#this is what rattles around inside my brain btw

[scuddisher]

ARE YOU HEARING THIS?

Steve couldn’t help himself when his partner rings in while he’s making love to you—and he especially can’t do anything when Javier can hear you, either.

RATING — MATURE & EXPLICIT (18+) PAIRING — steve murphy x fling! gender-neutral reader GENRE(S) — drabble, smut. WORD COUNT — 1.5k WARNINGS — mature content, a little bit of javi, pet names used: baby & sweet thing. steve is relentless, roughly edited btw. SMUT WARNINGS — sexual content, unprotected intercourse, marking/love bites, creampie, steve not being able to shut up, dirty-talking, voyeurism, exhibitionism to a degree, talks of multiple rounds. RELEASE DATE — MARCH 26TH, 2024

AUTHOR’S NOTE — y’all better thank @angelwonie for coming back into my inbox if you enjoyed this…

His taste was on your tongue, but his tongue was on your neck, body heating hotter by the minute as you let your mind race with what he looked like behind you.

Broad, his hair slicked back from the amount of times he ran his fingers through the blonde locks, eyes fixated on your hand clawing at the pillows trying to hold your ground—and body upright for him to continue plowing into you.

Steve's breathing was so sharp at this point in time, hips once snapping into you in a feverish fashion now turning sloppy as he felt you tightening around him. Every thought in his mind poured from his lips, not a single thing left to rattle around in his brain that he didn't speak on.

“Fuck—I needed this, baby. Look how good you're taking me…” Steve's mouth had pulled from your neck for a moment to speak, the small marks he left at your hairline making him shiver as he watched them turn purple by the second.

Your hips had faltered, thighs spreading on their own accord until you were flattened against the mattress. A sigh had escaped from you, Steve's mind going haywire at the visual—hardly able to speak fast enough.

“You tired, baby? My sweet thing ‘jus holding up for me?” He was lost, unable to keep any filthy thing from being filtered now.

His smile barred teeth, once again at your neckline as his pace shifted from slow and sloppy to harder. Steve needed release, his arms on either side of your own keeping him up steadier than your shaking body did before. He was like a dog off his leash—panting rough in your ear.

“You like that?” The clench around him at his words had your body growing numb, Steve doing all the work. All play, some barking. “Yeah, you like that, baby.”

You could hear his voice strain in excitement, his cock pounding up into you until you were seeing stars and all you could think about was the fact that he managed to find your spot so easily each and every time you fucked. The wetness created from his precum mixed with your juices had a stain growing on the sheets, Steve's nose attentive to your scent of lust as he growled.

“Can you take any more?” Your eyes had welled up long before you looked back at him, the pleasure he was giving you enough to have a few tears dripping down your cheeks. “Hmm? Think you could take a few more minutes for me to fill you up?”

The first orgasm was at the end of the bed, your second in the middle, and now the two of you had managed to make your way up until Steve had your face buried in his side of the mattress—crying into his pillow that he slept on any time he was home.

“P-Please—” Your voice was shakier than yourself, Steve's eyes flashing at your softness as you watched him nod in your peripheral vision.

He looked so rough. A week of work, two nights in bed but without any rest—Steve was more than exhausted. And yet, his relentless pounding into you could convince anyone that he was a dog in heat.

You were so close again, body sucking his length in like it would stay there despite his pace. Steve's stomach clenched at the feeling of you rearing back into him, your backside lifting to press into him and give him exactly what he wants. A better angle inside of you.

“S-Shit, Murphy!” His curse was muffled, your ears becoming suddenly fixated on his last name leaving his lips so formally. It wasn't until you saw the curly phone cord of the landline running past your head that you realized the phone had been ringing.

And Steve answered it.

“Peña, man—” Steve could only hiss, the week he had on his tongue—but he showed no signs of being multiple inches deep into your soaked hole. His partner not only seemed to have no clue, but Steve kept pushing up into you at random.

You felt his tip at your spot twice, your hand clawing at his pillow now nearly tearing into the fabric of its cover. There was something so sensual about Steve's voice not lowering an octave as he lifted his hips up into you at a steady, but slow beat—all while the conversation continued.

“Did you get his file from my desk?” Steve questioned Javi like you weren't stifling a roaring moan beneath him. The second you felt his hips jerk twice as hard up against you, you knew to look up and back at him.

But he was already staring you down with his icy-blue eyes, index finger over his lips. This wasn't a phone conversation he could back out of, no matter how badly he wanted to fill you up with his release just at the sight of you putting pieces together. He wanted you quiet.

As you knew well, there was nothing simple about Steve Murphy. You felt him twitch up inside of you like he would cum at any second, felt the free hand at your hip grip the skin of your waist as he fucked up into you roughly three times in a row to test you.

And as his name left your mouth, you suddenly tasted the saltiness of his palm over your own. His teeth were together so taunt that his jawline scared you for a moment, his head shaking lightly.

The microphone hadn't picked up his name called by a second voice, his words a little louder as he spoke into the telephone. “Nah, man—We need more than just an ounce on him to place him in holding. You know that.”

His last sentence sounded like he was playfully offending his partner, but it was aimed directly at you. His eyes hadn't left yours—your frame shaking at the feeling of him moving at a snail's pace from your hole just before he slipped back in only slightly faster. He wanted you to lose your mind. And even better, wanted you silently begging for him to finish inside of you by the time the call was ending.

You had never felt Steve be so tense, not when he was going balls deep into you every twenty seconds like this. Everything you saw from his face before turning back around and playing his game was that he was holding back just as much. If he had it his way, the phone would be thrown onto the nightstand and Peña would hear an earful.

But Javi was on a public phone, the sound of the police station like a band playing behind his voice. You could hardly hear him through the speaker against Steve's ear, but the background was clear.

“Don't let him walk, at least not before I get there.” Those were the magic words. He had limited time now, he had to pick up the pace in order to satisfy both of you before he'd be out the door.

You felt a rush of wind across your backside, the slap of his balls at your ass thankfully not loud enough to pick up during the phone call. He was winning already, your head falling into his pillow with his name swallowed in your throat. “Fuck, Steve!”

Javi’s voice continued on in his ear, but by the feeling of Steve's warm fingertips at the back of your neck for a new hold—you knew he had heard it.

“Oh, yeah?” His voice was hiding a sensual linger to it, another thing spoken to his partner but meant for you.

“Can you link his friend and keep him for another fifteen minutes? I'm almost done here.”

He was spit-firing, knew his length didn't need much more to fill you completely. You were both spent, Steve's huffing becoming noticeable until he tilted the phone away.

His body was sweaty, hand loosening on your neck but just tight enough to hold you steady. You could practically feel him in your throat at the angle he held you, mouth drooling onto his pillow until you felt yourself let go and cum with him.

You couldn't make a verbal sound, the receiver was close enough to let you hear everything going on from Javi’s side—the microphone easily capable of picking up your noises. But Steve, the man who had taken the situation thus far—he couldn't hold back.

“Yeah, yeah—” His head was swimming, cock gushing every bit of his seed into you. “Fuck, okay!”

“Okay?” You heard Javi speak casually, questioning the random call-out from Steve's side. He wasn't stupid, but Steve could only play up so much as he took in a deep breath and let you fall into his side of the bed completely.

Steve could hear you whining into his pillow, his natural musk filling your nostrils and body heat slipping away as he stood at the side of the bed. His hand, shaking slightly from his rushed orgasm, ran his fingers through his hair just enough to fix it up before he spoke again.

