on the coat rack before kicking his shoes off. “Yes you do,” he replied, now beginning to limp towards your kitchen.

       “Hey!” you said, stomping after him. “I don’t know what came over me to let you inside, but you don’t get to prance around my house like you own the place.” You caught up to him and pulled on his arm to get his attention as he was now digging through your medicine cabinet. “And I have never met you before in my life.”

       He turned his head to glance at you, flashing you a cocky smile. “C’mon, you really don’t remember me, princess?”

       “Princess— ” you shot him a glare—  “For, the last time, I’m a knight, not a princess— ” you stopped, flashing back to a vivid memory.

       “Okay,” he said, his six year old self pointing at your five year old self with a wooden sword. “Now, you go and be the princess, and I’ll slay the dragon for you!”

       You shook your head, crossing your chubby arms. “No! I wanna be the knight in shining armor!”

       “But then who will be the princess?”

       You smiled. “You!”

       He shook his head. “I don’t wanna.”

       “Okay, then you can be the dragon, and I can be the knight, and there can be a pretend princess!” You tilted your head, wondering if that would be alright. “How about that…”

       “Touya,” you suddenly said, your body freezing up as you backed away from the male who was now taking his bloodstained shirt off in the middle of your kitchen.

       He paused, his arms partially behind his head and his shirt halfway off, and let out a soft chuckle. “It’s been a while.”

       Your heart began to race as your eyes fogged up with tears. “I- I thought you were dead! What the hell are you doing with your life! A villain, really?” You shook your head, wetness now rolling down your cheeks. “Why, Touya?”

       He finished pulling his shirt off, revealing the true extent of his scars, and began to dab a cotton ball doused in rubbing alcohol on what looked to be a bullet wound on the side of his stomach, his other hand holding a pair of your tweezers. “The name’s Dabi now.”

       “I don’t care.” You wiped your tears away and grabbed the cotton ball and the tweezers before gesturing for him to sit on one of your bar stool chairs. “I need answers. You can’t just— ” you let out a tense breath—  “just show up here after all this time!”

       He sat down on the bar stool and turned his wound towards you. “Fine, but I’m currently bleeding out, so maybe we should focus on that first, aye, princess?”

       “Shut up,” you muttered, nose scrunching up as you examined the wound. You assumed the bullet was still lodged in there somewhere, which meant you had to use the tweezers to get it out. “You’re lucky I care about you, or else I’d throw you back out on the street.”

       “Even after all this time, huh?” he said, looking at you as you slowly moved the tweezers towards the hole. “I thought you’d be pissed as hell and punch me in the dick or something when I showed up here.”

       “Oh trust me,” you replied, shoving the tweezers in the wound rather harshly before gripping the bullet and yanking it out, making him flinch and curse in pain, “I am definitely pissed and will not hesitate to punch you in the dick.”

       You placed the bloody bullet in the sink and quickly grabbed some gauze and cotton balls, wrapping the wound and creating pressure on it. You had to wrap your arms around his torso to properly secure the gauze, and fought the urge to blush. ‘I shouldn’t be this close to a cocky shirtless villain.’

       He laughed, but said nothing else as you finished tending to his wound and proceeded to back away, putting your hands on your hips. “Alright, I doubt you’ll die, so now tell me what the hell is going on.”

       He stood up from the chair and began heading back towards your bedroom. “Let me take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

       You let out a groan. “Fine, don’t get blood on my white towels, moron.”

       He turned back to flash you a stupid grin before opening your bedroom door and shutting it behind him.

       You sat on the loveseat to wait, and eventually heard the water kick on from the master bathroom shower. It took another fifteen minutes for it to kick off.

       You turned towards your room door, ready to scold him again for showing up out of the blue, but the words got caught in your throat.

       He opened the door, a towel in his hands as he rubbed the water out of his hair, his lower half sporting a towel skirt and nothing else.

       You tried your best not to pay attention to the way droplets of water rolled down his chest, and made their way between each and every muscle before disappearing into the towel wrapped around his hips.

       You attempted not to notice how attractive his hair still was, despite being dyed black now, or how hot you still found him despite his new scars. They simply added more character to an already completely one of a kind person, and you bit your cheek. ‘God, why did I have to fall in love with him, and why am I still in love with him?’

       His voice broke you from your thoughts. “Are you done staring? I’m fuckin’ freezing. You got any clothes that would fit me?”

       You cleared your throat and patted your cheeks in an attempt to quench the redness. “In the bottom drawer of my dresser should be something. Just put your old clothes in the washer in the bathroom.”

       He gave a mock salute before walking back inside, a water puddle now on your floor from where he once stood.

       Standing up, you moved to your kitchen to grab a rag before wiping up the water, going to clean the blood off your entryway, as well. ‘God damn it, Touya.’

       After another five minutes, he walked out in a familiar pair of sweatpants and a band tee, a smirk on his face. “You kept my clothes? D’aww.”

       “Shut up and sit down,” you muttered, face flushed as you gestured to the couch across from the loveseat you sat in.

       “Okay, fine,” he replied before heading to the loveseat and picking you up bridal-style, sitting down and proceeding to set you on his lap. “There.”

       You let out a vaguely offended noise, flustered. “Hey! Just because we dated way back when we were teens doesn’t mean you can come in here and pretend like you didn’t disappear for years!”

       “Why not?” he replied, leaning back in the chair and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. He was warmer than you, despite just taking a shower, and you assumed his quirk kept him rather hot.

       You shook your head and attempted to lean forward, only to get pulled back once more. “Because, how do I know you’re the same person you were back then? What happened, Touya? Last I remember, you were nineteen and living with me, and then you suddenly vanish and never come back! You can’t do things like that!” The tears you shed in the kitchen returned full force, choking you up.

       “I told you, the name is Dabi now,” he mumbled, placing his chin atop your head and letting out a sigh. “And I have no excuses for what I’ve done. There’s nothing I can say to change what happened. I— ” he took in a breath, his normally cocky exterior shattering to reveal the true pain underneath—  “I’m sorry, princess— no, (Y/N). I’m so fucking sorry.”

       You heard his voice crack, and felt drops hit the top of your head. Neither of you spoke, just letting out all the bottled up emotions of the past few years.

       Eventually, you managed to stop crying long enough to pull your head away from his chest and look him in the eyes. He was already looking at you. You reached up and gently cupped his cheek, rubbing the purple skin which covered the lower half softly. “Does it hurt?”

       He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

       You began to tear up again. “Is this my fault? Did I push you over the edge?”

       He immediately placed a hand atop yours, his other one hugging your waist tightly. “No!” he yelled, before clearing his throat. “No… You had nothing to do with this. I just— I snapped. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take him. He constantly reminded me I wasn’t good enough and I didn’t— ” he heaved out a breath—  “I didn’t deserve anything, much less someone like you.”  You knew exactly who he was.

       “Touya…”

       “I told you— ” you used your other hand to hold a finger to his mouth.

       “Hush. You’ll always be my Touya.”

       He gave you a half-hearted smile which turned into a playful smirk. “Your Touya?”

       You flushed. “Yes. You never broke up with me so technically we’re still dating, and you’re still my Touya.”

       He let out a soft snort. “God, I missed you,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb against your hand before leaning forward.

       You moved the finger against his lips to cup his other cheek, and copied his movements.

       Despite the roughness of his lips, the kiss was soft, and you could feel the old spark between you re-ignite.

       When you pulled away, his eyes were closed and he had a smile on his face. “I missed that, too.”

       You laughed.

       The beeping of a cell phone brought you both out of the moment, and he looked towards his jacket still hanging on the coat rack. “I need to get that, it’s probably that dick Shigaraki.”

       Your expression dulled. ‘Right, he’s a villain now.’

       He gathered you up in his arms before standing up and placing you back on the loveseat. He trudged to his coat, pulled out a phone and read the lit up screen. He glanced at you.

       You looked at him. He turned away, typing out a response before heading back towards you. “Are you leaving?” you asked, voice strangely monotone.

       “Not yet,” he replied, picking you up again to return to his original spot. “I told him to shove it for now.”

       “Won’t you get in trouble for that? I don’t want you getting punished because of me,” you said, voice now conveying your sadness.

       He shrugged and cuddled you closer, one of his hands reaching for the cup of hot chocolate on the side table to take a sip. “I don’t care. I’d go through the worst of whatever the world has to offer to stay like this,” he said, voice honest and content and sounding much like your Touya.

       The person before you now wasn’t quite like the Touya you knew, nor the Dabi, he was an odd combination, but you didn’t care. Your long lost lover was now back, and that was good enough for you. Sure, it might be wrong to still be in love with him, despite all the awful shit he's done since he's been gone, but you can't help it. When you love someone, you never really get rid of that feeling.

       You closed your eyes and began to drift off to sleep, but not before feeling a goodnight kiss against your forehead. You smiled. ‘Yeah, definitely good enough for me.’ You awoke to the smell of something burning, and your eyes quickly shot open as you tumbled out of bed. Your back hit the ground as you let out a groan, rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes.

       Flashbacks of last night flashed in your mind and you shot up from the floor and ran to the kitchen.

       Smoke filled the kitchen, and you slid open the window above the sink for some fresh air.

       You spotted Touya amongst the fog, a pan filled with bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove.

       You nudged his shoulder and gestured to the smoke-filled room, coughing. “What the fuck are you making over there, fire?”

       “It’s been a while since I’ve made you breakfast, alright? Give me a break,” he said, turning off the burner and sliding the bacon and eggs onto two different plates.

       You closed your eyes for a moment. “You didn’t have to—  I didn’t ask you to. Honestly, I thought you’d have left while I was asleep.”

       He grabbed both plates and set them down on the bar counter before sliding into a seat. “Do you want me gone that bad?” he asked, smirking.

       “No! I— ” you cleared your throat—  “I mean, I just assumed you had villain things to attend to and such.”

       He let out a laugh. “Villain things? What does that even mean?”

       “I don’t know,” you replied, puffing your cheeks out in anger. “I just meant I didn’t expect you to stay. It still doesn’t feel real. I— I thought you were dead!” Despite you trying not to, you started to sniffle, making him frown. “It feels like you’re back from the dead! I attended a funeral for you! I said my goodbyes and yet here you are!” At this point, tears streamed down your face as you held your arms against your chest. “I can tell you want things to go back to the way they were, but that can’t happen! Things have changed too much…”

       He stood up from the stool and walked over, wrapping his arms around you. He smelt like burnt food, and you let out a small laugh. He was trying his hardest to win your affections back, but you couldn’t help but hesitate. “Nothing I can say will ever make what I’ve done okay—  I know that. I just—  I can’t just walk away now, either. You’re the only person I have left who knows I’m still alive, and I’m still in love with you, (Y/N).”

       You buried your face into the old band tee he was wearing, moving your arms to wrap around his waist tightly. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up. I’m happier than I’ve been in a while, but what if you leave today and never come back?”

       He moved a hand to softly grip your chin, and brought your head up to make eye contact. “Look at me, princess, I won’t abandon you, not again. Not ever again.”

       Your lips formed a hesitant smile. “How can you say that? You could die and I wouldn’t know. I hate the fact that you’re a villain, Touya. I hate it so so much and I— I wish you could stay with me forever instead of going back there.” You shook your head, pulling away from his grasp and taking a seat on a stool. “But I know that this is a choice you made for valid reasons, and I couldn’t ask you to drop everything. Let’s just— I guess, enjoy the time we have now, and figure everything out later.”

       He took a seat beside you, and you two ate in silence. Everything tasted vaguely like smoke, and you let out a sigh. He still sucked at cooking.

       “I moved you to your bed, by the way,” he spoke up in between bites. “I slept on the couch.”

       You glanced at him, rolling your eyes. “My bed is more than big enough for two, moron.”

       “I see your caring nicknames haven’t changed,” he said, grabbing both now-empty plates to bring them to the sink. “Would it hurt to call me something nice for a change?”

       “Oh sorry,” you said sarcastically. “What names should I be calling you?”

       He looked over his shoulder, hands still scrubbing the dishes. “Oh, I don’t know, your knight in shining armor, babe, sweetie, the best sex you’ve ever-”

       You interrupted his monologue by throwing an apple from the fruit bowl at him, face red. “Shut up… moron.”

       He frowned. “That wasn’t very nice.”

       “It wasn’t supposed to be, now stop cleaning the dishes like you live here. I can do it.” When you got up and attempted to push him aside, he didn’t budge. “Would you just sit down, moron? I got it!”

       “No.”

       You let out an exasperated sigh before grabbing him by his shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Would you just sit down, babe? I got it.”

       “Better, but no.”

       You smacked his chest before crossing your arms. “I’m not saying the last one, now move.”

       He opened the dishwasher before placing the dirty dishes inside. “Too late, I’m already done.”

       You simply threw your arms up in surrender before trudging to the living room and taking a seat on the couch.

       Within moments, a body was next to you. You glanced beside you to see Touya sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring boredly at the black television. “What now?”

       “I’m assuming you now have to leave, being that you told your superior to shove it last night and they’re probably a bit pissed.”

       “You just can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?” he said, annoyance lacing his tone.

       “Okay, fine, get in trouble, see if I care.” You pouted, bringing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them.

       You felt him wrap his arms around you. He kissed your ear. “Let’s do something. I’ll leave soon, just not yet.”

       You pushed him away. “Like what? By the time we figure out where to go you’ll have to leave.”

       “Who says we can’t do something here?”

       You rose a brow, which prompted him to pull you into his lap, his lips quickly meeting your neck. You flushed red, a shiver going down your spine at the coldness of the staples against your skin. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and your first idea of something to do is fuck?”

       He pulled away. “Uhh, yeah?”

       “Wow. Classy.” You stood up, despite his grip on your waist telling you not to, and turned to face him. “We should go on a walk.”

       His face fell. He blinked at you. “Seriously?”

       “Yes!” you grabbed his hands and pulled him up. “Like we used to do! I miss walks.”

       He sighed, but nodded nonetheless. “You sound like a dog, but alright. Only for you.”

       You smiled and went to put on warm clothes.

       Eventually, you two made it outside dressed in fall clothes. After last night’s rain, puddles formed on the sidewalk and you stepped in them as you walked, observing the falling leaves.

       Your arms were wrapped around one of his, one of your hands holding his. A sense of Deja Vu washed over you, and a light blush permanently dusted your cheeks. Having him back, even for a day, made you happier than you’d ever been before, and you weren’t ready for him to leave.

       After walking only three blocks, a ping sounded from his pocket, and he looked at the screen of his phone before scowling. “Damn it.”

       “Hmm?”

       “I gotta go.”

       You stopped walking, giving him a sad smile. “Oh. Do you know when you’ll be back? I’ll sorta miss you.”

       He laughed, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before smiling. “I’ll sorta miss you too, princess. I’ll be back as soon as I can, just don’t assume I’m dead, alright?”

       You smacked his arm. “That was one time! And being you were gone for years, I had a right to!”

       He grabbed your wrists, pulling you in for a hug. “I know. Just— wait for me. I promise you I’ll be back.”

       You slipped out of his grasp and stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You better be, moron.”

       After a last kiss goodbye, he shot you a wink before beginning to trek forward, leaving you standing on the sidewalk with a soft smile and tears in your eyes.

       ‘God damn it. I just had to go catch feelings again. Stupid Touya. Stupid me.’

       You crossed your arms, shaking your head. “If he doesn’t come back alive, I’ll kill him.”

       With those words, you turned to walk back to your house, leaves crunching underneath you.

[writtenjewels]

Escort part 3

Part One, Part Two

He couldn't believe he just did that. If the feel of John's lips wasn't so fresh on his own, Kaidan would wonder if he had just imagined it. But no, he definitely kissed John and then panicked and jumped into the nearest taxi. He felt ridiculous but asking the driver to turn around seemed almost worse so he sat in the car and waited to get home.

This evening was just supposed to be hanging out with John like they did the first time the man acted as his escort. They flirted a bit but Kaidan found he was comfortable doing that with John. There was something friendly and teasing about it. And he just liked talking to John. The man was interesting-- confident, charming, funny, easy-going. Attractive qualities in Kaidan's mind.

I don't get paid to be attracted to you. Kaidan didn't usually go into these sorts of things so impulsively, but he had then. He sighed, paying the driver as he got out of the car. Hopefully John would just forget about the whole thing. When he opened his door Kaidan found he had a message waiting for him.

Kaidan, you left in a hurry. Wanted to make sure you got home all right. J

He looked at the time stamp and saw that John sent it while Kaidan was in the taxi. He didn't know where the man lived but didn't think he could've possibly gotten there that quickly. John must have used a public terminal to send the message. Kaidan stared at the words a long time trying to think of how to respond.

I'm home now. Sorry to worry you.

That was simple enough. He needed to do something to calm down, though. He started with undressing: removing his shoes, pulling off his jersey, and setting the kettle to make some herbal tea. He heard a chime letting him know he had a new message.

It's all right. You aren't the first one to panic.

Great. Not really the impression he wanted to leave this on. But Kaidan couldn't really explain what happened to himself, let alone John. Maybe he did panic, but not for the reasons John was implying. Kaidan's sexual preference never really depended on gender; he was more attracted to personality. If he had to pin down a reason, it was because it hit him just how often John was probably kissed. And there was proof right there in the message: “You aren't the first one to panic”. Meaning John was kissed before by guys who ran for those other reasons.

I didn't pay you.

There, that felt safe. The tea was ready so Kaidan poured a cup and took a sip. The warm liquid felt soothing. He got through the whole cup before John sent a new message.

Feed me and we'll call it even.

Kaidan laughed at the words. Yes, he could do that, and he sent a message saying as much. He poured another cup of tea feeling like maybe this evening wouldn't become a complete disaster, after all. John sent him another message. Was he just sitting somewhere with a public terminal? Or maybe between the messages he made it home, after all. Kaidan opened the message and his heart stopped.

