#people are falling for it though so I guess it’s good-tasting bait | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yee-fxcking-haw · 4 years ago

Text

•Don't Say His Name•

Summary: This is a part two to Forget That Extra! There will at the very least be a third part, since this one ends unresolved and I have SO MUCH of the story left in my brain.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader (both Bakugo and Reader are aged up to 18+)

Warnings: Rough sex, degredation, impact play, ddlg terms, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, a sprinkling of knife play, fingering, ruined orgasm, Dom Bakugo, Brat/masochist reader, tiny bit of angst.

Word Count: 6,115

Part One • Part Three

A/N: As far as tagging goes, I tagged those that commented on part one, and those that liked the post about this part. If you would like added/removed just let me know!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You walk down the hallway with all the confidence in the world. "You're my woman now." He had said. Katsuki Bakugo's woman. That's you. Walking through his agency covered in bruises he had left, and only he could see. It makes your insides twist and spark with excitement, the idea of belonging to that explosive hero.

You're on your way to his office now, coffee in hand as you try to make an effort at being an actual partner instead of just his play thing. You made sure to get the right kind of milk and sugar, and extra caramel of course. The past few weeks have been all about learning things like that, the little details about each other that exists outside the bedroom or a stuffy closet.

Just as you make the final turn to Katsuki's office, you see a wild flash of green hair and hear an excited voice say your name. A bright smile spreads across Deku's boyish face, cheeks all pink and freckled. He's all dressed up in his hero costume as he bounces towards you before speaking again.

"Hey! On a coffee run for the boss man?" He jokes, nodding at the hot drinks in your hands.

The boss man, right, he's your boss. He should definitely not have been in your guts less than twelve hours ago, and you definitely shouldn't have his teeth marks on your body.

"Oh yeah, either gotta keep him caffeinated or pick up pieces of exploded furniture, and I much prefer the coffee runs to clean up duty." You laugh with him, both of you knowing Bakugo's temperament far too well.

As you laugh your shoulders move a little too much and the strap of your bag falls off, catching on your elbow and nearly jostling the coffee to the point of falling out of the drink carrier.

Deku's reflexes are like lightning as always, before you can object he's taken the coffee as you slip the strap back onto your shoulder. Your cheeks flush as you mumble a bashful thanks then reach for the coffees.

"No I got it, let me walk with you." He says, "Can't risk dropping the precious cargo."

You both share another chuckle as you anxiously adjust your top, trying to tuck it more securely into your plaid skirt.

"Thanks, Deku, I would've been in for it if I had lost that drink."

You both take off down the hall at a rather lazy pace, sharing some pleasant small talk about your days. You find out that he actually just left Katsuki's office, they were going over some boring publicity stuff for their agencies. As you walk you find yourself laughing a lot, especially at Deku's impression of a very grumpy Katsuki.

You've only met Izuku Midoriya a handful of times, mostly in passing like this. Without fail, he's always kind and charming. He's the kind of person that leaves anyone he meets with warm, vanilla tasting feelings.

"Can I ask you something?" He says with a small voice.

"Of course you can." You say as you come up to the door of Katsuki's office.

"This might be a little out of line, and I completely understand if you wouldn't want to, I just- I was uh- I guess I was w-wondering if you maybe would consider grabbing coffee with me?" He trips and stutters his way through his invitation, and goodness it's so fucking cute.

You're floored honestly, of course you'd love to get coffee with him, it's harmless right? It could be, if you make it clear that you're with Bakugo. That's the problem though, being employed by him means you two can't be public about being together. That shit gets messy fast, so you've been sworn to secrecy.

"You're busy though, so I totally understand if you just can't find the time or if you just don't want to or whatever. I just figure you might like actually having coffee with somebody instead of being sent to get it for them, if that makes any sense… s- sorry… this sounded a lot better in my head." As he talks he fidgets with his hands and shifts his feet a little, emerald eyes searching your face for some form of an answer.

"Deku, I'd love to." You say sweetly before he can open his mouth and fumble through more words.

His shoulders drop and his face relaxes.

"Is six tonight ok? We can just meet here so you don't have to give me your address or go to my place, I know that can be uncomfortable sometimes so I figure meeting at a public place would probably make you feel safer- I guess if we-"

"How about you just text me the address of the coffee place you had in mind?" You say gently, interrupting as politely as you can.

You try to keep your voice down, a creeping feeling snaking up your spine. It feels wrong to be making plans like this right in front of your boyfriend's office, if you can call him that. There hasn't really been a lot of discussion about the exclusivity of the relationship, just that he hated the idea of you belonging to anyone else, and that he hadn't been with anyone else… maybe that talk needs to happen soon.

"Huh? Oh, yeah that's a good idea, I would just need to uh- if I wanted to text you I would need-"

"My number?" You giggle as you pull a sticky note and a pen from your bag.

"Uh, yeah, that would be it." He laughs nervously.

You quickly scribble down your number, your heart climbs to your throat as you offer him the paper.

"I'll trade you." You say, nodding to the coffees before sticking the note on his chest.

An adorable blush spreads across his already rosey cheeks.

"Oh yeah, boss man needs his caffeine." He says as you take them.

Just as you accept the drinks back, the office door opens slowly. The twist of the knob makes your chest tighten.

"Oh, there you are. You were taking so long I thought you'd gotten lost." He says gruffly before taking the drink you hold out for him.

His words bite you a little, but you have to just take it for the sake of appearing uninvolved.

"I thought you were leaving?" He asks Deku with a pointed gaze.

"Oh, Kacchan I was, I just uh-"

"He was helping me, I almost dropped the coffee and he was kind enough to carry them for me." You jump in, trying to defuse the tension building between the men in front of you.

You know bits and pieces of their old rivalry, only those that Bakugo let slip. For the most part they've out grown the school yard beef, but Katsuki is competitive, territorial, possessive. You know that it's grinding his gears knowing Deku was there to help you, which might be a fact you can have some fun with.

"So, six works for you?" You ask Izuku, voice laced with honey.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah six is great, I'll see you then." He says, folding the note with your number before sticking it in his pocket.

"I'll see you then, and thank you for the help." You smile, earning a sweet grin from him as he awkwardly shuffles away.

"Oh of course, it's never a problem! Bye Kacchan, thanks again for the meeting!" He damn near hops off down the hallway before disappearing around the corner.

Slowly, you turn to face your lover, apprehension written all over your face. He just sneers down at you before turning sharply into his office. You stand and watch him stalk to his desk, slightly scared to move.

"Get your ass in here, lock the damn door behind you." He says flatly before taking a sip of coffee.

You do as he says, letting the door close quietly before flipping the lock.

"So, I'm assuming you won't be joining me for dinner?" He says as he relaxes into his large desk chair.

"What? No, we can get dinner, I'm just grabbing coffee with Izuku." You explain, trying to sound nonchalant.

You take a nervous glance around his office, and a fond feeling blooms in your chest. It's organized chaos, as he calls it. The desk is covered in little travel tools and makeshift gadgets. He loves to tinker when he can't focus, he says it gets his mind back to a place where he can. He's talented too, could honestly run a whole side business on his creations alone.

The one time you proposed it he shut it down fast, he said he had enough jobs to do, that he wanted to keep his tinkering from becoming work. It brings the smallest smile to your face, but you're ripped away from your dreamy thoughts by the sound of his rough voice.

"First name basis, I see." He mumbles before taking another sip.

You can't help but roll your eyes. It's difficult to discern if he's genuinely irritated by you meeting Izuku, or if he's just trying to egg you on. Either way, you're going to have some fun with it.

"Well people don't usually call their friends by their hero names, do they?" You question as you walk around his desk so you can lean your backside against the edge.

Katsuki turns his chair to face you, glancing over your body once before finding your eyes. His gaze lingers on the undone buttons at the collar of your black top, revealing what you think is a tasteful amount of decolletage.

You sip your own coffee as he analyzes you, seemingly taking the bait.

"Friends?" He asks quietly, quirking an eyebrow.

"Ya know, someone who gets coffee with you instead of sending you on an errand to get some for them?" That was a bold move that will inevitably come back to bite you, but that's exactly what you want.

All of his fine muscles shift and tighten under his well tailored dress shirt as he leans forward in his chair. He places his elbows on his knees, and folds his hands under his chin as he glances up at you through his eyelashes.

A tense moment is spent between you, your chest lights up with nerves just a little bit. You hate it when he's quiet, he's much easier to read when he's mouthy.

"Sounds fun!" He says with far too much enthusiasm as he shoots up from his chair. Before you can reply, he's put his whole body in front of yours. He sets his hands on the desk behind you, efficiently caging you in.

Just like that, the air is hot and thick between you. He looks down his nose at you, waiting for you to answer. His eyes scream "try me" and it makes you dizzy. When you feel his hands slide over your knees, your head spins even more.

Willingly, you let him spread your legs open so he can settle his hips between them. As he moves in your skirt bunches up, revealing where your socks end to expose the thickest part of your thighs. Like a moth drawn to a flame, his hands are on the skin instantly. For some reason, that part of your leg, specifically when they're spilling over some snug thigh highs, makes Bakugo absolutely feral.

"So you don't care if I get coffee with him?" You ask, bringing your hand to tilt his chin up.

Reluctantly, he rips his eyes away from your legs so he can glare at you.

"I don't give a fuck who you get coffee with." He shrugs before sliding his hands up so he can grab your hips with greed.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed by how little he cares. Where's the guy that fucked your brains out because you simply talked to another dude? You're practically going on a date and he's just… fine with it?

"-But if you're going to get coffee with that damn nerd-" He ducks down and brazenly licks a hot strip up the side of your neck.

The sudden contact makes your eyes flutter as your chest deflates, a shock of heat already thrumming through your core.

"You're gonna do it covered in marks…" He abruptly scrapes his teeth against your throat, easily biting hard enough to create a bruise, as if you don't already have enough.

"... And filled with my cum." The statement makes you gasp, there he is.

His fingertips dig into your hips as he pulls you forward on the best, bringing your crotch flush against his while he looks down at you with a patient expression. The feeling of his hard-on pressing against your core will never get old, it never fails you send shocks up your spine and make your cheeks hot.

You're feeling spunky today, dangerously bold. A terrible idea creeps into your mind, wrapping it's fingers around your common sense.

You slide your hands up his abs, allowing yourself a moment to admire how sturdy he feels. Your hands secure themselves on the folds of his collar so you can bring his face back towards yours.

To mock him, you bring your mouth to his throat and let your tongue drag up his hot skin.

"That's funny." You say with a low voice before you plant a kiss right under his jaw.

"He said the same thing." You punctuate your lie with a nip to his skin.

"Oh you stupid woman." He huffs before he snatches you by the waist and hauls you off the desk. Your legs don't get the chance to hold you up, he spins you around and kicks the back of your knees with his shin, causing you to fall forward immediately.

Once you're kneeling he grabs the hair on top of your head and drags you along beside him. You yelp and grab at his wrist as you try to shuffle after him on your knees. He plants himself in his desk chair, not releasing his hold on your roots for a second.

He pulls your head back slightly, glaring down at you with furious ruby eyes. He looks so delicious like this, dressed in all black, hair and eyes wild as he plans how he'll break you.

His other hand comes up to grab your jaw a little too gently, eyes flashing down to where your skirt is still riding up.

"Are you trying to get hurt?" He asks calmly, thumb running over your chin.

"I'm trying to get fucked." You state simply, dropping your jaw open so you can take his thumb into your mouth.

He watches you carefully, breathing a little heavier when you swirl your tongue around the pad of his thumb before releasing it.

"-But if all you're gonna do is fuck around like this, I think I know somebody who might be up for the job."

All you can register is his face twisting as he realizes which way you're going, before the hand on your jaw pulls back. You brace for the slap, ready to feel the hot pain shoot across your face. Your thighs even clench a little in anticipation, but it doesn't come.

He just chuckles, laughs right in your face as he reaches for the drawer behind him, the hand in your hair releases too.

"Oh, I'm sure he would be." He pulls out a small black bag from the drawer, then slowly unzips it to reveal a wooden paddle.

You can't help but squirm where you sit as you watch him flip it in his hands before turning back to you.

"But there's no way in hell that prick can get you shaking like I can." He sets the paddle on his desk so he can start to roll his sleeves up.

You watch him carefully, nearly drooling over the way his strong forearms flex as he rolls the material of his shirt up. Your hands pull at the bottom of your skirt anxiously, needing to fidget with something desperately.

"I don't know about that, Suki, the shy, quiet ones are usually the nastiest, isn't that right?" You say coyly, trying to regain some control.

You're referring to yourself and he knows it. Hinting at how depraved you can be in the bedroom. You know he's right, he's the only one that can fuck you up the way you need it. It's fun to watch him twitch a little when you hint at Deku being able to compete with him, though.

"Get up here, bend over." He says shortly, neck and shoulders tense.

You're getting to him.

"I think I like it down here, I don't think I want to bend over just yet." You say with a deceptive sweetness.

Feeling bold, you slide your hands up the insides of his thighs, feeling the taught muscle under his dress pants.

Before you can reach his erection, his hands are latched onto you again. One in the back of your hair, the other crushing your throat.

"I fucking dare you, disobey me one more time. You will end up with a busted ass and a ruined orgasm, that's a fucking promise." He snarls at you, bending down so he can glare right into your soul.

His threats don't do a damn thing to calm your rebellious streak, if anything, it lights a fire under your desire to be the biggest fucking brat.

"The busted ass part doesn't sound too bad." You struggle to get the words out, working against the harsh grip on your throat.

He rolls his eyes before almost throwing you out of his hands. He sends one to the collar on the back of your shirt, and the other slides around the back of your thigh. With the new hold he roughly hoists you into his lap. You can't help but squeak when your stomach hits the tops of his thighs. Your knees barely touch the ground and your hands grab at the desk in front of you, trying to steady yourself.

He flips your skirt up and smooths a hand over the curve of your ass.

"Oh trust me, you'll fucking get it." He sends his hand cracking across your cheek, earning an involuntary moan from you.

Your body responds to the sharp pain immediately, cunt clenching and inevitably soaking your panties even more than they already are. You glance back at him as he rubs over the welt he's just created.

"These are cute." He says with a bored voice as he pulls at the string of your thong with one finger.

They're nothing special, a simple pink fabric thong. You didn't put on anything special since you were definitely not anticipating a situation like this to arise. A little foolish now that you think about it, given how many times he's grabbed you by the wrist and hauled in into some forgotten room for a quickie. Never in his office though, especially not during business hours.

Before you can quip back, he's pulling out his pocket knife. He grabs your skirt and hikes it up to your waist before he runs the point of the knife down your lower back. He uses the dull side of the knife, careful not to cut you, but the point of the blade still offers icy friction against your heated skin. Teasing you with the possibility that he could make you bleed.

You squirm in his lap as goosebumps raise all over your skin, pulling a deep breath in when he dips the blade under the waistband so he can flick it up, expertly slicing through the fabric. He makes quick work of it, cutting the pesky fabric out of the way so you're completely exposed to him.

"Does pissing me off always get you this wet?" He asks before flipping the knife away so he can run a finger slowly down your folds.

"That's from thinking about my date later."

That comment earns you a very sudden, very hard strike with the paddle. You bite your fist to muffle the cry that tears out of your throat, desperate to remain unheard by anyone outside of the office.

"Oh hell fucking no." Katsuki growls before quickly snatching up both of your wrists so he can pin them behind your back with the hand not wielding the paddle.

"You want to be a mouthy slut, so be it."

Another skin splitting hit to the other cheek. The pain is blinding, causing your body to jolt and twitch in his lap. You know your ass is going to be purple and welted for days, but there's not a chance you'll complain, because you absolutely love it.

"Is that all you got, sparky?" All you want is more, more bites, bruises, paddles. Anything Katsuki will give you, you'll take it with greedy, desperate hands.

"You're such a masochistic little bitch." His voice makes your pussy contract around nothing, then you feel the shameful sensation of your slick dripping down your thighs.

His hand comes up to grab at the reddened flesh of your ass, digging his fingertips in with a sneer. You feel his dick twitch against your stomach as you writhe from the sharp new pain he inflicts.

"You want me to touch you here?" He ghosts his fingers over your dripping core.

The tease is almost enough to make you break… almost.

"I'd rather save it for Deku."

There is no composed chuckle, no warning swat, not even a breath before you're shoved off of his lap so you can fall to the floor in a pathetic pile of bunched up clothes and desire.

You try to scramble to your knees, but the bottom of Katsuki's expensive dress shoe meets your sternum and forces you on to your back with a harsh push. He moves like a wolf, planting a knee on either side of your chest, caging your arms under his strong thighs. He leans over and seizes you by your shirt collar.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that right?" He barks down at you, eyes ablaze with disdain for your bratty antics.

"You're gonna choke on my cock for that one, smart ass."

You shouldn't get a thrill from such a nasty threat, but your mind spins and your body sparks.

He makes quick work of his belt and pants, shoving them down quickly to expose his straining cock. It never ceases to make your mouth water, every inch is perfect. He's thick and heavy looking with a beautiful curve that feels devine inside you.

"Open up, and don't try anything cute." He huffs before grabbing the hair on top of your head to bring you towards his dick.

He slides into your mouth with ease, sliding the underside of his head along your tongue. You have to drop your jaw pretty much all the way in order to fit him, but you always love that part.

"Look at me, watch me the whole time." He orders, fist grabbing a little more firmly at your hair.

He presses himself into the back of your throat, the taste of the precum he's smeared along your tongue finally hits your taste buds. You savor the taste, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly but never closing.

Your eyes meet his just as you remember to relax your throat and let him all the way in. He somehow slides down your throat even further, balls pressing into your chin. You can't stop the drool that spills from the side of your gaped mouth or the tears that prick at your eyes.

He grins down at you, predatory and ravaging. Your legs twitch as your hands slide up to hold his sides, clinging to the fabric of his shirt as he starts to set a slow pace with his hips.

It's not the merciless throat fucking you anticipated, but he did only just get started. Something deep in your chest resents the slow pace, something depraved inside you wants him to use your throat until you're heaving and sobbing.

You moan around his cock and try to convey desperation in your eyes as you watch him move above you.

"Oh you poor slut, I know you want more, but you haven't fucking earned it." He says as he presses all the way in again, but this time he holds it there.

You dig your nails into his sides and close your jaw around him a little more, teeth teasing the skin of his hard on. His lip twitches into a snarl like a dog about to snap. He snatches your nose with his fingers, closing off your airway. You don't panic, not even close. You just glare up at him, having played this game many times.

"Little miss composed, huh? How about now?" He presses impossibly far into the back of your throat.

For the most part, your gag reflex has been trained out of you, but somehow he hits it right away. You open your airway and attempt to gasp, a fruitless attempt since all you can do is choke on his shaft. He doesn't release the hold on your nostrils, just glares down while you struggle under him.

Suddenly, but not soon enough, he releases your nose and rips himself from your throat. You let him pull you along like a ragdoll as he settles back into his chair, pulling you to your knees as you sputter and gasp and cry. He grabs you by the hair at the back of your head with one hand, and by the jaw with the other, a hold he's always been fond of.

"Now, unless you want to keep choking on my cock, I suggest you remind me who's about to fuck the breath out of your lungs." He says, low and vengeful.

You're nowhere near ready to give in, all kinds of lust oozes through your body. It's spreading like molten lava, destroying every ounce of self control you've ever had.

You feel drool start to pool on your chest, becoming suddenly aware of how much you're salivating.

Oh what a terrible idea.

You spit right in his face, body moving before your mind has a chance to tell it to stop. For the first time since this all started, you feel a little bit afraid. You welcome it though, scarf it down and wish there was more. You're like an adrenaline junkie, and your addiction is the menacing way Katsuki is looking at you right now.

He slowly wipes the offense off his cheek bone, giving a small, astounded laugh before he brings the palm of his hand to crack across your face.

You cry out as your thighs clench beneath you, your body giving away just how much you adore being treated like this.

"Do it again, please fucking do it again, make my day, bitch." Katsuki barks in your face, hands starting to shake a little. He's losing his calm facade, which is exactly what you want. He just needs one final push.