“Be there in ten.” He spoke calmly, a smirk on his lips and wink from his glassy eyes as he saw your head lift to meet his gaze.

“You sure?” Javi spoke with a laugh in his tone, listening carefully while writing down notes at his desk like he was working—despite having listened to the relentless rounds Steve had put you through the entire time. “Because I think one more wouldn't hurt.”

There was a reason you never heard the phone ring.

© scuddisher — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not post my content on other sites, especially claiming them as your own! reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated <3

[butterscotch-brigade]

tell me your fave and least fave invader zim episodes. also tell me a fave moment you got me rewatching it again and i forgot how fun this show was

ASKDJLASKJLSAJND FIRST OF ALL ty for giving me the opportunity to infodump abt invader zim i have been rattling it around inside my brain for like a month now so i was very excited when i saw this ask KASJLKJSLKJ

i have a couple fav episodes!!! in no particular order, i rly like:

invasion of the idiot dog brain!! gir is rly cute and funny in this ep, its what got me to rly start liking him

game slave 2!! gaz is one of my favs and shes great in this ep. plus i rly like all the Gamer Humor, u can tell it was written by someone who actually understands what video game fans r like ASDKJLDSK

bloaty's pizza hog!! another gaz-centric ep, shes so funny and badass in this. autism icon (i think abt "im trying to draw a LITTLE PIGGY" on a regular basis btw)

tak the hideous new girl!!! tak is one of my FAV characters i miss her SO MUUUCHHH this ep was such a great introduction to her shes so fucking cool

zim eats waffles!!! ik nothing much rly happens in this one but thats part of the charm imo KDASJLKDJ also this ep makes me hungry

the wettening!! i just love how petty zim is in this one KSJLKJF he could have annihilated earth in the end but instead he chose to get vengeance on this 12 year old boy for throwing a water balloon at him which i think is a shining example of who zim is as a character LOLLLL

dib's wonderful life of doom!! this one is actually rly fucked up but thats why i like it so much. u just KNOW dib walked out of that room in the end w like 10 new mental illnesses

gir goes crazy and stuff!! can u tell i rly like gir episodes SKLJDSLKJ i think its rly interesting to see what hes capable of when hes NOT all glitchy and malfunctioning. if u think abt it the tallests saved zims life by giving him a faulty sir unit

least fav eps r probably dark harvest and rise of the zitboy just bc they gross me out LOLLL im not particularly sensitive to drawn/animated gore but dark harvest made me squeamish SKFLJLKFJ i still think they have funny moments in them but i cant watch them all the way thru

as for favorite moments.....hoooo boy theres a lot!! ive been watching various clip compilations over the past few days JHDJLSAHJ i rly like most gir scenes bc hes my fav and i think hes rly funny and cute. enter the florpus had a TON of moments that made me laugh rly hard like the ham scene w gaz and zim, gir's peace song, prof. membrane's line abt how he used to think sharks were his friends, etc etc that movie is just so fucking funny. oh ALSO i rly like the "ZIM!!" "WHAT???" scene from mortos der soulstealer (which they call back to in the movie LOL). theres probably WAAYYY more that i love but this post is already getting super long so ill cut it short SAKJDLASJDKD

once again ty for letting me talk abt this anon i love invader zim. I Have Autism

[shorkbrian]

So happy your requests are open and I don't mind the wait at all!

I just really want to see a sweet quirkless omega going into heat and sending her alpha Overhaul (Kai Chisaki) into a hard rut and he just pins her to a wall and fucks the life out of her before taking her to the bedroom to knot her.

but you do know that it would 100% be like "hate sex" on Chisaki's part (even though he kinda do like it lol)

(Kinda overhaul x reader x chrono btw but only for a little bit)

Just. Overhaul being able to tolerate you being kept at his compound because one, you're his mate, whether he likes it or not.

Two, you're quirkless.

And three? You don't bother him, you stay out of the way and you have passable hygiene when compared to Chisaki's standards.

But that has to be thrown out the window the second Chrono hauls you into Chisaki's office, the man in charge of watching you when Chisaki isn't around flustered and pink around his ears.

"B-boss, your omega, she's-"

"What the fuck is that smell." Chisaki growls, eyes immediately snapping to your trembling form. Taking in the way you're gasping, sweaty, barely able to stand even with Chrono's hand tight around your bicep and holding you up.

For some reason, the sight of Chrono touching you makes Chisaki itch. Odd, that usually wouldn't bother him.

The smell is cloying; too intense and too sweet, it makes his throat burn and his skin crawl.

"I think she's in-"

"Please, it hurts." You choke out, cutting off Chrono. "Need... I need-"

Chisaki recoiled as the scent got stronger, clouding his senses, making him feel... Chisaki didn't even know. Excited? Tingly?

Uncomfortable - he decided.

"Get her out. Give her a bath too, she smells disgusting." He commanded, but Chrono stepped forward instead of back out the door.

"Boss, she's in heat."

Heat?

Oh.

Overhaul cringed.

Logically, he knew it was going to happen eventually. But on the other hand, he had hoped his omega would be different. you was already quirkless, already pure... surely it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to assume that you wouldn't be affected by the mindless heat-addling that Omega's all seemed to undergo?

His irritation was rising.

"So?"

Chrono looked at his boss with questioning eyes, unsure what to do with the omega becoming increasingly more distressed at his side.

"You'll get her over it." Chisaki decides, ignoring the bitter taste that floods his mouth as he utters those words. His eyes slide over you again, lip curling into a disgusted sneer.

"Messy thing."

Chrono is frozen in disbelief. But this isn't a test of his loyalty, Chisaki truly doesn't want to deal with the germs and the mess and the cleanup associated with omega's during their heats. Slick everywhere, pheromones staining the room, needy hands touching everywhere-

"Sit her down on the couch." He instructs his second-in-command, rising from his office chair and stepping around his desk so he can close the door. "I want to make sure you don't damage her."

That's the only reason. Only reason he wants to be present and watching while Chrono fucks you through your heat.

"You're serious then?" The white-haired man asks, removing the plague mask he wears while inside the compound, thus beginning the process of disrobing.

Chisaki waved his hand idly, resuming his position in his office chair with a tired sigh. "It'd be such a chore for me to do it myself. Aren't you an alpha yourself Chrono? You should be jumping at the chance to bed a nice quirkless omega."

Chrono shrugs off his white coat, looking up from where you're panting on the couch while he stands in front of you, eyes finding his boss. "I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries with your property."

The brunette smiles, not that anyone can see, but it's clear he's pleased by the crinkle near his eyes, the relaxed way he slumps in his chair. "And that's why you're my favorite Chrono."

You're wearing what you usually wear - long pants, a cozy sweater. Overhaul hasn't heard you complain about the chill in the compound, but it's clear to see it affects you by the way you dress and the way your nose darkens from the cold.

You don't fight the half-naked Chrono as he helps you out of your sweater, unbothered by the temperature of the room and looking entirely too hot and sweaty.

Chisaki supposes it's good that you aren't fighting. You had at first, when he first brought you here, crying and pleading for him to let you go and leave you alone. That pathetic show was quickly shut down with a simple demonstration of Overhaul's quirk, and what he'd do to you if you didn't comply.

Now you're seemingly accepting of the situation, casting nervous glances towards Chisaki, your attention constantly getting stolen by the pale man stripping in front of you.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Chrono has his cock in you.