Coming over.

Shit, John was coming now? That wasn't what Kaidan meant! He almost sent a message telling John not to come but stopped. It was just a meal; they did as much already. Kaidan took a breath and hunted down something to put on as he had no intention of welcoming John in his underwear. He felt decently put together by the time he heard the knock at his door.

“Nice outfit,” John commented when Kaidan answered the door. It was really hard to tell if the man was teasing or being sincere. Kaidan stepped aside to allow him entrance.

“I hope you like stir fry, because I haven't been to the store in a while.”

“It's fine.” John settled on the couch. “Mind if I turn on some music?” Kaidan waved his permission and John started messing around with the audio system. He eventually settled on something he liked. Kaidan listened as he threw together some things for their stir fry.

“That's a nice song,” he mused.

“It's called 'Vigil',” John told him. “It's one of my favorites.” Kaidan let the music drift over him as he cooked. He felt even more ridiculous now for running off. Being around John was so easy. It was the reason the man came to mind when Kaidan ended up with the extra ticket. A few more songs played and the two silently listened. But to Kaidan it didn't feel like an uncomfortable silence.

He divided the food onto two plates and poured some water glasses. He set them up at the table across from each other. A new song started playing.

“What's this one called?” he wondered.

“Ah.” John froze halfway into his seat. “I'm not sure.” He sank down and became very intent on eating. Kaidan listened thoughtfully. There was something about this song he couldn't quite put his finger on. He tried to make note of the tune so he could look it up later. “You're a good cook,” John spoke up.

“Don't get home-cooked meals often?”

“I'd say never. I never knew my parents so no 'home' growing up, and I've lived off military rations ever since I joined the Alliance. Except for when I'm on shore leave and then I just go out.”

“You're an orphan?” John had said it so casually that Kaidan felt expressing any sympathy wasn't necessary. “Where did you grow up?” he asked instead.

“The streets, mostly. Didn't always have a roof over my head. It's still a little weird sometimes when I'm off-duty and I can just go to the same place to sleep.” Kaidan took a bite to save himself from trying to find anything to say to that. “Sorry,” John apologized, “I don't usually get so personal with people.”

“Why not?” Kaidan wondered. “They get pretty personal with you, don't they?”

“True,” John agreed. “Just makes the job easier.” Kaidan mulled this over while they continued the meal. He gathered the dishes when they were done and set them in the washer to clean.

“So,” he ventured. “Have you ever dated someone? I mean, without being paid?”

“Sure. I wouldn't really call my first sexual experience a 'date'; just messing around with another street kid. Had a girlfriend when I first enlisted. Then I was with this guy for a while. Neither of them were very serious. I'm liking this one so far, though.”

“This... what?” Kaidan blinked at him.

“The date,” John clarified. Kaidan gaped at him. Was John teasing him? “Kaidan, you asked me out and kissed me. It's been a few years but I'm pretty sure that's a date.”

“It wasn't... intentional.” But shit, John was right. John shifted a little closer while still giving Kaidan some room.

“I won't do anything you don't want, Kaidan. But I would like to kiss you goodnight.”

“All right,” he agreed, though he didn't want the evening to be over already. John leaned into him and pressed their lips together. His mouth was just firm enough for Kaidan to feel the shape but soft enough for him to move his own lips in response. This time the contact lasted as their lips moved against each other in a gentle exploration.

It kept going, breaking only long enough for them to take quick breaths. Kaidan tried not to think about the other people who kissed John like this before. This night was his. He was a little surprised John was still keeping a distance between them. Kaidan rested his hands on John's arms, moving them down to the man's wrists and pulling his hands forward to touch Kaidan's body.

“Kaidan,” John breathed. “I'm prepared for you if you want me.”

“You're 'prepared'?” Kaidan echoed.

“To be fucked. Sometimes my clients--”

“John,” Kaidan interrupted, “I really don't want to hear about your clients right now.” John gave him a soft peck on the mouth as apology and they fell into the embrace again. “You were hoping I would want to fuck you tonight?” Kaidan asked after a few more minutes of kissing.

“I thought about fucking you, too,” John admitted. “Whichever way you like it.”

“Which way do you like it?” Kaidan countered. He moved his lips to brush the stubble along John's jaw. The other man tilted his head up slightly and Kaidan moved his mouth lower. John let out a soft groan and shuddered slightly.

“Kaidan.” This time he said the name in a groan. “I want you to fuck me, please.” Kaidan paused the kisses, pressing his face against the crook of John's neck. There was no denying a part of him wanted to.

“Just kiss me, John.” He felt the man's fingers gently grip his chin and lift his face up to do just that. John was such a good kisser. Of course he is. Kaidan felt a slight shift as he bumped up against a cabinet. They hadn't even made it out of the kitchen yet.

“Couch?” John suggested. Kaidan let out a hot breath.

“Do all your goodnight kisses take this long?”

“I thought you said you didn't want to hear about my clients,” John hummed. His eyes met Kaidan's, the shade of those blue orbs looking slightly darker. Kaidan swallowed and closed his eyes so he could think properly.

“Yeah. I... I'm just nervous, and I was teasing you to lighten the mood.” He felt John's fingers touch his chin and tilt his head for yet another kiss. He could get addicted to that.

“To be honest, Kaidan, I'm keeping this going because I don't want the night to end.”

“Me neither,” he gulped.

“So couch?” He made some sort of noise that John must have taken as agreement. Still holding Kaidan, John maneuvered them over to the couch. Kaidan sank down onto the cushions and John immediately slid down in his lap, fingers pushing through his hair as their lips connected again. Shit.

“Slower,” Kaidan gasped. John slid back off again without protest and they resumed from there. “I'm not ready for that yet.”

“Lucky I like kissing you,” John commented. Kaidan laughed shakily. John grinned and tilted his head back in a silent plea. Kaidan still didn't want to think too much about John with other people, especially fucking other people. He pressed his lips against John's throat and worked the flesh so the marks he left behind stood out just a little more.

[sorryimanon]

A Bit Stir Crazy: Pt 2

(Note: I tried to challenge myself on writing smut. It is not my strongest field, but I had fun writing this. Enjoy.)

Warning: 18+

-

After the embarrassing confrontation the morning of day 16, you found yourself even more on edge. Anything relating to eating, sleeping, and hygiene wasn’t on your mental critia for the rest of the day. Your mind was set on one thing only. Katsuki.

Childish as it is, you didn’t mind lying down in bed daydreaming perfect scenarios of you and Katsuki. Sometimes you’d catch yourself clutching to the nearest pillow , pretending it’s him you’re cuddling . Pathetic. Thank god he didn’t have a telepathy quirk, or else you’d be packing your shit by now. You were in the middle of a good daydream when all of a sudden you hear the painful sound of hardwood being dragged across the floor. It was coming from Bakugous room. Blocking out the sound was impossible, it kept going on for another good 5 minutes. What the hell is the doing in there?

The temptation to yell at him to keep it down was immeasurable, but you were still skittish to show the mere sight of yourself to Katsuki again. For the next hour, you stared blankly at the chipped ceiling, listening to your roommate rearranging the entirety of his small ass room. How could you blame him though? This quarantine has made nearly go ludicrous due to boredem. Some were sadly succumb to becoming stir crazy, which you weren’t denying could possibly be you by now. You also noticed your hormones were more off the rails. Every hour you had the weird inkling to touch yourself. or just once in awhile brush up against the pillow you were holding. You couldn’t help it. No physical or social contact from the outside world for the past 16 days.

Evening struck and you haven’t eaten anything all day. The cereal from this morning made a surprise visit not long ago, causing your appetite to dissipate completely. Although, you did want to get your hands on the left over pizza Katsuki ordered last night. You were about to get up when you heard two loud knocks coming from your door.

“Hey dumbass, don’t think I didn’t notice you not eating all day. I made you some soup since you’re lazy to make something right now.” He sounded agitated, but you knew better that he meant well. “I’ll leave it by the door since I know...you...tch. Just fucking eat. If you don’t I’ll make you okay?”

And with that he left, making it clear for you to hear the door to his room close. You waddle over to the door and open it quickly, scooping up the piping hot bowl of soup. You hate to admit it, Katsuki makes a pretty damn good soup. A little spicy though.

-

Later that night, you laid on your back, toying with the hem of your panties. The muscles in your arms restricting you from going any further. A sick punishment really. You needed some relief, something to get this feral feeling out of your system. Touching yourself wasn’t a foreign feeling. You had a boyfriend to handle the task for you. Note, had a boyfriend. He randomly stopped texting you one day and after that you assumed he didn’t find you attractive anymore. Which sucks because he was great in bed.

Now it’s been almost a year without any form of sexual pleasure from another person. The thought alone made you groan out loud. I am such a fucking loser.

Your fingers itched closer as the minutes ticked by. Just do it, Katsuki should be asleep by now. With a quick glance at your clock, the red numbers 10:30 stared right back. You sighed in relief remembering that Katsuki has been keen on knocking out by 9:00. The sudden burst of confidence caused you to finally plunge your hand into your panties. The feeling of your index finger brushing up against your clit made your whole body shiver. Oh, it definitely has been a year. Making sure there was no evidence of anyone being awake in the next room, you rubbed the very sensitive bud with a slow and teasing motion. You wanted this session to last a while, so you stopped rubbing and dipped your middle finger into the hole. A soft moan escaped your mouth, with which you quickly slapped your mouth with your hand, trying to cover up any lewd noises you might emit.

10 minutes have past and you haven’t climaxed yet. You were starting to get tired of fingering yourself, noticing the warm sensation in your lower stomach has went away. Then, an involuntary image of Katsuki flashed behind your closed eyes. He was there, above you while looking absolutely feral. His eyes were no longer red, but somehow dilated to the point where they were just plain black. You felt the warmness coming back again as you glance down from his eyes to the placement of his hands. The mere sight made you gasp. Katsuki, with his knees proping himself, had his fingers inside of you. No longer were you covering your mouth, each and every whimper or moan left your throat. Katsuki gave you his infamous smirk and began to thrust his fingers faster within you. You couldn’t help but to clench around his fingers, wanting to get as close as possible.

“That’s it baby, come for me.” Katsuki spoke in a sultry tone.

Surprised by him speaking out, your eyes widened to the uncommon nickname.

“You look so fucking cute like this. Taking my fingers like a good girl...so fucking well baby ah fuck!” He continued with his lewd comments. He kept the usual pace while saying sweet nothings in the air.

“Katsuki...nagh...please make me come.” You pleaded softly.

With that, he curled his fingers inside you, causing a long drawn out moan from you. You felt it, then you finally released once he rubbed the tiny bud that desperately needed attention.

“Fuck, Katsuki...” you said breathlessly, eyes drawn to a close in complete euphoria.

Wanting to look back at the man who delivered you to climax, you opened your eyes to see nothing but darkness. Everything was a lucid dream. Katsuki wasn’t actually here to your beckoning call.

Embarrassed, you slipped on a fresh pair of panties and rolled onto bed, knocking out right away due to your recent endeavor.

Behind the wall next door, a lone Katsuki laid awake with his hand wrapped around his qivering member, breathing harshly after climaxing as well with you. He slapped his forehead.

“Fuck.”

-

The following morning, you woke up feeling much better. The constant pang in your lower region was gone, leaving you with an obvious glow. Katsuki noticed too when you strutted into the kitchen, wearing nothing but your big tshirt. His mind went ravage there, thinking about whether or not if you were wearing panties underneath. Considering what he heard last night made him think otherwise.

“Sleep well dumbass?” Katsuki asked as you made yourself a cup of coffee. You didn’t detect how smug he sounded. He was leaning against the island, wearing his usual attire of a tank top and sweat pants.

Thinking nothing of it, you answered his innocent inquiry. “Yeah actually. I haven’t slept that well in ages.” You took a sip of your coffee and leaned against the counter, your body mimicking Katsukis position.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh really? Some type of remedy I don’t know of that makes you sleep well?” Again, you didn’t notice how tauting his tone was.

“O-Oh um, nothing too complex really. Just a simple uh, breathing excerise I did.” You lied through your teeth.

“Ah that makes sense. No wonder I heard you breathing so hard last night” Katsuki snapped his fingers.

You regretfully spit out your coffee, coating the tiled floor with the sugary brown liquid. Katsuki titled his head innocently at you.

“Something I said?”

“N-No I just forgot I left our clothes in the washer last night. I should probably head downstairs now before some creep steals our stuff!” You spewd a last minute excuse and ran out the door before hearing anything from Katsuki.

“Was definitely something I said.”

-

The laundry mat downstairs was empty. The mornings were usually packed, having either you or bakugou to stand outside the door for an open machine. This time you wish there was people occupying the space.

You had propped yourself on the washing machine, feet dangling a few feet from the floor. He knows what you did last night. He absolutely knows. How stupid of you to not realize his bed was agasint the shared wall. It was agonizingly painful to imagine how Katsuki felt during that haunting hour. He probably threw up to the thought of you touching yourself, specifically to him getting you off. Tears started to threateningly leave your eyes. No matter how many times you tried not to cry during this whole ordeal, a single tear slid down your face. Next thing you knew a whole stream was pouring out both of your eyes. If a person were to come in at this exact moment, they’d think you were a lunatic.

That’s when you heard loud footsteps coming from the entrance of the laundry matt. Deep down you knew who it might be, but you couldn’t muster up the courage to look up. You kept your head down, eyes focusing on your bare feet swaying back and forth. A pair of feet came into view, your knees slightly touching their upper thigh. You lowered your head even more, not wanting to face Katsuki and his judgmental glare.

“Y/N? Look at me,” he demanded.

You shook your head, still keeping it down.

“I said,” he places his finger beneath your chin, raising it to where you were eye level with him. “Look at me.”

You gulped, noticing how angry he looks right now. Is he angry at you touching yourself to him? Or is he mad about something else?

“Listen, I know what you did last night-“

That’s it. You cringed hard at his confession. Nothing mattered right now anymore. Katsuki was just white noise at this point. Dying sounded more appealing than listening to your roomate spiel about how they caught you masturbating. Oh the horror.

“That’s why I think we should please each other for the time while being quarantined together”, he finished.

Wait what.

The look he gave you was unlike any other look you’ve received from him. He was pleading, almost begging, with his eyes. You barely noticed his grasp on your thigh. The grasp grew tighter each second you left him unanswered.

“We both need this. I haven’t had any relief from another person in months...” he admitted while simultaneously rubbing your thigh.

You wanted this more than anything, but you didn’t openly admit that to him. Especially not in an open space like a laundry matt, where someone could walk in at any moment.

“Katsuki...I don’t think we should-“ he caught you by surprise with the sudden impact of his lips. The contact made you both moan into each other’s mouths. The hand that was grasping your thigh earlier soon trailed higher to your inner thigh. His cold hand against your already flushed body was enough to make you climax. When he got courageous enough to place his hand on your waist, you scooted closer to his body, giving him an invitation to step inbetween your legs. He obliged and closed the space between the both of you, using his other hand to cup your cheek. Katsuki grew ansty and bit your lower lip, wanting to gain more access in your mouth. You surrender and let him kiss you tongue first. You closed your eyes in ecstasy, letting him explore your mouth with his expert tongue. Katsuki grabbed your hands and placed them on his head, implying for you to grab a handful of his hair. Once you ran your hands through his blonde locks, his whole entire body tensed up. He quickly detatched his lips from your mouth, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Keep...Keep doing that please.” He whined. You smiled at his approval and continued to rake through his hair.

His whimpers were angelic as you kept tugging on his hair while he kissed you open mouthed.

You both were at it for awhile, making out and touching places that needed attention from the other. When the two of you let go for some air, a string of saliva strewn from both of your mouths. Flustered at the sight, Katsuki licked your bottom lip and gave it a quick peck before lifting your body from the washer. You squeaked loudly due to the aruptness and wrapped your legs around his waist.

The trip back to the apartment wasn’t long. Katsuki was careful not to drop you as he treaded up the stair case. Your apartment door came into view and without hesitation Katsuki kicked it open, breaking the hinges along with it.

“Katsuki! How are we going to pay for that!” You scolded him, playfully hitting his chest.

He chuckled at that and closed what was left of the door with his foot.

“I’m not worried about that right now. Too busy on taking care of you,” he mumbled the last part before attaching his lips to yours again.

Clumsily, the pair of you made it to his bedroom without breaking anything else in the process. Katsuki practically threw you on his bed, your back landing on one of his pillows. He climbed on top of you and observed your whole entire body. Internally you were shaking uncontrollably, but externally you gave the facade that you were completely calm. Katsuki took this as a sign to move his hand under your shirt, still staring at you intently. You felt his fingers inches away from your perched nipple. His hand reached your breast, giving it a good squeeze before pinching it with his fingers. You voluntarily arched your back, wanting him to explore more of your body.

“You like that?” He questioned, still pinching your sensitive nipple.

Answering him by moaning, he used his other hand to trail a line leading up to your inner thigh. He moved up and down slowly in a teasing pace, careful not to touch your heat yet. He replaced his digits with his thumb to rub your nipple in place. His smirk grew wider seeing you squirm beneath his touch. Deep down he always wanted to see you like this. Flustered to the core and whimpering to his subtle touch. He couldn’t wait to see you screaming out in pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to hear you call out his name in pure ecstasy.

As much as you wanted Katsuki to worship your body, the desire for him to fill you was more important.

“Kasu-...Katsuki, please.” You urged on, bucking your hips to meet his.

“Please what dumbass? Hm? Use your words,” he traced the outline of your lips carefully, opening your mouth wider.

“I need you inside me. I want to feel you...” you pathetically begged out him to.