You open your mouth, ready to retort, ready to mouth off like the miserable little brat you are. You don't get the chance though, the words are smacked right out of your mouth as he hits you again. The sharp pain sends another shock of desire straight to your weeping cunt. You cry out as your head snaps to the side.

You take account of the drool leaking out of your mouth, the tears dripping out of your eyes, the slick sliding down your thighs. You're burning up and your vision is becoming unreliable. It might be about time to give in a little, indulge poor, pissed off Suki. You've gotten enough of a beating, now it's time to stroke his ego and get what you want.

"P-please, Daddy, I'm s-sorry." You sniffle, glancing up at him with big, pitiful eyes.

You don't expect the third slap, it's white hot and full of venom. You know without a doubt you'll be sporting a shiner from the assault.

"You're a little liar. You're not sorry, you just want me to put my dick in that stupid little cunt." He's almost yelling, trembling a little more as he sneers down at you.

If he wasn't pissed before, he sure as hell is now.

Perfect.

"How else are you going to send me to Deku full of your cum? Or am I going to have to ask him to fill me up?" Do you ever know when to stop?

"On my desk, now." He doesn't give you a chance to move on your own, he hoists you up by your waist and sets you on his desk. The abused skin of your ass stings against the cool wood. He pulls you by the hips so your ass is sat right on the edge.

He presses his face into your neck as your arms fly around his shoulders. His hot, open mouth against your neck makes you feel so incredibly dizzy. The soft feeling of his tongue contrasting so intensely with how harsh he's been.

"You make me want to blast this whole building to pieces." He huffs against your neck, your hands find his hair and you feel just how sweaty he is.

He braces one arm on the desk as the other reaches up to move your skirt out of the way.

"God, you're filthy. I can fucking smell how soaked you are."

His teeth sink into your neck as he unceremoniously slips two fingers into you. No, he doesn't slip them in, he shoves them in.

"Suki- fuck-" You say before a moan sneaks out of you, falling on his greedy ears.

"Huh uh- you can't keep that prick's name out of your mouth, say his name. I don't want to hear your whore mouth say mine." He crooks his fingers perfectly as you gaze at him with disbelief. The pads of his fingers hit that sweet spot inside you, and all you want to do is cry out for him, cry out his name.

"N-no, please, let me say yours- shit- please!" You shiver when he brings the heel of his hand to press into your clit as he continues to play with your insides.

"Then are you sorry? Really fucking sorry?" He asks as he adds a third finger.

You clench down on him, hips rolling forward as you let out a sad little sobbing sound.

You nod up at him, struggling to find the right thing to say. Obviously, that's not enough for him. He rips his hand out of your hole and slaps your cunt with incredible force.

You cry out and try to bring your legs together, but Katsuki anticipates this. Grabbing the insides of your thighs, he forces your legs open, causing you to lose balance and fall so your back is flat on his desk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't fucking hear you." He says as he grabs his cock and starts to pump himself just inches from your burning center.

"I'm sorry, I am, I'm so sorry, Suki." You say urgently, pushing yourself up on your elbows so you can truly meet his eyes.

Your core just aches as you glance down at his hand stroking his erection.

His free hand comes down against your pussy again, making you jump and whimper. The sting is exquisite, but the throbbing in your walls overrides it.

"I don't believe you, give me one good reason I shouldn't blow my load all over your thighs and send you on your way." His hand picks up speed and you start to panic a little, he might go through with it. You've pissed him off enough, it can't end like this though, no way in hell.

As quickly as you can, you rid yourself of your shirt and your bra. You leave your skirt and your socks on, knowing that combination is a favorite of his. He watches you like a hawk as you lean back down onto your elbows, eyeing the fading bruises all over your chest and down your stomach.

"Because baby," You coo as you bring your fingers to your mouth, "you need me as bad as I need you." After wetting your fingertips, you bring them down to slide over your hardened nipple.

His hand falters slightly as he watches you play with yourself. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth when you tweak the sensitive bud.

"God- fuck- you little tease." He whines before shifting towards you.

In some ways, Katsuki is a simple man. All it takes it some teasing and some tits and he's a goner.

In the blink of an eye, his hands have a hold on the backs of your thighs as he folds you up. You feel the tip of his dick rest against your entrance and you almost scream.

"I'm going to ask you one more time, are you fucking sorry?" He's on his last leg of restraint, the grip on your thighs is absolutely bruising and you can see beads of sweat rolling down his temples.

"I am! I swear I am, I don't give a shit about him- I don't- fucking hell, Suki!" Before you can finish, his thumb is rubbing at your clit as he slides in.

Every nerve in your body responds as he does, you throw your head back and let yourself feel it completely. The drag along your walls is maddening. The second his head presses into your cervix you moan and twitch, and more tears pour from your eyes

"I'm going to make sure you are." He growls.

After he slowly pulls back, he fucks into you like it's the last time he'll ever get to. Every thrust in makes you see stars. You let a sob wrack your body as you claw at the desk.

"How would you feel if I couldn't stop saying some other bitche's name?" He says as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust.

Your stomach twists at the thought, jealousy claws at your insides.

"Makes your skin crawl doesn't it?"

"I didn't m-mean it, I'm s-sorry, sir." Your body rocks on the desk as his hips meet yours, so much rage behind his movements. You feel your body start to tighten, the nerves in your core start to get that wonderful warm feeling.

"Why do you keep doin' that shit then? Huh?" You feel a small twinge of guilt because of how genuine the question sounds, how there's just a hint of genuine confusion in his voice.

"Baby- I- fuck- I didn't mean it, I swear- shit, I'm so close." Your walls start to pulse around his cock, the rest of you starts to squirm.

"You want me to hurt you? Is that it?" He smacks the underside of your thigh after his question, earning a deep moan from you.

"Fuck! Yes, I love it when you hurt me." You admit, voice warbling as your orgasm approaches rapidly.

"Then just fucking ask me for it." Then he stops, stilling completely inside you. It's enough to drive you up a wall, your orgasm runs away from you. All of the building pleasure slips through your fingers.

"No no no! Suki please, I said I was sorry, I meant it, please I was so fucking close!" You beg as your fists hit the desk, almost throwing a tantrum.

"Maybe Deku can help you finish." He says shortly as he pulls out and starts to fuck his fist, with a groan and his head back, he finishes on your thighs as promised. You watch in horror as his release paints your skin white, his soft moans and sighs fall on your ears and it makes your heart sink.

He wastes no time in tucking himself back into his pants, making himself look composed in record time.

"I have a lot I need to get done this afternoon, clean this shit up and be home by eight." He says with a flat tone.

You just lay there dumbfounded as you watch him stalk out of the room without a glance your way.

You did it. You pushed too damn far. Katsuki never leaves you hanging like this. There's always a few gentle kisses, a few mumbled reassurances, it's never like this. Even when it was just quick fucks in a closet, Katsuki would offer you a few moments of comfort afterwards. You hit a nerve, you must have. Something far past you're usually bratty teasing.

The sound of the office door closing makes you flinch. You glare down at the mess he's left on you, eyeing the shredded remains of your panties on the floor. No way in hell you're going to coffee with Deku, not with the horrible feeling settling in your gut. You don't know if Katsuki will even want to talk to you, but you have to try, you have to make this right.

Taglist:

@iloveitblackbhna @midnightartist @oblxvion @imonlymildlyinsane @kasumireads @nobody-says-hello @kibayoukai @michigood9618 @evierena @kimchi123n

#bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugou #mha bakugou #mha smut #my hero smut #my hero academia smut #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo #bakugou x reader #dynamight #king explosion murder #lord explosion murder

958 notes · View notes

tillidontneedfantasy · 4 years ago

Text

A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems�� itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.

610 notes · View notes

retrogalwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Shigaraki x cow girl!reader

Title: “Dark side of the MilkyWay” / see on ao3

summary: You are a hero with a cow quirk, and Shigaraki captures you for himself.

Warnings: noncon, dubcon, kidnapping, dehumanization, humiliation, Incel behavior, Shigaraki being a crusty bastard

Other contents: Lactation, breastfeeding, milking, tiddies, mating press, breeding

words: 1518

The shackles around your wrists that kept your arms above your head were the first thing you noticed after waking up, then the pounding ache all through your body. Your body...the realization that you were naked shook you off that drowsy state into full alert, breasts and pussy completely exposed the the cold air. Panic arose to your heart, fear and despair, all of those ugly emotions which you tried to control at the best of your ability, like you had done so many times before in the face of danger and the unknown. You had to get yourself together if you hoped to escape such a dire situation.

As a sense of calm started to set in, you noticed other things, like the soft bed you were bound to, the darkness of the room that seemed to be practically empty. It took hours before you heard the door click open, and while you were expecting a villain to greet you, you certainly did not expect to see the head of the infamous Leage of Villains.

Shigaraki Tomura himself was grinning down at you as he hurriedly walked into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Seems like everyone's favorite cow is finally up." He sneered, delighted eyes leering at your bare, heaving breasts and pussy so shamelessly that you were pulling your arms as hard as you could in a useless attempt to break off your shackles. Shigaraki only laughed, one of his hands reaching for your head, roughly grabbing one of your horns and forcing your head down, you made a little mooing sound out of pain.

"Holy shit, you really are basically powerless." Shigaraki cackled, his voice ragged and hoarse. Letting go of your horn, he circled the bed taking in the sight of your naked body, a bulge straining his pants already. "That's right, you are nothing but a cow with massive, lewd tits. Who the hell gave you the genius idea of becoming a hero, huh?"

The pained, fearful expression on your face did not match the bravery in your voice. "That's not true, I help people, that's what matters!" You pulled your arms again, the shackles still held you down without sign of giving out. Shigaraki laughed again, a horrible sound that sent shivers down your spine, tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you did your best not to let those tears fall.

"That's real funny, honestly. You should be aware that you're only popular because people love cute animal girls with big tits like you. Admit that you're just a joke, you dumb bitch."

His words stung, pierced your heart until it bled, yet you refused to believe him, refused to let him break you down.

"That's not true, I—"

"I'm the same as them though, as soon as I saw you on the news running around in a tight outfit like some fanservice bait, I knew what I wanted to do with you." He completely ignored you, continuing his cruel speech, his face twisted in a expression of pure sadistic lust.

"Make you mine."

Shigaraki was quickly then getting on the bed. You squirmed and raised your leg to try kicking him off, but he caught you by the ankle. Squeezing down the frail joint, he held you with four fingers, fifth digit almost gracing your skin mockingly. You froze, terrified that he was going to turn you into dust, realizing how powerless you indeed were in that moment.

"If I were you, I'd behave like a good girl, and maybe you'll get out of this alive." Dangling hope above your head like that was so cruel. "I know your fat tits are probably way bigger than your brain, but I'm sure even you can understand what I'm saying."

True to that statement, in that instant you almost understood that there was no salvation, and it felt like enlightenment. Your little ears flopped down, broken hearted, a small moo resonated from your throat.

Shigaraki let go of your ankle and, sensing no more resistance from you, the villain was crawling on top of you and crushing you under his weight. The first thing he did then, was to bury his face in between your ample cleavage. You heard him groan against your chest, the tip of his clothed cock rutting against your naked pussy. Shigaraki's hands gropped the soft flesh to squeeze your breasts against the sides of his face, making them jiggle and bounce. You whimpered at the painful stimulation on your sensitive breasts, squirming as your tail swayed around to signal your distress.

Looking up, he growled against your skin. "These slutty tits are so lewd, you should've tried your luck in adult videos instead of playing hero, dumb cow." His breath tickled your skin, it was scorching hot.

"I've always wondered if you got any milk in these jugs." He squeezed your breasts again, a lot harder, that you bit your lip trying not to cry out loud. Your attempt only seemed to amuse the villain.

"Guess I have to find out."

And before you could process the implications, his mouth was already latched to one of your nipples. His lips engulfed the hard nub as he sucked hard, cheeks hollowing like a vacuum around your nipple. You screamed, the stimulation too strong to hold it in anymore, but he wasn't satisfied at all yet. Shigaraki kept sucking, hand massing and squeezing your breasts until you were a whimpering mess and the sweet taste of milk was finally on his tongue.

"Moohhh~!!"

The moans echoed in the room as milk from your tits squirted into Shigaraki's greedy mouth, and he suckled hungrily, drinking up the liquid. You had milked yourself before out of need, when your breasts became too swollen as a side effect of your quirk, but this was the first time someone else had squeezed the milk out of you. It was like your entire body was on fire. A feverish pitch that was making your head spin, the heat soon pooling at your stomach, thighs rubbing together, the wetness that had started leaking out of your hole before you even realized.

When Shigaraki pulled away from your abused nipple, his spit and your milk mixed together as they dribbled down your skin. You felt filthy, but the lewd sight made Shigaraki more excited than ever.

"Fuck, I can't wait anymore." He hissed through his teeth, pulling back to free his aching erection from the tightness of his pants. You couldn't help gawking at the sight of him, thick cock swollen and impossibly hard, supple head almost purple with a bead of white precum smeared on the tip.

"Wait, please..." You shook your head, begging with your eyes and words for a shred of compassion. Of course, you found none. "Please..."

"That's right, keep begging."

Grabbing the back of your knees, Shigaraki pushed your legs against your chest, breasts spilling between them. He positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance before burying his length all the way to the hilt into your pussy.

You screamed, and mooed, the feeling of being so full was something beyond simply good or bad, it was absolutely maddening, like your pussy had been always meant for that purpose.

Your velvety walls sucked him in, squeezed around him as you adjusted to the size and Shigaraki was cussing, barely remembering to hold your legs with only four fingers as he started thrusting in and out you. "Fuck, so tight...shit..." That small crack in his power, and it almost felt like the smallest of victories in a war you had already lost.

Because the better he felt inside you, the harder he thrusted, until the tip of his cock was hitting the entrance of your cervix, making your toes curl and a certain pressure to knot on your stomach, a build up that was threatening to break your mind.

"I'm gonna give you a nice creampie," He laughed, looking down at you with those red, evil eyes. "I'll breed you like the cow you are, so don't waste a single drop!"

You mooed, feeling yourself overwhelmed by your own orgasm that his words barely registered in your brain. More milk squirted from your tits as your pussy clenched down on Shigaraki's cock, choking his dick in a grip so tight like it wanted his seed just as bad.

"Fuck!!"

He was cumming hard into your pussy, cock throbbing as sticky semen poured into your womb in copious amounts, filling you up with his seed until you were completely stuffed with cum.

A sudden beam of light hit you in the face, the door of the room had been open and the smell of smoke and fire filled your nostrils. You were barely conscious to see properly who it was, only caught the glimpse of black hair.

"Don't you know how to knock?"

"Oops, my bad." You heard his voice, dark and hoarse. "I just felt a weird, sudden craving for milk."

"Right, of course you did."

You could almost hear the smirks on their faces.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tw noncon #tw humiliation #tw dubcon #tw kidnapping #shigaraki thirst

579 notes · View notes

katnissmellarkkk · 3 years ago

Text

Hmmm I should probably wait another day to post part two of Finnick being there for Everlark / being their friend but I don’t wanna sooo. Here it is 🤗

I see my mother lead in a group of mobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. I cross to him and say, “Hey, Finnick.” He doesn’t seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. “Finnick! How are you doing?”

“Katniss,” he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see a familiar face, I think.

Finnick, who’s been wandering around the set for a few hours, comes up behind me and says with a hint of his old humor, “They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

Just as the elevator arrives, Finnick appears in a state of agitation. “Katniss, they won’t let me go! I told them I’m fine, but they won’t even let me ride in the hovercraft!”

I take in Finnick — his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes — and know any plea on my part will be useless. Even I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him. So I smack my hand on my forehead and say, “Oh, I forgot. It’s this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He’s designed a new trident for you.”

At the word trident, it’s as if the old Finnick surfaces. “Really? What’s it do?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s anything like my bow and arrows, you’re going to love it,” I say. “You’ll need to train with it, though.”

“Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there,” he says.

“Finnick?” I say. “Maybe some pants?”

He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this”— he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose —“distracting?”

I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because it makes Boggs look so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.

“I’m only human, Odair.” I get in before the elevator doors close.

At dinner, Finnick brings his tray to my bed so we can watch the newest propo together on television. He was assigned quarters on my old floor, but he has so many mental relapses, he still basically lives in the hospital.

Finnick presses the button on the remote that kills the power. In a minute, people will be here to do damage control on Peeta’s condition and the words that came out of his mouth. I will need to repudiate them. But the truth is, I don’t trust the rebels or Plutarch or Coin. I’m not confident that they tell me the truth. I won’t be able to conceal this. Footsteps are approaching.

Finnick grips me hard by the arms. “We didn’t see it.”

“What?” I ask.

“We didn’t see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?” he asks. I nod. “Finish your dinner.”

“This is what they’re doing to you with Annie, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Well, they didn’t arrest her because they thought she’d be a wealth of rebel information,” he says. “They know I’d never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection.”

“Oh, Finnick. I’m so sorry,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry. That I didn’t warn you somehow,” he tells me.

Suddenly, a memory surfaces. I’m strapped to my bed, mad with rage and grief after the rescue. Finnick is trying to console me about Peeta. “They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you.”

“You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they’d use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow,” I say.

“I shouldn’t have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn’t warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should’ve shut up about how Snow operates.”

Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, “How do you bear it?”

Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.” Something in my expression stops him. “Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.

“The more you can distract yourself, the better,” he says. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine.”

The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes--angry yet unfocused--that frightens me the most.

"He's worse," I whisper. Finnick grasps my hand, to give me an anchor, and I try to hang on.

“You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?”

“Can we have a coffee?” asks Finnick.

Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet.

Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. “Want a sugar cube?” he asks in his old seductive voice. That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. “Here, it improves the taste,” he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup.

Haymitch’s footsteps are still echoing in the outer hall when I fumble my way through the slit in the dividing curtain to find Finnick sprawled out on his stomach, his hands twisted in his pillowcase. Although it’s cowardly — cruel even — to rouse him from the shadowy, muted drug land to stark reality, I go ahead and do it because I can’t stand to face this by myself.

As I explain our situation, his initial agitation mysteriously ebbs. “Don’t you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s . . . it’s more than we could hope for!”

Well, that’s a sunny view of our situation. And yet there’s something calming about the idea that this torment could come to an end.

I want to run, but Finnick’s acting so strange, as if he’s lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead him like a small child.

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

I'm unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I'm inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.

Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick's fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. "Ladies and gentlemen..."

His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered. Before eyebrows are raised, objections are uttered, two and two are put together, and the solution is that I should be kept as far away from the Capitol as possible. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person you want on your squad.

"I don't even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch," I say.

"Yeah, we're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have," Finnick adds cockily.

"Do not think that fact escapes me," he says with an impatient wave. "Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish."

Boggs told Peeta to sleep out in full view where the rest of us could keep an eye on him. He isn't sleeping, though. Instead, he sits with his bag pulled up to his chest, clumsily trying to make knots in a short length of rope. I know it well. It's the one Finnick lent me that night in the bunker. Seeing it in his hands, it's like Finnick's echoing what Haymitch just said, that I've cast off Peeta.

He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. "The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."

The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

Finnick's voice rises from a bundle in the shadows. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does.”

Masks go on. Finnick adjusts Peeta's mask over his lifeless face.

"I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta.

"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him.

"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"

“It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick.

I shout a warning to the others to stay with me. I plan for us to skirt around the corner and then detonate the Meat Grinder, but another unmarked pod lies in wait.

It happens silently. I would miss it entirely if Finnick didn't pull me to a stop. "Katniss!"

#thg #hunger games #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #Finnick Odair #mockingjay #bookcomb ♥️🔎

69 notes · View notes

toosicktoocare · 4 years ago

Text

AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?”

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably.

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.”

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open.

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous?

“Young man, do you know what day it is?”

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue.

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all.

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.”

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat.

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on.

The hell?

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it.

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.”

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him.

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies.

“This young man fell from the roof!”

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels.

“Well, hello there, not dead person.”

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet.

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm.

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences.

“From up there?”

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head.

“Um, yeah. I guess?”

“You guess?”

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid.

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?”

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?”

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him.

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.”

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head.

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Enough, Tony.”

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly.

“What’s your name, son?”

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment.