And you look completely blissed out, mouth open and letting out choked little gasps on each thrust, one hand desperately trying to hold onto Chrono's shoulder, his arm, his chest - anything you can reach.

The other hand is on your stomach, and Chisaki doesn't understand why until he focuses on it, sees the distention whenever Chrono swings his hips into you.

Chisaki feels himself throb.

The sounds you're making sound like music. Awful music, all discordant and rushed and pornographic, stuttered breaths and pitiful cries, high-pitched and girlish moans in between Chrono's quiet huffs.

The sweet pheromones in the air become sweeter, thicker, and Chisaki can see the direct correlation between the smell and how much slick is dripping out of you, drenching Chrono's pretty cock, his stomach, even splattering his thighs on each thrust as his cock squelches deeper.

It's disgusting.

Digusting but curiously enamoring. Chrono's got you sitting on the couch, pushed up against the back while he fucks you. It's a tall piece of furniture, and Chrono merely hikes his leg up onto the cushions to gain a better angle to fuck you with. Your slick is everywhere; Chisaki knows that couch won't be salvageable after this. Somehow, he doesn't mind.

What he does mind, however, is the way Chrono is speeding up, rhythm stuttering and practically falling apart. He's going to knot you. Chisaki had given him full permission to - that's what taking care of an omega during their heat means, after all. But jealousy is boiling inside him, blood painfully engorging his cock, he feels tingly all over, very unlike himself.

He wants to touch you.

But you're a disgusting mess, smelling sweet and fertile and sweating and dripping everywhere. Chisaki can't believe he's feeling... attracted to you right now.

"O-ohh feels good, r-right there! Yes, thank you,t-than-" You mumble out, drunk on cock as you shudder through an orgasm, cream gushing out of your cunt and further dirtying Chisaki's office.

Chisaki sees red.

He's furious - not only at you, but at Chrono for touching you, and for himself for explicitly allowing it to happen. Chrono's about to knot you, claim you, and Chisaki is out of his chair before he knows what's happening.

"That's enough." And his gloved hands are ripping Chrono away from you, sending the other man reeling as his subordinate struggles to control his alpha instincts and stop himself from fighting his boss, tearing Chisaki to shreds for interrupting his mating.

Chisaki doesn't care, he's too focused on you.

"You're so pathetic." The man hisses at you, crowding into your space. When had he taken off his mask? He wanted to smell more of you.

His gloves are gone too, ripped away in a moment so he can feel your wet skin against his hands, feel the sweat beading your brow before those same fingers snap to undo his pants.

"I hate you, I hate you." He seethes, golden eyes staring at you so intently that you start to cry, overwhelmed with the situation, still craving a knot, craving intimacy and tenderness.

You've reduced him down to barely better than an animal, tearing at his clothes so he can sink into you, closing his eyes at the way you're wet and warm inside, perfect and velvety.

Chisaki doesn't know what's come over him. Normally he'd be disgusted, absolutely incensed at having such filth be in direct contact with his skin. But right now... all he feels is pleasure ripping through his veins, clouding his head, his mind, flushing rational thought down the toilet.

"Stupid, hate you-" his words rattle out on each rapid thrust, breath uneven and labored as his muscles stretch and work to fuck you harder and faster. He's building up to his peak.

One of his hands is fisted in your hair, close to your scalp and keeping you still, the other hand clamped firmly against your hip and making sure you don't wiggle away. Alpha instincts taking over as his brain convinces him to mate, breed, cum.

"You're so fucking dirty." He gasps, voice heated and gravelly as he struggles to fight through the heat taking over his body.

He's going into a rut.

Chisaki isn't supposed to do that. He takes supplements and suppressants to ensure he doesn't have too. Ruts are messy, nasty things to endure, and Chisaki would rather lick the floor of a dirty subway than experience one.

Yet here he is.

"You disgusting, wretched thing-" And you're crying, fat tears mixing with sweat and rolling down your chin. Chisaki feels disgusting himself, wanting to lick the liquid away.

He hasn't felt this good in his entire life, this burning fever pitch rising and rising and cresting, blazing along his nerves.

He can barely thrust his hips anymore, and only then does Chisaki realizes that he's popped his knot, jammed it in deep while you cried and moaned and struggled to hold onto him.

Theres a sick sense of satisfaction filling him up, his mind clears for half a second and Chisaki thinks to look over his shoulder, seeing Chrono still standing there with a soured look on his face, cock still swollen and drippy and bobbing purple against the man's stomach.

"Get out." Chisaki orders, and Chrono knows enough to merely pick up his coat and wrap it around himself before exiting the room. He's never seen his boss like this - so feral and unhinged and debauched like some regular dirty plebeian.

But Chisaki doesn't care. Odd.

He cares about grinding against you, feeling you milk every last drop of cum from his balls, shimmying his hips to hear you gasp and moan and clutch at his body, trembling like a little lamb.

Chisaki doesn't want to stop.

"As soon as my knot goes down-" He growls, lowering his face until it's mere inches from your own, breathing into your space. "I'm going to take you to my room and knot you until you break."

[bluebeerg]

if stanley and the narrator arent psychic, then what are they in comparison to the psychonauts world? the narrator def feels more than human if he's trying to pretend to be an archetype. what brings them to the motherlobe? I am enamored by your au and would love to hear your thoughts

I'm honoured that you want to know more !! I didn't think many people would, considering it's Extremely Self-Indulgent and I am used to my interests being Niche (reason why the things that I’ve posted have little to no context hgjfkghdfg)

Okay, so, I think it's important to note that, in this AU, the things in The Stanley Parable happened and are real. Stanley was trapped in an eternal loop. Stanley had died a million times over. The Narrator is... still his witty omnipresent self. These things do not change.

I had thoughts about making twisting TSP to be more cohesive to the world of Psychonauts, but ultimately thought against it. I think they are funny silly as they are :] A guy and his voice against the world

Alright, let’s get to explaining this bad boy a little.

So. What happened? Why are they at the Motherlobe?

This is just a rough and vague thought but, after being free of the Parable (when the Escape Pod and/or Freedom Ending is real and is here), Stanley and the Narrator are met with the outside world. Something something, run into the funny Psychonauts. They think something is up with Stanley, that he is strange, but insists that he is Not psychic, they bring him to the Motherlobe. Stanley keeps insisting his non-psychicness, but the Narrator convince him to just “humour them anyway”. Insert funny shenanigans where the Narrator and Stanley work together to do “psychic abilities”. Again, Very rough and Very vague. ghfdkjgdf

But, looping around to that first question: If not psychic, what are Stanley and the Narrator?

Well, they still are your classic Stanley Parable duo. A simple office worker and, like, god or something. But actually, since we’re on this topic...

Let’s talk about how the Narrator works.

Starting off with communication. This one’s easy. Stanley uses ASL to talk people, but, when speaking to the Narrator, it can be through mind thoughts. In the same vein, the Narrator can only be heard by Stanley. He is inside his brain :] This does mean, however, if someone did some mind reading, I guess they’d meet the funny man. the funny loud man. british

Here’s a big one: the Narrator’s power. In the office, the Narrator controlled, well, everything, because they were His creation. The office and everything in it was the extent of his power, and boy is that a lot of power.