Katsuki saw the desperation in your body language and voice. Swiftly, he pulled your panties down to your ankles, letting you move them aside to the floor. The wetness from your heat was slowly dripping down your thighs. Prepped and ready for whatever Katsuki has in store for you. Your cunt throbbed painfully from the anticipation of his next move. 

“You want me now baby?” He seductively said, earning an earnest groan from you as a reply. He kept himself busy by pumping his member through his sweats. His eyes never left you as he thrusted aggressively, smiling during the process when you kept glancing at his actions below. “I can’t wait...to know how you feel...ngh...I bet you feel incredible wrapped around my cock”. A blush creeped its way to your cheeks. His crude comments are getting dirtier, and you low-key didn’t want him to stop speaking his mind. 

Never in a million years would you have ever thought of doing something this intimate with Katsuki. If you were to tell yourself, a little first UA student, that you and Katsuki Bakugou had sex, you’d never believe it. Even at this moment, you still couldn't comprehend this was happening. You broke out of your thoughts when you felt the tip of something hovering at your entrance. During your daze, Katsuki managed to get his fully erect member from the tight hold of his boxers and lined it perfectly at your aching hole. He nudges your hole a few times before rubbing against your clit. A fulfilling moan left your throat as he kept going with the tedious motion. You elavated your hips a little in hopes for his tip to enter. Katsuki growled at your impatient state and grounded your hips with hands. You whimpered at the harshness of his grip.

“Keep doing that idiot and I just might make you fuck yourself instead,” he lowered his head to your neck and started sucking on the sensitive area. “You’re lucky I'm going to go easy on you dumbass or else you’ll be begging for me to stop. So, just let me know and I’ll stop”.

Even when he’s about to go feral in your insides, he was still considerate of your feelings, which made your heart beat go bezerk. Thankfully he stopped kissing your neck and dropped his full attention to his cock. You mentally sighed to yourself once you felt his tip circle around your lips. The swelling sensation down below was becoming unbearable to the constant teasing. You couldn’t hold it in any longer, so you wrapped your hands around his torso and purposely shoved him forward. Both of you let out a choked moan once his cock finally entered you. Your walls instinctively clamped tightly around him, feeling the warm flesh inside of you. The action you did elicited a loud whine from Katskui, who was currently shoving his face into the crevice of your neck, shaking from entering your tight walls so abruptly. 

“Do I...Do I feel good Katsuki?” you asked, shifting uncomfortably to his stiffness. 

He lifted his head from his previous position and grinned from ear to ear. “You feel fucking amazing baby.” He wasted no time to move his hips to sheathe his cock deeper inside you. It didn’t hurt due to you being so aroused and wet. He then started to continuously thrust at a slow pace, making sure you were adjusting to his size. Mouth wide open, you threw your head onto his pillows while clutching the bedsheets. 

“Ugh, Katsuki. Please go faster,” you winced at how needy you sounded, but you wanted the relief right away. 

Katsuki listened to your command and thrashed himself more into your hole. Sounds of skin slapping on skin and sporadic moans filled the small room. You felt his cock twitch inside you, indicating that he was indeed close. He continued thrusting at a fast pace, occasionally reaching down to rub your clit. Without a doubt, he was hitting your g-spot repeatedly, never once missing it. To feel even more closer to you, Katsuki pushed your legs further towards you, allowing him a better angle to thrust deeper. 

“Fuck Y/N...I bet he never fucked you like this. He probably never had you making those cute faces you’re pulling right now, ngh...” he panted between thrusts. “I hated the thought of you being fucked by someone other than me. All the guys you’ve dated are nothing compared to me. I want you all to myself.”

The knot inside your cunt started pulsing by him mentioning his hatred toward your past partners. You screamed when he clamped his sharp teeth down onto your shoulder. For a spilt second, you thought you felt the trickle of your own blood. Next thing you knew, Katsuki’s thrusts became sloppier, indicating he’s on the verge of climaxing. 

“God yes Katsuki, please come. Come with me baby!” you cry out.

You being so oblivious, you don’t know how much your voice turns him on. So when you egged him on to come with him, that’s exactly what he did. With one last thrust, both you and Katsuki attach your lips together, moaning out your orgasms into each others mouths. He successfully fills your heat with his seed and freezes in place. He detaches his lips from yours and stares at your dripping core. He had to restrict himself to not shove his cock into you again. After composing himself, Katsuki released himself from you and rolled over onto his side, propping his elbow to get a good view of you. You still recovering from your orgasm. You were gasping for more air, trying to compose yourself. 

“Ya know...maybe you could use your energy restoration quirk on me for a round two?” he humorously suggested.

You shifted yourself into a comfortable position on his lap and jabbed a finger under his chin. “Only if this round involves me riding you.” 

Katsuki then pushed you roughly on your back again. His eyes were more dilated this time than during your previous intimate moment together. He leaned down and kissed you gently on the lips.

“I like that idea better don’t cha think, idiot.”

-

Everything after that event changed the course for both you and Katsuki. The mood and tension from before disappeared. Now the two of you couldn't keep your hands off each other. You caught yourself sleeping more in Katsuki’s bed than your own. What was the point of being separated if you two were practically having sex every day? Every hour, minute, and second. It didn’t bother you though. You’d rather jump his bones than read another boring book again. 

On day 30 of quarantine, you woke up naked in Katsuki’s arms. You stretched your arms and legs, popping them in the process. Katsuki grunted and pulled you closer to his body. You smiled into the crook of his neck and returned the favor by kissing him on the nose. He scrunched his face, obviously not favoring the random spot you pecked him at. 

The night before you two were going at it till 3 am. Not taking breaks for anything whatsoever. It was evident from the display of your clothes strewn everywhere. 

You relaxed more into his arms, but your heart stopped once you heard the front door opening. Katsuki was still passed out, oblivious to the disturbance inside your apartment. Your ears picked up footsteps padding their way towards Katsuki’s door. The door knob twisted ominously. Whoever was behind the door was surely taking their sweet time. Before you knew it, the door swung open revealing the last person you wanted see. There stood Kirishima, mouth agape seeing you in the same bed as Katsuki. He blinked a couple of times before raising a weak finger in your direction. 

“I guess I wasn’t the only one who got laid during this pandemic!” Kirishima bursted into laughter.

Katsuki unwrapped his arms around you and grabbed the nearest pillow, using his quirk to explode it right at Kiri’s face. The impact ricchoeted him out the threshold of the door, a loud crash coming along with him. 

“EVER HEARD OF KNOCKING FIRST SHITTY HAIR!” he yelled, small sparks ejecting from his hands.

You contently sigh. Maybe this whole quarantine thing wasn’t so bad after all. 

[burnedbyshoto]

Pervert

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warning: panty thieving lol, daddy kink, cursing, smut

word count: 1,328

a/n: this is for aika_h on my discord server.... I cant find your url so AHA...whoopsie daisy... i can’t believe I wrote a panty thieving piece,,, I feel so horny and dirty now and it wasn’t even a full length piece......damn now I need to finally go read my queens panty thieving piece because if I got hot just by reading it imagine their pieces....

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

It had started off as an accident.

Bakugou had bumped into you as you were on your way out of the laundry room one day during your third year. Your basket of clean clothes dropping from your hands in surprise as you crashed into his back. Bakugou remembers looking at your form amused. You were wearing a tank top with shorts that showed off the swell of your body and the toned muscles you had built from three years as a pro hero in training.

He helped you gather your clean clothes, but your face was radiating heat from embarrassment so high he felt it from where he crouched next to you. You had squeaked in apology as you raced out of there, not listening to Bakugou as he yelled about one item that you had forgotten to grab. Grunting under his breath, Bakugou stared at the material in his hand, and immediately dropped it as soon as he figured out what it was.

Black, lacy, and with material so small the tag was the biggest thing on it.

It was your panties.

Blood rushed to his lower region as he stared at the pristine material that lay on top of his dirty clothes. How was he supposed to return these to you?! They were so small, his brows furrowed at the thought of how this could be comfortable, but then his thoughts drifted to imagining you naked save for the material of your panties.

Fuck, that wasn’t right. Bakugou shook his head as his upper lip curled into a snarl, grabbing the light material he shoved it into his pocket as he threw his clothes into the washer.

Three hours later Bakugou was in his room folding his now clean and dry clothes, but then a small knock on the door stole his attention. Walking over to it, Bakugou’s eyebrow quirked as he saw you at the door, and immediately your panties in his pocket seemed to burn a hole through him. Shit, you knew.

“Hey Bakugou,” you greeted with an awkward smile and a wave. Bakugou tensed, readying himself to yell at you about how him having your panties was, in fact, your fault for being such a ditz, and not his fault! He only still had them because he forgot they were in his pocket after all! “I just came to apologize for being weird in the laundry room! I was jittery from the caffeine, I stayed up writing that essay for Mic last night and it’s still running its course through me.”

Bakugou fell frozen as relief flooded through him.

You didn’t have a single clue that he held your panties!

Wait, why was he relieved?!

“It’s fine, I don’t fucking care,” Bakugou rolled his eyes as he leaned against his doorframe. “Was that all, princess?”

The way your cheeks puffed in your embarrassment towards his nickname made his grin grow as you shook your head, “Yeah, I just wanted to apologize.”

“Cool, so we’re done here?”

Your eyes rolled as you shoved him playfully, “Yeah hermit, you can get back to your pervy things.”

“I’m not a pervert!” Bakugou barked after you as you were already walking down the hallway, your fingers moving to imitate a talking hand and the other flipping him off. A chuckle resonated through him as he turned and closed his door.

His eyes drifted down towards his sweatpant pockets, and with a deep breath he took out your panties. His fingers traced every area of the thong, his breathing pitching as he once again thought about you wearing it.

How would your ass look like as you stared at him while turning to look at him?

How would you look like as you bent over with the school skirt on? Have you worn it with the uniform before? How had he never noticed if so? What if this was for someone else?

An angry growl escaped his lips at the thought of it.

Bakugou shuddered, he wasn’t a fucking pervert… no, he was a gentleman.

But he thought about how you would look straddling him, your hips straddling him as you rocked your wet cunt against his hard bulge, and the only thing separating the two of you was this thin, so very thin and impossibly sexy piece of fabric.

Bakugou groaned as he locked his door.

He could jack off to your panties once, right? It wouldn’t make him a pervert…. right?

But once became twice, which turned into a handful, until Bakugou could no longer masturbate without your panties rubbing against his throbbing cock.

One pair of panties became two. Two panties turned into four, and Bakugou soon found himself figuring out ways on how to go through your laundry to find the most scandalous pieces you had.

But now it was on purpose, and well, one pair going missing had you believing it was the machine, but at the number four, you had turned suspicious.

When you knocked on Bakugou’s dorm room, you expected to tease him about stashing your panties, after all, you had assumed he had been finding them in the laundry room and had been too embarrassed to tell you. They were very promiscuous pairs and understood how awkward it could be. 

What you didn’t expect was for his vermillion eyes to turn maroon in color, his nostrils flaring as he pulled you into his room. You did not expect to be brought into a passionate and almost wild makeout session. You had returned the kiss eagerly, almost as wildly as the ash-blond boy as he slammed you against the door.

His mouth was wild, untamable as you tried to control him. His finger trailing from your sides to grope your breasts, and as you moaned, his tongue shoved into your mouth. Your head spun as you brought him in close to you, and you lewdly mewled as his hands gripped your ass.

That noise and his action seemed to snap something within Bakugou as you were then bent over his bed, your first and second pair of stolen panties to be shoved into your mouth as he dropped your shorts to the ground.

“You’re wearing another pair,” Bakugou awes as his fingers hook around the thong you were wearing, you flinched as they were dropped to the ground alongside your shorts just as fast. Why you were so turned on by this was beyond you, but you wanted more.

You hissed as your throbbing sex hit the cool air of the room, “You’ve been such a naughty girl,” Bakugou growled as his fingers stroked your wet folds.

Whimpers poured from your mouth as you pushed back against his fingers, but Bakugou smacked your ass harshly as he snarled. “Do you know how much you’ve fucked with my mind? All your goddamn panties are so fucking small, such a fucking tease--” his fingers pushed through into your cunt and you cried against your makeshift gag-- “do you wear these daily? You’re probably some slut who wants someone to catch her wearing it… you probably wanted someone to see you like this and fuck you like some whore.”

Your body trembled as his fingers pumped slowly into you, curling harshly as his fingernails scraped against your velvet walls. Your head buried into the duvet as drool began to dribble out of your mouth.

“Now now, baby girl,” Bakugou cooed as he removed his fingers and you moaned as you felt his swollen head push against your aching and needy cunt. “Daddy is going to teach you a lesson about what happens when naughty girls wear shit like that in public. Especially when they belong to me.”

His cock slammed into you at full force and your fingers clenched the sheets as you sobbed in pleasure.

The night and just begun, but there was much more to happen, and well Bakugou may take a few more panties from your drawers after more nights of fucking.

[imaginingsoftly]

Trouble - Travis Konecny

Type: enemies to friends, Y/N insert 

Requested: No

Warnings: none

A/N: I’m working on a new series, although it’s going incredibly slowly, so here’s a little something on Konecny until I can start getting parts of the series out!

This was officially the worst day of your life. As if getting screamed at by no less than 5 middle-aged women at work and then heading home to your roommate and her boyfriend fighting again wasn’t bad enough, now you were sitting in your least favorite person’s apartment covered in wine and trying not to cry. Nolan at least had the grace to look sorry for dumping two full glasses of wine all over your neck and shoulders, though at that point even the most enthusiastic of apologies wouldn’t have mattered. 

“Y/N, I..” you held up a hand. If you didn’t get out of the room in the next five seconds you were going to lose it in front of Nolan and everybody else. Madison, the friend that had dragged you into this disaster in the first place, tried to go after you, but Ivan held her back. You thought you heard him whisper to give you a minute, but he spoke too quietly to be sure. It would have been hard to hear over the roaring in your ears anyway.

The mirror in Travis’ bathroom only served to make you feel worse. The wine had soaked through your shirt, staining the white tank top to the point that you knew it wasn’t going to come out. The shirt was the least of your current issues, though. It was the state of your brand new bra that finally broke you. The white lace, so beautiful when you’d bought it the day before, was now stained a dark red. You clutched the bathroom counter, trying to relax even as tears began to leak out of your eyes. “Trouble?” A knock sounded at the door, and you hurriedly wiped at your face. Travis would laugh if he saw you crying over some spilled wine. Hell, he’d probably make some kind of comment about city girls and being high maintenance. “Trouble, you okay in there?”

You opened the door to a laughing Travis, though his face quickly changed when he saw the mascara pooling under your eyes. “Y/N?” His hands came up to cup your shoulders awkwardly as you broke down. If Travis was calling you by your first name rather than that stupid nickname he’d given you, then you must really look bad. “Oh, sweetheart.” Travis pulled you in tightly for a hug, ignoring your muffled protests about the wine you were still covered in. He smelled good, like laundry detergent and some kind of musky cologne, and you took a deep breath. The smell settled into your lungs and your breathing calmed slightly. 

“Come on.” Travis pulled back slightly. “Let’s get you a new shirt, yeah? Maybe see if we can get the stain out of that one.” You were fairly certain that wouldn’t happen, but he was being nice to you for once. You’d take that for as long as possible. 

His room was just about what you’d expected. He wasn’t dirty, per say, but it certainly wasn’t spotless. His suit from the game the night before was discarded on a chair, and workout clothes sat in a pile next to the hamper rather than in it. Travis stepped through a door you assumed led to a closet, returning seconds later with a t-shirt and some sweatpants. “It’s on your jeans a little bit too, so if you give me everything I can get it washed real quick before the stain really sets in.” He was being weirdly thoughtful and you wondered if there was a prank coming. “There’s makeup remover in the top drawer if you want to use it. My ex left it in the bathroom one time and I never got rid of it.” He held out the clothes with a small smile. You took them gratefully, mumbling out a thank you as you slid past him and into the bathroom he pointed at. 

There had to be some kind of a trick involved. Your brain was going a million miles a minute trying to comprehend why Travis was suddenly being nice to you, and why he’d offered you clothes so easily. He was never this nice to you. To the guys, sure, and to others, but never to you. Still, clothes were clothes and he was offering to get rid of the stains. You’d take whatever you could get. Plus, you thought as you slid into the sweatpants, they were super comfy and they smelled like Travis. As weird as it was, the smell was comforting. 

A swipe of the makeup remover across your eyes removed the last of your makeup, and then you felt almost like yourself again. Well, other than the fact that you’d apparently entered an alternate universe where Travis didn’t hate you. Travis was waiting on the bed when you exited the bathroom, swimming in his clothes. He smiled softly at the sight, and your stomach twisted slightly. That look was new. He wasn’t supposed to be looking at you in a nice way, so what the hell was going on? “Uh, Travis, you good?” Travis jerked when you spoke, literally shaking his head to focus again. It almost brought a laugh out of you. 

He took your clothes before you could protest and began backing towards the hallway. “So, uh, I’ll go put some stainstick on these and throw them in the washer. Everybody else is filtering out, and, uh, we can get you home once your clothes are clean?” Travis nodded to himself and took off, leaving you standing in the middle of his room confused. Why in the hell was the cockiest person on the planet nervous around you all of a sudden?

Madison poked her head in as you remained frozen in the same spot. She smirked when she saw the clothes you were wearing, and jerked her chin at you. “You good here with Trav? Ivan suddenly wants to get home really really badly.” She winked conspiratorially, and you laughed. 

“Go ahead. Have fun with your boy. I’ll be fine.” Madison giggled, and then she was gone. You began to step towards the door, tired of standing awkwardly in Travis’ room. The sound filtering down the hallway was noticeably quieter than it had been ten minutes before, and you weren’t shocked to see Nolan was the only person besides Travis still remaining in the apartment. 