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit.

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer.

“Peter?”

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.”

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.”

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens.

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him.

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.”

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man.

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?”

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging.

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later.

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?”

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that.

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow.

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?”

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment.

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand.

“It’s all you had.”

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face.

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?”

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.”

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan.

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.”

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?”

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway.

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out.

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.”

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit.

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

296 notes · View notes

hongism · 5 years ago

Text

storge - s. mingi

➻ genre: angst, fluff, light smut ➻ rating: M ➻ word count: 15.6k ➻ pairing: mingi x fem!reader ➻ summary: Best friends do everything together, right? ➻ warnings: language, mild smut, fingering, handjobs, oral sex (explicit m, mentioned f), thigh riding, kink exploration, bad practices, learning ➻ colours of love | part one

“I have a feeling that this mild, quiet happiness will last until December. - juansen dizon”

“So, you aren’t dating him?”

You sigh at the question, the simple string of words hitting your ears and grating against them in a way that causes annoyance to bubble in your gut. Instead of responding with words of your own, you simply shake your head at the girl who lingers at your side. She’s the third girl to approach you and ask you this question in the past week. If you’re honest, it’s starting to frustrate you to a point where you’re close to making a public announcement about your nonexistent love life so that no one would disturb you again.

With that being said, your best friend Mingi loves the constant barrage of questions coming your way. Each time you report back to him about which person asked you the same exact question that day, he gets giddier and giddier. You thought university was supposed to be a step up from the typical high school antics. Yet, you’ve been proven wrong day in, day out thanks to the overwhelming amount of love that girls seem to have for your best friend.

“No, we’re just friends. Best friends.”

“Oh, amazing! Could you please mention me or something to him then?”

“Why don’t you do it yourself? I’m sure he’d appreciate it a lot more.”

If only it were so easy to get rid of them that way. You use the same response on every person that comes your way, and none of them seem to be able to grasp the underlying message you’re sending their way. The “please get the fuck away from me, I just want to make it through one class without being asked about my relationship status with my best friend” always flies over their heads, but over time you’ve come to understand it. The whole notion of a girl being close friends with a guy is a concept that people tend to struggle with, apparently. So even though both you and Mingi find it quite ordinary, the people observing from the outside jump to conclusions before considering what your relationship actually is. (He calls it one of the perks of being friends with him, but you only see it as a detriment instead).

It isn’t a surprise that when you approach your friend less than an hour later, the first thing that he comments on is the expression on your face, no doubt one of disdain or exhaustion.

“Long day already?” He laughs as you drop your bag on the floor and sit in the seat across from him. His smile only stretches further when you glare at him from across the table. “How many today?” You scoff at his presumptive question, and even though he’s correct, you don’t want to give him the pleasure of being right quite yet.

“Remember the cute guy from our psychology class?”

Mingi rolls his eyes at the question, shaking his head ever so slightly. You silently wonder if he’s merely disappointed that you didn’t mention any people thirsting after him.

“He’s only cute to you. You have terrible taste in men.” He dodges the attack you send his way, smoothly moving out of the way of your arms reach, and sticks his tongue out at you. “I’m better looking than him though, right?”

“No!” You protest as you try to extend your hand further to actually make contact this time, but your efforts fail thanks to the unfortunate length of your arms. Mingi laughs at your struggles for a moment before leaning closer to let you smack his shoulder. You take the bait, grateful to have the opportunity now before he takes it away from you later.

“Well, are you gonna do anything about it or just let it sit as you always do?”

You fall back against the chair, fingers drumming against the table as you look up at Mingi with pursed lips.

“I know what that means.”

“I’m going to do som—”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to watch him from afar like you always do and secretly pine after him in the desperate hopes that he might notice you or talk to you at some point without putting in any effort into making an actual move yourself.”

“Okay, wow, fine.”

“I’m only speaking the truth.”

“I don’t have people lining up left and right for me. I don’t have it as easy as you do, so that’s not fair.”

“Whoever said I have it easy?”

“People come to me every damn day asking for your number and if I can tell you about them!”

Mingi cocks his head to the side, blinking at you with his wide eyes for a moment. The sudden silence catches you off guard; Mingi rarely sits still without making some sort of ruckus, leaving you to be the calmer, more level-headed one. In all honesty, you expected him to laugh and be a little smug about the attention. You blink back at him, lips still parted slightly.

“Anyways…” You bend down to grab something out of your backpack, but Mingi stops you with what he says next.

“Why won’t you initiate for once?”

You hesitate, glancing at Mingi from the corner of your eye.

“Why won’t you actually go on a date with one of these people?” You counter. You try to fight the embarrassment that creeps up your neck, but it’s too late, and the heat floods your cheeks before you can duck your head again. Mingi is fully aware of why you can’t initiate. Still, you’ve always refused to admit it, even though he’s in the exact same position.

“None of them have really piqued my interest, I guess.” He shrugs.

“That’s shallow.”

“Well, it’s better than leading them on, isn’t it?” Mingi asks, and you have to agree with him. You would certainly rather have someone be upfront about their feelings instead of leading the other on. After a few moments of silence, he continues,

“Anyways, you didn’t answer the question. Why won’t you just initiate?”

The heat on your cheeks deepens even though you were expecting the question. You try to duck your head to keep Mingi from seeing your embarrassment, and yet he keeps pressing his chin forward, so you have no chance to hide your face.

“I can’t,” you hiss through your teeth.

“Why not?”

“I’m scared to initiate things since I’ve never had experience with anything that falls in that spectrum. You know that.”

Admitting it out loud provides zero relief from the anxiety pumping through your veins at the moment. Still, the slight frown that creeps onto Mingi’s face sends you further into a frenzy. You tug a notebook out of your bag, slamming it down onto the desk before you, causing some of the other students within the library to send pointed glares your way.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to learn quickly then?” Mingi suggests, adding a slight shrug to accentuate his words.

“Is it that easy though?” You peer at Mingi with wide eyes for a moment before shaking your head. “Why am I asking you? You don’t know anything either.”

Mingi does nothing to defend himself, instead offering a slight shrug in response. You glance down at your notebook and thumb through the pages until you reach a blank one. Mingi’s hand hits the page. You jerk your head up to look him in the eye, and a hint of playfulness lingers behind his brown eyes, and you narrow your eyes immediately. You know that look, years of friendship have taught you that it can only mean one thing.

Mingi has an idea.

And when Mingi has an idea, you never end up liking it much.

Nothing against your best friend or anything, but he isn’t renowned for coming up with the smartest ideas. He grins at you, gums flashing as he exposes his teeth, and you frown at his enthusiasm.

“No,” you say preemptively, ready to shoot down whatever idea Mingi has.

“I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“It doesn’t matter. My answer is no.”

“Why?”

“I know whatever idea you have is a bad one.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name the last good idea you had.”

“Automatic page-turners so you don’t have to turn the page yourself.”

“That’s not — Mingi, no. How hard is it to turn a page?”

“Harder than you think.”

“It’s not that hard, dumbass.”

A brief moment of silence then— “That’s what she said, ha.”

“You aren’t funny.”

“You love me.”

“I’m regretting everything now.”

“Look, Y/N, listen for two minutes. That’s all I as—”

“Your time starts now. 120, 119, 118, 117—”

“Okay, chill! Damn, no need to be a bitch about it.”

You sigh, propping your elbows up onto the table and staring forward at Mingi with little interest.

“Alright, so I have an idea. Don’t say no yet, just hear me out for a minute. You could… you know, try it out on me.”

“Excuse me?” You squint, eyes meeting Mingi’s brown ones, and he dodges eye contact in favor of looking at the table.

“Since you’re scared to initiate things, you could test it out on me.”

“Mingi, you don’t have any experience either. This guy has probably has had twenty girlfriends in his lifetime and a hundred times more experience than both of us combined.”

“A hundred times zero is zero.”

“Mingi.”

“Hear me out. Th-there’s this girl. I, uh, I’ve had my eye on her for a while… but I can’t initiate anything. I-I don’t have any experience either so that’s holding me back from doing anything. So, why not… why not just learn together?” Your friend glances up at you, eyes darting away as soon as he meets your eyes and clears his throat.

You let the silence settle and mull over the suggestion. You do everything with him, and you’ve done that since you were in middle school. The list of firsts you’ve had with him is not that long, and yet the offer of experiencing more firsts with him… You examine your friend’s face, putting a bit too much effort into analyzing his features. He isn’t bad looking — not in the slightest — and there’s a good reason why so many girls are chasing after him.

Tall? Check.

Sweet? Check.

Funny? Check.

Broad shoulders, large hands that dwarf yours, and thighs that you’ve definitely thought about a hell of a lot more than a best friend ought to think about? Check, check, and check.

Besides, you trust him, and he’s never done anything particularly shady (except for that one time when he told your high school sophomore year crush that you thought his ass was hot). You honestly trust him with your life. What’s the harm in trusting him with this too?

He’s still trying to avoid looking in your direction. A slight redness has risen to his cheeks, and he seems more unsure about the idea than you are, even though he’s the one who suggested it.

There's one glaring issue that's causing red lights of warning to go off in your mind. You love Mingi, there's no doubt about that, and he's your closest friend for a reason. That doesn't include sexual attraction, however, and despite thinking about his looks (and thighs), you made an executive decision a few years ago that meant you would never go after your friend with sexual intent in mind.

His soft-spoken suggestion is hesitant yet convincing, and you blatantly ignore the warning signs in favor of the pull of Mingi's words.

"I mean... why not give a try?" You shrug in attempts to hide the embarrassment beginning to creep up your neck.

Mingi freezes in place. A moment of silence passes between you, your discomfort grows exponentially, and you regret saying the words now. Then Mingi snaps his chin up, dark eyes searing holes into your own.

"Really?" He asks, lip trembling with the syllables.

"Yes?" You answer. You curse yourself for pushing the questioning lilt to your tone, chin tilting to the side slightly.

"Are you being serious about this though?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Do you really… you know, wanna… test things out with me?"

"That's why I said yes, Mingi."

Your legs begin to shake under the table, the nerves in your gut spreading throughout your entire body. If Mingi suggested it, why is he so hesitant all of a sudden?

"Were you expecting me to say no?"

"I don't—I have no idea what I was expecting to be honest." Mingi shifts in his seat, and his hands leave the edge of the table to most likely curl them into tight fists in his lap as he usually does whenever struck with nerves. You don't respond right away, instead of blinking at your best friend with a look of mild wonder.

"Um, so… what do we—when do we—you know?"

"Start?"

"I guess… yes?" You aren't used to this lingering awkwardness between you and Mingi. Typically, your friendship is all sunshine and butterflies with zero awkwardness or tension. Hell, any arguments the two of you have are usually based on something stupid and trivial, and it's been that way for as long as you can remember. Even after the incident where Mingi told the guy you liked that you thought he had a nice ass, you were more embarrassed to be around the guy than you were angry with Mingi for letting that nugget of information slip.

Just the prospect of engaging in physical affection and shit like that causes too much panic and awkward tension for comfort. Perhaps it's another red flag or warning sign indicating that this is a bad idea, but you continue to push that thought further to the back of your mind until it doesn't bother you anymore.

"Wh-whenever we want, I guess? I mean, whenever you want. That's probably the best idea."

"Well, school comes first. I have two projects coming up, as well as a few tests because midterms are on their way, and I refuse to fall behind at this point. I have to make sure I maintain a good GPA in order to get into my fall classes, and I've heard that they have no mercy once you're a sophomore, so I need to make sure everything goes smoothly from this point onward so that—"

"Ah, Y/N, I get it! School first! It's okay!" Mingi's hands come up again, held up in defense over his chest as he urges you to stop your rant. You inhale deeply in efforts to catch your breath, the lack of air during your rant causing you to feel lightheaded.

"W-We don't have to start right away. Take it slow at first? If you think that's best…" Mingi trails off and looks away from you, a redness creeping up his cheeks again. You shake your head at him even though he cannot see the action.

"I don't know what's best," you mumble, tugging the notebook that lies forgotten on the table closer to you. The odds of you getting any work done at this rate are minimal, especially since you know you will be thinking of whatever this arrangement entails for the next few days.

"A-Are you leaving?" Mingi jerks his head back in your direction as he notices your movements, and you shake your head a few times.

"I was going to suggest we head to the coffee shop. I'd, uh, I would rather discuss this there instead of the public library."

"Oh, yeah, uh, that's a good idea. Yeah, let's do that. The usual one?"

"Yes, dimwit, I was also assuming we would walk over there together as we usually do." Your use of the playful nickname alleviates a bit of the tension residing in the air, and Mingi breaks into a gummy smile at the sound of it. You continue to pull your unused belongings together and shove them into your backpack again, Mingi doing the same across from you.

He's first to stand, which would generally mean that you would have to jog to catch up with him and his long legs, but instead of leaving right away, as usual, he turns the corner of the table and joins you where you're still sitting.

You blink up at him with wide eyes, hand frozen on the strap of your bag. Mingi doesn't say a word before stooping down and snatching your bag before you have the chance to stop him. You release a noise of indignation that sounds a bit too much like a dog's yelp for your liking. Mingi doesn't give you any time to breathe, because he next grabs hold of your left hand that's still outstretched in the air for your backpack.

"Mingi," you hiss after a moment. Your gaze drifts between the awkward clasp of your hand in his and the man's cheeky grin above you.

"I got your backpack, don't worry. And your hand." He sends a wink your way, and lunch nearly makes an unwelcome appearance in your mouth again. Before you can retort back, Mingi gently tugs you to your feet and pulls you into step with him as he walks out of the library.

People are sending the two of you looks. Not the kind of looks you are used to getting, but looks. The ever so typical "ugh can they just get together already" and "everyone knows it but them" looks are no longer present. No, this time it’s looks of "oh is it finally happening?", "are they finally together?" and "it's about damn time" that have you bristling. Again, your brain pushes the thought that this may be a bad idea to the forefront of your mind, but Mingi's grip tightens ever so slightly and pushes that thought away.

You glance down at your joined hands as Mingi pulls you along, expecting to feel some sort of warmth blooming in your chest, and yet nothing rises. You shift your fingers in his grasp and slip your fingers between his, a childlike wonder to your gaze, and Mingi looks back at you when you stop walking. He sees your fixation on your joined hands and allows quiet to hang for a moment before breaking your reverie.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" He asks as he bends a bit to look you in the eye.

"It's nothing," you mumble back.

"We've held hands before, you know? This isn't anything new."

"I know…" you trail off, train of thought failing to be vocalized. It feels different, doesn't it? Is it because there is a different sort of intention behind it now? Or am I reading too far into things already?

"Hey, you dolt, you're thinking too hard again."

"Sorry." You shake your head to recover from the impending thoughts and smile up at Mingi. He grins back at you, gums flashing, then squeezes your hand tighter before continuing to lead the way to your usual cafe.

"S-So…this girl, um, do I know her or...?"

"Or what?" Mingi doesn't spare you a look, but his grip on your hand loosens, fingers slipping out of yours, and you wonder if you've said something wrong.

"I mean, is she someone who has come to me asking for every detail of your life or not?"

"N-No, she's not. She, uh, she doesn't seem interested in me at all."

"Would I recognize her if I saw her?"

"Maybe? Uh, she's in our history class. Hyerin. Min Hyerin?"

You purse your lips, shaking your head back and forth even though Mingi can't see you. The name doesn't ring any bells, although you try your best to avoid talking to your classmates. Mingi is the social one between the two of you, having enough extroverted energy to carry the both of you through social interactions and such. He may know this girl well, but you surely don’t.

"You know the guy in psychology yet?"

"What?"

"Do you know his name, you dolt?"

"O-Oh, uh, no? I haven't talked to him at all. I'm too—"

"Nervous, I know."

"That's not all there is, Mingi." You stop in your tracks, eyes bearing holes into your best friend's back. The walls of defense come up immediately, and you cross your arms over your chest. Mingi keeps walking for a moment before he realizes that you are no longer by his side. He glances back at you. A sigh passes through his lips when he reads the frown on your lips.

"Y/N."

"Mingi."

"Y/N."

"Mingi."

"Is this about the anxiety thing?"

You roll your eyes at the question, arms falling away from your chest. Part of you wants to argue and defend yourself, but the constriction in your chest prevents words from coming out. Instead, you stare at the ground, gnawing on your lower lip with a bit too much pressure. Mingi notices the expression painting your features and walks closer to you. He takes hold of your left hand, fingers interlocking yours, and tugs you closer to his side. Whether he knows that you don't really want to talk about it or that he doesn't want to address the topic either, you'll never know, but he starts walking again with you in tow.

You frown at your joined hands again, but the tightness in your chest begins to alleviate as you continue to walk, and for a moment, you think that the anxiety bubbling in your gut will go away. However, that thought is quickly dispelled because the longer Mingi holds your hand, the more you notice the glances and stares of strangers on you, on your joined hands, on the two backpacks Mingi carries. It's another moment of questioning yourself, wondering if you're making the right decision or a terrible mistake, but Mingi doesn't give you much time to dwell on those thoughts because his fast walking gets you to your usual hangout in less than five minutes.

"Can you order for us? I need to go to the bathroom." He asks as soon as the two of you step through the door. A typical gummy smile plays at his lips, one you can't say no to, so you shoo him off, watching as he drops your bags at a booth before he dashes for the bathroom. A sigh escapes your lips, and you walk up to the counter.

"Hi Y/N," the barista behind the counter greets, hitting you with a smile.

"Hi Yeosang, how are you?"

"Eh, as good as I can be. I work a double today."

"Hey, you're the one who chose this. You could've had the same psychology class as us, but you said you wanted a full day off school so you could work." You reach across the counter and poke at Yeosang's shoulder. He laughs at your childish behavior.

"Fair point, okay. I'm assuming you want the usual, by the way?"

"Of course. You know Mingi. He's a creature of habit, not very open to new things."

"Yeah, yeah, but you're the same way," Yeosang teases as he punches in your order on the register. You purse your lips. Should I tell him about the deal with Mingi? No, he wouldn't approve. He'd think it's stupid, wouldn't he?

"Y/N?" You lift your chin and look at Yeosang in the eye, startled by his sudden utterance of your name. "I asked you a question but you seemed to be off in la-la land."

"Oh, sorry. I—whatever. What's the question?"

"When are you actually gonna start working here with me?" Yeosang asks (again), head tilted to the side and bright eyes wide.

"If you want to see me more, all you have to do is ask."

"Pfft, you think I want to see your lazy ass more? Seeing you more means seeing Mingi more, and that's not a joint package I'm the biggest fan of."

"You know you love him," you chastise as you pass your credit card over to him.

"Oh, whatever, he's not all that great. But anyway, I'm asking because of money. You said you were gonna get a job last semester but never did."

"I know, I know. I just—the school has been my focus more than anything else." You glance over at the bathrooms where Mingi is on his way out. Yeosang follows your line of sight to land on the redhead. A small scoff passes through his parted lips.

"Yea, school." The dig is a typical one from Yeosang, he isn't shy about sharing his opinions, and that's something you've grown used to in the time you've known him. Yet it stings this time, perhaps because there are new intentions behind your relationship with Mingi, or it's the doubt still nagging at the edges of your thoughts.

"Be nice, Yeo. That's your roommate, so you're the one who gets to go home to an angry Mingi, not me." Yeosang merely rolls his eyes in response and passes your credit card back to you. A soft smile lands on his lips a moment later though, eyes still following Mingi as he settles into the booth.

"Whatever, I know he's the best roommate I could've asked for or something."

"Oh, by the way, we need to talk about something later. Uh, I'll try to catch you whenever Mingi and I are done with homework." You leave the counter before Yeosang has a chance to question you, fleeing his inquisitive stare and the feeling of anxiety in your gut. It's a last-minute decision on your part, a spur of the moment panic that surges through your gut and makes you decide to confess the deal you have with Mingi, which you regret almost immediately.

You go to join Mingi at the table, but when you sit down, you can see Yeosang glaring at you from across the small coffee shop, no doubt curious about what you desire to talk about, but you simply make a little 'x' with your fingers and shake your head.

"Okay, so…are we needing to make some ground rules or something?" You ask as you redirect your focus to Mingi. He snaps his gaze to you, turning away from the window on his right.