But the Narrator is no longer In the office, he’s not even in The Stanley Parable anymore. This is not something he’s created (The Narrator is aware that Psychonauts is fictional and a game btw). However, he still has Some Sort of power in this new world - this is how they are tricking the Psychonauts, after all. So where exactly does that power come from?

As his OC, the Narrator draws his power from Stanley to exert onto the external world - but that, in turn, takes energy from him. Not a lot, mind you, but I guess it rather depends on size, quantity, and distance from him. This means that what the Narrator is able to do is limited and he has to be considerate about Stanley’s health and wellbeing (Stanley sleeps, and eats and drinks now? Fucking nuts, bro...)

I think the other limitation is that the Narrator can’t... Remove stuff was already previously there - that was already part of the world. He can summon things in, sure, and, while they may not stay around for very long, they are there (You guys sure do love the Narrator as an archetype ghdfjghf), and, he can still interact with the world, like opening doors or flickering lights, but to Truly twist, and manipulate, and alter it...  It’d take a Lot. 

Aaaand... That’s it. Probably. I have some other thoughts rattling up in this head of mine but... I think that that’s all the basics :] If you read all of this, thank you?? I love to say things about my funny thoughts, and I know it’s not exactly Fun to read Just text, especially when it’s this long, and I, uh, don’t know how much sense it all makes, but thank you :,] i am very grateful

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

[cyncerity]

Mmmmm.,, thinking about how if Tubbo nommed Tommy and Tommy grew just enough in his stomach to make a little bump.,,

Ok when I asked for sizeshifter Tommy getting nommed prompts, you got the message. You understood the assignment completely, you genius anon. Funnier yet, I had the same thought about Tommy shifting while in someone earlier, so you’re pyscic and also very much pandering to what i like to write and it’s working very well.

tw: vore, cursing

Btw, I took my shitpost idea from this post and made it a full story

“Tubbo, no.” Tommy deadpanned at Tubbo, who looked back at him with puppy eyes. “Tubbo yes!! You actually studied for this and I didn’t and if I flunk another test my dads gonna kill me!” the shorter teen whined. Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh. “Well then maybe you should’ve studied! I’m not gonna help you cheat this, I don’t even know how i would do that!”

Tubbo pouted and gave him a death glare that he ultimately couldn’t hold as long as Tommy could, so he sighed in defeat and started to get ready for school.

*****

School went pretty well for Tommy. He’d been pestered about the test a few more times by Tubbo, but he ignored most of the advances. He was just walking from the class he’d taken the test in to his next class when he got a text from his best friend: ‘meet me in the storage closet by the caf.’ Huh. Odd. Nevertheless, Tommy shrugged and headed that way. Not like he had much else to do at the moment.

He soon stepped into the storage closet, the heavy door closing behind him and shutting him in almost complete darkness as he fumbled around looking for a light switch. He could hear things clattering around him, but every time he reached in the direction of the noise, more noise seemed to come from another direction. What was going on? “Tubbo?” Tommy whispered. “You in here, big man?” Tommy said, a bit louder. No response, except the noises. Tommy could feel himself start to shrink in a bit as his movements became more sporadic looking for the light. “Seriously man, this isn’t funny!!” Suddenly, a loud clap sounded from behind him, scaring him and accelerating the shrinking he had already subconsciously been doing as he shrieked, now a measly 3 inches tall.

Suddenly he felt himself be lifted off the ground as the lights finally came on. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked up to see Tubbo holding him by his shirt collar, the heavy, large textbook that Tubbo had violently shut to make the clap noise now laying closed on the floor, looking smug with himself. Tommy glared daggers at him. “That was a low blow, Tubso.” “Of don’t be over dramatic,” the bigger teen smirked, “I’m just getting the help I need.” And with that, Tommy was tossed up into the air and quickly caught in Tubbo’s mouth. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing!!” Tommy shouted as Tubbo’s tongue lapped at his face. He was unceremoniously pushed into the side of Tubbo’s cheek as he tried to respond. “You just took the test, I’m going in to take the test now, so you can at least help me get some answers.” “You little-“ Tommy tried to finish before he was cut off by a loud swallow.

Tommy felt his legs get pulled down into the tight muscles of the throat. He tried to punch at Tubbo’s tongue to get his friend to spit him out but he only heard Tubbo chuckle as the muscles pulled him down to his shoulders and eventually sucked him in completely. Tubbo left the storage closet once he couldn’t feel Tommy in his mouth anymore and made his way to class. Tommy landed in his stomach with a dull thud as he heard the storage room door close and felt Tubbo start walking. Great. Didn’t this asshole know he had school, too?

Tommy pouted and laid back one of the wet spongy walls and slid down, begrudgingly accepting defeat. Eventually he felt Tubbo sit down, and he heard the lecturer start to speak, before silence once again. Tubbo poked his stomach. Tommy kicked at the wall where he had been poked. “You can’t just eat me and expect me to help you. Prick.” Another poke from the outside. Tommy kicked again.

There was an annoyed scoff from outside and soon the small space Tommy was sitting in practically folded in on itself as Tubbo moved to sit with his knees pressed against his torso. “Oh, fuck off, you dickhead!” Tommy shouted. “I’ll give you the fuckin answers, Jesus, just let up!!” Tommy could practically hear Tubbos smug grin as he put his knees back down and sat normally. Tommy sat fuming, giving Tubbo the answers to the test, waiting for the signal tap that signified his giant friend was ready for the next answer. So as Tommy sat and mindlessly rattled off information, he thought about what he could do to get a little revenge for the impromptu nom session. It was hard to think of something good enough. He needed something that was funny, but inconvenient, and that he could do from the stomach he was stuck in. Something that would piss Tubbo off in a playful way, and nothing that would cause him pain, maybe a bit of discomfort…wait. That’s it, that would work, all he had to do was time it right. The logical and mature side of Tommy’s brain said it was a bad idea: he’d never tried shifting while in a person before. Well, that part of his brain could fuck off for all Tommy cared. He’d never listened to it anyways. ‘Oh, this is gonna be so funny…’

****

A half an hour later, Tubbo finished the test. He was pretty proud of his successful plan to get Tommy to help him cheat, and he couldn’t see himself getting caught. There was no physical evidence of it, and he knew that as annoyed as he knew Tommy was, his best friend wouldn’t rat him out. He even made sure to fill in some answers wrong, it was foolproof! Tubbo leaned back, feeling the minuscule weight inside him, and if he focused hard enough, could even feel Tommy breath. He’d never get tired of how weird that felt, no matter how many times he ate Tommy. It gave him a sort of peace. He felt kind of bad for practically forcing Tommy into sitting in his gut, but it was his fault in the first place! If Tommy hadn’t refused to help him, Tubbo wouldn’t have had to resort to this! And he knew that Tommy would try to reign hell on him for this, but for the moment, he put that thought aside. There wasn’t much revenge Tommy could do from his stomach.

Tubbo soon heard the bell ring. And as soon as he went to stand up, he felt something inside him move. No, not move, grow. Double, triple the size Tommy was when he was swallowed, bigger than anything he’d ever even try to get down his throat, and all within the span of a second. The sudden shock of the change mixed with the uneven and unfamiliar added weight in Tubbos body made him fall backwards with a yelp, landing on his ass and knocking over a chair in the process. He heard some kids laugh at him on their way out the door, and saw other just stare. He could feel his face get hotter from the embarrassment. He not only heard, but felt Tommy laugh at him, the shifters now louder voice making the stomach walls around him vibrate slightly. And, oh god, that was a weird feeling.