Nolan stepped in your direction with bright red cheeks and a sheepish expression. “Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry.” You shook your head as if to say don’t worry about it, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “So, I’m gonna go, but I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to. And if your shirt is ruined I’ll get you a new one, I promise.”

You chuckled, pulling the taller man in for a hug. “It’s okay, Nols. I know it was an accident.” He mumbled another apology into the top of your head. “I just had a really shitty day, and for whatever reason that’s what broke me.” Nolan made a sympathetic noise and ruffled your hair. Travis appeared from the kitchen to bro hug Nolan, and then it was just the two of you. You looked down at your feet, rocking onto your tiptoes awkwardly. There were no more buffers. It was just you and this newly friendly Travis. 

“So,” Travis said, “a really shitty day?” Footsteps came closer as you continued looking down at your feet, and then Travis’ sock-covered toes appeared in your view. “I promise I just wanna hear about it. No funny business.” 

His face looked serious when you finally looked up. It was the concern in his eyes that had you opening your mouth. “I co-own a coffee shop with my cousin. I think Madison has mentioned it before?” Travis nodded in recognition, and you continued. “I normally don’t do a whole bunch behind the counter, because I don’t have the disposition to deal with assholes. I’m more of a numbers person, and she’s the customer service queen. She was out sick today, so I had to work behind the counter. We had a PTA group come in for one of their cliquey gossip sessions today, and apparently I am completely incompetent and can’t make a cup of coffee worth a damn.” Travis winced accordingly. 

“And then,” you continued, all warmed up and ready to rant, “I finally get home after working from about 4am to 8pm, and my roommate and her fucking boyfriend were screaming at each other. Again. That’ll be about the fourth fucking time they’ve broken up this month. It’s only the 20th.” He was a cheating piece of shit, but your roommate didn’t want to see that. It was frustrating to no end.

“I called Madison to see if I could stay with her for the night, since my roommate and her boyfriend will probably be fucking all night, and instead she drags me here, where I get to deal with some hotshot hockey player that hates my fucking guts, and then Nolan dumps half a fucking bottle of wine on me and all of a sudden you’re being nice and I just really need a hug.” 

You were wound up, breathing a little heavily, and Travis looked shell-shocked. Suddenly he stepped closer, and for the second time that night you were wrapped up in Travis’ arms. “I don’t hate you.” He squeezed you a little tighter as he spoke, as if to emphasize his words. “You do intimidate the hell out of me though.” You leaned your forehead against his chest contentedly, chuckling a little bit. “Seriously. You’re all smart and sexy and you own a fucking business. I’ve always just wanted to be your friend, but you never got along with me like you did the other guys.”

His arms loosened slightly as you jerked back. “I never hated you. I thought you hated me.” Travis laughed, shaking his head in slight confusion. “So we could’ve been friends all along, we just thought the other person hated us?” You felt a smile creep up your face. Of course this would happen to you. 

Travis held out a hand. “Friends?”

You laughed, gripping his hand with one of your own. “Friends.”

[platypanthewriter]

The Prince and the Pauper (Who Drives An Uber) Ch. 5

(Prince Steve flees his wedding, and asks his Uber driver to take him bowling...and on a date.  WIP)  Part One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Billy stumbled into his room, wishing he'd drunk a little less, and flopped onto his bed—then slapped around beside him for where he could hear Steve’s muffled laughter, and found his phone.  “Steve,” he mumbled.

“You sound sleepy,” Steve told him, and Billy growled.  

“My dick isn’t,” he muttered, and Steve laughed again.  “It’s not,” Billy snarled, yanking his jeans open.  “Heard your voice.”

“Ohhh,” Steve said.  “...that happens to me, too.”

“Your dick likes me?” Billy asked, feeling kind of fuzzily like it was a weird question to ask, but Steve sounded like he was smiling when he said “Yeah, Billy, it does.”  

“What about your hands,” Billy asked, sliding his shirt up to his chest.  “They like touching me?”

Steve muttered something that sounded like vlakoss, or vlakas, maybe, and Billy mouthed it to himself, so he’d remember.  “All of me likes you,” Steve said softly, and Billy rolled sideways into his blankets, laughing into his pillow as he flushed.  

“...lemme put you on video,” he whispered, feeling kind of like they were hiding, together in his bed. 

His face warmed further as Steve whispered back, “Show me.”

Billy’s fingers were clumsy, but finally he could see his prince, leaning back on a shiny green overstuffed chair kind of thing, in a soft yellowy robe, his skin lit with warm morning light.  He was smiling, his hair bed-ruffled.  

“...oh,” Billy said, biting his lips together, and hoping Steve couldn’t really see the taco stains on his shirt, or the Thomas the Tank Engine twin-size sheets Max had picked up as a joke at Value Village.  

“Want to turn another light on?” Steve asked, and Billy snorted a laugh, shaking his head.  

“You can see more than enough,” he said, grimacing, and Steve frowned.  

“I can barely—”

“Shut up, it’s fine,” Billy sighed, suddenly exhausted.  “Look, I’m—I’m going to bed, actually.  I’ll—I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Steve blinked back at him, wide-eyed, and Billy hung up, yanking the pillow over his head with a groan.  

His text alert—it was the treasure chest noise from one of Max’s Zelda games—made its ting ting ting noise, and he lifted the pillow to look.  Sleep well, Steve had sent.  I miss you.  

Billy nearly called him back, staring at the words, and then sat up and yanked his stained t-shirt off.  He flung it into the corner with the other dirty laundry, and then sighed, and stumbled out of bed to gather it all up and stomp downstairs to the laundry room.  When he got there, he had no quarters, and he sat heavily against a washer, wiping his eyes, until the door creaked open, and it was Max, carrying the box of detergent.

“What gives,” she said suspiciously, and he shrugged.

“...just thought I’d do some laundry, y’know,” he said, laughing.  “I’m such a fucking slob.”

“Did he say something,” she bit out, shooting him a glare as she fed quarters into the machine.  

“...he didn’t,” Billy sighed, rolling his shoulders, and frowning around the laundry room.  “Stinks in here.”

“It’s apartment 312,” Max growled.  “She washes and lets it rot.  All the time.”

“Once I have my degree I’ll get us somewhere better,” Billy promised, wincing.  “Once I get a real job.”

“It’s not so bad,” Max told him, grabbing his wrist and hauling him back out.  “Come on, you don’t need to watch, that washer knows what it’s doing.”

“...didn’t look all that smart to me,” Billy told her as she drug him back upstairs, not because he desperately wanted to stick around smelling the sour, heavy funk of rotting laundry, but because Max was handling him again, like she was the adult.  “I bet I’m smarter than that washer.”

“I sure hope so,” Max told him, shoving him inside their apartment.  “You, uh…” she said, glancing up at him, and then frowning, and Billy tried to stop being an asshole.

“I’m fine, Max, play your game,” he told her, and she narrowed her eyes at him.  He opened his mouth to try and argue with her cutting look—proving he was actually not smarter than a washing machine, really—and his texts chimed again.  It was just a red heart emoticon, but Billy’s whole body warmed again at the thought of Steve sitting there for so long, typing and then deleting.  He started to send back a kissy face, and then realized it’d be obvious he wasn’t asleep, and Steve would call, and Billy groaned, mashing his face against his phone.  

“...is he being a dipshit?” Max asked, reaching up to grab his phone, and Billy stuck it in his pocket.  

“Get one out we can both play,” he told her, waving at the Xbox and dropping on the couch.  She grinned, delighted and a little evil, before rummaging around and returning with a selection of five.  They looked like little kid games, he thought, all bright colors, but it wasn’t like he needed to murder zombies, so he decided to let Max cheer him up.  He hummed thoughtfully, and let her lean in and advise—ruffling her hair to make her yell—before sitting elbow-to-elbow with her until nearly midnight, yelling insults at each other and at the screen.  

 Over the next few weeks, his most royal prince-ness kept texting, sending pictures of everything from a frog he found in a downspout licking its own eyeball to pictures of plasticine-covered dead people in a museum exhibit.  There were rows and rows of people posed like they were playing tennis, or crouching, their skin peeled back to show musculature.  

I’m in Germany…said the text, with a picture of Steve posing with a horse whose skin and muscles rippled out like its mane.  “#notaserialkiller” he sent, immediately after.  

tell that to the horse judge, Billy sent back, grinning.

“Who is this guy,” Max asked, leaning her sharp little chin on his shoulder as Billy flipped his phone so she couldn’t see the screen.  He tried to tuck it into his Trig textbook, and it slid out.  “Your Uber fare?”

“He’s, uh, he’s not the kind of guy I usually date,” Billy said, swallowing, and thinking about his last ‘date’ before Steve, who he’d never seen in daylight.  Billy’d awoken—hungover, late to class, on the floor, with his head pillowed on the remains of a half-eaten six-foot Subway sandwich, and a used condom stuck to his thigh—to Max’s unimpressed glower.  He tried to imagine Steve’s clothes on his apartment floor.  A crown on his bedside table.  “He, uh.  He’s a good tipper.”

“That’s a good sign,” Max told him, blowing into his hair as she sighed, her weight against his back, watching the microwave rattle its way through heating her Hot Pocket.  She leaned to flip the phone over—My Prince, it proclaimed.  Three missed calls.

“He’s a nice guy,” Billy told her, trying to grab his phone back.  “He’s too nice, probably.  Calls me his bad idea.”

“If he calls you a bad idea,” she enunciated carefully, through gritted teeth, “—he’s not nice.”

“No, he’s—it’s not—” Billy groaned, then scrambled to try and snatch the phone back from his sister as she hit redial.  “Give it back,” he growled, and she raised her eyebrows, knowing he wouldn’t so much as step towards her angry, since—since they’d written everything down, how much he’d drink, and when, and how often he’d see his therapist, and came up with rules about when he was angry.  “Max,” he hissed, through his teeth, and she smiled her widest fake smile and turned away to talk on the phone.

“Yeah, hey, it’s Billy’s sister,” she said.  “Oh, gee, did I wake you up?”

“No, no, no,” Billy muttered, trying to block her in around the table, so he could grab the phone, but she paced away, keeping the table between them.

“Your bad idea has a sister, didja know?  Oh?  Huh.  Yeah, shut the hell up now.  How come you’re giving my brother shit when he calls you his prince, huh?”

It sounded like Steve just said “Uhhhh,” and Max growled just like her brother.  

“You got money?” she asked sweetly, and Billy slid across the table and grabbed for the phone.  She grabbed his little finger and bent it, making him spin in place to face the wall, cursing the self-defense he’d taught her.  “Yeah?  Okay, how come you’re snogging my brother in bowling alley bathrooms?  How come he’s secret, huh?  You in the closet?”

“Max, stop,” Billy hissed, but she’d frozen in place, and dropped Billy’s hand to grab the phone with both of hers.  

“...I don’t know!” she sort of whisper-yelled, and he started laughing.

“What,” she whispered, and Billy started to snicker.  “What are you—what?!”

“Give him back!”  Billy whispered.  “He’s a prince, right?!”

“I don’t know where he wants to go!” she hissed into the phone, waving Billy off.  “But you should ask him!”

“Give him back,” Billy begged.  “Max!”

“Fine!” she yelled, slapping the phone into Billy’s hand.  

He could hear Steve laughing.  Billy took a relieved breath, and held it to his ear.  “Glad you’re still there.”

“Your sister loves you so much,” Steve told him, and Billy glared after her.

“Loves making fun of me, maybe—”

“She’s right, no, she’s right, pick somewhere you’d like to go, okay?  I should take you someplace nice.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Billy told him, with a snort.  “I seriously don’t care.”

“No, no, look, I found this restaurant, it’s like.  There are knights.  They fight each other.  On horses.  We could bring her?”

“...what,” Billy mumbled, blinking.

“It’s, um, it’s a medieval...kind of thing.  Would she like it?”

“Death-match dining?  Fuck yeah.”

“Okay,” Steve took a slow breath.  “Okay.”

“...why you so worried, Prince Harrington?” Billy laughed.  “You want my little sister to like a restaurant, Mister Royal?  My Stevie Wonder?” Billy asked, feeling over-warm again, even next to the air conditioner.

“What?!” Steve laughed.  “She’s important to you,” he said, sounding a litle confused, and Billy started laughing, not even because anything was funny, just his stupid feelings leaking out everywhere.  

“Okay,” he whispered.  “Okay, yeah.”

“I, uh,” Steve said, and cleared his throat.  “Um.  So.  Nancy and Barb are having their honeymoon later, next—next year, they wanted to know if, uh.  Uh, um.”

“Want me to suggest words?” Billy laughed.  “I can just say words, tell me when I hit the right one.  ‘Chickadee’ is a word, is that any help?”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Steve said, but it sounded like he was smiling.  “Darn you.  They wanted to know if we want to...drive and meet them.  Road trip.  Thought I’d be your Uber fare again.”

“...you...what?” Billy mumbled.  “You want me to…”

“We can fix it so you don’t miss too much class,” Steve wheedled.  “They just need to know your schedule.  Max could come.”  There was a pause, and then he talked really fast, all in one breath.  “Lot of Uber fare, there.  I mean, if you’re—if you’re afraid of missing work.  You don’t have to come though, it’s okay—”

“No, I—” Billy swallowed, dry-mouthed, imagining—how long?!  At least a week?!  Of sharing hotel rooms with his prince.  “I—yes.  Yeah.  I wanna go, yeah—”

“Hey,” Steve said, and stopped, and Billy shut his eyes.

“—if you want me to,” he said quickly, wiping his suddenly-sweaty hand on his jeans.  “—if you’re not just—you don’t have to—” he tried to take a silent deep breath.  “Don’t have to see me if you don’t want to—”

“Babe, babe, no,” Steve told him.  “Come on, take a breath, okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, and did, holding his phone with both hands so it wouldn’t shake.

“Billy Hargrove,” Steve said, “—you know you’re not a bad idea, right?”

“I’m your bad idea,” Billy told him, laughing, and wiping his nose.  

“No, no, no—no, I didn’t—I never meant—you’re a good idea.  Billy.  You’re such a good idea.”

“Bullshit,” Billy whispered, laughing.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, and the phone went kind of staticky, like he took it away from his ear.  Billy could hear his voice speaking...some language.  He’d have to see whether they offered Greek or Danish classes at the college, he thought, listening.  When Steve’s voice came back, he was still mumbling in definitely-not-English.

“Need to call me back?” Billy asked.

“What?!  No!  I need to—I just didn’t—augh,” Steve groaned.  “Look.  Puttemus.  You are a good idea.  Leaving my wedding to go bowling without calling anyone was a bad idea.  Taking a stranger to my hotel for sex was a bad idea.  I—ag—argh, Billy.  I did—I did that because I was upset, and—”

“Are you...swearing at me?” Billy asked, fascinated.  

Steve’s end of the call went staticy again, and Billy heard him roar—kind of pathetically, like a baby predator at the zoo.  “No!  You aren’t listening!”

“Oh, I’m listening,” Billy told him.  

“I’m so glad I met you,” Steve said hurriedly.  “Not someone, you.  I’m so—thank you for being there.  You made me feel better, I—” he started mumbling again, incomprehensibly, and Billy listened, smiling.  

“Need to learn more languages, don’t I?”

“...how will I mutter about how stupid I am if you can hear me,” Steve huffed.  “I’ll have to make up words.”

“...speak English,” Billy told him.  “I can’t tell you if you’re being a dumbass right now if I don’t understand.”

Steve took a deep breath.  “I—I think about you all the time.  Not just—not just you naked, I—I want to take you on a boat.  I want to watch you out on the water, let you relax.  In—in the sun.  I want—” he stopped, taking a shaky breath.  “—I want you with me.  I want you here, I know that isn’t—possible always, but I want that—”

Billy was doing his breathing exercises, holding it in for a few seconds, letting it out, not because he felt bad, but he was feeling a lot.

“I’m yours,” he laughed.  “I-I mean, as much as you want me.  I need to be here for Max, but…”

Steve groaned.  “I want to see you.  Damn it.”

Billy trotted to his room, and hit video call as he dropped to lie back across his bed.  “Hey,” he whispered as Steve answered, frowning intently at his phone in a flurry of feedback noises.  

The tall white arches around him blurred as he walked quickly down a hall, then sat against the wall under some huge portrait with a gold frame.  He sighed.  “No, this is worse, look at you.”

“I can’t see my own face, my eyeballs don’t work like that,” Billy said, licking his lips—he could try to be sexy, he thought, running his fingers slowly down his face to try and look seductive while checking for mustard—and Steve leaned out of frame, muttering in a language Billy didn’t understand.

“I want to see you, not just...see you,” Steve muttered, and Billy snorted a laugh.

“Well, I can’t fly to Europe,” Billy told him, “—so this is what you get.”

“I can’t kiss you like this,” Steve huffed, and Billy laughed, punching the pillow up behind his head.

“I could put on a show,” he offered.  “Probably nothing that great—”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, then bit his lips, and frowned away.  “Uh.  Do—do you want to?”

“I got a couple hours,” Billy told him, trying not to squirm as his dick woke up in his jeans, and started feeling squished.  “You wanna watch me get off?”

“So much,” Steve groaned.  “Um, just a second, okay, I—I gotta make something up, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Steve—” Billy shouted, but the line was dead, and Billy had the sinking suspicion he always got with Steve Harrington, that Billy’s overeager dick was causing a war someplace.

The phone rang again, and Billy answered with “Don’t bail on your job just because I’m horny, christ—”

Steve laughed, his face lit mostly by the phone.  “Lynn’s covering for me,” he said, as Billy squinted.

“Are...are you in a storage closet, or something?”