"Uh, I guess we should? I don't know." Mingi brings a finger to his mouth and catches the fingernail between his teeth.

"Okay...what's off-limits for you?"

"Off-limits? I don't know. Should there be those things?"

"Don't we need to have some sort of boundaries?"

"I was just gonna go with the flow honestly." Mingi shrugs and leans back against the cushion of the booth. Your eyes dart over to the counter where Yeosang is and find his gaze tracking you again. You curse under your breath, reach for your backpack, and pull out a notebook so that you at least look somewhat busy. Yeosang is undoubtedly suspicious already, especially considering the fact that you told him you had something you wanted to talk about, and you can't keep your mind from drifting to the thought that Yeosang knows precisely what's going on by now. Mingi watches your hasty movements with little interest but pulls out his own notebook as well.

"Even if we just go with the flow, shouldn't we discuss it?"

"Y/N, that's not what going with the flow means."

"I feel like we need boundaries," you claim.

You're avoiding Mingi's gaze now, and it's more than obvious, especially when he tries to make eye contact, and you jerk your head to the side to dodge it.

"Okay, give me an example."

"No sex," you spit out, cheeks flushing as soon as you say it. Mingi's eyes widen at the suddenness of your words and the volume, and you realize you might have said the words a bit too loud. Then, Mingi's cheeks turn red as well, almost matching the color of his hair.

"Y-Yea, okay, we can—look, we're just gonna take that off the table now, yea? Yea. We don't have to—ew."

"Ew?" You reiterate.

"I just imagined having sex with you."

"Mingi!"

"I'm not saying it would be bad, I'm ju—"

"Gross, I don't wanna know!"

"You're the one who brought it up!"

"I didn't mean for you to tell me about your sex fantasies."

"Oh my god, that's not what I was doing."

"Y/N!" Yeosang's voice interrupts your bickering, his bright tone sends across the cafe, and you instinctively sit up straighter. You excuse yourself from the table without a word.

"What the hell did you do?" Yeosang asks as soon as you get close to the counter. You reach for the coffees in front of you, but Yeosang pulls them out of your grasp at the last second. "Answer the damn question."

"I didn't do anything," you retort as you grab for the drinks again.

"Bullshit. I'm calling bullshit. You fucking yelled 'no sex.'"

Your heart plummets, and you can almost feel the sensation of it dropping. Eyes wide, you stare at Yeosang's blank expression. "So, what the fuck did you do?" Even having known Yeosang for quite a few years now, you still get scared of him at times. This is most definitely one of those times because even though his face is blank, there is an overwhelming level of something in his eyes.

"Can we talk about this later?" You hiss out, cheeks flushed and burning at this point. Yeosang refuses to let up though.

"You're about to make a bad decision, aren't you?" As soon as he voices his question, you realize precisely what you saw in his eyes.

Concern. He's worried about you yet again.

"I swear Y/N, are you letting Mingi drag you to another party? Do you not remember what happened last time?"

"No, I'm not," you mutter back. "Stop worrying so much. This isn’t about a party."

"Y/N." There's a hint of warning in Yeosang's tone, and doubt catches you in that moment of weakness. "I can't bail you out of everything. Especially when it comes to something between you and Mingi."

"There's nothing there!" You spit, eyes flashing anger at the accusation, and Yeosang instinctively takes a step back. "Fucking lecture me later, Yeo, I don't have time for this." You snatch the drinks off the counter and head back to the table where Mingi waits. Either your anger is radiating off you in waves, or Mingi watched your interaction with Yeosang at the counter. As soon as you take a seat, he pipes up with a question.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Were you two arguing?"

"No, no, it was nothing." You ignore the persistent stare that Mingi sends your way by sipping your coffee.

"Why does Yeosang look like you’ve just kicked his puppy then?" You hesitate, drink halfway back to the table, and glance over to the counter again. Yeosang isn't there anymore, however, empty space there instead. You redirect your focus to Mingi, tongue dragging across your front teeth.

"We can't let him know about this."

"What?"

"We can't let him know what we're doing," you reiterate, hand coming down on the table with a bit too much force.

"O-oh, yea, I wasn't planning on it?"

"I'm gonna talk to him about some of it but not all."

"What are you even saying, Y/N? I'm not following." Mingi drums his nails against the table, head tilted as he watches you struggle to find the words.

"I don't know! Just ignore me, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"Well," Mingi starts, taking a deep inhale of air. "Do you wanna go to my apartment?"

"What?"

"Don't make it weird, Y/N, for fuck's sake!"

"I'm not making it weird!"

"God, you're being so awkward about this. No wonder you've never had a boyfriend!"

"I'm offended, Mingi."

"Good."

You scoff at his response. "How am I supposed to respond? I didn't even hear you clearly the first time."

"I asked if you want to go to my apartment," Mingi says again, slowing his words so that you can clearly hear them.

"Yea, that's fine. I'm fine with that." You glance over to where Yeosang is again.

"Why are you worrying so much about Yeosang right now? He has nothing to do with this, Y/N." You reel and face Mingi again, catching his brown eyes on yours.

"He wouldn't approve of this," you mutter, swirling your coffee around in its cup. Mingi narrows his eyes.

"You just said that he doesn't have to know."

"He's our friend, Mingi, and your roommate. He is going to find out eventually."

"You're the one who agreed, Y/N. I put up the offer, and you accepted it. You didn't have to, and we can still call it off if you've changed your mind." Mingi shrugs, much more nonchalant about this whole matter than you are.

"It's not that. I would just rather… I don't know. I would rather not have him witness it."

"So, you would rather have your roommate witness it?"

"We aren't friends with my roommate; however, we are friends with Yeosang."

"Okay, I see your point," Mingi relents, putting his arms up in defense. "I raise a counterpoint. Hear me out?"

"Go ahead, go ahead." You sit back and rest against the booth.

"Yeosang works late, remember? Full days on Tuesdays and Thursdays, until closing. Then he has to clean the cafe before coming back to the apartment. So that means he wouldn't get back until past eleven." Mingi draws invisible lines across the table with his finger. You follow the movements with your eyes, listening to Mingi's plan carefully.

"So…?" You prod in the hopes that Mingi will elaborate more.

"So, Yeosang is used to seeing you at the apartment without there being some underlying intention behind it. Even if we decide to make this agreement a reality, he doesn't have to know because we could limit ourselves to learning things when he isn't around. And when he does show up, we can just chill and do the things we usually do whenever Yeosang's around."

Mingi is making too much sense. Far too much sense, and he's using far bigger words than are usually in his vocabulary. That is a rather significant concern; however, you can't find any flaws in his argument, no matter how hard you try. And perhaps that's the purpose of Mingi's case and what his true intentions are, to be able to convince you with this, and you hate to admit that it's working.

It's your turn to drum your fingers against the table.

"Well then," you start, avoiding Mingi's gaze by looking at the table. "I guess…we ought to get started then?" You don't intend for it to end in a question, yet it does. Mingi cocks his head to the side, glancing over you with a slight bit of shock across his features as though he wasn't expecting you to agree, which is strange in your mind. You pack your notebook back into your backpack without another word, collecting your things and getting ready to head out. Mingi fumbles to catch up with your pace.

"O-Oh, you wanna go now?"

"You were the one who suggested it?" You peer at Mingi now, head tilted in question.

"I didn't expect you to agree so quickly, that's all." Mingi scratches the back of his neck. A light flush hits his cheeks. "Considering all your…prior complaints about it, that is."

"I'm trying to make sure this isn't awkward, okay?"

"It isn't awkward, it's just—well, it's weird, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" You hesitate, halfway out of the booth, and look back at Mingi again.

"I mean, yea, we've done a lot of things during our friendship. We grew up alongside each other and have done pretty much everything together. Yet, it doesn't feel like this was something either of us considered."

"And now that we're about to do it, it feels odd."

"Yea, exactly. I think you're overthinking the whole situation though. We're doing the same things we've always done: going to cafes, the movies, the park, hanging out at my apartment, those sorts of things. That's nothing new for us."

You sigh and slide out of the booth, collecting your things and not looking back at Mingi when you utter your next words,

"That's not what I'm scared of."

Mingi follows quickly and falls into step beside you a moment later. You feel the heat of his gaze on you but elect not to say anything. He waits though, following you out the door and back into the cold February air.

"I'm scared of things changing between us," you admit once the door snaps shut behind you, as though that will provide you with some semblance of security. Mingi opens his mouth, but you already know what he is going to ask, so you interrupt him. "I like the way things are between us. We're best friends, and I don't want some stupid desires to get in the way of our friendship." Mingi moves in front of you and reaches down between the two of you to grab hold of one of your hands.

"We're best friends. This won't change anything between us because we have been friends for this long without doing these kinds of things. Even when it's all said and done, we will still be friends, and nothing will be different." Mingi pulls you to his side, fingers slotting between yours, and leads the way down the sidewalk. “Let’s just… do this as though it’s just like anything else we would do together.”

You want to point out that this is different: there is a fine line between a normal friendship and whatever this game you’re playing. You can’t bring yourself to voice the concerns, however, so you keep your lips pressed together. Considering how much you’ve complained already, you’re sure that Mingi would just be annoyed if you said anything else. So you stay quiet, fingers squeezing tight around Mingi’s, and fall into step with him. It’s a comfortable feeling, aside from Mingi’s silence, which is a thing you aren’t used to. Still, it gives you time to just bask in the last shreds of normality between the two of you.

Then your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you let go of Mingi’s hand to pull it out.

Yeosang: if you get your sorry ass stuck at another party, I’m not bailing you out

Yeosang: deadass

Yeosang: you’re on your own

You huff as you read the messages, a small pool of annoyance bubbling in your gut. The good and right thing to do would be to respond and reassure Yeosang that it’s not that serious, not even close to what happened last time.

You do the opposite. Ignoring the messages, refusing to respond, and putting the phone back in your pocket to retake Mingi’s hand without saying a word.

“Hey, Mingi, I have a question.”

Mingi glances down at you, no doubt assuming that you’re going to ask something about the deal again, and you rush to clarify.

“How is it possible that none of the people who have been into you have piqued your interest? Just… statistics wise, I don’t understand how that’s possible. Surely at least one has caught your eye.” Mingi’s gaze drifts again, and he snaps his chin away from you before you can see the expression on his face.

“No. None of them have. I don’t know what to tell you. Just... I haven’t been interested in any of them. Sure, some of them are pretty, or have nice personalities, or simply would be a good girlfriend, but none of them are—” Mingi cuts himself off, and you hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes next. You think he’s going to continue speaking for a moment, but instead, he shifts the topic over to you. “I could ask you the same question, Y/N. There are plenty of guys who have liked you, plenty who probably do right now, but you never do anything about it.”

“Hm well, that’s different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t see it. I mean, you get people who approach you directly and an endless amount of girls who come to me because of you, but that doesn’t happen to me. So I never know if someone likes me, or… I have my eyes set on someone else, so I don’t think about it.”

“You never thought that I might be the same?” Mingi’s question shouldn’t catch you off-guard, but it manages to do so anyway. To be honest, you have never considered it. “I’ve liked people in the past, and when I like someone, it’s like no one else exists. That’s why I’ve never focused on the girls who approach you or me.”

In your eyes, Mingi has always been this single free-spirited kind of person. Never talked about girls or boys, never showed interest in either, and never talked about having feelings for anyone. You always chalked him up to be the type to not be interested in relationships, but it seems you were wrong about that.

“So you… you do want a relationship?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Well, you know, some people are aromantic or don’t get that sort of attraction towards others, so they aren’t really interested in relationships. Some just aren’t into that kind of commitment, some just want to fuck and go. It’s different for everyone, and I just… I assumed that—you know?”

Mingi breaks into laughter as you stammer your way through the words. “I thought you knew me better than that, Y/N.”

“We don’t talk about this sort of stuff, Mingi. What do you expect? I can’t read your mind either, so I don’t know what to tell you!” You barely even notice where you are when Mingi releases your hand and pulls a door open. You have to shake your head and actually take in your surroundings, seeing Mingi’s apartment building before you. He waits for you to step through the door without saying anything. “Sorry, zoned out.”

“Obviously,” Mingi laughs under his breath. You duck into the building, warm air smacking you in the face, and you turn your head to avoid the onslaught of warmth. You don’t wait for Mingi to lead the way up to his apartment, you already know where it is. “Hey, remember that Yeosang gets stingy about liquids in the apartment! Try not to spill your coffee this time!”

“It was your fault last time, I don’t see why you’re blaming me!” You call out over your shoulder as you quickly jog up the stairs.

“You kicked me!”

“And you retaliated by throwing a pillow at me! Not my fault it hit the coffee cup.” Something hits the back of your thigh, right below the curve of your butt, and you spin to face Mingi. He cackles at the shock across your face. “Did you just—you did not!”

“Didn’t what?” Mingi laughs, stepping past you on the stairs and continuing up without you. “I didn’t do anything inappropriate.” You scoff and hurry to chase after him.

“You hit my ass!”

“No, I hit your thigh. There’s not much ass to hit anyways.” Mingi sends a grin your way. You can’t do anything except gape back at him, mouth hanging open as he simply laughs and continues up the stairs.

“I’m offended, Mingi. Not much ass? Why are you even looking?”

“Not looking at much, to be honest.”

“Shut up, Mingi!” If you didn’t like your coffee so much, you would consider dumping it all over Mingi in retaliation. Instead, you’re going to have to find another way to get back at him because no way in hell are you going to let him get away with talking shit about your ass, no matter how flat it may be. “You’re equally as flat, if not more.”

“It’s different for guys though.”

You roll your eyes back at the comment. “Don’t be shallow.”

“What’s the saying? Different strokes for different folks? Some people like boobs, some like butts.”

“And some like personality and other non-physical assets.” You can almost hear the roll of Mingi’s eyes even though he’s in front of you, but he doesn’t add any more salt to the wound. Thank goodness for that too, because you’re nearing his apartment on the third floor. The jingle of keys distracts you from your thoughts. Mingi fiddles with his keys, and you watch on with little interest as he unlocks the door to his apartment. You push your way in first once he opens it though, slipping past him to get inside. Sipping at your coffee, you turn to look at Mingi as he steps through the door as well.

“Why don’t you put your coffee in the kitchen this time? Just in case you decide to kick me again.”

“You mean, in case you throw pillows again? I can’t recall if Yeosang was more upset about the coffee on the carpet or the rip in the pillow.”

“Definitely the carpet. He hates stains.”

“He hates tears and rips more though.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does. Have you seen how upset he gets about the dish towels at work?”

“Okay, but have you lived with him? No. Trust me. Stains are his biggest pet peeve.” You shake your head a little bit but decide not to argue with Mingi about it. Still, You listen to his advice and give your coffee one last sip before setting it on the kitchen counter. You hear quite a bit of movement behind you, and you assume that it’s just Mingi bustling about with his belongings. Giving your drink one last quick sip, you turn away from the counter.

Then, the breath is knocked out of you, a sharp force smacks you in the chest, and you gasp in surprise as some tall figure traps you against the counter without warning. You can do nothing except blink at the chest before you, fingers gripping the marble counter that digs into the flesh of your back.

“M-Mingi?” You stammer. You don’t dare look up, your heart descending into shambles at this point (mostly out of shock, yes, that’s precisely what it is, nothing else). “Wh-What are you—what are you doing?”

“Trying something,” Mingi mutters, voice much lower than you anticipated. You nearly choke on your breath. Your fingers grip the counter tighter as Mingi looks down at you. “Hm, interesting.” He steps back, and you inhale a gasp of air now that there is more space between the two of you. You press a hand to your chest in attempts to quell the frantic racing of your weak and fragile heart. Mingi crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes stay on you, and you don’t have a chance to catch your breath.

“In-Interesting?”

Mingi leans forward, and you instinctively lean back at the same time. There’s nowhere for you to go though, you’re still stuck against the counter, and your back bends painfully against the granite.

“Are… are we starting no-now?” You whisper, eyes glued to Mingi’s. His face presses closer to yours. Breath hot across your face, Mingi shifts his gaze so that he’s looking over your features. His arms fall to the counter, entirely trapping you now, one arm on either side of your body, and you forget how to breathe for a moment.

"Do you want us to start now?"

Mingi doesn't look you in the eye; instead, he keeps glancing over your features and following your nose's curve down to your lips. His gaze lingers there. He presses forward a little more, and one of his thighs slips between your legs with ease. Your lips part as you gasp a little, the pressure of his thigh pressing against your inner thighs eliciting a spike in your heart rate.

"Is it working?" Mingi asks after a moment. You can do nothing except exhale shakily as you look him in the eye, trying not to move otherwise for fear of brushing against his thigh again. His stupid fucking thigh that's wedged between your legs. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Is what working?" You hiss out between gritted teeth. Even though you're trying to seem upset, you're confident that your cheeks are the color of tomatoes.

"Can I… can I-I kiss you?" Mingi sounds surprisingly less confident all the sudden, as though the prospect of kissing you is dangerous, even though his thigh resides between your legs.

"Y-yea. Go for it." You grip the counter behind you a bit tighter. Mingi hesitates a moment then slowly leans in to close the gap between you two. Squeezing your eyes shut, you wait for the hard force of his lips hitting yours. It's soft, however, like a pillow against your lips. You don't move, instead of letting Mingi test the waters first. It takes a moment, but suddenly you have the confidence to. You use your weight against the counter to push forward, moving your lips against his with more force. Mingi matches the strength and pushes against you. His thigh involuntarily presses further between your thigh. You gasp into the kiss, clenching around his leg as it brushes your clit, and your hands fly from the counter to Mingi's arms. Mingi pulls back to glance down at your face, which is now surely gleaming with sweat because you can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

As though by instinct, his arms slide closer to your hips. The pads of his fingers barely brush your skin, where the hem of your t-shirt has ridden up. You bite down hard on your tongue. He has a slight flush to his cheeks now that you really look at him, the redness tints his nose and ears, and you can see the slight stutter of his chest as he tries to catch his breath as well. He doesn't wait for a response to his question.

"I wa-want to kiss you again." His tone is quiet, too quiet for it to affect you the way it does, but there's a tightening in your gut as you hear the words. Instead of answering with words, you shift your hands to the collar of Mingi's shirt and pull him closer to you.

"Kiss me then," you mutter. Your breath is hot on his lips, and the action of pulling him to you causes an almost visceral reaction to washing over Mingi. A high-pitched whine passes through him. It startles both of you. Mingi's blush intensifies, and he ducks his head to hide the embarrassment. You don't give him a chance to hide for long, reaching up to push his chin back in your direction, then press your lips to his once more. Mingi sighs into the kiss. He slides his hands closer to you, taking hold of your hips. His fingers are hot against your skin, and you relish in the sensation as you press yourself further against Mingi.

He doesn't let you pull back for air until he's almost running out of it. Even so, he only gives the two of you a few moments to catch your breath. Whatever you were expecting from your first kiss just went out the window because you had no idea this is what it would be, nor did you think you would be sharing it with Mingi. Yeosang’s concern appears in the back of your mind again. The blaring sirens in your ears ring in warning as you drag your gaze over Mingi’s lips. You ignore all warning signals as you dip in for more.

Something tells you that you’re going to regret this.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

If someone had told you that a month ago you would make a deal with your childhood best friend and that deal would entail making out and sexual explorations, you would have laughed in their face.

Mingi? You really think I would even think about him like that?

Yes, well, here you are a month later in his kitchen yet again (how many times this week?). His lips are on yours. You will say that Mingi has gotten a lot more confident with his kissing in only a month, which is quite impressive in and of itself. He’s also gotten more confident in other departments, wandering hands becoming more frequent, whereas you can barely stave off the embarrassment of kissing him. One thing he loves is marking you. Even if you’re just sitting on the couch, Mingi has his lips on your neck and busies himself with pressing mark after mark against your skin.

But not now. No, right now, Mingi has his lips pressed to yours, and he is kissing you with a particular fervor that leaves you both wanting more. You two haven’t gotten very far past the kissing stage. A little grinding here and there, some awkward orgasms, and a few attempts to get in each other’s pants, but Yeosang always seems to make a timely appearance in those moments. You haven’t been caught yet though, which is more than a miracle since you and Mingi are nothing shy of sloppy.