Tubbo clutched his gut for dear life as he tried to stand. He grabbed a nearby desk and pulled himself up, doing his best to steady himself. And as soon as he finally managed to get used to the weight, more was added. He felt his stomach stretch around Tommy, more weight being added, making him stumble a bit more before he elbowed himself in the stomach, pulled his hood over his head, and tried to walk as quickly as possible to anywhere private, ignoring Tommy’s laughing fit.

Ten minutes later, Tubbo found a private, hidden area under a set of outdoor steps near his school. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and put it up to his ear just to be sure that if anyone saw him, they wouldn’t think he was a crazy person talking to himself. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Tubbo yelled, making Tommy laugh more. “Oh, you have no idea how much I would’ve paid to see the look on your face!” Tommy wheezed. “What did you do?” Tommy’s laughter died down as he tried to answer the question. “Well, I think that’s pretty obvious big man. I shifted.” “In me?!” “Well, yeah. Consider this payback for scaring me shitless and swallowing me without permission.”

Tubbo face palmed with his free hand and started to pace, feeling Tommy’s much larger form sway in his stomach and stretch it with every turn he made as he walked. “Ok, ok, fine I guess I deserved that. Just, why’d you have to do it in class? People were looking at me like I was an idiot. And how big are you even right now?” “Cause you are stupid,” Tommy answered part of the first question, but pondered the other. “I’d say a foot tall? Maybe a foot and a half?”

“A foot?!” “Yeah, that’s what I said. Listen, maybe.” “Alright, alright, ok, you’ve had your fun, now shrink so I can get you out of there and we can both go about our days.” Tubbo sighed. “No can do, big man.” Tommy replied simply, as if Tubbo were to have expected that answer. He didn’t. “Why the hell not?!” Tubbo yelled again, sitting on a step, to frustrated to keep pacing. “You put me in here in the first place. I’m now your responsibility, and you did this to yourself.” Tubbo felt a somewhat uncomfortable pressure on the front of his stomach and pulled up his shirt, partially horrified and partially amazed to see the front of his belly pushing forwards, slight imprints from under his skin. Tommy’s hands. Before Tubbo could even get a word out, Tommy finished: “Remember, I’m not stuck in here with you. You’re stuck out there with me.” The pressure released, and Tubbos abdomen went back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be. It still looked somewhat bloated for obvious reasons, the outline of Tommy practically indistinguishable from any other stuffed gut to everyone but Tubbo, but it wasn’t anything his hoodie couldn’t hide. Tubbo made it a point to stand up from the step quickly to try and jostle Tommy, but only succeeded in making himself feel a quick pit in his stomach, making him instinctually hunch over as it stretched downwards to accommodate Tommy’s weight. “Whatever. I’m done talking to you.” Tubbo replied sternly before walking off to his next class, which he was now horribly late for. “Sounds good, but I’m not quite done talking to you yet.” So the next 10 minutes was spent with Tubbo walking to class and Tommy rambling about increasingly bizarre topics in an attempt to irritate Tubbo, and with Tubbo unable to respond without being heard since he’d put his phone in his backpack like an idiot and now couldn’t reach it.

***

He walked into his next class 20 minutes late, and as quickly as possible made his way to his empty chair next to Ranboo, who started giving him weird looks a few minutes after he sat down. Tubbo gave him a weird look, and Ranboo looked back utterly confused and somewhat distraught looking. Tubbo shrugged and went back to his work, trying to pick up what the teacher was saying and drown out Tommy’s nonsense. Ranboo didn’t stop giving him weird glances though, and he seemed to be getting more and more anxious. Tubbo was about to ask him what was wrong when surprisingly Ranboo stood up and addressed the teacher. “Excuse me, I have a really bad headache. Like, it’s hard to concentrate and I’m seeing spots and it’s all around just really awful, can I go to the nurse, please?” He was given permission and was told to take someone with him, roughly grabbing Tubbo by the arm and practically dragging him out of the classroom as fast as possible.

At this point, Tubbo was worried. Ranboo was an introverted guy, there’s no way he’d draw that much attention to himself in class unless it was an emergency. He got even more worried when Ranboo dragged him past the nurses office and into a storage closet not dissimilar to the one Tubbo and Tommy had been in earlier. “Boo, are you alri-“ “Out of curiosity, where’s Tommy?” Ranboo interrupted. Tubbo froze. “Ummm…I don’t know, why do you ask?” He replied, trying not to sound as guilty as he was as Tommy, who had been silent since Ranboo had dragged Tubbo out of the classroom, mumbled to himself. Something about Tubbo being an asshole. “Oh, maybe because once you came in late and sat down I started hearing Tommy. Quiet, muffled, even, but I know his voice. That, and literally no one besides Tommy can talk about absolutely nothing for so long.” Tubbo heard Tommy let out an offended scoff and a “fuck you” at Ranboo, who apparently also heard it. “See, there it is again! You can hear him to, I know it. So where is he? I thought he was in your backpack, but you didn’t bring it with you to the ‘nurses office,’” Ranboo said, putting in air quotes, “so I don’t know where else I’d be able to hear him from.” Tubbo was left speechless again. Luckily for him, or actually rather unlucky, depending on how you look at it, Tommy was incapable of being left speechless. “In here, Ranboob!!” Tommy shouted, punching the front of the stomach walls, making Tubbo let out a hiss of pain as he punched himself in the stomach. Ranboo just stared blankly. “He’s…he’s in there?” Ranboo asked, pointing at Tubbo’s midsection. Tubbo sighed and nodded. Thank god he had to explain this to Ranboo and not some rando who didn’t know that he and Tommy did this regularly. “I thought that no one besides you could hear him when you ate him? I’ve never heard him from in there before.” “Probably because I’ve never been this big in a person before.” Tommy shouted in reply. “He’s a fucking foot tall, Ranboo. He’s making me miserable.” Tubbo deadpanned. “Just returning the favor!” Tommy shouted. “Ok, ok, wait, what happened, I’m so confused.” Ranboo questioned.

Tommy and Tubbo filled Ranboo in on what went down, who had his face in his hands by the end of the explanation, his thoughts clear to Tommy and Tubbo: ‘why do I have such idiot friends?’ “…ok,” Ranboo finally spoke out, “If anyone asks, I have a fever and you two, er, well, Tubbo helped me walk home. School ends in, like, 3 hours anyways, so it should be fine.” Tubbo and Tommy both seemed ok with that idea, so they went back to Tommy’s house, since Tommy’s family was at work, where Ranboo made both Tommy and Tubbo apologize for being assholes to each other, eventually convincing Tommy to shrink back down and finally give Tubbo a break. Tubbo didn’t spit him out though, and from the one sided conversation Ranboo was hearing, it seemed like Tommy was fine with that. Soon enough, all three were taking a nap.

***

At 2 o’clock, Phil got home, surprised to find the front door unlocked. He carefully made his way inside the house, looking for anything that could have been stolen or god forbid a thief still in the house. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Until he got to Tommy’s room, where he found Ranboo and Tubbo asleep on a backup comforter they kept around for the two when they slept over. Phil only had to wonder briefly where Tommy was, until his mind registered Tubbo’s hand, which was pressed protectively against his stomach. ‘Wait, shouldn’t they still be in school?’ Phil thought. But he took one look at the sleeping teens and decided he would chew them out later, turning of the light and closing the door.