“No, I am not in the closet, I told public relations about you, and they’re figuring out what to say,” Steve said cheerfully, as Billy stared at him.

“...what...what did you tell them,” he whispered.

“I told them I had a boyfriend, and they should be prepared for somebody taking pictures, or something,” Steve said.  “Why?  

The idea of being the boyfriend was new to Billy, and he stared back.  “...you tell people about me?” he asked softly, and Steve bit back a weird little spluttered laugh, grinning at him.  

“I tell everyone about you,” he whispered.  “I pick up my phone and everyone laughs and rolls their eyes, because I’m checking how long until I can call you, and if you’ve sent a text, everything stops until I send you hearts back.”

Billy, who’d been feeling a little dismissed when he’d ask a question, get a string of hearts, and no answer for five hours, groaned, smacking his hand over his face.  “Kinda thought you were telling me to fuck off,” he mumbled into his hand.

“Wha—no, I—why?!” Steve yelped, waving his hands, one of which contained his phone, so everything whirled.  

“You didn’t actually answer, I dunno, I just—”

“I can answer faster!  I’ll answer faster,” Steve told him, grimacing.  “I’m sorry—”

“No!”  Billy laughed.  “No, now I know what the hearts mean, I mean—you’re just busy.”

“I’m busy and I l-like you,” Steve told him, a little clumsy over his words, for somebody who probably had a speech coach.  “And I wish I wasn’t busy.  But I’m checking my phone, because if you need me I’m not busy, not for you, I just don’t know whether—”

“Relax, your highness,” Billy told him, grinning.  “It’s cute.”

“I’m never ignoring you, you’re too distracting,” Steve said, his eyes narrowed, and Billy laughed.

“You still wanna see me strip down?” he asked, cocking his head against the pillow, and Steve laughed.  

“More than almost anything, I just wish I could touch—” 

“Mmmm,” Billy said, taking the zipper of his hoodie between two fingers, and dragging it slowly down his body, his hand flat.  “Maybe you better hurry back and do that, then.”

“God, I wish I could,” Steve whispered, as Billy reached back up to slowly pull one side of his open sweatshirt off his chest, revealing his grotty t-shirt, washed until it was the greyish color all t-shirts eventually ended up.  “...you look so soft,” Steve whispered.  “Is that t-shirt as soft as it looks?”

“...what,” Billy said, having frozen at the word soft, because he’d been drinking less beer, and he’d thought he’d prevented his developing beer gut, but then Steve looked at his stomach—“My...t-shirt?”

“Your t-shirt,” Steve breathed, “—and your hoodie.  You look so soft, I want to squeeze you.”

“Soft,” Billy repeated, unimpressed.  “Soft?!”

“Oh, he thinks he’s hard,” Steve laughed.  “Only your dick, babe.”

“The man who was that disappointed he couldn’t get a buffalo wings plushie does not get to lecture me about being soft—” Billy told him, growling, but Steve laughed.

“I just wanted a souvenir.  I kept a coaster.”

“...you what,” Billy muttered, disbelieving.

“I kept a coaster,” Steve said cheerfully.  “From our first date.  At the bowling alley.”

“You what...took it back home with you?” Billy asked, sneering a little, but he could feel how wide his eyes were.  

“If I can’t drink my Billy, I’ll at least—” Steve began, slyly, but Billy started laughing so hard he stopped.  

“If you’re so thirsty, how come you’re telling me I’m soft instead of seeing the evidence otherwise,” Billy asked, still snickering.  He held the phone out to show the lump of his dick in his jeans.

Steve shut up quite respectfully after that, and Billy got to finally tease him with the slow zipper reveal.  “Put your hands everywhere,” Steve whispered.  “Pretend they’re mine.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Billy told him, waggling his fingers.  “Where d’you want to touch me...your highness?”

“...everywhere,” Steve said again, his brain taking a second to catch up, and then, “Oh, ah, touch—push your jeans down, I can’t see.”

Billy snorted softly, thinking maybe he needed to try and get...something sexier, to have on already, when this kind of thing happened.  He couldn’t always be wearing stained, stretched-out cotton.  He sat the phone aside—Steve yelped—and shimmied out of his old saggy jeans, and then grimaced down at the holes along the elastic waistband of his briefs, and yanked those off too.  The threadbare t-shirt went next, he pulled it off over his head, and then ran his fingers through his hair, wishing cologne worked through the phone, or that he’d shaved.  “Prince tames wild jungle beast,” he muttered, glaring into the mirror over his dresser in the dim light.  “—suspected to be time traveling caveman.”

“Billy?!” came Steve’s voice, laughing, and Billy groaned, scooping it up, and dropping back to lie on the bed.  

“Should I get like a...g-string, or something,” Billy blurted out, angling the phone so Steve could see his hard dick, which was looking stellar, he thought, surrounded by the red marks from his jeans, on a body that hadn’t gone tanning in recorded history.  

Steve bit back a laugh.  “A  what?” he asked.

“You know, those stripper wedgies,” Billy said, frowning.  “Instead of my stretched-out gray cotton undies…”

“Are they comfortable?” Steve kind of wheezed, and Billy rolled his eyes.  

“I feel like I need to up my game, what with all your...everything,” he said, waving at his prince’s gleaming medals.  “Look, my dick’s sprung a leak,” he growled, pointing at it smearing pre-come over his belly, and feeling his face flush as Steve made a weird swallowed moaning noise.  

“I’m honored,” Steve said, in a strangled voice, and Billy couldn’t help it, he started cackling.  “Billy,” Steve said, softly, and Billy’s dick bounced.  Billy smacked his hand down over it, blushing hotter.  “...you don’t need a G-strip,” Steve said, and Billy laughed harder.  “Billy,” Steve whispered again, and Billy’s cock jerked again, and Billy curled onto his side he was laughing so hard.  “Billy,” Steve groaned, but he was laughing too.  “I love your clothes,” he said, and Billy tried to shut up and listen, shaking with snickers, and wiping his eyes.  “You feel good.  My clothes are scratchy—”

“Your clothes are fucking silk,” Billy told him, grinning.  “Don’t try and tell me you’re always in that stupid uniform, highness.”

“Every time I see you in your soft shirts I want to hold you,” Steve breathed, and Billy swallowed back a soft grunt at the thought of the crown prince of anywhere wanting to put hands on him.  “I want to slide my hands up underneath.”

“Now you’re talking,” Billy said, grinning, rubbing his thumb over the wetness at the tip of his dick.  

“I can’t touch you from here,” Steve said, softly, and Billy sighed, then, reluctantly, took his hand off his cock, and scraped his fingernails down his chest, and up his abs.  Steve sounded like he choked.  

His big brown eyes looked deeper in the shadowy light of the storage closet, and Billy watched him stare, licking his lips.  Billy rolled back onto his back, smoothing the flat of his hand up his thigh, and over his belly to grip himself on the ribs in a one-armed hug, and Steve made a soft noise in his throat.  “Cristos,” he muttered.  

“You’re so easy,” Billy laughed.  

“Only for you, malaka,” Steve laughed, and he sounded so fond Billy flushed hot, staring at his face, and repeating the word in his head, wondering what he’d just been called.  “...with only the light from your mobile, it looks like candlelight.”

Billy laughed, feeling a little gooey, like one of those chocolate cakes that were melted inside.  He tried not to squirm, panting as Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “Yeah, sure, blue candlelight—”

“I wish I could kiss you,” Steve said softly.  “Lean over you, slide my hand down to thumb over your cock.”

“Jesus,” Billy panted, gripping himself as instructed, his dick hard as a rock in his hands.  

“If I was actually there I’d put my mouth over it,” Steve huffed, and Billy groaned, licking his hand so he could jack himself.  His feet started to cramp, he was clenching them so hard, trying not to just jizz all over himself at the sound of his prince’s voice, and he shifted, trying to take deep breaths.  “Suck you down,” Steve whispered.

Billy came over his fingers, panting, and Steve sighed.  

“...I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.  “Sorry I had to leave, I mean, I’d...I’d just met you, and—thanks for waiting for me, Billy.”

“...there’s not really a long line of people beating down my door,” Billy mumbled, curling up, and pulling the blanket over himself as the breeze from the fan over his sweat made him shiver.

“Thank you for waiting,” Steve said again, softly.  “I want to kiss you as soon as I can.”

 Two months later, Billy was paying bills, while Max hovered around saying things like “I don’t really have to go on school trips, they can’t make me,” and “These sneakers are fine.”  When he was done, there was just enough money to pay rent, the water bill, and send Max on the trip with some food money, and Billy folded forward on the table, dropping his face with a thud among the envelopes.  His heart was pounding.  “...maybe some new shoes next time,” he mumbled, and Max kicked his chair.  

“These are fine,” she said stoutly, and he eyed the frayed, greying converses where they sat next to the duct tape.  She’d started just wrapping the whole shoe every couple of weeks, and they smelled horrible in the summer heat.  “It’s so hot the tape kinda sticks to the sidewalks,” she said, like that wasn’t depressing, and then, “—and I know they’ve got no traction now, so I’m more careful on the stairs,” which was worse.

“...yeah,” he sighed.  

“...this prince of yours,” she said, and he smiled automatically.

“Yeah?”

“...you trust him, right?”

Billy opened his eyes, frowning at her, and she shrugged, biting her lips.  “...yeah, I trust him,” he said, feeling his stomach twist a little—he trusted Steve to act like Steve, but Billy couldn’t help wondering at what point his life would wear Steve to the end of his patience.  “What d’you mean, Max?”

She stared back for a long moment, then bit her lips.  “...nothing.”

“Why are you asking?” Billy asked, trying to think of what she could have seen, passing through while he and Steve played League of Legends.  

“Nothing, moron, shut up, he’s so into you, stop freaking out.”

“O-okay,” he said, burying his face in his arms to hide his grin.  

“God, stop,” she sighed, but she was gentle as she punched his shoulder on the way by. 

My other Harringrove stuff

[kittyspring-creates]

Yan boys war.

A story for my senpai @killemwithkawaii from the prov of a genderless s/o. Warning for kidnapping mild sexual content, don’t interact if under 18 please.

Dear diary this is a story of how my ordinary life became not so ordinary. It begins with two separate kidnappings. One in the day behind the laundromat and one at night during, guiltily a midnight snack run.

I remember the day starting out like any other, coffee, smoke, one egg like I like it. And glaring at my basket of laundry over flowing. Laundry day was always the worst. Having to lug that thing three blocks over to the closest public laundromat cause the washing machine in the building is busted. It was always embarrassing having everyone staring at my clothes as I separate my delicates.

I was blushing and trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on me as I threw stuff into the washer, boxers, old panties and new ones. I tried not to look around but I couldn't help it. When I looked around no one was looking at me. I do remember seeing a flash of blue though but I thought it was light spots from turning my head to quickly. I turned back to my basket, It still felt like someone was watching me.

I did my best to finish up and start the machine. Sitting in front of the washer so I could watch it go and no one would have a chance to take my things. I always had that weird fear. Watching was boring so I listened to the semi quiet place. There was machines whirling, peoples foot steps, and a radio playing in the background. As the noises blended I noticed an odd one. A weird muring coming from the back door. No one else seems to hear it. But now that I noticed it I couldn't unhear it. The sound became louder then anything else. I couldn't ignore it so I got up and fallowed it, cautiously to the back door. It said employee exit only but the sound made me worried. It sounded like an animal. I looked around the place before turning the nob and slowly walking out into the ally. It smelt like garbage and piss. As soon as I stepped out the noise stopped.

It was weird, I looked around but I didn't see anything. So I turned back to the door to find it locked. I sighed in annoyance then a large hand covered my face and all I could smell was chemicals. I reached back at who ever and managed to grab something and tug. But it didn't do anything other then make the person groan. It was the last thing I remember before everything blurred together and became dark.

I woke up in a dark room with a very loud fan. My mind was kind of hazy but when I felt my arms restrained behind me with...Ya that felt like duck tape. Even smelt like it. The room reminded me of all those movies about survival choices and no I didn't wanna play a game. I sat up as best as I could. "Murder room I'm in a murder room" I shouted, the sound echoing off the walls.

My capture appeared seemingly our of nowhere, his blue pigtails bouncing around as he popped up. "Murder? oh angel never, your to precious- oof" the man was quick to come near me and he tripped over himself. Falling on me and lodging something across the room. I looked over to see this thing laying there with black straps on it. But I didn't get a chance to really look at the object as the man began to move. I looked down at him as my heart jumped. He looked up at me with the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. His face looked like an open wound with red skin and white scars scattered everywhere, no nose and pieces of his brow missing. I swallowed hard at the sight and uttered something without thinking. "My god your gorgeous."

He blinked at me for a second then smiled wide almost splitting his face. And heaven help me I thought it was adorable. "Really" he asked and all I could do was nod. He got closer, basically sitting in my lap. "I don't scare you" he asked and all I could do was squeak. I mean ya he scares me, he kidnapped me and now I don't know what he's gonna do. He chuckled though, so deeply it made my face heat up. "My angel, you don't know what that does to me" he whispered with a shaky voice against my ear. Again heaven help me cause instead of my fear spiking those words went down south. I felt his lips move from my ear to my neck, feeling the rough scar tissue as he kissed me. I whimpered and he seemed to purr. "Wh-what-" I tried to ask but my voice was suck in my throat.

I got my answer though when he bit me. Sinking his teeth into my shoulder as he grinded closer. I tensed when I felt something hard against my lap. I clinched my teeth, trying not to make a noise cause for some insane reason I sorta liked it. The man pulled back from the mark he left on me. He was so flushed with this desire in his eyes so intense, I swear his pupils were hearts. He sighed with a large smile on his face "you set me on fire (y/n)." He sounded so happy by it "o-Oh sorry" I stuttered like an idiot. But he chuckled then smashed our lips together. So that's why he didn't gag me.

That's the first story. I passed out from I don't know what and woke up at home, covered in hickeys. With my laundry basket placed neatly in my room. It scared me cause that meant the man knew where I lived and knew how to get in. But what scared me even more was how arousing that fact was.

******

About a week after the kidnapping and possible theft cause I swear some of my underwear is missing. I was nervous/ frightened, I had barely slept all week. So I did the one thing I knew would calm me down, Smoked a joint and took a sleeping pill. And that always made me hungry so I left, on shaky legs to grab some snacks. The store next door had the best subs at midnight and some how the milk tasted better to. So before it all kicked in I got my sub and milk then left. Now I was pretty high but I remember this bike alone in the parking lot. And laughing cause there was this sticker on it from watchman. I started laughing cause that movie was just the best. As I was laughed I felt a strong hand on my neck and I was pulled. I sorta clunked out for a second but I opened my eyes to see the ground moving. Then I blinked and The cement was now dirt, blinking again all I saw was bent wood.

I blinked again and this time I actually took in my surroundings. Just hazy brown, till I started noticing a fire place. I moved to try and rub my eyes but I felt my arms being pulled back. I looked up to see my arms were ducked taped to a support beam of wherever I was. My head hurt like hell. I groaned as I tugged at the tape, to no avail for escape. Then a sharp noise reached my ears and I looked around. There sitting on the other side of the cabin in an old chair was a man. He was tall, spilled out of the chair. He had ripped jeans and a leather jacket full of pins and patches. He smiled, more of a smirk actually, showing off a space between his front teeth. Ok I'd be lying if it wasn't totally hot in a Stockholm syndrome kind of way. He slowly stood up from the chair and I noticed the knife in his hand. Oh fuck, I panicked.

He looked me over, hungerly as he licked his lips. His boots echoed through out the room as he walked over to me. Playing with his knife he began to talk. "You slept for awhile my dear. naughty, naughty taking those sleeping pills. But it did make this much easier" he chuckled darkly. His voice wasn't as deep as the other mans but it was raspier. I swallowed as I shook, This man wasn't clumsy or over zealous like the other I realized. I tried again to get out of he restraints. But the man didn't seem to care, He kicked away my legs and settled in between them. His long brown hair spilling over his shoulders as he leaned closer to me. I stopped squirming when I felt the cold blade touch my skin. Oh god he was gonna stab me. His smile grew "I love that look in your eyes, so afraid." He dragged the knife across my shoulder, only cutting my shirt. He gripped my thigh hard, really hard "It makes me wild" he finished. Then slammed our lips together, actually slammed my head hit the support beam.  

He leaned back seeming satisfied but I was more afraid then ever, This man was so rough. "So afraid, you never looked more beautiful my love...heh well maybe covered in my marks you will" and with that he tore my shirt with the knife completely exposing my shoulder and neck. He leaned down to do as he said but stopped. He stared at my shoulder, which still had the healing bruises from the other guy that kidnapped me. The mans smile was gone "So Sally made a move did he, heh he can be so possessive" the man smiled as he moved the knife down my body. He settled the blade against my inner thigh, what a time to be wearing pj shorts. Blasted comfort the size of boxers. "But here's a secret so can I"

My heart jumped as the tall man moved down, he pushed my leg down and raised my other one. Wait what happened to the knife he had just a second ago. "I bet he never touched you here did he, such a gentleman" the man chuckled as he squeezed my thigh. I watched as he turned that wicked smile away from me and bit into my thigh. I gasped, loudly. Truthfully I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. How rough the man was with me as he pushed my limbs around, biting and squeezing. Leaving his own marks all over my thighs. I know I was beat red from the attention and my throat hurt from how much I was trying to keep my voice down.

The man sat up and spread my legs more, marveling at his work. "So beautiful" he told. I wondered if he'd go any further then this, the other guy didn't I don't think. "Makes me want to fuck you sore" I gulped as he leaned closer to my face. "But the times not right, I want to make you beg for it" I'd be lying if my genitals didn't scream right there and then. Stupid hormones. The man kissed me again, knocking my head back against the beam again. He was really rough. He pulled back with a satisfied smirk on his lips "I can't wait for him to see these, I wonder how violent he'll get". He chuckled as he pressed his thumbs into the sensitive area of my thighs. I didn't even know his name. But now I knew the other guys, Sally.