"I want to try something," Mingi mutters even though the two of you are the only ones in the room. He isn't as shy or reserved this time, no, he's carrying a lot more confidence, and there's a fire in his eyes that catches you off guard.

"More than you've already done?" You exhale shakily.

"Yes. Just a little. Maybe." Mingi's tongue slips out and moistens his lips. Pushing his thigh forward, he works your legs apart slowly. His eyes remain on yours, watching for any sign of hesitation, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip. It's uncomfortable at first; the width of his thigh is too much for your smaller stature.

"Hold on." You shift under him and try to get a better angle with his thigh between yours. "Mi-ingi, wait." Mingi halts immediately at your words. You keep shifting until it's comfortable, only for Mingi to further press his muscled thigh against your crotch. You gasp, the sensation pulsing through you. "F-Fuck."

"Language," Mingi chastises. A laugh courses through him before he presses further up against you. You grasp at his shirt, balling your fists around the material, and throw your head back. "Does... does it feel good?" His voice is much more hesitant, confidence lost from his tone.

"Y-Yes. Yes. It – oh, oh." You shake under him as his muscle works harder against your core. "Fuck, for someone who do-doesn't know what he's doing, you're doing just fine." Rocking back against Mingi's thigh, you feel your hesitations slipping away. The pleasure of the feeling is too good for you to care any longer.

"Your reaction is helping a lot," Mingi huffs out as you release a small moan.

"Wa-ait, I th-think I'm close."

"Already?" Mingi asks. You roll your eyes at his remark and slap his arm.

"F-Fuck you."

"I can stop."

"No, no, no." You bite out, teeth gritted together.

Mingi rolls his thigh forward again. An almost pitiful moan leaves your lips as he does. A string of moans continues to escape as he uses his hands to guide your hips against the muscle of his thigh. You brace yourself by holding onto his shoulder, feeling a wave of heat wash over you.

"Oh fuck, fu-uck, I'm cumming," you cry out as the high hits. Your whole body trembles and shakes as the warmth washes over you. Mingi holds you against him as you ride it out, both arms snaking around you.

"Well, that's one idea down." Mingi slowly pulls his thigh away from you. His hands come down to the counter again, forehead coming to rest against yours. The euphoric sensation quickly leaves you, and as the orgasm passes, you find that cold washing over you instead.

"Is it my turn to try an idea out?" You whisper. Your hands find the collar of his shirt, folding around the material and tugging him down to you.

"Yea, I'd like that." Mingi chuckles. His fingers trace down to your sides.

Then – something rattles and clicks, and you hear the door creak. You shove Mingi back in haste, he stumbles back, and you spin around to turn your back on him. Your hands find the edge of the counter and grip it hard. You try your best to seem somewhat normal, but the two of you look more awkward than anything. It’s glaringly apparent that you were doing something, and you can only hope that Yeosang doesn’t put two and two together.

Your face is hot when Yeosang comes into view. Mingi has moved to the fridge in attempts to hide his red cheeks. Yeosang doesn’t notice you right away, still focused on closing and locking the door, but when he turns to see you, his head tilts in question.

“I really thought you were going to another party.” He laughs under his breath. As he moves closer to the counter, his eyes land on where Mingi is positioned by the fridge. A questioning gleam begins to rise up in his dark eyes. “Why the hell is it so awkward in here?”

You sputter a little, rushing to deny the awkwardness, but Mingi makes the situation even worse by turning around and excusing himself.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” he mutters as he slides out of the kitchen and down the hall. Yeosang’s brows shoot up. You two stay in silence until the door of Mingi’s room clicks shut. You gnaw on your lower lip as you watch Yeosang lower his school bag to the floor.

“You reek of sex.”

“Ex-excuse me, I d-do not!” You stammer, blinking furiously.

“And Mingi was popping a boner.”

“Oh my god, Yeos–”

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N?” The question isn’t spoken with vehemence or anger. Instead, Yeosang sounds tired and disappointed. That almost hurts worse.

“I-It’s no big deal. Just… we’re just learning. Together.”

“Learning together. Yeah, because that always ends well.”

“Listen, Yeo, what would you do in my shoes?”

“I have no idea, because I don’t even know why you thought to do this in the first place.” Yeosang leans against the counter and presses his palms against the granite. His gaze is hot on your skin, so focused on you that you have to look away.

“I don’t know anything a-about relationships or sex. Neither does Mingi. I… I want to know what I’m doing when I have sex for the first time. And when I get in a relationship. Isn’t that normal?”

“It’s normal not to know what the hell you’re doing, yeah. It’s not normal to make a sex arrangement with your childhood friend simply because you’re both horny.”

“That’s not what we’re doing!”

“Then what is it really?”

“J-Just tell me what you would do in my shoes.”

“Is this what you wanted to talk about earlier?”

“Yeosang, please.” Your embarrassment is skyrocketing at an impressive pace, no thanks to Yeosang’s increasingly invasive questions. “Yes, it is. But I didn’t mean for you to ask this many questions.”

“I would never do anything without feelings being present,” Yeosang answers after heaving a deep sigh. “I ask questions because I’m your friend, and as your friend, I worry. So just let me ask questions and worry about the two of you since you are my closest friends.”

“That’s probably a smart decision,” you mutter as you mull over the first half of Yeosang’s words.

“You aren’t going to make the smart decision though, are you?” When you refuse to answer, Yeosang sighs and turns away from you. “Y/N, I guarantee that you will regret this an–”

“It’s fine. Nothing bad will happen.”

“That’s what everyone says before something bad happens.”

“I trust Mingi with my life. Is that not enough?” You counter, arms coming up to cross over your chest. Yeosang squeezes his eyes shut, but you catch him rolling his eyes just before he closes them.

“I understand that, and I know you do. This is something serious. You should feel something for the person you’re giving all your firsts to.”

“There are feelings there,” you snap back.

“Romantic feelings, Y/N. You can’t tell me that you have any of those for Mingi because I know that you don’t.”

“And? Your point? I won’t be giving all my firsts to Mingi anyway.” As your defensive state grows stronger, Yeosang’s disappointment does too. He pokes his tongue out to drag over his lower lip. When he looks back at you, you almost wish he hadn’t so that you didn’t have to see the sadness on his expression.

“I don’t want to argue with you… especially not over something like this,” he mutters, bringing a hand up to comb through his hair. “I trust you, but I hope you will make the right decision about this. Not one that your body wants, but one that your heart wants.”

“I will,” you whisper back, all the fire and anger gone from your tone.

“I just don’t want you to regret anything, Y/N. Or for this to harm your friendship with Mingi.” The words spark an unprecedented amount of anger in you, and you drop your arms to your side.

“You don’t know the type of friendship I have with Mingi. It won’t ruin anything.”

Yeosang doesn’t get the chance to respond because Mingi comes back from the bathroom at that moment. He glances over you and Yeosang. If he notices the spike in tension between you two, he neglects to comment.

“I think I’m going to head home,” you mutter as you try to collect yourself. Mingi’s eyes rake over you in attempts to understand where your sudden departure is coming from. You don’t look back; instead, you stare straight ahead at Yeosang.

“O-Okay, do you want me to walk you out or…?” Mingi trails off. He fiddles with his hands, picking at a loose nail with little interest as he watches you.

“No, I told her I would walk her out,” Yeosang cuts in, finally looking away from you to nod at Mingi.

“Oh, cool. Uh, I’ll text you later, Y/N.”

“Yea, see ya. Tomorrow, I guess? I’ll text you.” You pull yourself away from the counter. Yeosang follows you out of the apartment, hot on your heels as you leave. It’s only when the door snaps shut behind the two of you that he opens his mouth to speak again. You cut him off before he gets the chance. “I don’t need you to worry about us.”

“I — I know you don’t, but you don’t get to decide when I care and when I don’t. I do. I care, and since I care, I’ll worry about you regardless.”

“I know,” you mutter, turning away from Yeosang before he catches the frown on your lips.

“I won’t lecture you to oblivion again, but… I just want you to be careful. I’m scared you’ll get in too deep or regret doing something with him. I know I’ve done that in the past. It’s not a matter of trusting you or trusting him. I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

You moisten your lips as Yeosang speaks and mull over the words. Part of you feels bad for jumping down his throat so quickly like you did. You extend a hesitant hand to grip his bicep, squeezing around his shirt.

“Thank you for looking after us.”

“You’re my friends. I would be a pretty shitty person if I didn’t.”

“Still… I’m grateful that you’re looking out for us.”

“I sense a ‘but,’” Yeosang states, shrugging your hand off his arm.

“We’re being careful, that’s all.”

“If you say so.”

You and Yeosang exchange a prolonged stare, then you reach forward to pull the taller man into your arms. He hugs you back with equal enthusiasm, folding his arms around your waist and pressing his face against your shoulder.

“I love you, Yeosang.”

“Love you too, Y/N.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

You should know how long it’s been by now. Emphasis on should because you most certainly do not know how long you and Mingi have been exercising your arrangement, and things have escalated in a way you did not expect.

In short, the two of you have gotten bold beyond belief. You barely wait to see if Yeosang is home before going at each other, and that’s not even the worst part.

Last week, Mingi fingered you during movie night with Yeosang. It was awkward, he fumbled a lot and had trouble finding the right angle, but once he did, you had to bite on a pillow to keep from screaming out.

Two days ago, you gave Mingi a handjob in the back of a lecture hall. Yeosang was one seat over. God knows what was going through your mind at that moment because that had to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. The thrill and rush it gave you was sweet, but as you look back at it, you only feel the hot burn of shame.

And now. This is the worst thing that has happened yet because Yeosang walked in just as Mingi was slipping one hand down your pants. Needless to say, the two of you detached quicker than imaginable. That didn’t stop Yeosang from seeing exactly what was going on, and your whole body burns with the embarrassment of being caught in the act.

“Mingi, you were gonna take me home?” You inquire, turning to the man even though he agreed to no such thing. It’s a desperate attempt to get out of this awful and awkward situation you just put yourself in. Mingi doesn’t seem to realize that right away though, and he blinks back at you with inquiry in his gaze.

“O-Oh? Was I?”

You send a pointed glare his way, and he straightens his back as he realizes what’s going on. You can feel the heat of Yeosang’s presence nearby. Even though he doesn’t say anything, you can sense the disappointment radiating off his body in waves. This is precisely what he was telling you to avoid. Yet here you are. Doing just that after telling him that you had it under control.

“Yes, I was. I remember now. Yeo, can I borrow your car?”

Yeosang’s glare lingers on you. He doesn’t respond for a few moments, and you think he’s going to say no at first. Then he tosses his bundle of keys towards Mingi.

“Fill it up with gas on your way back.” Tone cold and flat. It almost hurts to hear, but Mingi still seems to be oblivious to what’s happening.

“Will do!” Mingi catches the keys with ease. You step around Yeosang to move towards the door. He seems to want to say more to you, but Mingi’s presence deters him. Either way, you’ll get a text from him later tonight saying that he’s sorry and didn’t mean to offend you or snap at you. That’s just how your relationship with Yeosang operates.

Mingi grabs your hand before you’re even out the door, threading his fingers through yours. You dare to glance back at Yeosang. His stare lingers on your joined hands with even more sadness than before.

“So, why am I taking you home?”

“Because, uh, I-I…” You trail off, hurrying to figure out some sort of excuse to get away from Yeosang. “I’m exhausted? Yeah, I’m exhausted.”

“You know you could spend the night with me. We do that… all the time.”

“Yeah, but I just wanna get home. I haven��t been home in hours. Need to feed the cat next door too.” It’s a lie, but Mingi’s eyes light up at the mention of the pet.

“Oh, is Mrs. Parks out of town again?”

“Y-Yep, but I’ll take care of it, so you don’t have to come up!” Mingi frowns at your words, and guilt twinges in your gut a little. It doesn’t last long because the chilly air outside nips at your skin and pushes the feeling away.

You climb into the passenger seat as Mingi gets in on the driver’s side. As soon as you’re settled in the seat, a hand comes down on your thigh. You flinch at the sudden sensation and glance over at Mingi. He acts as though he hasn’t done anything, hand resting on the inside of your thigh and making you look small under him. You won’t admit it to him, but it makes your gut pool with arousal. Mingi pulls out of the parking lot, driving with one hand so that he can keep the other pressed against your thigh. You want to question it and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but you can barely form a coherent thought. The simple action has you in shambles, and he isn’t even doing anything.

The drive commences in silence, the radio blares in the background, and Mingi occasionally drums the beat of the songs against your leg. You are trying your best to not think about it and just wave it off as a silly and harmless action. Emphasis on try, because every single time you begin to squirm under Mingi’s grip, he smirks. He knows exactly what he’s doing and isn’t even trying to hide the fact that he does.

When he pulls the car into your apartment complex, you don’t get out immediately. Partially because it feels awkward considering what went down in his apartment earlier, and mostly because his hand is still clamped around your thigh. You glance over at him and open your mouth to ask if something is wrong, but Mingi dips in before words get out. His lips hit yours in a mess of teeth and saliva, and you nearly bite the tip of your tongue off. It’s harsher than your first kiss; Mingi puts a lot more force into this one. You respond with an equal amount of ferocity though and reach down to undo your seatbelt. Mingi does the same, leaning into the kiss as he’s freed from the belt's restrictions.

You only part once you run out of breath, still awkwardly holding each other’s faces as you pant into the other’s mouth.

“You never got to try that thing you mentioned earlier…” Mingi trails off, lips brushing against yours as he speaks. You’re caught off-guard, however, completely unaware of whatever he’s talking about. That’s when it hits you. Before Yeosang came into the apartment, you told Mingi that there was something you wanted to try.

“A-Ah, yeah, th–well, yeah. I can — I can try it now maybe.” You stammer your way through the response and try to swallow the bundle of nerves that hits your throat.

“Y-Yeah, go for it. Just… go for it.” Mingi pulls away from you and puts his hands up awkwardly. You aren’t sure what you’re doing either, so you look equally as stupid. Mingi must be aroused from just the minimal kissing because there is a prominent bulge in his pants, and that’s precisely where you reach next. You place a shaky hand over his clothed erection. Mingi’s legs spread further open when you touch him, and you take it as an invitation. You reach for the button of his pants, popping it open, then you tug the zipper down.

Your motions are slow and calculated. You watch Mingi’s face for a reaction with each shift, delighted with the hiss that escapes him as you reach under the band of his underwear and grip his semihard member. You pull the underwear down just enough to expose his cock to the air and your eye. You aren’t sure what you were expecting — you’ve never thought about Mingi’s size — but his girth alone is enough to make you choke on air. You tighten your grip on his cock.

This isn’t the first time you have given Mingi a handjob. It is your first time seeing his cock head-on like this though, because he usually keeps it in his pants whenever you jerk him off. Your intention now is a little different, and you’re nervous about going through with the idea considering his size. You swallow your nerves and lean across the seat to press your lips over the head of his member.

Two months. Now you remember how long it’s been. Because you have spent the past two months reading articles, watching porn, doing anything you can to learn what the hell you’re supposed to do. It’s your first blowjob. Sure, Mingi has never had one, so he won’t know the difference between a good one and a bad one, but that doesn’t keep you from wanting to do a good job.

You start with a few kitten licks to the head of his cock, blinking up at it through fluttering lashes, then you slowly lower your mouth to encompass his shaft. He stretches your lips nicely; it isn’t painful or unimaginable as you initially thought it would be. However, you know that there is no way in hell that you are getting his whole member in your mouth. That’s off the table. He would be halfway down your throat if you tried to do that.

Instead of taking in as much as you can right off the bat, you start small, worshipping the tip of his cock with kisses and licks. He tastes salty; each bead of precum that leaks from his slit is less salty than the last, but you might just be getting used to the taste. You let your tongue explore his length. It runs down to follow the lines of his veins, tracing the tip before dipping back down to run the flat of your tongue over the underside of his cock. It’s heavier than you anticipated, but you have nothing to compare it to, so you can only assume that this is normal.

You begin to bob your head a bit more as you gain some confidence. Mingi releases small groans when your teeth graze his sensitive skin. The sounds encourage you to increase the frequency of your movements. Soon enough, you have to hold your hair back because you’re bobbing up and down too quickly on his cock. Mingi’s moans increase in volume as you continue. That makes you feel a little bit proud because you’re only halfway down his member. You dare to go a little further though, pushing your tongue out further and wetting the next quarter of his dick. As you dip lower, he hits the back of your throat. It triggers your gag reflex in an instant, and you gag around his dick. The sensation must feel good to Mingi because he releases a particularly filthy moan.

You have to pull off before continuing though. You can barely breathe, and nearly gagging on him made you want to throw up. Mingi watches you with eyes filled with lust and desire as you heave a few deep breaths. Slowly you return to his erect member, holding it by the base before pushing your lips back over him. This time, Mingi holds your hair back for you. His fingers entangle in your strands, staying close to your scalp as you hollow your cheeks around his cock. He touches the back of your throat again. This time you are more prepared for the sensation, but it doesn’t keep you from gagging again. Mingi’s hips jerk as you gag around him. He unintentionally bucks up into your mouth, causing you to choke further. A small noise of indignation escapes you, and you groan around him. Again, that must bring Mingi pleasure, because he shifts his hips back.

You smack his thigh when the grip on your hair doesn’t let you up for air. Mingi gets the hint immediately and lets you pull off him. A disgusting amount of saliva connects your lips to his cock. It must look filthy and perverse beyond belief, but Mingi’s dick twitches as you make eye contact with him, spit covering your lips and eyes watering. You swallow roughly. Surely Mingi is getting close to cumming; at least you hope he is because you aren’t sure that you particularly enjoy having a dick in your mouth.

The idea of pleasuring him outweighs your disdain, and you bend back over him to swallow as much of his cock as possible. You make it further than last time, still gagging a little, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as before, so you’re more comfortable continuing it. You bob along his member, and he helps you along a little by grabbing hold of your hair again. He guides your movements like that. Every once and awhile, Mingi will buck his hips up into your mouth and hit the back of your throat harder than before. You have to push the discomfort aside because you’re too damn determined to bring an orgasm over him.

It works at long last after a few seconds of holding you on his cock. You pull off, gasping for air, and Mingi cums in that moment. His seed hits your face, and it’s a good thing that you had your eyes squeezed shut because he would have popped you in the eye if not. You flinch at the contact. It’s as warm as always, but that doesn’t mean you want it on your face. Mingi cusses under his breath as he rides out the orgasm, voice low and gravelly. You shift to look in the back seat, find a random sweatshirt under one of the seats, and use that to wipe your face clean. You can still smell it, but at least you don’t have to feel it on your skin anymore.

Mingi blinks at you in wonder as you sit back in your seat, hands folded neatly in your lap.

“So…?” You trail off. You are a bit embarrassed to ask him what he thought, but you might have to get the words out anyway because Mingi blinks back at you with a dumb expression on his features. “Was i-it — was it good?”

“Fuck yes,” he mutters, releasing another groan. He quickly shoves his softening member back into his underwear and zips his pants back up. You swallow around nothing. “That was… wow. Wow. Damn.”

“Good! Good, yeah – uh, yeah, I’m glad.” You nod awkwardly, unable to look him in the eye all of a sudden. It’s strange how sometimes you can handle the embarrassment of your arrangement with such grace and ease, and other times you can’t even look at your hands. “Well, I’m gonna – I’m gonna go up now. I guess. Yeah.”

“Oh, o-oh, yeah, okay!” Mingi stammers as you motion over your shoulder. He nods along with you then rushes to hit the unlock button on his door. “You… uh, have a nice night!”

“You too, Mingi.”

“Cool.”

“Yep.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Why are you still in the car? And why the hell aren’t you getting out? Two questions that you will ask yourself for the rest of your life because you aren’t sure what comes over you. All you know is that tears are hitting your cheeks, and you are having a breakdown in the passenger seat of Yeosang’s car with Mingi, your childhood best friend, and the man you just sucked off in the driver seat. It feels filthy now. You’ve never felt so disgusting in your life like you’ve crossed a line you were never supposed to cross or that you have done something you can’t come back from. All you know is that Yeosang was right.

You regret it now.