[darkeninganon]

Oh, boy, this is a doozie for y’all. So, remember that thing I made with Hummingbird Dream being eaten by naga/Lamia Punz? Ha ha, have some more Hummingbird Dream suffering :’) at the hands of George and DreamXD this time! George is based off a Caracal cat btw, while DreamXD is based off a basic Griffon!

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR: VORE, FEAR PLAY, MOUTH PLAY, DEHUMANIZATION, FATAL VORE, GRAPHIC/VIOLENT DEATH, CRUEL PREDS, AND REFORMATION. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND HEED THESE WARNINGS.

Dream hated this. Of course Sam demanded to meet him in the mountains. Why had he agreed to meet the stupid creeper-taur? Oh right, because Sam needed help finding copper. The guy had a strange obsession with the stuff, talking about how useful it was and how it would make everyone’s lives easier. Dream, however, didn’t see how, as he was currently freezing. Dream grumbled to himself, wishing he could fly, but the winds were too strong for him, and would toss him about like a leaf. Heck, even some leaves were bigger than him. Dream grumbled to himself, doing his best to not fall into the three-foot-deep snow. By Prime did he hate the mountains.

Dream paused, listening. He thought he heard something, something like footsteps or loose gravel falling. It was probably just his imagination, so he shook it off. Dream carried on, getting only a few feet before his world was plunged into darkness, letting out a loud squeak. Warm hands wrapped around him, holding him tight as light flooded his eyes once again. He shook his head, blinking a few times before focusing on who grabbed him.

The creature holding Dream had cat ears, blackish grey in color with long black fur tufts at the top tips; brownish-black hair covered his head, with one golden amber eye and one piercing blue eye staring down at Dream. “Hm, you looked a lot bigger.”

Dream’s face contorted in confusion before his brain snapped back to reality; “Sorry? Um, who are you?”

The creature shrugged.

Dream caught a glimpse of sandy brown fur and a cat-like body trailing behind the human body. Ah, a cat-taur. Lovely. Taur creatures were known for being voracious eating machines, often being able to eat an entire cow or other big animal before finally stopping.

“I normally don’t talk to my food. I was just surprised with how small you were.”

Wait “WHAT?!”

Dream could only watch in horror as the creature opened his mouth, shoving Dream inside before snapping his teeth shut. “Hey! Let me out!” Dream flapped his wings, punching and kicking at the gums and ceiling of the mouth in a desperate attempt to escape. The creature hummed, rattling Dream to his core and rattling him enough to give him pause. That was a mistake. Dream squeaked as he was tossed about by the tongue, the muscle slapping him in the face and spinning him around, all while covering him in sticky saliva. Dream fought against the muscle, shoving it away any time it came near him; but between the creature moving around and being flipped constantly by its tongue, Dream found himself more disoriented and less able to fight back.

Then the creature started chewing on him.

Well, chewing wasn’t really the right word, more like grinding and rubbing his teeth against Dream. The creature would continually maneuver Dream between its molars and then shift his jaw back and forth, scratching Dream’s skin and ruffling his feathers, some of the tiny, iridescent fluff breaking free and floating freely in the plethora of saliva. Dream continued to fight as much as he could, trying his best to get out from between the teeth without injury.

The creature stopped moving, suddenly shoving Dream against his cheek. “Hey, how are you?”

Dream listened, only able to hear half the conversation. The creature was talking to someone… someone that sounded much bigger than him. And anything bigger than this creature would likely see Dream as little more than an ant.

“Yeah, just been wandering around. Not much to do here.”

Again, the stranger spoke.

“Eh, it’s fine. I’ve been getting enough food.”

A question, and a hand rubbing the cheek the Dream was pressed against.

“Oh, this?” Dream was pulled away from the cheek by the tongue, a massive amount of saliva nearly drowning him before he was crudely spit out into a pair of hands. “Just something to entertain me. A super small snack.”

Dream shook the saliva off himself, rubbing the offending liquid from his eyes and looking to whoever the creature was talking to. It was another taur creature… A Griffon taur creature, with golden wings, curling horns, a halo-like mane of gold hair, and beautiful golden hawk front feet. It was also massive. Dream shrunk down, wings ruffling in a reflexive attempt at intimidation.

“Awww~, he’s so cute! Such a cute little snack!” The much bigger creature cooed, voice echoing as if multiple people were talking at once. A wicked grin split the bigger creature’s face as he looked to the smaller creature. “George, do you maybe… want an eternal little snack?”

Dream’s heart sank.

“Wait, you’d use your revival powers on this thing?”

The bigger creature laughed, loud. Dream covered his ears, curling into the hands that held him as he tried to block out the deafening sound.

“Oh no! Nothing as precious as that… But, you should know, revival has a lesser power… It’s called reformation.”

The smaller one -George- gave a shrug; “alright, if you want to.”

The bigger creature smiled wider, roughly snatching Dream from George, enclosing the tiny hybrid in his giant hands and whispering some words. With a chuckle, the giant creature unceremoniously tossed Dream back to George, watching intently.

George hummed, inspecting Dream. “It doesn’t look any different.”

DreamXD chuckled again, “Well, of course it won’t! Not all magic changes how something looks.”

George hummed again, shoving Dream into his mouth as the tiny hybrid yelled out.

Once again, the giant teeth snapped shut before him, trapping him in total darkness. Once again, he began kicking and punching, trying to break free, only to be smacked in the face by the creature’s tongue. Dream yelled, doing his best to shove the muscle away, but the massive amount of saliva made everything slippery enough that nothing Dream did worked. He was suddenly shoved between the teeth again, earning a terrified yelp, expecting the giant molars to come down and crunch on him without mercy. Instead, the beast once again was gently chewing on him, ruffling his feathers, tearing his clothes, and cutting his skin.

Dream clawed at the bones as they moved. He knew it wouldn’t do anything, he didn’t expect it to, but he felt he had to do something before his inevitable demise. Dream was suddenly pulled away from the teeth, world spinning around and disorienting him, saliva blinding him momentarily. A loud gulping noise had him wiping away the extra saliva, only to realize the creature had tilted its head back, and Dream was gazing into the dark abyss of the thing’s throat. Dream reached out, trying to grab onto something to prevent himself from being swallowed, but with another loud gulp he was being forced into the narrow, muscular tube that led to George’s stomach.

Dream’s arms were pinned above -or was it below?- him, the esophagus too tight for him to move them in a way that might help save him. He felt the entrance to the creature’s stomach before he saw it, hands scrabbling for a wall or spare bone or something to grab onto the delay the inevitable pain he’d have to deal with. Dream fell to the bottom, splatting into a gunky liquid that was…

Dream shuddered. He was doomed. His wings were caked in saliva, mucus, and slimy… remains and to add insult to injury he was missing feathers while others were bent and broken. Dream sobbed, curling in on himself, wing wrapping around his body at an attempt towards comfort. His tears ran out eventually, long before the acid ate away at the saliva and mucus protecting him, watching as lose feathers succumbed to the corrosive liquid, disintegrating into faint green mush amongst the rest of the… food.

Another shudder wracked Dream’s frame after all this time. The acid was rising too, it had been for the past… How long had it even been? Dream had no idea. The monster that ate him had been quiet, either slumbering or simply relaxing with that other one. The acid was almost to his curled-up knees, most of his torso still free of the cursed liquid. His fists tightened, and he stood, determined to at least cause some pain to the beast before no longer existing.