Of course I woke up at home safe and puzzled on how I got there. So this is my two kidnapping stories and one by one these boys will either abduct me or break into my place. Surprisingly not at the same time but I know they know each other and this is a competition.

[copias-thrall]

But Can You Hang?

⬅️Previous

Another milestone—will Suey pass or fail?

“It’s just some beers with my crew. Kinda a pre-New Year’s thing, but smaller. I still gotta work and shit later.”

You hadn’t even been home 24hrs before Mary was banging through your door. You’d all but collapsed the night before, shooting off a text to Mary warning him against disturbing you upon pain of death. He’d kept to the letter of the law, if not the spirit.

Christmas had been fun but full—complete with a Christmas Eve ice storm that had knocked out the power and left the lot of you to drink all the supplies by candlelight before huddling into a pile of sleeping bags and blankets for warmth. Christmas Day had been a mess of transferring food from the fridge into the snow and sledding down the frozen street hill on cardboard boxes, trying not to sustain any life-threatening injuries. Power had come on just before dusk, and it had been someone’s bright idea to turn the oven up to max to cook the partially defrosted turkey faster. That had ended with a kitchen full of smoke and a bird that was blackened on the outside and still frozen on the inside. In the end, you’d all chipped in for a traditional spread of Chinese takeout. All-in-all, it was three days of shenanigans and drinking (and subtle digs at you for “settling down”), and the morning of the fourth was filled with painkillers and regret.

The drive back was quiet while you all contemplated your poor life decisions and passed around the pickle juice. When you got back to your place, you’d dumped your stuff by the couch and crawled immediately into bed.

“Ok,” you say as you try to sort through your pile of mail. Mary had finally taken a firm stand(“If this mountain falls on me one more time, I’m burning it, Suey.” “Don’t touch my things!” “Then deal with them!”). He’d come over the other week with a metal mail organizer that has seen better days (“Did you pick this out of the trash?” “Naw. I got it from my buddy Big Stevie. He might have got it from the trash.”), so you’ve been making an effort to deal with your inbox.

Since the couch has been commandeered by piles of envelopes, Mary leans against the wall. “It’ll only be for a couple of hours.”

“Ok,” you say again, absently—you’re trying to discern if this one particular item is junk or one of those clandestine correspondences from your bank.

“So ….”

“So have fun.” You rip the envelope open with your nail file and—ta da! Junk mail. At the lack of response from Mary, you look up. He’s giving you an unreadable look. “What? Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound so short. I really don’t mind if you want to go drink with your friends. I hope you don’t think you need to ask my permission …”

Mary presses his fingers into his eyes.

“I’m not asking permission, you daft cow—I’m asking you to come with me.”

“Oh.”

When you don’t continue, he tries again. “So: do you want to come with me? Meet my friends before the party and all?”

You look down at your lap covered in tattered paper.

Your brain catches up to what he’s saying, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You hear the paper crumple in your hands when you say, “This is a meet your friends thing?”

“Uh, yeah?” He squints at you.

You make an agitated noise in your throat, and you begin to stack your letters back together. Mary throws out his hands.

“What are you doing?!”

“Jesus, Mary—I look like death warmed over and I feel like a mealy potato. A little fucking warning would have been nice. Now I have to perform magic.”

"You were so close!” he whines as you drop the pile back in the place mail goes to die.

You stomp to your room and slam the door shut so that you can rifle through the clothes on the hook. It’s a surprise when the door opens and you’re beaned in the face.

“Ow, FUCK.”

“Oh shit, sorry!”

“Why didn’t you knock?!” you say as you rub your nose.

“I—because … why were you just standing behind the door?!”

Glaring at him, you gesture at the clothes. His eyes follow your hand.

“Oh.” He looks back and you and suddenly starts laughing.

“It’s not funny, asshole.”

He’s still chuckling when he leans over, grabbing your chin to tilt up your face.

“Hmm.” He pretends to examine your face, eyes darting around to assess the damage.

“Well, will I live, doctor?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll be all right. Might need to amputate the nose, though.”

“That bad?”

“Yes. It’s terrible.”

“A lot of bruising, then?”

“It’s definitely an eyesore.”

You lean forward and stick your tongue into his nostril. Mary sputters out an Ack as he stumbles backwards away from you. He’s pulling at his nose and scrunching his face at you.

“Don’t be fucking weird.”

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please, Mary Goore” you say, as you go back to rifling through your options, tossing choices onto your bed. Mary wanders over and reclines on your bed; he paws through your discards and occasionally holds one up to himself. You settle on a graphic tee that you altered into a halter and a denim miniskirt; you shimmy out of your loungewear and then into the mini.

Suddenly Mary presses himself into your back and pins you against your door. His hand slips down the curve of your ass and under your skirt, fingers pressing on your perineum. You gasp.

“Mmm, I like this skirt very much.” He massages you. “Can I fuck you in it?”

“But—oh fuck—but your friends …?” You press back into him and feel his erection on your ass.

“My friends know I live on Mary Standard Time—now: can I fuck you. In this skirt?”

He leans down to suck a bruise into your neck as his other hand wraps around to squeeze at a nipple. You groan, then turn around so you suck his lips into your mouth. He hums an Mmm into your kiss, and you make quick work of undoing his jeans and shoving them down his legs. The two of you fumble until you’ve got your legs and arms wrapped around him and he’s got his arms hooked under your thighs, pressing you against the door. He lets an arm go and quickly maneuvers his dick inside you.

“Oh fuck … oh fuck,” he chants when the tip enters you.

You cry out, “Oh shit—slowly, Mare.”

He looks up at you, face red and body trembling. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you say, “just not so fast—I’m not … I wasn’t …”

“Yeah, ok—sorry.”

He rocks his pelvis slowly, easing himself deeper into you inch by inch with every thrust. His forehead is pressed to yours.

“You feel so good. So wet around my cock. Your fucking cunt—so tight.”

You moan at his words as he continues to ease his cock in and out of you.

“Fucking love how you give me your cock, Mary.”

Mary starts to speed up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You like my fucking cock inside you?”

“Fucking fills me up so good.”

His mouth finds yours, and he presses his tongue into you gracelessly. With every increasing thrust of his hips, you can hear the door jolt against its hinges. All you can really do is koala onto him tight as he struggles to fuck into you. Without warning, he turns and tosses you onto your bed. You bounce once as he’s shucking off his jeans and then crawling over you and guiding himself back inside.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

You do, and he straightens himself up onto his knees, his one hand reaching down to thumb at your pulsing clit. He starts pumping into you again, and you reach your arms behind you to brace yourself.

“Wanna see it,” he pants. “Wanna see your face when you cum around my cock. Wanna see you come undone because of me.” There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice.

“So eager to please me, Mary” you purr. “Such a good boy. Is my good boy going to make me cum?”

Mary whines low in his throat. He slows his thrusts, shifting around until you moan when he hits your G-spot. He concentrates on that spot as he uses your slick to slip slide his thumb on your ever-hardening clit. You’re breathing out oh my god oh my god oh my god.

“Fucking. Hand me your vibrator—I want you to squirt all over me.”

You loll your head around until you can see where your vibrator is poking out from under your pillow. You grapple behind you until you’ve got a hold of it. Mary all but tears it from your grasp as you offer it to him. You’re about to remind him what settings you like, when he just turns it on and places it directly on your clit.

“OH FUCKING SHIT,” you cry out as the stimulation is ramped up to 100—and then your pussy explodes in hot burts. You feel the telltale trickle as you do indeed squirt messily all over his cock before jerking away from the overstimulation.

You lose a little time as you wait for the pulsating throb between your legs to calm down, but tune back in easily enough when you feel the splatter of Mary’s cum on your nethers.

You lazily gaze up at him as he finishes squeezing every last drop from his cock—the pink of his cockhead disappearing and reappearing in his fist. When he’s satisfied, his whole body slumps, and then he’s flopping down beside you, practically trying to merge with you as he presses his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Oh fuck, that was so hot.”

He’s grabbing at your curves and biting along your shoulder. You tolerate it for the moment, scritching at his scalp.

"Mmm … very good. Thank you.”

He sighs, and one of his hands brushes over your still-hard nipples. If he keeps that up, you guys will never leave, so you sit up, jostling his hand away.

“Shit,” you say, looking down at yourself and the bed.

“What?”

“Nothing, just—this skirt and basically everything on my bed are toast.”

Mary follows your gaze. “Oh,” he says, but he’s smiling wickedly at you.

You roll off the bed and begin to tug off your skirt.

“Ok, Mr. Way-Too-Pleased-With-Himself—since I have to shower, you can deal with shoving these in the washer.”

Mary pouts at you even as he’s making movements toward stripping your bed.

“A shower?! We’re running late, you know. Can’t you just—wipe off?”

You give him a mean lemon face.

He grins at you.

* * *

Because half your passable outside clothes got slimed in your and Mary’s amorous interlude, you had a limited wardrobe to pick from. You ended up in a shapeless, cream knit-tunic dress—which you had to dye brown with a tea wash due to the numerous stains (can’t take you anywhere)—paired with a wide belt, grey argyle tights, and your peeling docs.

You’re giving him Grump Face, but he’s just beaming at you.

“I’m not sorry. And you look hot. Stop fussing.”

He ushers you into his neighborhood dive bar, a light hand at the small of your back. You’ve definitely been here before—never in context with Mary—usually as a stop on a bar crawl. It’s an old man pub during the day and a punk go to after hours. Mary steers you toward a high-top where there are maybe 5 people congregating with various levels of beer consumption. They’re all on the punk scale—ranging from dirty gutter punk to clean & stylized.

When they see Mary, they all perk up. There are high-fives and back slaps and hugs. Mary steps back and introduces you to everyone—you’re so intent on smiling normally and not like The Joker that you immediately forget everyone’s name.

“So you do exist,” says the woman with perfect winged eyeliner and a mustard beanie.

“Unfortunately,” you quip, and they give you a polite chuckle.

There are a few more careful questions about you before the conversation turns to one of familiar friends rehashing old grounds. Mary is happy, at ease, content to give as good as he gets. You’re content to sip your beers and do a round of shots as they joke and gripe at each other. There’s not much you can do to contribute—it’s not like you were there the night they got pissed and decided to egg cop cars, or have any point of reference for what Ed looked like when he burned half his scalp and a chunk of his hair fell out after he ignored the at-home bleach kit instructions. But Mary’s arm drapes over your shoulders like a letterman jacket, and you’ve rooted your hand firmly in one of his back pockets—a firm statement of inclusion.

Kara (much less makeup and in a ratty tee and jeans) and Elsie (mustard beanie), have gone to get another round of shitty lite beer, when you beg off to visit the ladies' room.

“You ok?” Mary mummers in your ear.

“Other than having to pee like a racehorse, I’m peachy,” you retort.

He sends you off with a playful slap to your ass.

A dive bar bathroom is a dive bar bathroom is a dive bar bathroom—but this one doesn’t reek too bad. You slip into a stall, happy to relieve the pressure on your bladder. You suddenly become aware that Kara and Elsie are in the big stall; you wonder if you should say something, but you’re 100% sure the 3 of you aren’t at bathroom stalls-level of friendship yet. So you just do your business.

You’re rethinking your decision when it’s clear their discussion turns to you.

“So what do you think of her?”

“Mary’s so-called girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

The toilet flushes.

“Mmm. She’s ok, I guess. Seems nice enough.”

“Yeah, she seems totally sweet.”

“But … ”

“Yeah.”

The stall’s door lock clicks, and it opens.

“Like, a nice girl—but what’s she doing with Mary?”

“Yeah, I don’t get … them.”

“I was expecting … I dunno. Apparently she’s supposed to be this big-ass bitch, and … I just don’t see it?”

The faucets turn on.

“Right?! Exactly! She’s kinda … ?”

“… mousey?”

“I mean—for Mary, anyway. He’s kinda a handful. I love him to death—you know I do—but he’s obsessed with keeping his dick wet. Can you really see her … ?”

The automatic driers turn on.

“I mean, whatever. If he’s happy. Maybe there are hidden depths.”

“Oh absolutely. As long as he’s happy. And if she can hang, whatever.”

The driers stop.

“Maybe we just gotta get her loosened up! More shots!”

The creak of the bathroom door as it opens.

“Yes! It’s always the quiet ones.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Mousey? Well, you’ll show them mousey.

Not wanting to come back immediately after them, you spend a little time primping in the corroded mirror. When you get back to the table, you note that Kara and Elsie are looking at you with wide eyes.

“Was gonna send a search party. Beginning to think you fell in!” says Mary as his arm comes back around you.

You smile widely at him. “You know how the lines are.”

“Pfft. Like you care about lines.” He turns to the group and grins. “That’s how we met, after all. Coming out of a stall in the men’s room”

“Whatever,” you sniff as you toss your hair. “You’d’ve been on my shit one way or another. Everyone knows you can’t resist a pair of big tits.”

Ed (green hair fins and a wardrobe like Mary’s—denim, patched and studded) does a spit take and Trevor (black beanie, striped shirt, and angel bite piercings) thumps him on the back a few times.

Mary mock gasps at you. “Suey! My delicate sensibilities!”

You grab your boobs and waggle them at him as you stick out your tongue.

“Hey! That’s my job!” Mary leers at you, and his hands lunge for your chest; you smack them away, hard. “Fuck, ow,” he yips as he shakes out his hand, but he’s smiling.

The group just looks on, bemused.

“Let’s get more shots,” you say to Mary. “I heard they can loosen you up.” You give the women across the table a wink.

Mary follows you without protest, raising his eyebrows when he realizes you’re tugging him toward the bathrooms.

“What’re you up to?”

You pull him in close and cup your hand around his junk.

“I want to give you a blow job.”

Mary’s chest rumbles. His hand clasps your wrist, but he doesn’t remove yours.

“Why?”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “You just got me thinking. Memory lane and all.”

He looks over his shoulder. “But my friends …”

You knead his balls, and his eyes close as he sways into you.

“Don’t you want me on my knees?” you murmur into his jawline. “Lips wrapped around your—”

“Fuck, Suey. You don’t play fair.”

“You know how much I love sucking your cock.”

“Shit. Yeah. Yeah.” He presses his semi into your hand. “Look what you’ve started. You fucking better suck me now.”

“Men’s room. Last stall. I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

He straightens up, and you watch him waddle stiffly to the restroom.

You hum the tune of a song you think is about 5min, and then you head to the men’s room. When you bang in, there’s a dude at the stalls who screams at you as he covers his dick.

“You can’t be in here!”

“Your dick’s not special!” you scream back.

When you open the door of the last stall, Mary’s standing there with his pants half down and his hard dick in his hand. You crowd into him, kissing him full and hard.

“Fuck. I’m gonna be in so much shit with my friends. Look at what you do to me.”

You bite his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth.

“They don’t think I can handle you. Think you’re gonna get your dick wet elsewhere. Are you gonna do that? Are you gonna do that when my mouth is pliant and ready?”

Mary’s hands come up to cup your face.

“Hey,” he says as he makes you meet his eyes. “I’m not gonna … I’m not gonna ‘wet my dick’ elsewhere. They don’t know everything.” He thumbs your lips, eyes hooded. “I love your sweet little mouth,” his eyes sweep back up to yours, “but I’m not here for that.”

You give his dick a squeeze and he grunts.

“Ok—you offered to suck me off, and I’m here for that … but in life, in general, that's not why I—not why you’re my baby doll.” His finger lightly taps the necklace pendant.

“I’m not boring,” you say as you mouth at him.

“Hey, hey hey—” he says as he clasps your roving hands. “Is this why we’re here?”

You lead one of his hands under your tunic and into your panties. You’re slick with excitement, and you want him to feel you; he lets out a soft Fuck.

“Maybe a little, but you also get me going when you’re all Mean Skeleton Mary,” you say as you drop to your knees.

Usually you play with Mary a little. Suckle and trace his tip in a tease before sucking him down whole. But now you’re in a time crunch, so you take him down as far as you can go in the first shot. He moans and grasps your hair. You deep throat him, and it’s a messy business—tears stream out your eyes as you gag and half choke on his dick—but you love the sounds he makes (short gasps and half-whispered swears) and the way his legs tremble. He lets you set the pace—his one hand resting on the back of your head and the other lightly petting your cheek—so you alternate between hollowing out your cheeks and swallowing around him, relishing whenever he lets out a Fuck.

Someone bangs on the door at some point, and Mary yells at them to fuck off, but otherwise the unofficial ettiquette seems to state that the other patrons let whomever the lucky bastard is get his.

When you can tell that he’s getting close, you maneuver his other hand onto your head to encourage him to fuck your face. “Fuck yeah,” he breathes as he grips tight into your hair and starts thrusting into your mouth—shallow at first, and then deeper as he gets his bearings. You relax your jaw, making glup glup glup noises as his cockhead hits the back of your throat. If you weren’t using your hands to brace yourself, you’d be working one between your legs to ease the growing throb there.

Mary’s panting hard now, and he lets out a grunt as he shoves your head down, holding you in place for a moment. You feel his dick throb, and then he’s yanking your head back up. You suck in some air and cough a little before he guides his dick back into your mouth. He slips his other hand down to hook his thumb in your mouth.

“Can I cum on your face?” he gasps as he continues to thrust into you. You hum around his cock, and he pulls out of your mouth, hand quickly jacking himself before his cum splatters hot and sticky on your face. Head back and eyes closed, he rubs his cockhead on your lips, and you suck him in again—relishing his groan as he cock gives another throb before softening in your mouth.