“W-What’s wrong? Y/N, hey, hey. It’s okay.” Mingi reaches forward to touch your shoulder, but you smack his hand away before he can touch you. The sharp impact echoes through the car. “Y/N… what’s going on?”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Mingi, what t-the fuck are w-we doing?” Your shoulders shake as you sob into your hands. You don’t even care that you just held a disgusting sweatshirt covered in cum as you rub at the tears on your cheeks. Mingi doesn’t know how to respond. He brings his hands back into his lap and keeps them there as you continue to cry. “W-We’re so fucking dumb. Why? Why did I let you convince me to do this? Wh-Why did you even suggest it?”

“I… I thought you wanted this.”

“Why would I want this?” You shout with sudden rage. Mingi flinches at the volume of your voice, and for a split second, you feel bad. That goes away immediately though as you settle back into your anger. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“You agreed to it!”

“You should have known better. You’re my best friend!”

“I told you to say no at any time. I said if you didn’t want it, we didn’t have to, I told you that. Why are you suddenly so upset now? After what? Two months? Suddenly this is the worst thing in the fucking universe?” Mingi doesn’t look at you as he hisses the words, eyes forward on the steering wheel. You’re shaking again, but this time it’s the anger that causes you to tremble. Mingi is right. You know he’s right. That’s almost more infuriating.

He gave you the opportunity to walk away, he told you that you could say no, he left the door wide open for you to go. And yet you didn’t. For what? What was all this for? For some damn experience for a guy that you know you’re never going to ask out, let alone talk to? Good fucking riddance.

You push your way out of the car, legs shaky and trembling as you go. You don’t stop to look back at Mingi as you slam the door behind you. A few seconds after you leave the car, the car horn blares. You jerk your head to look back at the car and see Mingi slam a fist against the steering wheel. It’s not hard to walk away, but each step has your legs feeling like lead in an unexpected way. It’s hard to not think about your best friend sitting in the car with tears on his cheeks like yours. It’s hard to believe that Yeosang was right, and he literally warned you that this would happen. Yet you still ignored him. Why? Why, why, why?

You’ve never felt more stupid in your life.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

Mingi stands across from you, arms folded over his chest as he watches you pace back and forth in your living room. You aren’t sure why you agreed to bring him here. It’s been three weeks since the two of you last spoke, three weeks since that argument in the parking lot, and you aren’t sure what it was that convinced you to come when he asked to meet. You don’t stop pacing back and forth as you recall a conversation the two of you shared shortly before your fight.

“We kiss and do all this stuff… but I don’t feel a thing.”

Your chest tightens a little, but you manage to at least maintain a straight face as he looks at you pointedly. Still, you continue your small rant with a weaker voice.

“I’ve never been sexually or physically attracted to you. And that feels wrong for some reason. It feels like I’m doing something that isn’t right. Do you get that?”

“Yea…” Mingi trails off, looking away from your face to stare at the wall instead. “Is all love like this?”

“I have no clue.”

“I don’t want to be in a relationship if I’m not going to feel anything. That doesn’t sound enjoyable.”

“No, not at all.”

So why did you continue? Why the fuck did you both think it was a decent idea to let things blow up in your faces like this? Now you can barely stand to look at each other, let alone be in the same room as each other. It makes every damn class awkward and tense. Recently it’s escalated to a point where you refuse to sit near him, finding a new seat across the lecture hall just so that you don’t have to think about the things you did with him while sitting in the back. Yeosang stays at your side in those classes but casts glance after glance back at Mingi throughout the class.

It didn’t take long for Yeosang to confront you about what happened either. He first yelled at you for the sweatshirt incident, but that quickly turned into concern as he recalled the state Mingi was in when he returned home.

“What happened?”

“You were right.”

God, you almost wish that Yeosang had laughed in your face and said that he knew he was right. You just wanted him to lecture you and tell you off for what you did. Instead, you got a sympathetic sigh and disappointed stares.

“You were happier when the two of you were simply friends and nothing more.”

“I know. I knew that a while ago.”

“So why did you keep doing it?”

Why did you keep doing it? A fucking good question because you certainly don’t know the answer. You know that it became a habit in a short amount of time and quickly developed into a bad one. So maybe you have Yeosang to thank for the reason why you’re pacing in Mingi’s apartment with two fingers picking at your lower lip as though it will make you feel better. He told you that you should at least get closure. Closure for what? A ruined friendship?

“Uh, that girl… the girl I like started dating someone,” Mingi says after several minutes of silence. You whip your head to blink at him in surprise.

“And…?”

Mingi shrugs, obviously unsure of what to say next. He turns away from you. Your pacing comes to a halt at last, and you just stand in the middle of the room, staring at Mingi with glaring eyes.

“Makes me wonder, you know? What all of it was for.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep harsh words from leaving your lips. In the time apart, you have realized that not all of this was Mingi’s fault — you are at fault just as much as he is. That apology is so fucking hard to get out because you’re so upset with yourself for letting this happen.

“I’m sorry for getting us into this mess,” Mingi says, bringing a hand up to run through his dark hair. “I k-know there were th-things I sh–”

“It’s not only your fault.” You muster up enough courage to say the five words, then your voice seems to die in the back of your throat. Heaving a deep sigh, you force yourself to continue the thought. “I messed up too. I’m at fault too. I’m sorry for pinning all the blame on you. I was ashamed and embarrassed with myself and my actions, so I truly am sorry for yelling at you the way I did.”

“I… no, I did mess up a lot. Even if you agreed to it, it was still initially my fault. I-I’ve been hiding s-something from you.” Mingi’s words cause your heart to drop. You drop your arms by your side, barely able to look at his guilt-ridden face. Something tells you that you don’t want to hear whatever it is he has to say.

“What the hell is it, Mingi? And why did you wait until now to mention it?”

“I – well, I was scared to tell you initially. Then I was scared to leave without having a… I don’t know a special moment with you?”

“What are you talking about, Mingi?” Your throat feels tight all of a sudden, and you don’t dare look away from the man’s face. It’s his turn to pace now, walking back and forth before you as he wrings his hands together. “Song Mingi.”

“I’m transferring to another school at the end of the week. There is no girl I’m into. Min Hyerin is just a random classmate that I thought could pass as a crush. I-I’ve kinda, uh, I’ve liked you this whole time.”

Your jaw all but drops at his sudden revelation. All the air leaves your lungs, and you can’t look at him any longer, turning to face the wall instead.

“I got scared when you were talking about liking that guy from whatever class it was. Psychology? I don’t know… I was scared, and that’s why I suggested the idea of learning together. Then when we talked about it after I while, you said that you didn’t feel a thing when we were doing things together. All the hand-holding and the kissing and the fake dates… I wanted them to be real.”

“What the fuck?” You hiss out between gritted teeth. You are trying your best to hold your tears back, but reality is catching up too quickly for you to handle. “What the actual fuck, Mingi? You — you manipulated me? I-I don’t even know what the fuck I’m supposed to say. I just–” You can’t even finish the sentence, tears hitting your cheeks before you know it.

“I didn’t want to leave without shooting my shot at least. I’ve been planning to leave for a few months, but I was too scared to hurt you. I’m really sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

“Didn’t want to hurt me? You choose to manipulate me and use me for some sick fantasy of getting off to me while lying the whole time? Throwing away our relationship and using me? Abusing your position as my friend to get in my pants because you were jealous? What the fuck?” Mingi freezes under your barrage of words, seeming to shrink smaller and smaller as you continue. “If you wanted to shoot your damn shot, you should have been honest! Instead of using me and my firsts as a way of getting what you wanted! I hope your fucking happy with yourself.”

“I-I, no, I never meant to hurt you,” Mingi stammers.

“Then what did you mean to do then? Because I’m fucking confused and hurt beyond belief right now.”

“I…” Mingi trails off, unable to finish the sentence. You can barely see him through your tears, and no matter how many times you blink, you can’t get rid of them.

“Just get the fuck out. Just go. I don’t want to see you or hear you or talk to you. I don’t want you in my life anymore. Just fucking go.”

“I can’t. I can’t leave you alone like this. I–”

“Fuck off, Mingi. You can leave me alone like this, and you will. I don’t want any more damn apologies. Nothing is going to fix what you did. So just fucking go.”

Mingi stares at you for several moments without saying a word. You refuse to meet his gaze. Just thinking about being in the same room as him makes you want to vomit, and it causes a physical pain to constrict in your chest. How the hell did you end up here? Things weren’t supposed to turn out like this, things weren’t ever supposed to become this way, and yet here you are. There Mingi is. And between you — the ruins of a crumbled relationship.

And just like that, Song Mingi walks out of your apartment and out of your life, leaving a giant dork sized whole in your memories, but to you, it only feels like a waste. It was a waste of firsts and special moments. The effort put into a pointless relationship that ended in flames because you weren’t careful enough.

Perhaps one day, you will regret it and feel bad for cutting him off in such a cruel and hasty way, but you block Mingi’s number and all of his social media accounts. Yeosang gets the hint not to mention him even though he still keeps in contact with Mingi on occasion. He asked you to move into Mingi’s empty apartment space, and you said no at first. It was too much to think about, being in the same house where he lived, and it made you think about all the things you did together while there too much. Then Yeosang offered to move into Mingi’s room so that you could have his own instead, insisting that he was worried about you and wanted to at least look after you in some way. So you decided to agree and move into Yeosang’s old room. Eventually, you get used to the new arrangement and learn to deal with the bad memories that linger in your mind as you live there.

It takes time to do so – six months to be exact – with the passing of the semester and summer break and the entrance of the new school year that bleeds into the beginning of December far too quickly for your liking. It’s a cold and snowy Wednesday morning when Jung Wooyoung sits beside you in psychology, and yet it feels like nothing you’ve felt before. The cold doesn’t leave a mark on you, only Wooyoung does, a branded image over your cold heart when he turns and smiles at you, brushing long strands of black hair out of his eyes.

“Hi, I’m Jung Wooyoung. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ a/n: hi and welcome to the end of this way-too-long fic! i would really really love feedback and would love to know what you think of this part, as it is setting up for the future installments of the series, but it could be read on its own for its own story. but anyway! let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading :(

763 notes · View notes

floweryavenue · 4 years ago

Text

Ugh, so, I don't even know if anyone is actually gonna read this, and I'm not really the one who would participate in fandom very actively (I was always a passive observer, liking other's people content), but the stuff with the leaks of the extra 8 pages of snk ending has been really bothering me for the last few days, and I really need to get a few things off my chest.

I really wanted to wait till 9th June to form my full thoughts. However, since basically all pages have leaked anyway and quite a reliable source confirmed there is basically no additional context to them whatsoever, I decided I might as well write this anyway and vent somewhere to clear my head so I can finally move on with my life to focus on other things I like and with other important irl stuff. Moreover, since Tumblr seems like a reasonably safe space to do so (comparing to one hell of a Twitter...) I might as well do it here. So, let's go.

So, basically, my main problem with those pages is simply that... you just don't do that. No. You don't release an ending, make people think it's really the end, then say you're gonna release a few additional pages that won't change anything but simply clarify some things, and then, two months later, release these pages indeed but not only they don't actually clarify anything, but in fact, create even more plot holes. Furthermore, as a cherry on top, they change the ending quite completely. If those pages had been included in the original release, most people, myself included, would've moved on by now. But noooo, make us go through this hell again. Great :))))

And as for the content of those pages, well... I can't help but feel they really did quite a disservice to Mikasa, one of my favourite female characters ever. My biggest problem isn't even that she 'moved on' (whatever that means at this point, coz I feel like fandom has been successfully managing to butcher that term ever since 139 has dropped) and started a family on her own because I'm fully aware that falling in love again after you first love died is an entirely normal thing irl. But ffs, we're not talking about irl here; we're talking about snk and Mikasa. And the thing that MAINLY bothers me, is the way it has been presented.

I'm not going to delve into the husband's possible identities, 1) I'm not interested at all in participating in any ship wars, 2) because we don't even get to see his face and sources say we indeed don't get any direct confirmation in that regard. Not that this matters anyway, because we get presented with Mikasa on the one hand staring her own family, but on the other, still continuing to visit Eren's grave repeatedly throughout her life and in the end, getting buried with a scarf on, her dearest remembrance of Eren, and maybe even getting buried next to him (even tho, the latter is still not 100% confirmed, bcs here sources are contradictory, but judging by the general mood of those pages, I'd not be surprised at all if it turns out to be the case).

That makes me think the whole family-stuff was used only to present the passage of time and the fact that Mikasa never fully got over Eren, bcs we don't see the family in any other context besides the visits to the grave. And that leads me to my other question - was introducing the family really NECESSARY, then? Couldn't Mikasa simply visit the grave with Armin, and maybe even with Armin, Annie and their kids? Idk about you, but that would make 100% more sense to me. Also, don't get me even started, how much in the wrong way it rubs me that Mikasa, the character who, as we know, always deeply cared about others, even strangers (Gabi, etc.), would just drag her husband, her children and grandchildren to the grave of her first love on which she had written 'my most beloved, my dear'? Do I really need to elaborate on how WEIRD that is?

But I guess that's on me for believing a male author would write a satisfactory conclusion to the main female character (not Mikasa touring around Hizuru, not Mikasa playing with kids at the orphanage, no! Forced family plot, instead! Take that!)

As of Eremika, aka my most cherished paring ever since 2014... I guess the only good thing in that mess is that at least it doesn't invalidate them. If anything, it validates them even more, because the stuff I've mentioned earlier prove their love was eternal and Mikasa never truly got over it. So, all in all, I'm gonna still cherish them forever. There are still many unexplored aspects of their bond, so I believe we, as a community, have a big room to explore (pls, I'm begging you, explore with me all the possibilities of their four years in the cottage in the mountains, I swear, that sh!t has so much potential it's unbelievable).

As of Paradis getting destroyed, well, that leaves me bitter, even though after doing some thinking, that really might be the least out of place thing in those pages. At least according to sources, it happens when Mikasa is already dead, so at least Eren's wish of giving his friends long, secure lives came true. However, that would be it.

And as of titan's power still being there and some kid apparently finding the source of it... this just screams 'sequel-baiting', AND I ABSOLUTELY HATE IT. That's it.

To end my definitely too long rambling, I just wanna say, I really would have liked to wait till 9th June to publish my thoughts, but as I've said, those last few days have been driving me crazy and I really wanted just to get all of it off my chest and move on. I want for now to just focus on my irl things, like working on my master's thesis and other stuff giving me joy, like Eurovision next week coming back after 2-years-absence due to pandemic. Eurovision is one of the few things that I love, and I intend on fully enjoying it next week, not sulking on those leaks too much. And if by some completely unexpected miracle I get pleasantly surprised on 9th June (even tho I truly doubt it at this point) - that would be only a win for me, I guess.

Anyway, please remember, all that I have written here is ONLY MY OPINION, and if you disagree with anything, that's valid, you're completely entitled to that. I'm not publishing this to argue with anybody, only to clear my head. That's it.

If anyone has read this too long personal rant of mine - thank you, I'm kissing you on the forehead right now.

Oh, and remember - EREMIKA IS CANON. And always will be (no, that one is not up for discussion).

Also, we have that official High School AU, and Eren right now is quietly snoozing on Mikasa's shoulder during another Twilight marathon she made him to take part in, and Armin and Annie are dissing people together on reddit while bonding over their pretentious taste in music. That's canon, Isayama told me after I had phoned him to ask wtf.

PS To think I was almost sure those extra pages will be about Mikasa's reunion with the rest of the alliance... I guess it's time to put that clown make up on.

53 notes · View notes

dccomicsimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Date Trap - Kaldur x Reader

Requested by Anon - Hi, would you write something fluffy with Kaldur please? If you need a plot then maybe where they flirt constantly and the team ships them and tries to get them together? If you don’t need a plot then ignore that haha. Thanks :)

Author’s Note - I made this one Halloweenish too. Sorry.

***

“Kaldur, let me help you with that,” you said shyly, coming over to help him adjust the collar of his shirt. He smiled, blushing slightly.

“Thank you.” Your touch lingered on his collar before pulling away. Artemis snorted at the sight. You jumped, forgetting the rest of the team had been watching. All of you were by the zeta tubes at the cave.

Robin laughed his creepy little laugh. “Are you two ready? Remember you’re supposed to be on a date.”

“We know.” You adjusted your own outfit. “Why does it have to be us again? I mean M’gann and Conner are actually dating in real life.”

“Supes is too scary. The date stalker won’t come after him,” Wally said, coming into the room with a camera. “Besides, he wouldn’t handle the fancy dinner and everything.” Conner growled in response. Wally smirked at him before holding up the camera. “Smile, lovebirds.”

You and Kaldur froze like deer in headlights. The camera flashed, blinding both of you for a second. “I do not understand why you all seem to be enjoying this so much,” Kaldur whispered in Robin’s ear once he recovered.

“Because it’s fun.” Robin laughed again. He pushed Kaldur toward the zeta tube. “Stay whelmed. It’s going to be great.”

Kaldur cleared his throat. He glanced over at you to see you getting a jacket from M’gann. You waved, putting it on as you joined him. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yes, it appears so.” Kaldur looked back at Robin and Wally. Both of them gestured for Kaldur to offer you his arm. He frowned, confused by the gesture.

“Okay then.” You walked off to the zeta tube. Kaldur shook his head at Wally and Dick before running to catch up with you.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” M’gann said through the mindlink. “They both don’t even realize their feelings for each other. How are they going to fall in love and be convincing to the Date Stalker?”

Artemis shook her head. “Kaldur is not that dense. He knows he likes (Y/N). I mean he blushes every time he looks at them. If we can tell they like each other, the Date Stalker will fall for it too.”

“But what if they don’t notice that they like each other? What if it’s just as awkward as them leaving was?” M’gann bit her lip. “Maybe it should have been Conner and I as bait?”

“Nah, they’ll be fine. This will spark their romance. Kaldur isn’t a completely fool. I mean he won’t sweep (Y/N) off their feet like I could, but he can be charming when he wants to be.” Wally smirked, striking a proud pose. Artemis flicked him in the forehead. He winced, pouting.

“Shouldn’t we be going? I mean we’re supposed to be backing them up.” Conner crossed his arms, glancing at the clock. Wolf barked impatiently as well.

The rest of the team snapped to attention, and hurried to the zeta tube eagerly. “Remember pizza for a week if this has them dating afterwards,” Robin teased. Artemis smacked him across the head. “Ouch.”

***

You poked at the food on your plate. What if you chewed too loudly? What if you spilled on yourself? Would Kaldur think you were a pig? You found you couldn’t take a bite.

Little did you know, Kaldur had the same thoughts going through his head on top of wondering what his food was. Surface food was strange to say the least. He poked at his food, copying you.

The silence weighed heavily on the two of you. You wished M’gann and Conner had done this part of the mission instead.

“Are you enjoying your food?” The waiter asked, stopping by when he noticed neither of you had taken a bite.

“We are fine. Thank you.” Kaldur gave him a tight smile. The waiter glanced at you. You nodded hurriedly, bumping the bottom of the table with your leg. Everything on the table jumped. Kaldur barely caught his water in time before it tipped over.

“Sorry.” Your face burned. The waiter shook his head, mumbling something about kids as he walked away. “Sorry.” You kept your eyes on your plate.

Kaldur cleared his throat. “It is fine.” He bit his lip. “Are you enjoying your food?”

“Yes.” Your stomach growled. Tensing, you hoped Kaldur didn’t hear. You took a dainty bite of your food. It took you a second to swallow. “How’s yours?”

Kaldur studied his plate. “Interesting.” He took a bite, encouraged by the sight of you eating. “I have never had something like this before.”

You smiled, relaxing slightly. He was probably as out of his element as you were. “Well, do you like it?”

“It has an different taste to be sure.” Kaldur took another bite. He glanced out the window, frowning when he saw a group of kids walk by in Halloween costumes. “I thought Halloween was in a few days?”

“It is. They must be doing something early.” You shrugged. Finally, you relaxed enough to eat normally. “Have you celebrated Halloween before?”

“No.” He smiled at you. “I was invited to join M’gann and Conner’s school dance, but I declined. The idea of Halloween as a holiday concerns me.”

“Really? Why?” You tilted your head at him.