Then the beast shifted, rolling it seemed, throwing Dream off-balance and sending him sprawling into the acid. Dream was submerged for only a moment, surfacing and shaking his head to dislodge the offending liquid. Then he felt it; a burning-tingling creeping up his hands and prodding at his face and neck.

Wait… Shit.

The saliva and mucus had dried long ago apparently, and now Dream’s upper body was easily exposed to the digestive fluid. Dream threw himself away from the caustic liquid, trying his best to shake it from his feathers, clothes, and skin. The creature shifted again, knocking Dream into the liquid once more, his head hitting a wall and rattling him enough to disorient him. Then the stomach itself started to move. Shit… shit, shit, shit!

Dream tried to stand once again, gasping as he was squished between the muscular walls. A cry escaped his lungs as he tried to shove against the strong muscles to get some breathing room. He began to sob again, dry sobs with no tears, but sobs none-the-less. He was moving again, the muscles shifting and pushing him lower, towards the bottom of the stomach. Dream clawed weakly at the walls, trying to fight the impossible force. He couldn’t afford to sink lower, to be pulled into the second stomach of this beast. Then he would surely be trapped forever with no hope of escape.

Dream could feel the second esophagus open slowly, wrapping around his feet and pulling him down with more force than the first stomach. He was pulled down quicker, the acid nearly drowning him as he was pulled below, his waist and below trapped in the second esophageal tube. Dream planted his hands on either side of him, pushing against the opening in a last-ditch effort to escape or something to keep him from going to the second stomach. That only succeeded in his hands slipping in the next time it opened, trapping them at his sides.

Dream could only writhe and let out mumbling cries, watching as his hope got farther and farther away. Another cry escaped Dream as he was swallowed again, sinking further and further until he finally fell into the second stomach. Dream sat there, trapped in the large space of the second stomach, acid already filling it up to his waist when he stood. Dream did stand, for about five minutes. The creature then decided to lay down, squishing Dream between the walls if his stomach, acid flowing around him and covering his head.

It hurt, between the acid and the crushing weight, it hurt. Dream held his breath, not wanting the cursed liquid to get into his lungs and burn him from the inside out. Dream gave weak shoves, trying to get some form of breathing room, but his time ran out. Dream gasped, caustic acid filling his mouth and lung and burning. It was a pain he’d never felt before, adrenaline coursing through his body as survival instincts took over. He squirmed, shoved, clawed, yelled, and fought, trying to get any sort of relief and room to alleviate the panic. Blood began to float from his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he passed out from pain, brain shutting down in one final attempt at survival.

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

Dream stirred as giggling filled his mind. His eyes opened, a pitch-black void greeting him. He wanted to call out, voice cracking and dying in his throat.

“Awww~, you know, you should have stayed with me and George! Surely it would be better than suffering for a week at a time.”

That voice. That horrible, echoing, multiplied, cruel voice that cursed him.

“Have fun little snack!”

Dream’s eyes opened, the walls of a stomach greeting him. A relatively small stomach that clearly didn’t belong to a more active predator like a taur-creature. No… This was… Memories of the previous days came flooding back. Dream yelled out, punching and kicking at the lining. “Punz! Punz please! Please not again!”

Punz stirred away, pain radiating from their stomach. With a wince, they placed a hand on their stomach feeling something moving. Punz stared, confused. They had eaten Dream, what did they eat Wilbur in their sleep?

“You know, he had been inside George for a few days before you showed up.”

Punz whipped around. The casino was closed for now, so the new voice was unwelcome. Sure enough, standing outside the cage was a strange creature, a combination of human, lion, and hawk. Punz tilted their head. The stranger sounded like Dream, but only just.

“Well, if he ever makes you sick enough that you spit him out, I’ll be taking him back. George deserves to keep his little snack that I made specially for him~.”

The creature vanished in a flash of green-blue light. Punz was left staring in confusion, only to be snapped out of their trance as Dream gave another furious kick. They’d have to do something about that. Later though, right now they wanted to go back to sleep.

Maybe they should tell Wilbur and Techno about this new development. It would be nice to have a renewable food source all three could share.

[kurinoot]

[day 1] one box of chocolates | tendou satori

-> you’ve been wanting to surprise your boyfriend with your own batch of chocolates and better yet, grace him with your presence this coming valentines. to your shock, you got more than what you thought it would be.

pairing: tendou x reader

themes: fluff, post-timeskip

word count: 2125 words

author’s note: I can’t believe I’m writing again! hahaha, and tendou being my first haikyuu character to create a fic uwu anyways, he was kinda hard to write on as he only got shots from seasons 3 and 4, so this may somehow seem ooc but please, I do accept constructive criticisms :) enjoy!

btw, I added a music in specific parts of the story so you can play them if you want so as to add some touches while you’re reading :)

"Ah, I hope the chocolates haven't melted yet!", you sigh tiredly with worry as you scramble your hand inside your carry-on bag, carefully checking your box of handmade chocolates as you make your way through the bustling Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport. The almost 14-hour non-stop flight has definitely taken a toll on you and the jet lag is definitely not helping you either.

You finally feel the cold air kissing your skin as you drag your way out of the airport, gingerly carrying your baggage all the while ensuring that your handmade gift is in good hands. Apparently, you weren't informed that Paris in February would require you more layers of clothing than what the thin sweater you’re wearing could offer. With a rush, you immediately went to the nearest vacant taxi. You rattled your brain for some basic French, muttering a soft “Bonjour” as you pinpoint the driver to your phone, showing him your destination. After a while, you finally feel the weight of the jet lag in your body. You deeply sigh as you finally let yourself sink in the back seat of the taxi. The driver seemed to know something, if you fumbling with your words and the way you slumped on the back seat was a sign.

"Rough day, mademoiselle?", the driver asks you in English (to, at least, your surprise) with a rough French accent, smiling. You brighten up a bit despite the stress, "Uh yes, monsieur. Am I right? It's probably the jet lag, but yeah.".

"Don't worry, your basic French is good! So, what is a young mademoiselle doing here alone? And on Valentines’ Day?”

“Ah merci! I’m actually here to visit this chocolate shop.”, you reply with a bright smile as you pinpoint your phone to the said location once again. He grins, to your surprise.

“Ah yes! That shop is actually famous around these parts, especially this Valentines’ season. Although, the owner is quite weird and even creepy for most people from what I heard around here.”, he mentions, and despite getting accustomed to how most people see Satori, you felt your hand cusp into a fist as you gritted your teeth, seething in annoyance and preparing to fight back or even to get off the taxi.

“Yet despite the rumors, he’s a kind young man. Eccentric one, I admit, but he knows the chocolate fit for the customer. Hell, he even helped me pick for my wife!” The driver continues, chuckling at the memory.

You feel all the anger in you disappear, proud of your boyfriend, as it was somewhat kind of rare for you to hear good compliments about him, “That’s just probably how other people see him. I would say, he’s a tad too eccentric for most people. He’s kind and soft-hearted and cute if you get to know him beyond the surface.”, you reply languidly with proud eyes.

You saw his eyes glance at you, before looking back at the road.

Unknowingly, your smile didn’t falter at the memory of Satori. “In fact, the owner is my boyfriend! And I’m actually here to visit — or rather, surprise him today!”

The driver chuckled softly, “Figures. You were talking about the owner like he’s your lover, and,” He paused, his eyes gazed towards the photograph of a woman that you took notice of earlier. “I can say the same.” His voice became tender as he continued driving.