He pulls you up and kisses you (“Fuck, I’m covered in your jizz, Mare.” “I don’t give a shit.”) before using the bottom of his shirt to wipe off the both of you.

“What a gentleman.”

“Fuck you.”

His hand travels under your dress to press between your legs, and you sway into him with a breathy Ah.

“Shit—you’re practically soaked through.” His head dips to your neck. “Christ. I bet the whole bar could smell you.”

His hand is still pressing into you, and suddenly the thought of spending the rest of the night with this heaviness between your legs seems untenable. “Oh fuck! Touch me, Mare!”

His hand fumbles to work itself into your tights and panties as you find his mouth. You suck his tongue as the pad of his finger starts easily circling your clit, and you suck harder—fingers digging into his arms—as he flicks your nub then taps a morse code on it. As he does another round, you press into him, and he stumbles a bit until his back hits the grody tiles of the wall. You’re making little gasping noises that escape out the corner of your mouth as you rock not just into his hand, but the whole line of his body.

By the time you’re ready to pop, you’re butting your head into his chest and shaking with need. Mary’s got expert fingers, but you’re still standing up and in a busy bathroom. You mewl every time you reach the crest but not quite—hands now fisted into Mary’s shirt.

Suddenly Mary’s breath is hot on your ear.

“What a little whore you are. So fucking desperate to cum you’ll fuck anywhere. Is my dick not enough? Maybe I should unlock this door and have you open for business. Let any guy who comes in stick his dick in you somewhere, have you plugged up in—”

With a burst of adrenaline, you finally rise over the hill and crash down fast. “Ughn, Mare,” you cry out as you press into him, his finger busy still massaging your clit as you spasm with orgasm.

You’re still buried in Mary’s chest when he finally removes his hand and wipes his fingers on his jeans.

“Hey,” he says, shaking you a bit. “Can’t sleep here.”

You grunt, but pull away from him, albeit reluctantly.

“Christ, they’re gonna think we left.”

“Nah,” you say as you fumble with the industrial no-ply toilet paper roll that only seems to want to come off in bite-sized tears. “Our coats are still there. You’d never leave without your jacket.” You pry the dispenser open so you can maneuver the roll in bigger chunks.

“What’re you doing?”

“I don’t want to be sticky all night.”

Mary licks his lips.

“Nuh-uh, mister.” You surreptitiously begin to clean yourself.

“Whatever. As if you weren’t just trying to suck my tongue out of my mouth. I swear one day you’re gonna suck it right off.” He gives you a vulpine smile. “Save that hoover for my dick.”

“If I sucked your tongue out of your mouth, I’d just use it in tandem when I sucked your cock.”

Mary looks at you aghast as you dispose of the toilet paper in the toilet and flush with the toe of your boot.

“You’ve been spending way too much time around me.”

You just grin at him.

As you leave the stall, Mary glares at anyone who dares to even glance in the direction of the two of you. No one else yells at your presence.

After washing up the best you can without a mirror (and Mary flicking water at you), you tug him to the bar where the two of you order the round you promised to get a blow job ago. While the bartender is setting up the glasses, Mary leans in to whisper,

“Hey, do you want to play?”

You turn to look at him. “Play how?”

He pulls at your clothes. “We could do that thing I talked about.”

You perk up. “You want me to take charge of you?”

Mary’s dilated eyes suddenly focus on yours. “You know I love it when you tell me what to do”

Lightly, you grab his jaw. “In front of all your friends?”

“You and I want the same thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He reaches up to thumb at an invisible smear of makeup on your chin. “To show them I can be handled.”

“That’s grossly romantic, Goore.”

“Mebbe,” he says, pulling you in close.

“Ugh,” you grunt at him as you tip your head away.

“Is that a no?”

You roll your head back around to face him.

“No, it’s definitely a ‘yes’.” You rub your thumb across his bottom lip, smearing what’s left of his matte red down his chin. “But not because I’m smushy.” You get right up in his face. “Because I like telling you what to do. From now until when you leave, I own your ass. You don’t do anything without my permission.”

“Fuck. What you do to me, woman.”

You jab a finger into his chest. “That includes talking, mister. You got that? Nod if you understand?”

Mary nods.

“Mmm,” you grin. “Such a good boy already.”

The bartender sets down the shots on a platter and shoots you both a sideways glance.

“Well,” you gesture at Mary, “those aren’t going to carry themselves.” You turn away, then look back over your shoulder. “Don’t spill a drop.”

Mary quickly, but carefully, takes up the tray. You make your way through the crowd, and you don’t look back at Mary, trusting him to safely transport the drinks.

When you join the table again, everyone seems to zero in on your smeared face. You try to give them a friendly smile.

“Mary’s just behind me with the shots.”

The table erupts with a cheer as Mary appears at your elbow, carefully setting down the platter.

“For fuck’s sake, Mary,” grunts Elsie. “Half your makeup is gone, and the other half is smeared on her!”

There’s some assorted snickering as Mary just shrugs and you preen.

“Classic Mary,” snorts Dee (metal shirt and black jeans).

“Christ, we were wondering what was taking so long,” says Kara.

“Dominance fuck,” you quip just as Ed’s taking another sip of beer. He sprays it everywhere again—Trevor just managing to jump out of the splash zone—and the whole table bursts out laughing.

“Jesus,” Ed says as he wipes his chin. Trevor hands him a used cocktail napkin.  “Mary, tell your girl to quit doing that.

Smirking, Mary just holds his hands out, palm up.

As Ed pats himself dry, the others take up their shot glasses; you notice a wet spot on the tray. Catching Mary’s eyes, you point to the droplet.

“Mary.” Mary looks at you, eyes big at your tone. “Tell me what this is.”

“Someone bumped into me.”

“That’s an excuse. I told you not to spill any. What do we say?”

Mary speaks down into the table. “Um, well—”

“Don’t mumble” You lift his chin up so that he has to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry I spilled the drinks.”

You pat his cheek. “It’s ok, Mare Bear. You did your best.”

His friends are staring at you, but they all look away as you turn back to the table. You pick up your own shot glass.

“What are we toasting to?

“To shenanigans both old a new!” says Dee.

Everyone holds up their shot glasses, except Mary. Mary looks plaintively over at you.

You nod, and Mary picks up his shot glass.

“To shenanigans both old a new,” he echoes as he raises the glass.

Everyone clinks and shoots. Trevor and Dee slam their glasses back on the table before chugging their lite beer. Ed’s dribbles out the corner of his mouth, and he lets out a wet Fuck. Elsie downs hers in one go, but Kara takes a couple of gulps—some of it dribbling down her chin like Ed. Elsie laughs at her and calls her a sloppy bitch. You manage to get yours down in two swallows before taking a swig of beer. A professional drinker, Mary downed his with ease, setting the shot glass down without slamming it. He looks at the beer.

“You want a chaser?”

Mary nods.

“All right, come here.”

He shuffles over, and you carefully tip the contents of the beer bottle into his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. You smile at him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see looks shoot across the table at each other.

When he’s satisfied, you bring the bottle back down, and he crowds into you. His hand finds the small of your back, and he’s practically purring.

Someone clears their throat. “So, uh, Suey,” says Dee, “you’re an accountant or something?”

“Paralegal,” you correct.

“How does that even happen?” asks Elsie.

“Ah, well. It was the only thing I could think of to do with my pre-law degree.”

Mary looks at you sharply, and—oh oops. You hadn’t quite shared that with him yet.

“Long, boring story.” You wave it away. “What about you? You’re a … graphic artist?”

She beams. “Took a while, but I finally got my degree from SCAD, and now I’m a junior designer at some tech start up.”

The conversation blossoms from there, and it’s actually much easier with his friends after that. You find yourself heavily contributing to the conversation in between giving Mary permission to talk or feeding him a drink—which becomes the elephant in the room that no one seems brave enough to address. Kara & Elsie … well—they're unreadable, but aren’t actively being bitchy, so you consider that a win.

At one point you notice that Mary is squirming excessively.

“What’s the matter,” you ask softly.

“Have to piss,” he whispers in your ear.

“So ask if you can piss, Mary,” you whisper back.

He hesitates, then says quietly, “Can I go to the bathroom?”

You run a finger under his chin. “You may. But no side quests. There and back, got it?”

Mary nods emphatically then practically propels off his stool in his haste.

When you turn back to the table, Kara and Elsie are staring at you. You smile and waggle your empty glass.

“Excuse me,” you say, as you slide off your stool. You’re not 3 steps before Kara and Elsie flank you.

“Ok. What. The. Fuck,” says Kara, but she’s smiling.

You grin wolfishly at her.

“No, I echo that,” says Elsie.

You shrug. “Mary likes a firm hand.”

Elsie snorts. “Clearly.”

“Yeah,” says Kara, “I thought he was going to unhinge his jaw and eat you.”

You smile wider. “He does do that.”

“Fucking get it,” Kara hoots.

“Let’s do another round without those losers,” says Elsie when the 3 of you get to the bar.

“Yeah!” Kara perks at the suggestion. “I wanna hear all the fucking dirt on Mary.”

You give her a Mona Lisa smile. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

She awkwardly wraps an arm around your shoulder. “We’ll get you there, babe.”

Somehow a round of shots turns into two, and by the time you guys get back to the high top, Mary is already there and shooting you daggers.

“Fucking finally,” says Trevor. Then, “Jesus—you didn’t even bring back a round of suds?”

The 3 of you look at each other and burst into giggles.

Ed sighs. “I’ll go get—”

“No,” say Dee and Trevor in unison.

“Fuck, man,” says Dee. “With your track record tonight I wouldn’t trust you with an unopened bottle. I’ll go.” He turns to the group. “So that’s … 7?”

“Oh!” you interject. “Just water for Mary. I doubt Mickey will be thrilled if he shows up sloshed.”

Mary pouts at you, but you just raise an eyebrow at him; he knows he can end this at any time.

“I know.” You pat his arm. “I’m the meanest girl in the world.”

Mary sighs but rests his head atop yours.

After that, Mary really does start downing water, and you switch to lite beer (and you give him blanket permission to make his subsequent frequent bathroom trips because you’re not a monster). You vaguely recall when he kisses the top of your head and heads off to Mickey’s bar. It’s a bit fuzzy, but the 3 dudes either leave with Mary or soon after—leaving you, Kara, & Elsie to continue to pound shots that you chase with shitty beer.

“Sssooo … was he like?” slurs Elsie.

“Hmm … Mary?”

“Yeah.”

“Like wha?”

“Jus like. Assa boyfrien.”

“Yeah. We all know he gots that D. Was the tea? Hah! I rhymed.”

You try and sort through your alcohol-addled brain.

“Hessa dumbass,” you slur back.

Kara starts cackling.

“But … but a good bean. Does my dishers. My disheshes. Fuck.”

“Fuck. Keep ‘em,” slurs Kara.

You slam your hand on the table.

“I fhuckhen intend to!”

It devolves from there with the 3 of you swapping weird sex stories then trying to one-up each other. Finally, they put you in a cab—which you scramble to pay for in cash because your card is still at the bar—and you stumble drunkenly up to your apartment. You’re still trying to figure out how your keys work (wait—how did you get into your building?), when the door opens.

“Jesus fucking christ, Suey. Where the fuck have you been? It’s nearly 4am and your phone’s dead.”

You teeter forward and press your face into Mary’s chest. He smells like beer, the decal on his band tee, and sweaty boy.

“Shmells niss,” you murmur.

“Oh my god—you’re shitfaced,” you hear him say.

“Yer friens are niss.”

“Ok, drunkee. C’mere.”

Mary leads you to the couch and proceeds to make you drink lots of water (“No. FULL.” “Shut up and keep drinking.” “Hate you.” “I know.”), and then wrangles you out of your clothes and into bed.

* * *

When you wake up the next morning, everything is awful. You can’t focus on anything without feeling ill, and your stomach insists you ate a whole bag of gummy bears. You let out a sound that you’re sure only dying animals make. As if on cue, Mary bustles in—fresh as a fucking daisy—with a plate of greasy eggs & bacon and a sports drink on your tray.

“Goooood morning, little rosebud.”

You squint at him. “I will murder your face.”

“You’d have to catch me first!” he chirps as he arranges everything and himself on the bed. He helps you sit up, and you sip at the drink with some painkillers as he configures the breakfast onto some toast. You let him maneuver a few bites into your mouth, before you curl back into yourself.

“Ok, Suey. Good job,” he says as he rubs your back.

You burp at him.

“Yeah, ok. Go back to sleep.”

When you wake up again, it’s much later. Somehow you’re sideways across Mary’s lap; he’s reading a book. You squint up at him.

“The fuck,” you say.

Mary collapses the book on his finger and looks down at you.

“You must be feeling better.”

You roll around and bury your face into his abdomen. He pets at your hair.

“Feel like finishing those eggs?”

Bile rises, and you jump up to run into the bathroom. You then proceed to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. Gentle hands are there suddenly to hold back your hair.

When you finish and tumble back against the tub, he says, “You could have just said ‘no’ on the eggs.”

You burst into tears, and he pulls at you as you flail ineffectually against him. “No! I’m so gross and stupid.”

“Aww, baby doll, it’s just a hangover. I’ve spent most of my adult life hungover. You’ll live.”

He manages to get the tub going and coaxes you into it. Soon, the two of you are ensconced in a steaming bath.

“Baths are gross,” you grumble, even as you lean into the V of Mary’s support.

“Just shut up and enjoy it like a normal person.”

“Big into baths then?”

Mary hesitates, then says, “My mum. I know it sounds weird, but—with my dad gone? I’d run a bath for her—with these bath bombs?—to get into after she finished a double.”

“That’s really nice, Mare.” You hesitate, then continue, “You don’t really talk about what happened.”

A beat.

You take his pruning hand and kiss his knuckles to reassure him.

“Cancer. She had life insurance and shit, but … it mostly went to medical bills. Couldn’t keep the house.”

You wait, but he doesn’t go on.

“Sucks. I hate it for you.”

“Thanks.”

The two of you sit in the bath until it grows cold, you dozing against his chest while he gently splashes the water with the hand not hanging off the lip of the tub.

“More warm water, or … ?” he asks.

“Can we go back to bed?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I can stay for a bit. Gotta work again tonight, though. So I can be free for New Year’s.”

When you’re nested back in your bed—body leaden and eyelids heavy—you ask, “So, did I pass the test?”

He sighs. “It wasn’t a test.”

“Great. Did I pass the ‘not test’?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Well, half my friends are screaming at me to lock it down, and the other half think you’re batshit and I should run far away.”

You smile at him.

“Sounds about right.”

Mary snuggles in closer. “It’s not them you have to care about anyway.” He kisses the back of your neck.

You groan and weakly kick at him with your feet. “Don’t bring my bile back up, Goore.”

“Fucking shut up, Suey. Whose necklace are you still wearing, anyway?”

And yeah, ok.

Next ➡️

[blakemetothemoon]

Love in a Laundromat -SaifahZon, M, Ch. 6/?

Notes: Oops I did it again, setting a chapter counter and then realizing it’s going to probably be double that, my bad.

Summary: Zon's favorite place is a laundromat. That is until a certain tall, handsome stranger steals his washer and seems hellbent on making Zon miserable.

Read here or on ao3! :)

Zon had been mostly sober when he left Japan's party sometime after one in the morning, but he still feels that giddy kind of tipsy as Saifah pulls up to Zon’s apartment.

Because Saifah had offered to see him home. Tutor had grilled Saifah to ensure he was sober enough to drive. Saifah had had fewer drinks than Tutor himself, so he’d passed with flying colors, and, not long after, Zon had sat on the back of Saifah’s motorbike wondering what to do with his hands. Then, Saifah had grabbed Zon’s hands and placed them around his waist, telling him over his shoulder, “Hold on tight.”

And it’s one of the most fucking cliche tropes out of a romance novel, but Zon follows directions. Saifah’s skin is warm beneath his hands, reminding Zon of how that heat felt under his bare palms. He swallows, hard, and almost buries his blushing face into Saifah’s back, right between his shoulder blades. But they’ve already touched too much that night and Zon teeters between wanting more and not sure if he can handle it if he gets it, so he stops himself.

The cool night-time air as they drive is like a jolt to his muddled, horny and happy brain. He can feel himself starting to freak out, like, majorly. But he’s still flying from Saifah kissing his lips, his neck, his shoulder. How that perfect smile had dragged itself across his skin. He had felt wanted when Saifah kissed him. Zon is realizing he might really like being wanted.

The ride back to Zon’s place hadn’t been long enough. Now they're lingering at the entrance to Zon's apartment building. Saifah is still sitting on his bike, and even like that Zon is barely taller which is so unfair. Saifah reaches up. His touch is feather-light against Zon’s throat as he undoes the clasp of the spare helmet for him.

"I need this back," Saifah says. “For next time.”

 Zon is too focused on swallowing against his dry throat to reply. Saifah's gaze flutters from Zon's eyes to his lips, then back. He is asking for permission to kiss Zon again, but Zon suddenly becomes a bundle of nerves because if he starts kissing Saifah he might just not stop and might invite him up to his room, which is too fast. Way too fast.

A hand ruffles his hair for the second time that night. When Zon refocuses, Saifah’s puppy dog eyes aren’t begging anymore, but there isn’t judgment, either. Just some bizarre fondness that makes Zon's heartbeat quicken and his gut twist because it feels so weird to have that sort of look directed at him.

"You better go inside before you get kidnapped,” Saifah says, using his hold on Zon’s head to nudge him towards the door.

Zon huffs once, then again when Saifah chuckles, happy with the reaction. "I'm not a kid!"

Saifah drops his hand and shrugs. "I'm still waiting here until you make it inside."