Kaldur blushed. He loved when you looked at him like he was the only one in the room. “People dressing up in costumes and pretending to be people other than themselves is worrisome. In Atlantis, we would only do such a thing for plays or ceremonies.” He pursed his lips. “Not to mention, I have concerns about strangers giving candy to children.”

You hummed, thinking about it. “I guess it would be strange to someone who didn’t grow up with it, but Halloween is mostly about having fun.” You smiled. “Maybe after dinner, we could go see what’s around to do for Halloween? I mean we’re just supposed to keep pretending to be on a date until the Date Stalker attacks us, right?”

“Hush.” Kaldur looked around. “Remember we are undercover.”

You laughed. Kaldur chuckled along with you. The two of you enjoyed the rest of your dinner without any interruption.

***

“Well at least they are finally looking like they are on a date,” Artemis said, shaking her head as she put down her binoculars. “But no sign of the Date Stalker yet.”

“Of course not. He’s not going to attack them in the restaurant. That goes against his MO.” Robin perched on the edge of the roof. Artemis stood next to him, both on the roof across from the restaurant. “Anything on street level, Miss M?”

M’gann was quiet for a second. Her voice came over the mind link. “Nothing here. Kaldur and (Y/N) are paying for their meal. Kid Flash is already moving to the park.” Out of the corner of Artemis’ eye, she saw M’gann in camouflage mode in the alley next to the restaurant.

“Why couldn’t we just have Kaldur and (Y/N) walk around right away? This is a waste of time.” Conner grunted through the mind link. He and Wolf were on the bioship, hiding in the park. The rest of the team deemed them too outlandish to be outside with them.

“Because then they wouldn’t discover that they are perfect for each other,” Wally retorted. “Park is clear. Perfect for the love birds. Ready to get us that pizza, Rob?”

Robin snorted. “I’m going to have to order it by the truckload for you, aren’t I?”

“Hello Megan,” M’gann said. “They’re leaving the restaurant, but they got stopped by kids in Halloween costumes.”

The team watched as Kaldur and you talked to the kids. One of the kids handled you a flyer. You talked to Kaldur excitedly. He smiled, love sick. Eventually, you both started walking in the opposite direction of the park.

“Wait, where are they going?” Robin snapped. “Miss M, connect them to the mind link.”

“No!” Wally’s voice echoed through the mind link. Artemis covered her ears on reflex. “It will ruin the date magic.”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” Robin tensed, running to jump across roofs to catch up with you and Kaldur. Artemis struggled to keep up.

“Robin, slow down. Not all of us are good at this height, okay?” Artemis panted, almost stumbling over the edge of one of the roofs. Robin slowed once he came to the street.

M’gann giggled. “It’s okay. (Y/N) dropped the flyer so I could get it. They’re going to a haunted house.”

Wally laughed over the mindlink. “Shut up, Kid Flash,” Conner growled.

“See? It’s not bad.” Artemis leaned on her knees, still catching her breath. “How do you move that fast?”

“Miss M, what’s the address? We need to move into position.” Robin ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath.

“At least they aren’t going off to make out somewhere,” Wally teased, sensing Robin’s tension.

“Pervert.” Conner grunted. Wally gasped before starting in on how he was not a pervert. Artemis laughed, nudging Robin. A smile crept onto Robin’s lips.

***

Kaldur bit his lip, eyeing you as you both walked down the street into an neighborhood. “Do you know where we are going, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, the kids said the haunted house was over here. Apparently, it’s a local thing.” A trash can banged behind you. You jumped, grabbing Kaldur’s hand.

Kaldur blushed. His hand stayed limp in your grasp for a moment before his fingers tightened around yours. Your hand was cold. “Are you cold? Your hand is freezing.”

“I’m fine.” You smiled at him sheepishly, but you didn’t pull your hand away. “The others should know we changed plans and adapted.”

“We should not have changed plans.” Kaldur glanced around. “This may get dangerous.”

You waved your free hand. “Stop looking so nervous. Besides, it’s more natural for us to change out plans if we were really on a date.” You bit your lip. Kaldur realized at the moment that he had been staring at your lips for quite some time. He looked away quickly. “It’s kinda weird those kids only seemed to talk to us though, isn’t it?”

“Strange, yes.” Kaldur tightened his fingers around yours. “It was like they were waiting for us.”

You shivered. “Well, at least I’m showing you something to do on Halloween. Haunted houses are fun, even if this is just one in someone’s garage.” The two of you turned a corner to find a nicely decorated house with a line of people outside. “You’ve never been to a haunted house before, have you?”

Kaldur blinked, taking in the surroundings. “No, but I do understand the concept.” You pulled Kaldur to get in line. When you got to the table, you dug into your pocket for a few dollars to donate as admission. He frowned when he noticed a suspicious figure in the shadows. “(Y/N), I think we may have gotten some attention.”

“Good.” You led him toward the haunted house, joining the line to go in. From your pocket, you removed two glowstick bracelets. You cracked one and put it around Kaldur’s wrist. “Hope the team can see these.” You put the other one on your wrist.

“Interesting.” Kaldur stared at the bracelet. “I do not know why we could not use comlink or at the very least the mind link.”

You shrugged. “Honestly, it confuses me too.” A smile grew on your lips. “At least we’ll have a souvenir from the mission.”

“Kid will be jealous.” Kaldur smiled back at you. “(Y/N), I am...pleased I was put on this mission with you.”

Your eyes sparkled. Kaldur’s heart skipped a beat. “Me too.” You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Kaldur froze. “Come on, it’s our turn.” You took his hand and pulled him inside the creepy, dark haunted house.

***

“Oh my god. (Y/N) just kissed Kaldur’s cheek.” Artemis almost dropped her binoculars.

“And they put on the glowsticks, so the Date Stalker is onto them,” Conner said bluntly. Artemis was on the roof of the house next door. Conner joined her as it had been decided he could finally leave the bio ship.

M’gann squealed. “They kissed!”

“Pizza here we come!” Wally cheered.

“I knew they would feel the aster.” Robin laughed, swinging onto the roof of the garage. “Any visual of the Date Stalker?”

“No, but (Y/N) and Kaldur entered the haunted house.” Artemis frowned. The team waited for about five minutes, but you and Kaldur didn’t exit the haunted house.

Conner tensed. “I heard (Y/N) scream.”

“Move in,” Robin ordered, sobering. “Miss M, connect Kaldur and (Y/N) to the mind link. I don’t care if we mess with their date.” The team moved in.

***

“Sorry,” you said as Kaldur groaned beneath you.

“It is alright.” The pressure of your weight on him lit his entire body on fire. He swallowed hard. “Are you alright?”

You rolled off him, rubbing your head. “I think I bumped my head.” The room was only lit with the glow from your bracelets. “Did the floor just give out or something?”

Kaldur sat up. His back ached from the fall. “It appears so.” He glanced around. “The reports said the Date Stalker tries to isolate their victims. This could be one of their tactics. Lure people into the haunted house and trap the ones they want.”

“Crap.” You hissed, rubbing your temple. “I don’t feel good at all.”

Kaldur reached to touch your temple, but stopped when lights suddenly came on the room. Both of you were blind. “One short sleep past, we wake eternally And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die,” a voice echoed into the room.

Suddenly, gas filled the room. “Stay close to the floor.” You pushed Kaldur back down, half laying on him. “The gas should rise first.”

Kaldur’s eyes adjusted. He caught a seam of the trap door that dropped the both of you in here. “I have an idea.” He took out his water-bearers that were hidden in his shirt.

“Kaldur, (Y/N), where are you?” M’gann asked over the mindlink.

“We fell through a trap door. (Y/N) is injured and toxic gas is filling the room.” Kaldur activated his water-bearers into a whip and threw it at the trap door in the ceiling. It broke through the wooden door easily.

“I’m fine.” You tried to get to your feet, but stumbled, holding your head.

“They are not fine.” Kaldur wrapped his arm around you. “We need an extraction now.”

Robin’s creepy laugh filled the room. “You two seem comfortable.” The gas disappeared out of the broken trapdoor. He appeared beside you and Kaldur.

“Miss Martian, Superboy, use your abilities, find the Date Stalker. Artemis, call the authorities. Robin, help me get (Y/N) out of here.” Kaldur took charge. His arm stayed around you. Robin took your other arm. He smiled cheekily.

“What are you smiling about?” You blinked several times, unable to keep your balance.

Robin nodded to Kaldur’s arm. You blushed. “And it’s nice to have Kaldur in charge again.”

Kaldur hummed, taking Robin’s grapple gun from him to use it to help you up. Throughout the escape and the capture of the Date Stalker, Kaldur never left your side.

***

“It’s just a minor concussion, Kaldur. I’m fine.” You walked to your room at the cave. Kaldur hovered beside you, his hand holding yours.

“I do not want you to fall again, (Y/N).” Kaldur studied you worriedly. He helped you into your room and sat you down on your bed. His face burned when he saw your messy bedroom.

You smiled shyly, laying down. “I enjoyed myself today before...you know, falling and getting a concussion.”

Kaldur bit his lip. “I did as well.” He stood awkwardly beside your bed. Part of him knew he should leave, but the other part wouldn’t let him.

“I still am going to take you to celebrate Halloween with me. We’ll go to a real haunted house where we won’t walk into a death trap, maybe carve a pumpkin or two.” You closed your eyes, smiling lazily.

“I would enjoy that.” He slowly sat down on the edge of your bed. You reached out to take his hand.

“Thank you.” You whispered before your hand relaxed, going limp in his.

Kaldur’s heart skipped a beat, staying where he was. He squeezed your hand. “You are welcome, (Y/N).” He leaned down to kiss your cheek before pulling away and leaving your room.

Noise from the kitchen brought him there, he frowned in confusion at the sight of what was happening inside. Boxes of pizza were piled on the kitchen table. The rest of the team were sitting around, pigging out. “What is this?” Kaldur asked, stepping into the room.

“Rob just kept his promise,” Wally said with his mouth full. Artemis elbowed him, glaring.

“So you and (Y/N), huh?” M’gann giggled, leaning into Conner’s side.

Kaldur blinked. “You all planned this to occur, did you not?”

Robin snorted, getting another slice of pizza. “Well, we had to do something. You two weren’t going to get together on your own and there is only so much we can take.”

The rest of the team laughed. Kaldur shook his head before joining them. He knew he should be mad, but he had to admit, he was grateful for their interference.

#kaldur #kaldur x reader #kaldur imagine #kaldur'ahm #kaldur'ahm x reader #kaldur'ahm imagine #aqualad #aqualad x reader #aqualad imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #young justice #young justice imagines #yj imagines #halloween

381 notes · View notes

olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 17

First

Carapace frowned as he patrolled with someone at his side.

It was weird to go on patrols with someone else, if he was being honest. It wasn’t unheard of or anything, Chloe and Rena were both perfectly happy to go on patrols with others, but it wasn’t something that Carapace found himself doing unless Master Fu made him.

That wasn’t what had happened, though. Ladybug had missed her patrols for the previous night because Chloe had turned off all her alarms and neither of them had any nights off until the next week…

So they were going out together.

It was kind of awkward, if he was being honest. He didn’t know how to talk to her, not really. He’d already been kind of unsure what to talk about when he had known her persona because they were so different… but now that he knew that that wasn’t her actual personality, somehow, it was even harder to talk to her.

He glanced at Ladybug out of the corner of his eyes as they hopped from roof to roof.

This was a mistake, he ended up missing his footing and it was only thanks to his plates that he didn’t fall four stories.

(He still fell an entire story before he caught himself and his plates weren’t exactly soft, but it was still better than splattering on the pavement.)

Ladybug hovered over him with a slight smile threatening to make its way onto her face.

“You alright?” She asked, offering him a hand up.

The green glow of his plates made her look like a ghost in the nighttime darkness, and the flying didn’t help, but he forced himself to ignore this as he took her hand.

She carried him up to the roof. He could have technically made the jump, but if she was offering the help he wouldn’t say no. Besides, everything still kind of hurt.

“I think I’m dying,” he joked, getting rid of the floating plates with a vague wave of his hand.

The smile widened slightly and he couldn’t tell for sure but he was pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Mhmm. Seriously, though, do you need a minute?”

He flexed his shoulders and decided that, yes, maybe he should give himself a few seconds to rest. They sat down together on the edge of the rooftop, their legs dangling over the side. After a whispered ‘Lucky Charm’, he was handed a water bottle.

He looked down at the water bottle in his hand and raised his eyebrows at the spotted red and black water.

“Is this safe to drink?”

“Yeah, it’ll just feel a little funny in your throat,” she said.

He gave her an incredulous look and she clicked her tongue, taking the water bottle from his hand and taking a mouthful of water.

He watched to make sure she swallowed and then drank it as well… and, wow, the words ‘feel a little funny’ were a fucking understatement. He may as well have been drinking glue for how it seemed determined to stick to the lining of his throat.

But, hey, it was technically still water. It tasted like nothing, at least. He managed to get it down.

He sent her a grimace and she brought up a hand to try and stifle her giggles.

“What? Have I been poisoned?” He asked, anxiety and whatever the hell he just drank gnawing at his stomach.

“N-no.” She cleared her throat and forced herself to relax. “It’s just… sorry. I forgot how bad the first time is.”

“How often do you eat and drink your lucky charms?” He asked, a little horrified. He could understand trying to drink it one time out of curiosity, but continuously doing that was just… insane.

“When I want to,” she said nonchalantly. “You get used to the consistency. Everything tastes like the food I ask for, so I can get any food I want for free.”

He swirled the remains of the ‘water’ in the bottle with interest. “Is there anything you can’t make?”

“It looks like I can only make things I… can conceptualize, if that makes sense? Like… I can’t make sci-fi stuff or a living thing because they’re complicated, but I can make a car and stuff like that.”

He stared at her. “You’ve made a car?”

“I had to see if I could!” She said defensively, her face doing it’s best to match the red of her mask (and succeeding).

He was about to make her prove it, because he couldn’t imagine a car coming out of her yoyo, but there was a flash of bright light in the distance.

Their slight smiles dropped at the sight of it and they scrambled to their feet, wordlessly taking off in the direction of the explosion.

They watched the right wing of the Agreste mansion erupt with almost white light before it was blown to smithereens. He made a wall of plates in front of them to block them from the debris.

“... sucks to be him,” said Ladybug.

Well, that wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting from Ladybug of all people. Sure, Rena had warned them that Ladybug was going to start showing her actual personality, but it was just so… different than he was used to her being.

Still, he couldn’t help but agree. He may not know why exactly she didn’t like Gabriel Agreste, but he had his reasons. On top of being a terrible employer to Marinette, which was already a giant red flag, Carapace had also met Adrien Agreste. After Paris’s resident sunshine child had been akumatized he’d vented to Carapace about his father (and it seemed like Adrien was even holding some stuff back) and, well, let’s just say Carapace thought that Gabriel deserved way worse for what he did to him --.

“Wait, fuck, Adrien. We should probably help him,” said Carapace.

Ladybug didn’t move. “No, he’s fine. He’s in Tibet at some rich kid private school.”

“Oh. Good for him.”

They watched another room explode in silence. It wasn’t a problem, really. It seemed that whoever was akumatized (the assistant or bodyguard, he assumed) was only really concerned with destroying the mansion. They could just leave, really, it would be a shame if no one got there on time…

He sighed. “We’re going to have to do the right thing, huh?”

Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah…”

He dropped his plates and they made their way inside carefully. The house was eerily silent for a place that had just been exploding every few seconds, and he wasn’t sure if the prickling feeling on his skin was the dust in the air attempting to settle or if they were being watched.

They came upon the akuma and both of them relaxed instantly. It was just Gabriel.

Well, Carapace didn’t think Gabriel really had any right to be angry about anything, but at least he’d be taken down quickly.

“Who’s going to be bait?” Asked Ladybug.

“… I can probably take a few more hits,” admitted Carapace, however reluctantly.

She considered this before shaking her head. “I’m feeling lucky.”

Should he argue this point? Yes. Was he going to? No. He wasn’t fond of the idea of getting blown up, thanks.

The fight was over in less than five minutes. Carapace had snuck up behind not-Gabriel (he was pretty sure that he called himself Homme D’Affeure or something like that?) while he was distracted attempting to blow up a flying Ladybug and hit him as hard as he could with a plate.

Carapace grabbed the horrid candy cane tie off of him and tore it apart. Yep, there was the akuma. Why was Gabriel’s akuma always in his tie? Who knew.

Whatever. He tossed the plate like a frisbee at the akuma and smiled when it was crushed against the nearby wall. This smile lessened when the Agreste mansion rapidly started rebuilding itself. What a shame.

Ladybug landed next to him, a little winded but otherwise fine.

(The pair of them watched Gabriel Agreste scramble for his tie. Carapace looked at the pin on his suit and wondered for the millionth time why it was hidden. It was probably the nicest looking part of his outfit (not that that was saying much, his friend could have a field day talking about just what was so bad about his outfit -- and had, on many occasions). He guessed it didn’t go with the red and white theme he had going on, but then why wear it? Sentiment?)

Now for the only bad part of deakumatizing Gabriel: listening to his rich person problems.

Carapace and Ladybug started debating about who should listen to them. Damn their personas, making it so they had to be the ‘noble’ and ‘nice’ ones of the group. This conversation would never end.

Gabriel must have figured this out, too, because -- after ten whole minutes of them arguing -- he’d said that he was fine and that he was just missing his son.

Carapace nearly punched him.

His fingers dug into the skin of his palm as he fought to keep his expression in a friendly smile. “If you say so, sir,” he said.

Ladybug gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

They ran out and didn’t stop running until the building was just a white and gray speck in the distance.

She face planted on a rooftop, which could not have been a fun experience, and didn’t move. He came to a stop when he noticed she wasn’t getting back up and walked over. He prodded her limp body with his foot. He was tired, too, but he wasn’t ‘collapse on concrete’ tired.

“You need to do more cardio.”

There was a beat before she raised a hand and made a rude hand gesture.

He raised his eyebrow, a grin fighting its way onto his face. Huh. He thought he liked Ladybug’s actual personality way more than her persona.

He took a seat beside her and crossed his legs, waiting for her to catch her breath. They didn’t need to continue patrols for the day because an akuma had been summoned and he wasn’t in a huge rush to get home.

There was a beat before she pushed herself up to a sitting position and summoned a new water bottle. She downed half of it in one go and then offered him the rest. He only hesitated slightly before taking it. If he got used to the consistency like she had he’d be able to eat anything he wanted as long as Ladybug was around, and there was no way he was going to miss out on that kind of opportunity.

For a while there was no sound other than their heavy breathing, their water bottles, and her occasional mumbles to summon more drinks.

She was the one to speak first: “So, you hate Gabriel Agreste, too?”

He looked at her over the rim of what must have been his millionth water bottle and he couldn’t help the smile making its way across his face as he set the drink down. “Of course. He’s Gabriel Agreste, is there anyone who actually likes him?”

“His assistant, apparently,” said Ladybug, her nose scrunching a tiny bit.

“No way! Really?”

She shrugged. “I don’t get it. He’s got nothing going for him but his money, and even then I hear his business is starting to fail.”

“Think that’s why he actually got akumatized?”

She pointed a finger at him. “You might be onto something.”

He snickered. “I wonder if Hawkmoth is tired of him, too. I mean, he gets akumatized, what, once a month? And he’s always beaten really easily. Why does he even bother with him anymore?”

“Right? You think he sends out his akumas and sees it’s Mr. Pigeon and he goes ‘aw, not THIS guy again’?”

“Nonono. See, Mr. Pigeon at least means that Chat Noir can’t show up to help so we’re at a disadvantage. Mr. Pigeon makes sense. But Gabriel Agreste? Not at all.”

She considered this and then smiled. “Maybe it’s because they’re both rich assholes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know Hawkmoth is rich?”

“There’s no way he’s any lower than upper middle class. He just has this vibe, y’know?”

He had to give it to her. She wasn’t wrong.

She summoned him a bag of what he assumed were chips and he opened them, inspecting them for a moment… ah, yes, chip-shaped. He didn’t know why he was expecting to be able to figure out what type they were. He bit into one and smiled. She knew his favorite chip flavor? It still had that weird texture, but it tasted good and it was free, so he was happy to eat.

She summoned herself a plate of cookies and nibbled at a few.

They detransformed and continued to eat the summoned foods in silence. It was nice, though.

He was the one to push himself to his feet first.

“We need to get back. Something bad had to have happened while we were gone.”

She looked at his outstretched hand for a minute before semi-reluctantly taking it. He pulled her to her feet.

“I hate being impulse control. When do WE get to do dumb things?”

“It’s our duty to be the sane ones, Ladybug.”

“Don’t use my persona against me,” she said, giving his shoulder a tiny shove.

He smiled. “We’d all be dead by now if we didn’t parent those idiots.”

“Yeah.” She winked at him. “I think I’m the family dad, though.”

“No way, the kids aren’t scared enough of me for me to be the mom.”

“They won’t be scared of me for long,” said Ladybug.

Based on what he’d seen of the real Ladybug so far? “Yeah…”

There was a beat as this registered and then horror dawned across their faces.

“... our kids are going to walk all over us, aren’t they?”

“We’ll be dead within the year,” she whispered.

“We need a mom!”

They considered for a moment. Whatever person they recruited to be the mom, there was no doubt in either of their minds that Chat was going to be one of the kids of this metaphorical family. Out of Rena and Chloe...

“Maybe we can get Chloe to be the mom?”

He pointed a finger at her. “You might be onto something.”

It was… suspiciously calm when they got home.

They looked at the three people in the living room. Chloe and Chat were playing a video game (Chat was pulling the team). Rena was watching with a gleam in her eyes as she attempted to pit them against each other.

Carapace and Ladybug gave each other wary looks. Something had happened...

Ladybug clicked her tongue. She grabbed a blanket and took a seat by Chloe, wrapping it around them and starting to teach her to play.

She had the right idea, he decided. He dropped down by Chat to watch.

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

#is there a reason that carapace is having the easiest time making friends?#maybe :)#a miraculous tiktok account #carapace #nino lahiffe #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #adrien agreste #queen bee #chloe bourgeois #rena rouge #alya cesaire #miraculous team #miraculous fic #ml fic #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

57 notes · View notes

runningwithhellhounds · 4 years ago

Text

Theo, across recent timescapes. Theo x life: a series of impressions.

Theo is an invasive agent in Hayden's sensory collection. She's trying to not pay him any mind.

She also tried to erase his self-importance by pretending he didn't exist when she knew he watched with his bridge-burn eyes as she and Liam kissed. Found success in his uncharacteristic silence in a moment that was ruinable.

They are standing in dappled shadows on the forest ground, waiting for Liam, who ran ahead to make a call out of Theo's earshot. Theo is sitting by a tree with his knees up and loosely spread, with his hands in between them. His hands, chained: it's simplest hazard control. Effective, though. Hayden feels spiteful as she's walking left to right, throwing a palm-sized rock from hand to hand. Theo looks bored, irked.

''Where are you going to, little Red Riding Hood?'' Theo addresses her, smooth to self-entertain, making her stop mid-throw, causing the rock to hit her palm and fall on the ground. She picks it up and mimes throwing it at him. Success unfound, in how he doesn't flinch. Success unfound, in how he's making this into a story about a little girl and a sneaky wolf.

She considers him. If answering at all would cater to his amusement, or lesser his situational unpleasantries, which she's trying to avoid. But Theo is in the midway of doing nothing and determined to draw attention to himself, the way he has been.

''We're out of flowers, I'm afraid. Would you like some redwood wood, instead?'' Theo offers in a made-pleasant public service voice. Hayden notices that he's siding with the forest, here, scuttling into its floors where he has found purchase through extended stay.

''You know all the tree species?'' Hayden asks. Takes a bite and wills it into a treat for herself, rather than bait. Theo probably meant the tall and non-wiggly tree he's sitting against; Hayden wonders if he ever studied forestry, or if this is werewolfery knowledge.

''I know better things, too. If you come closer, I'll whisper them to you.'' He grins. Lifts his chained wrists as he adds, ''No pressure, though.''

Hayden considers him. Again and again. This is, she guesses, learnt prudency; a refined taste for justice, maybe. Guesses resurrection does that to you.

''Warning, beware of dog,'' she says.

Theo looks at her, eyes hooding and mouth neutralising. He shrugs, looks sideways. Attention, lost. Trade, declined. Secretful threat traded for blankness, if anything. Hayden, it seems, does not entertain in Theo-ways.

—

Theo Raeken, it turns out, has a finitude to his spread of catastrophe. Sheriff Stilinski watches cross-armed as running-mouth-boy exposes the culprits of murder; aggravates them like it's his best expertise until they say things they tried not to say and so saves his own slate from police-worthy additions.

Stilinski watches as Theo, for some inexplicable reason, lingers in the police department. Theo is sitting on one of the reception benches, eating a bag of mixed nuts from the vending machine. One would think it's ill-advised, that as soon as Parrish released him, Theo asked Parrish to buy him some goods from the vending machine, said he was detained unfairly. Deprived of food for this short but uneasy time. Didn't have his belongings on him. But it mustn't be nonsensical; it must be some behavioural tactic of making himself appear unconcerned. As having clear consciousness, innocence, all of those.

Stilinski resumes watching through the screen as Theo's chewing slows down when an officer with a police dog walks to the machine. He watches Theo's frowned, suffering, doubtful expression, staring into the dog's eyes like he can't take the dog seriously. The officer stops fishing change out of his wallet with a metal scoop in his cupped hand to shoot Theo a questioning look.

''Everything alright, son?'' the officer jingles the change in his hand, looking Theo over.

Theo's gaze doesn't even change when he looks up. Doesn't turn into a stranglehold of a gaze, either. ''Does your dog bite?''

The officer considers Theo, the sagged, unruffled spectre of him.

''No need to worry,'' he assures. Starts inserting the coins. He then turns to Theo in an afterthought. ''Is someone picking you up? You need anything?''

''Oh,'' Theo breathes, ''for real? Would you? Just something to eat? I've been stuck here waiting.''

Stilinski watches as Theo picks up a protein bar from the machine drawer. Flavoured water, a second later. Probably, apathy comes easily to him. He must not think in any understandable way; rather, he must think unfeelingly. Kid's got— not a care in the world.

—

Liam is holding a bouquet and inspecting its flowery contents. Frowning at the petals he's scraping at, glowering at the buds he's poking.

In the aftermath of the ceremony ran on the anniversary of Liam's school in the decorated sports hall, his mother is standing by the chairs in unison with another boy watching her son.

She knows him from a photo Liam showed her, a boy new in the school, softly named: Theo. It was evident that Liam took the photo discreetly, which she commented on and which Liam denied. She notes the distance at which Theo keeping and approaches him.

''Don't worry, he's not keeping secrets from his friends,'' she says. ''He doesn't have a girlfriend, at least not that I know of. I was the one who gave him the flowers.''

''Oh?'' Theo says. ''I see.''

He puts his hands in his pockets. He's probably shy. This happens sometimes, with high-school boys, they can become clumsy with themselves. She feels motherly talking to them in moments like this; motherly and pleasant in her efforts to engage adolescents when they are dithering.

''I think he's reconciling masculinity with flowers,'' she comments.

He smiles. Smirks, more like it. They must be close.

''Good colour choice,'' he comments on the orange of the flowers.

She nudges his arm. ''Go talk to him when they're done taking photos.''

Theo shakes his head, shrugs once. ''Nah. I will be leaving soon, anyway,'' he says, and she drops her hand from his arm. He's probably a little shy.

—

Mediterranean sunrise comes with a surprise: a man awakening on the ground a few steps from the barely-formed footpath. A man, or maybe younger, his Mediterranean awakening accompanied by the smell of fig trees, and all. Kind red soil.

He's naked. He's slowly wiping a hand across his lips. You know, suddenly, that this is a complication. The circumstance makes his body looks like an involuntarily stripped body. Perspective changes: red soil is now needled soil. Acrid tones sour the sunrise.

''Hey,'' you call, stepping closer in your sandals and a coral-printed towel around your neck, feeling unsuitable for the demands of the situation. ''Hey. Are you okay? Should I call the police?''

He's pushing himself up. Not looking at you. Not mindful of the resin at his back. This is indicative, you think, of something, because you're mindful of the way road dust is making your hair dry and webby, while his attention is this narrow, or overall absent.

He looks up, then, at you. ''What?''

A surprise gifted by a foreign agency; not Italian, then. You switch to English and try to make it not clumsy.

''I'll call the police for you,'' you assure him. Scramble to find your phone in your tote bag.

''D'n't call th'police,'' he says. He isn't trying to cover where his body is exposed.

''I don't want to assume anything,'' you say, feeling odd and performative. ''But— Look. I can just call the emergency number and they can direct you to a centre for sexual assault.''

Body, bodily manuscripted into the soft soil. He looks like he's processing slowly. Gets distracted inspecting his hands. Is that blood, you wonder, realise, really, it all just getting worse and fraughter. In between his fingers.

''Don't call th'police,'' he says. ''Was jus' drunk.''

''Is that blood? On your fingers.''

''I jus'. D'n't call. Did s'me things I shouldn't have.'' He reads your face, then says, ''Not like that. T'myself.''

Heat is lowering to the grounds of the morning and your sandals are light on your feet, escape-hairs pleasant, pine trees your favourite. And the hostility-seen boy is trying to act alright.

''It's okay,'' you say, wondering if it is; something complicated about the okayness of not-okay. You squat down, to balance the eye heights. ''I can call the hotline for—''

''No, n't—. Just stupid, no police. Please.''

''Do you want some water,'' you say, taking it out of your bag, and he takes it. Uncaps and smells it, blinking with his nose above the bottle opening, before he shakes his head a little, and starts drinking. Your phone is still in your hand, but you're unsure. You give him your second non-swimly shorts and wait until he overcomes his hesitance and gingerly takes them.

''You don't have to tell me,'' you insist. ''But I'm sure that there's someone who—''

''Thanks. It's okay, you can go now.'' He starts moving to get the shorts on, then swiftly straightens his back, inhaling deeply and looking up. Must be avoiding some hidden ache.

You hesitate, phone in your hand, legs starting to feel stiff from the position.

''I could drive you someplace. My car is ten min—''

''Thanks, but I'm okay now. You can't help,'' he interrupts. There are cases like this one, right, people using caustic means for secret-maintaining ends.

''Are you sure?'' you press. ''I could go away while you're talking to—''

''You're not helping,'' he says, monotone now, now operative and controlled to be alkaline. He's looking at your eyes fixedly, and you stop hesitating. ''You should go.''

Ground gives. You shake your head and start walking away, leaving him with your shorts and thinking then good fucking luck, honey.

You turn back one more time. He's looking at you leaving with unfocused glossy eyes, and you wonder, surely not for the last time, how deeply and stickily swamp-lodged he must be.

—

A hot guy is walking in the chest-high sea and doing little dives. Grazing the water surface with his fingertips in between and wiping salt from his eyes, before diving again and re-salting his eyes, like some deliberately mindless-seeming cyclical mechanism. Salt for maintenance, salt a nuisance.

Now he bends his knees and only submerges up to his chin, and you imagine he's sensing freshness at his nape.

''You just have to relax,'' you say loudly from where you come to stand in the water to your ankles, ''and you can probably hold your breath for longer than that.''

He stands up and turns until he spots you. You walk closer until the water is at your waist and he's looking at you like someone unexpectedly interrupted. Unexpectedly perceived, unfortunately. A popular kid being addressed by an unpopular one.

''You wanna teach me how to swim?'' he asks and smirks a little, and you shrug.

''If you feel like you can't stay underwater for more than five seconds, it's probably because you're panicking. You can hold your breath comfortably for at least fifteen seconds, I dare say.''

He looks at the glistening in the water, looking weary.

''Can I,'' he says, more of a response made to be unrevealing than a question.

''One thing I'll say,'' you say, untying your hair to avoid breaking it when it will be wet and to be casual, maybe; mitigate the upfrontness and possible insinuation, ''is that your body looks mad functional. Don't take this in any funky way.''

''I won't,'' he says.

—

Theo is in no space. Some telephone line space.

Should I be taking this personally, Liam texts him. He knows that Theo has been straightforwardly ignoring his messages. He hopes, actually; hopes Theo hasn't run into any of his long-known non-friends who see his face as a face, fanged, and not eyes, often confused, tongue, often tied, responses, often belated. Hopes that Theo isn't not answering because of some surviving anachronism from his past, but rather because of something new. That would be more manageable.

He also hopes that Theo isn't not answering because he is succumbing to his self-damaging instincts, even though that would mean simmering resentment towards Liam; even though that would likely be the best possible option in the precarious array of options in Theo's life.

Liam texts, did you know that if space was infinitely big and infinitely old, it would be white? I don't really get why, do you?

—

You have a boy couched in your living room. His name is Theo. Picked him up on a staff-only fire escape. It would be a leisurely sight, now, a tracksuit-hoodie-boy sitting right next to a drying rack, which he said he didn't mind. If it wasn't for your rapid heart. Heart: heated, speaking in unit-free measures. Heat: a smooth, unfibrous thing.

''May I,'' he murmurs, and you lean in.

It's a classic student situation: a breathless undertaking to the backtune of wine in tea mugs. He selected a Sierra Nevada mug with a setting sun. Came with the flat.

''Add me on Facebook,'' you say. The two of you haven't even done much, but you feel so hooked, by the fire-escape boy who moves in a way so self-assured and touches indoor objects warily. ''Or Instagram. Wherever you want.''

''I don't use social media,'' he says. He uses his hold on your hand and your finger to push his hair out of his eye. You like the way it parts and hits his temples.

''Phone number?'' You suggest, more joking than not. Exchanging phone numbers feel more joke-like than not.

''No phone number,'' he says. Must see your expression, shrugs and says, ''Guess I'm too old for technology.'' He smirks at the dry look you shoot at him, knowing your age of twenty-three to his twenty-two. He's saying too old and you don't buy it. He carries no weariness in his jaguar body. He takes his lower lip in his mouth. ''What if,'' he then says, ''I'm a vampire.'' He touches the tip of his tongue to his upper teeth.

''My favourite paranormal activity,'' you say.

''Too bad,'' he says, grinning. You look at his ajar lips and think: too bad.

''Your canines are sharp, though,'' you say. ''At least.''

He grins wide. Pointedly and slowly leans towards your neck with an open mouth, until teeth make contact. You feel your smile dropping when his phone beeps. He hesitates for a beat and then leans his forehead on your chin, just breathing there, and you know you are both thinking about him saying no phone number.

''But none for me,'' you say. Because of all the places your bodies have been touching, a beat of silence means: five heartbeats of him staring at his phone, engulfed in the jacket he discarded on the floor by the couch, and you staring at him. And then he leans over, easily shifting your weight, until he can kick the jacket, some, not really achieving anything.

''Another vampire,'' he says, then, on the side of unapologetic. Luckily, you are known to be unresentful. Good at not taking things personally. ''From another brood.'' He places his hands back on your hips.

''Hm,'' you say. It's fine. The monomania of the green-eye boy is temporary. He's hot, but your desire never lasts, anyway.

—

There's a guy on your bus ride, on the opposite side of the passage, one seat forward. Your age. You noticed the generic niceness of his face.

He's drawing a sinusoidal curve on the fogged window. Moves his hand further right, where the window is still fogged. Starts drawing vertical lines, carefully, some methodology to it, the lines parallel to each other. He pauses after he draws four. Huffs, twists his smile into one that is hiding and downturned. He crosses the four lines with one that is horizontal, then adds another vertical line to the side.

You feel yourself smile. He drops his hand, shakes his head a little. Looks through the window at the frost-covered barren brown fields, away from his prisoner day-count. It's funny. He's funny. You look away.

—

It's a short, crude thing. Like this:

A fictitious boy stumbles out of a bare-walled building. Languid, unrestful body. Unleisurely, water-logged body. A tired backstreet play-doh thing. Young.

''Hey,'' you call. ''You. You good?''

The night is warm, humid. A post-rain road construction night. A night for cicadas, if you drive further out.

He inhales in the way of catching breath. Squints at his watch, eyes go glassy. Looks at the moon overhead, then squints at you. And you— you feel awake now.

You look him over, the sugarburn boy with a backwards baseball cap. The trouble of a tooth cavity, which means: okay, if you have some money. Some reckless uncare, too. He's watching you. You inhale slowly, but it turns out all tell-tale anyway. He must see the appeal you feel, in how he licks his lips and tilts his head.

''Interested?'' he asks.

You hesitate. Feel for your jacket pocket with your wallet in it. Lift it without taking it out, clear enough.

He nods. Clears his throat.

''Can you play nice?'' he asks. Teasing, but also not.

You can.

He nods. Looks at his watch. You follow him.

—

You pick up your pretend-sugar fake-care service by a closed ice-cream stand, its inviting light sign shining red on his face. It's raining lightly when you pull up and he doesn't have his hood up like he knows the wet hair strands sticking to his forehead make him look good. In the car, he has no song requests when you ask.

''How can I service you?'' he asks.

—

''What should I call you,'' you ask.

''No need to call me,'' he says.

''What if I want to,'' you admit. Not subtle and elusive. If I may be so bold as to in the back of your mouth.

He pauses, thinks. His gaze is saccading empty spot to empty spot and you know the only type of name you'll get is a fake. You'll take it, as a consolation purchase.

''Theo,'' he says.

—

Alec answers the knock with a toothbrush in his hand.

''Theo. Jesus,'' he breathes.

''Hello,'' Theo responds, overly carefully-crafted for the simplicity of a greeting, but Theo has never carried himself as though he was simple. ''I brought you those,'' he hands Alec paper sheets folded in half. ''I got my hands on some werewolves. Could you give those to Scott?''

It's more automatic than not, when Alec takes and unfolds them. They are black-and-white prints of photographs of ID's.

''You did?'' Alec says, still dumbfounded, still in the act of being interrupted. Habit-mindedness sliced in half. ''How?''

Theo shrugs. His face furrows for a beat, then he fiddles with the door handle, pushing it down twice.

Alec looks at the goods in his hands: a toothbrush, werewolfy profiles. ''Do you want me to tell him that they're from you?''

Theo looks conflicted. That's fair; it's a conflicting state of circumstances, or what is it that Liam told Alec. Maybe Theo turned to Alec because of the implied similarity: both well-accustomed to doing what it takes. Maybe Theo is finding some comfort in that; like Alec would recognise that Theo is a runaway object, or a throwaway one, only having made himself a weapon because he had been made into one first. Like Alec would recognise that Theo is trying to pay his dues. Or maybe Alec is misjudging and Theo isn't seeking comfort at all, which is what Malia thinks. Guess Alec is a little soft for softer scenarios.

''Jesus,'' Alec says again. ''You were gone so long. You didn't say anything. Have you—'' He hesitates, frowns a little. ''Does—Ah, well, you know. Does Liam know?'' He was going for tentative with this one before he swerved. Tending to the habits of skittish wolves.

Theo is looking past Alec's shoulder, distanced and glassy. Alec thinks of dolls, their eyes amiss in that they are unseeing and custom-built. It's a thought too cruel, unless it's sympathetic.

Theo shakes his head, slowly, and exhales, touches his temples with his index fingers, then drops them lower and presses them over his jaw muscles.

''TMJ pain?'' Alec asks.

Theo drops his hands. ''What?''

''Oh. The jaw joint,'' Alec points to his own.

Theo shrugs. ''It's just tender. This muscle,'' he taps.

''Have you been stressed? TMJ problems are common for young people. Can happen because of stress. Stress can cause teeth grinding.'' A clumsy explanation, but Alec can't re-order its parts now, just hopes Theo takes it. Hopes Theo makes his skin onion peel and shows something less dry underneath. And Theo:

Theo looks at him expressionlessly, for a beat, and then exaggeratedly sad-faces. Pouts, closes his eyes, nods slowly. ''I've been stressed,'' he says.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32225941

#teen wolf #theo raeken #thiam #teen wolf fic #for theo-thinkers who hunger #and dont frequent ao3 my home #do you like it any #do you want to buy me a treat yet #i painted a generic boy into my painting and am calling him theo for implied and unclear wolfery

28 notes · View notes