The declaration throws Zon for a loop. He doesn't know why it does when they already ate face just a few hours before. It's just not fair for Saifah to sound so genuine with those words. They should be teasing. Teasing would let Zon mutter, "Do what you want." 

Instead, Zon ends up flustered and blushing and unable to bite back a shy smile. "Um, thanks.” Zon rolls back and forth on his heel; he doesn’t want to leave yet and is struggling to take that first step away from Saifah. “See you Thursday then?"

A brief glimpse of what Zon thinks is relief passes through Saifah's expression. Then, he beams, the soft moonlight illuminating his face. "Yeah, Thursday. Definitely."

Lost in Saifah’s eyes, Zon still hesitates before literally shaking himself out of his stupor. He takes a huge jump back, because ripping off the bandaid is apparently the only way to freaking break the spell. “Okay. Bye, Saifah."

A soft chuckle fills the warm, late night air. "Good night, Zon."

Saifah keeps his word and waits until Zon makes it through the entrance before starting his bike. Zon doesn’t remember what happens between then and closing his bedroom door, but his grin is so big his dimples will probably never even out.

How did a simple night feel so unexpectedly...amazing?

Ugh, Zon thinks as he slides down the cool, wooden door with a dreamy sigh, how cheesy.

But cheesy or not, words are still flowing into Zon’s mind at a rapid pace. Desperate to hold onto them, Zon grabs for the first writing utensil and paper he can find; a silver permanent marker and some unfinished math homework. Then, he scrawls lyrics about falling and ignoring caution lights and sharing truths in the dark.

Each word is as warm as Saifah’s smile.

*

Zon is freaking out. 

But not like he should be freaking out. Not like he always freaks out.

Freaking out should be: anxiety twisting his stomach until he almost pukes. Heartbeat quickening until his breathing labors and he’s dizzy. Lip red because he can’t stop chewing it nervously. Head spinning because he doesn’t know where he and Saifah are in terms of that whole making out thing.

Freaking out should not be: butterflies fluttering when he sees Saifah through the glass door, casually filling his washer with a load of whites. Chest warming when he notices the guitar resting on the bench. Throat drying as he takes in how nice Saifah’s dark jeans fit him and how even his ratty, laundry-day t-shirt works for him.

The spinning rears its anxious head again. How was Zon supposed to act now? Was he supposed to hug Saifah? Were they, like, dating? Friends with benefits? Were they even friends? They had hung out at the party but the alcohol had made it a little easier for Zon to hold a conversation. If he’s awkward like he normally is, what kind of signal would that send Saifah? Would it make him think twice about kissing Zon?

Zon groans and does a full-body shake, and then jumps in place a few times. Those are way too many questions to think about right now, and Mrs. Appletil is watching him, concerned, because he’s been lingering outside the door for a good three minutes now.

“Hello,” Zon says once he’s finally made his way to his washer and to Saifah’s side.

“Hi,” Saifah replies.

Okay, so Saifah is acting totally normal. Maybe the slightest bit unaffected. Not immediately bringing up their kissing. That means Zon should pretend like nothing happened, too, right? Or is Saifah waiting to bring it up? People probably don’t greet each other with, ‘Yo remember when your tongue was in my mouth?’ Right?

“How are you?” asks Saifah, yanking Zon out of his thoughts.

“I’m okay.” Zon clears his throat.” I, uh, see you’re doing laundry.”

Goddammit, what was that? It takes all of Zon’s willpower to not dump his laundry on his head and hide away in the basket for the rest of his life.

“Just kidding?”

Saifah one hundred percent knows Zon wasn’t kidding, but he does that cute little eye squint and head tilt thing he does when amused, and Zon feels the slightest bit less stupid.

“So, my Zon,” Saifah says as he sits down on the bench and sets his guitar in his lap. The same position he was in last week and the week before, ready for Zon to settle in next to him. “Which song should we start with this week?”

Zon’s butterflies are already kicking as he sits down, more aware of Saifah’s presence than he has been in weeks. “Your turn. I picked last time.”

Saifah chooses some old country song Zon has only heard a few times. But, like always, if Zon doesn’t know the lyrics, he brings them up on his phone, and Saifah makes it easy to follow his playing. More than once Zon glances up to find Saifah watching him, a pleasant smile on his lips. He nods, encouraging, every time Zon messes up or hesitates, still not used to having an audience.

They’re about thirty minutes in when Saifah asks, “Did you write anything new this week?”

“A few.” Zon flips the pages, searching for the last pages he’s written in. He gestures towards the left page. “I’m not super happy with this one, though.”

Saifah makes a curious noise, then points to the page on the right. “Wait, what about this one?”

Zon follows Saifah’s finger...

And his stomach plummets.

Lights the title reads. It’s notably less quick catscratch than the other songs filling the notebook.

Because the first place Zon had written it down was on a math sheet with a silver marker, and transferring it over had given him time to write each word crisp and pretty, like they deserved.

Saifah backs away and strums a few notes. Instead of the space giving Zon room to breathe, his breath catches at how perfectly Saifah’s music connects to Zon’s lyrics. How they capture the breathlessness he felt scribbling them down.

But those words are too personal right now. They give away far too much. He isn’t sure he’s ready for them to be heard yet, especially not by the person they were inspired by.

“No!” Zon snaps when Saifah leans back in to read the first few lines again. He slams the notebook shut as Saifah jumps back, startled at the sudden harshness in Zon’s tone. “Um, I’m sorry, it’s just—”

Saved by a literal bell, Saifah’s washer buzzes loudly, followed closely by Zon’s. Their conversation comes to a screeching halt, and Zon sighs, relieved.

They’re quiet as they swap their clothes from the washer to dryer. Saifah finishes first. As soon as he gently drops the dryer lid, he leans his shoulder against the tall washer and says, “Wanna go somewhere else?”

Zon glances up from setting the timer, crinkling his brow. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve got an hour until our stuff dries. Let’s go to the coffeeshop I play at.” Saifah smiles like Zon’s freak out over his notebook has been totally forgotten. “I want to show it to you.”

Saifah. Not in the laundromat. No alcohol. Invitation for Zon only. Is this a...date? Was Zon okay with it being a date—

“But what about our stuff?” Zon asks, flight response going immediately into ‘how do I get out of this’ mode. “What if someone breaks in and tries to steal your guitar, or my backpack, and then something happens to Mrs. Appletil, and—”

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down,” Saifah says. There’s a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, but the way he puts his hands on Zon’s shoulders is soothing; it tells Zon he isn’t laughing at him. “We can bring our stuff with. And have you seen how quick Mrs. Appletil untangles those metal hangers? Anyone who can do that can easily hold their own in a fight.”

It’s absolutely ridiculous logic, but for some reason it chills Zon’s nerves.

Maybe leaving the comfort of the laundromat and spending time with this Tall Giraffe somewhere else wouldn’t be so bad. Why was he so desperate to find an excuse out of it, anyway?

Zon relaxes against Saifah’s hands where they still hold him steady.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Why are most soulmate AUs weirdly painful? Anyway I think 18 is a fun one for Kazumaji 💕

Awww, I’ll make them not painful! I know, some of these hurt, but not all of them! And there’s lots of nice meanings I can make, I promise X3 

(Also, sorry I’m behind everyone! I totally fucked up yesterday and had to take a day resting, but I’m getting to everyone’s prompts now! So far I have 18, 11, and two for 22, if you’d like to send another please do! Remember I’ll gladly do Kenzan and Ishin too! C’mon, YOU KNOW we gotta do some destiny shit for soulmate AUs amirite?)

18. the one where whenever you get a song stuck in your head, it’s because your soulmate is singing it.

“Su nao ni I love you,” Kiryu hummed to himself as he loaded his washer at the laundromat, “Todoke you kitto you love me...” 

Nishikiyama’s head shot up. “What. The Fuck. Are you singing, dude?”

Kiryu looked up. “Hmm?” He frowned at Nishiki’s incredulous expression, stuffing a few more shirts in the washer as he did so. “I wasn’t singing.”

Nishiki closed his washer and sidled over. “You were totally singing, dude, something super girly!” 

Kiryu frowned harder, closing the lid and starting the machine. He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he raised an eyebrow at Nishiki, “I think you’re hearing things.” 

Nishiki shook his head, grinning. “No, you were, it was like uh... duh-duh-da Da-Da-Da!” Nishiki tried to recreate the melody as best he could. “Dadaduhduh duh-duh-da something like that.” 

Kiryu squinted at Nishiki, straining to make sense of the nonsense noises and the half-remembered verse and- oh, for fuck’s sake. Kiryu dropped his head as recognition dawned. “Oh my god, I totally was singing,” he groaned, throwing his head back and pinching his eyes. 

Nishiki cackled. “Ha ha ha! Well c’mon man, what the fuck is that?” 

“That’s the thing, I have no idea.” Kiryu threw up his hands. “It just, like, came to me the other day and it’s been stuck in my head ever since.”

“The fuck?” Nishiki cocked his head, “You a songwriter now, bro?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I mean, I think, I’ve never written a song,” Kiryu muttered, “It’s like... I can almost hear someone singing it and I just... know all the words.”

Nishiki’s eyes widened. “Wow, that’s some spooky shit.” He nodded, leaning back against Kiryu’s whirring washer. “Hey, y’know what it could be?” He looked up at Kiryu, waggling his eyebrows. 

“What? No, no, shut up, that’s not even-”

“Your soulmate!” Nishiki crowed in his face as Kiryu ducked his head away, “Kiryu’s got a soulmate!”

“Shut up,” Kiryu groaned, “It’s not... maybe I heard it on the radio and just forgot, you don’t know.”

“Hmmm, maybe,” Nishiki stopped, thinking, “But I know how we can find out!”

And that was how the spent the next three hours scanning through every pop song that had played on any local radio station. 

“Is it this?”

“No.”

“Is it thi-”

“C’mon, bro, let’s just go home. The clothes are getting wrinkled,” Kiryu complained, collapsed on the dashboard of Nishiki’s car. 

“Hmmpf, alright, I guess we are getting nowhere,” he muttered, starting the car, “But there is one last place we should check.” 

Kiryu whimpered into his hands. “Please, can’t we just leave it?”

“It’s like you don’t even want to find your soulmate,” Nishiki criticized, pouting at him as he started to roll the car into the street. 

Kiryu sighed and sat back. “I don’t know if I believe in all that,” he muttered, “Like, why would it happen now? And why isn’t it a song I’ve ever heard before?”

Nishiki shrugged. “Dunno, man, but stranger things have happened. Genji used to say he heard that American pop song Irumi used to sing all the time. Said he couldn’t get it out of his head. And now they’re married with two kids, so.” Nishiki spread his hands over the steering wheel like this was indefatigable proof. “I don’t know, but I don’t question. And it’s a nice story.” He looked over at Kiryu, looking up at him with the wide eyes he knew always worked. “C’mon, one last stop and I’ll drop it, even if we don’t get anywhere.”

“...fine,” Kiryu growled, “But then you get to iron my pants.” 

It wasn’t long before Nishiki stopped the car again at a very familiar place. 

“Karaoke?” Kiryu blinked out the window, “You can’t be-”

“Just trust me, bro,” Nishiki beamed, stepping out, “I’ve got a good feeling about this!” 

They scrolled through every song on the menu, even the ones they were already well acquainted with. Still nothing. 

“Well. That’s that then.” Kiryu folded his arms. 

“The fuck! I was sure it would be here!” Nishiki ran a hand through his hair. “Hold on, I’m getting the manager.” 

“Nishiki, don’t-” But he was already through the door. 

“What seems to be the problem, sirs?” The bar manager, a round middle-aged man of bored temperament was saying as he followed Nishiki back. 

“We’re looking for a specific song and can’t seem to find it,” Nishiki explained, “It goes something like duh-duh-da Da-Da-Da! Dadaduhduh duh-duh-da da-da-da! You got anything like that?”

The manager blinked at them both. “We are not an infinite jukebox, sir, and thus do not carry every song ever composed. If you had the words, perhaps, I might be able to find something...” 

Kiryu rolled his eyes at Nishiki and stood up. “Apologies. I do have the words, it goes like this...” And he rattled off the first verse without pause.

The manager’s face frowned in concentration. “That does ring a bell, actually. Come with me, I might know what you’re looking for.” He escorted them out to the front desk and pulled out a massive three-ring binder. 

“Karaoke bars don’t always share discographies,” he explained, flipping through the pages, “Sometimes stores from different regions carry particular song collections popular with that region’s clientele. Your lyrics remind me of one I heard down in Sotenbori not too long ago...” 

Kiryu and Nishiki stared at each other, then back at the manager with increasing interest.

“Ah, yes, this was it, 24-Hour Cinderella,” the manager smiled up at them, “Very popular with the clubbing crowd down there, but not due to cycle through Kamurocho for another few months. Where did you happen to run across it?”

Kiryu had turned a little pale. “Uh, a friend played it for me. Thank you, we’ll be leaving now,” he said quickly, grabbing Nishiki and shuffling him out the door as fast as he could. 

“...shit.” was all Kiryu said as soon as they were outside. 

“Wow. Wow,” Nishiki breathed, a little shocked himself, “So... your soulmate lives in Sotenbori!” 

“That doesn’t- this doesn’t prove anything,” Kiryu snarled at Nishiki, resenting his fast recovery. 

“And he said it was a clubber!” Nishiki ignored him entirely. “Oh! Maybe it’s a cute host girl,” Nishiki grinned, ribbing Kiryu, “Maybe she’s dancing all alone without you tonight going ‘Oh, I wish my big strong soulmate was here!’“

Kiryu blushed hard. “Shut up, it’s just a weird coincidence.” 

“Oh, Kiryu-san!” Nishiki continued breathily, batting his eyes, “Oh how I’ve wanted to dance with your big strong arms around me!”

“Tch, now you just sound like you,” Kiryu snorted. 

“Shut up!” Nishiki stopped, flushing a little himself, “Not my fault you’re a freak of nature. Get in, I have ironing to do, apparently.”

Kiryu smirked, but inside... maybe he’d have to take a trip to Sotenbori someday. Just in case. 

Meanwhile... 

Majima raked a hand through his hair, staring transfixed at the screen. “How do I know all the words to this? I never play Bakamitai!”

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

"There's a washer in the balcony, but, uh..." My roommate Gayatri looked at my other roommate, Dia. "There's a ghost in it."

I thought I misheard, so I repeated "Ghost?"

"Yeah," Dia said. "How do they call it? It's haunted."

I waited for them to make goofy ghost-like gestures and then laugh it off, but both of their faces looked perfectly serious. If they were messing with me (they most likely were), then they were doing an Oscar-winning job of it.

"What does the ghost do?" I asked, and I wanted to out-creep them, so I didn't wait for them to answer. "Do you like, see it washing blood and bones? Or does like, this long-haired girl pop out of it and pull you in?"

Gayatri mouthed something, something either holy or profane, and then she shuddered. Actually, physically shuddered. "Look," she said. "You think you're a tough bitch, it's all yours. But if you go there, at night, you hear noises."

"Noises," I said.

"Yeah, like you hear the washing running even when it's not, and sometimes you hear this... very fucking peculiar humming."

Dia crossed her arms and shoved her hands into her armpits, as if she was suddenly very cold. "Sometimes you hear words, too, from some completely different language."

"What language?" I asked. "Like, Latin?"

"No," Dia said. "I mean, I don't know, could be. Point is, it's some weird language. And you hear the word 'Ma' a lot, like the ghost is calling for its mother. And then there's weird sounds, and you think you've set the washer for 20 minutes, but then it'll be 25 minutes when you check it next. You know? Weird stuff like that."

Now, to be fair, I did think I was a tough bitch. But the way the two went on about this, and in the dim light, in the stuffy silence of the hostel room... they didn't seem to be messing around. I looked at the bundle of laundry in my hands.

"Just leave the clothes somewhere and then wash them once the sun's up," Gayatri said.

Okay, maybe I was a tough bitch after all. "Nah," I (tried to) smile. "I think I'll go meet the ghost."

Dia didn't miss a beat. "Your funeral."

-

For all the warmth inside the room, it was a little cold in the balcony. Still just as quiet as before, though. The valley outside looked asleep, too, save for a few lights that never go out.

I tossed the clothes into the washer and started filling it up with water. The shared detergent sat in a nook, and I tossed in a few spoonfuls as I waited for the water to rise to a decent level. As I waited, I tapped on the plastic cover of the detergent to an Adele tune. Then I started humming, too, and swaying left and right to the rhythm.

Once the water was up, I twisted the knob to 25 minutes and watched the water twist into a whirlpool, pulling the clothes with it. I tapped my feet.

I waited for the ghost. Tough bitch.

When my phone started buzzing, I could feel myself jumping right out of my body. I could feel the blood rush to my skin, the rise turning my skin so warm, my mind scattered like marbles.

I pulled the phone out, fumbled and nearly dropped it, and then finally I got a good look at the caller ID. I slid the 'Call Accept' thing, and took a few breaths.

"Ma?" I asked.

Nothing on the other line, and then my mother spoke. "Hello? Can you hear me now? Ugh, I forgot to call you today. Am I calling too late?"

"What?" I breathed and tried to get my bearings. It was good to speak my native language again. Feels like home. "No, I was just washing the clothes. And before you ask, Ma, I just got home really late tonight. This one time it wasn't because I was lazy."

Ma laughed, and all was right with the world.

Well, there were my roommates standing at the door and staring with their mouths open.

"Ma?" I asked. "Have you ever heard of a time-travelling memory?" I kept my eyes on my aghast roommates.

"No, baby, what's that?" she asked back.

"Something I've just discovered, by the looks of it," I said.

-

Another longish one! Cutting this one short would've also left out the twist of the story, so I had to get it all out. I hope you enjoyed it!