You have finally arrived at your boyfriend’s little happy place, much to your joy and excitement. You immediately paid the driver and thanked him for the ride (and for the conversation). As soon as you get out of the cab, the driver calls you out, rummages something from a compartment in his cab, and surprises you with a lush red rose, thankfully free of its prickly thorns.

"You somehow remind me of me and my wife when we were younger, and it's Valentines' Season and better yet, you're in the City of Love! So please, take this as a Valentines' souvenir, mademoiselle".

"Oh you didn't have to, monsieur!"

“Good luck with that boyfriend of yours, mademoiselle! Yer both lucky to have each other.”, he says, somehow inspired by how you defended Satori as he mutters an ‘ah, young love’ to himself afterwards as he waves before driving to his next destination. Despite the jet lag creeping in your system, you grasp the remaining energy you have to at least surprise your boyfriend with your presence in the spirit of Valentines' Day in the City of Love.

I can't believe I'm in Paris, and I'm seeing Satori's shop for the first time!, you thought as you giddily reached for the eccentric gold-gilded handle of the door, slowly opening the door to the shop. The instant scent of the cocoa hit right through your senses as your eyes ran across the various chocolates on display. Walking further, you were graced with the view of your beloved with his back on you, occupied with washing his tools to finish the day as he sways his hips to the rhythm of the song he’s humming so softly.

He stops humming as soon as he hears the chime of the door bell, "Je suis désolée, on est fermé. (I’m sorry, we’re closed)", you hear Satori with bits of his Japanese accent as he continued humming afterwards, clueless of who had entered his shop.

"Well, I was thinking of grabbing a Valentines' special with my boyfriend.", you replied teasingly, emphasizing the word boyfriend, which left the budding chocolatier a bit frozen in shock as he turned to your direction with wide eyes before shifting to a smirk as he leans on the countertop, narrowing his eyes towards you as an “Oh, what do we have here?” leaves his mouth.

“My Sugar!”, he nearly screamed, seeing you as he dropped everything he’s doing and rushed to hug you tightly, not caring about his wet hands.

You lovingly welcome his arms as you hug him back tightly, soaking in his presence after being separated for so long.

“I missed you so much, Satori!”, you pout as you felt him tightening his embrace, as you savored his warmth after a long flight, his breath tickling the nape of your neck. You gasp a little bit as he gently caresses your hair, maximizing his hug with you to finally see, touch, and feel you in person.

You felt Satori loosen his arms, as you immediately replaced with the warmth of the Parisian cold, much to your disappointment. Without you knowing, Satori sees even the slightest of your body trembling from the current weather and rushes back in the kitchen to grab his Shiratorizawa jacket, much to your surprise. He then returns to you, gracefully sliding the jacket over your shoulders.

You pout at him with a prominent blush on your plump cheeks, “Thank you, Satori”, to which he replies with another hug much tighter compared to the one a few minutes ago.

“I love, love, LOVE you so much, my chocolate ice cream!”, he exclaimes as you were suddenly smothered with a couple of pecks — light kisses on your head. You snuggled closer to his chest, eagerly smelling his sweet scent of chocolate that suddenly reminded you of your handmade chocolate that you’ve left unattended for hours. You quickly scramble away from the contact, much to your endearing boyfriend’s curiosity, to see if the chocolate has withstood not only the long flight, but also Satori’s warm, tight hugs. Luckily, the red cardboard box was sturdy enough and only had a couple dents — making you sigh in relief. As soon as you pull out the box, you see your boyfriend narrowing his eyes to the direction of the box with peaked curiosity.

“Ah, what do we have here?” Satori teases, pulling off a smirk, eyes still on the box as he receives it. He gave it a little shake, that made you giggle as he playfully tried to guess what was inside. Although you could feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment with each second passing. You look away in embarrassment as you watch him. He looks at you with piqued interest, wondering what has gotten you a bit tad embarrassed, if the pink in your cheeks were even a telltale sign.

You anxiously mumbled, “W-Well, I mean, my boyfriend probably makes the best chocolate in the world, so it k-kinda sucks that the only Valentines’ gift I can give you is a box of chocolates that I have made—”, you got cut off as you see and hear your boyfriend already popping one of the chocolates in his mouth, much to your chagrin. To your surprise, he kept popping more and more of the chocolates, savoring each delight.

“Waif, lemme geth sum hot milk.” he says, with his mouth full of your handmade chocolates as he scrambles back to the kitchen, heating up some milk. As you wait for him, you notice a gramophone on the countertop with a vinyl record already in place, with Edith Piaf written on on the center portion in black marker, which you found cute as you imagined Satori listening to Edith Piaf while doing his daily chocolate-making routine. You try to play the music and much to your delight, your head gently swayed to the song, and eventually your body. Immediately after the song has started, your body has already succumbed to the rhythm of the music that you didn’t notice Satori returning with two mugs of hot milk. He grins, enjoying the view of you dancing to French music as he places the mugs down on the counter. He slowly sways as he walks up to you, his hands snaking around your waist from your back as your bodies swing leisurely to the rhythm, much to your surprise yet you quickly relax as you lean back on him, holding his hands around your waist.

Never in your wildest dreams have you imagined that the Satori Tendou, your boyfriend, the oddball, would be dancing with you like this, alone in his chocolate shop under the moonlight on Valentines’ Day in the City of Love. It was too much for your heart to handle, and probably for his heart, too.

You dance for a couple more minutes until the song slowly fades. He then relishes the way he holds you, albeit the music has already finished. You both savor each other’s presence a few more, before Satori then gets the mugs of hot milk, not wanting to waste the good heat on a cold Parisian night. You gladly accept the milk with one hand, as you grasp his jacket with the other, not wanting to feel even the slightest cold breeze. Your boyfriend then leads you to a seat on the counter, sitting next to you as he prepares his mug and your box of chocolates, now with only a few pieces.

“I never thought you would actually go here in Paris”, he starts, as he pops another one of your chocolate in his mouth, followed by gulping down his warm milk.

“I never thought I would actually go here, but I’m grateful that I did, because this is the best Valentines’ Day I’ve ever had!”, you beam as you hold your mug with both hands, relishing the warmth as you drink down your milk.

Tendou then takes note of your chocolates, “You know, I was thinking of adding your chocolates to the menu, and credit you also. Probably name it Le Chocolat Y/N Au Lait Special or something!” You smiled and held a hand on your chest, feeling how warm it suddenly felt.

“Satori, I’d love to.”, you replied, to which his smile grew bright that could burst your heart to how cute he is.

Your beloved continues to chew and drink, looking around when he notices the fresh red rose from earlier sitting atop of your luggage. You follow his line of sight, immediately seeing the lone rose. You finish drinking your milk before you tell him enthusiastically, “Ah! That was given by the taxi driver that drove me earlier. Said that we somehow reminded him of him and his wife on Valentine's Day in the City of Love in this same shop, so he gave me one.”, imitating the way your driver said City of Love. Much to your shock, Satori sardonically laughs, saying it was a tad bit too French, at least for his taste.

While finishing the last remnants of your warm milk, he then goes to the nearby gramophone and plays another Edith Piaf classic. You glance at him with curiosity as he looks at you smugly, stretching out his hand as he invites you to another  dance.

“So, where were we?”

back to valentines masterlist

[groovypxls]

"take my hand" "no" "i'm not asking you to marry me i'm trying to save your life" - prompt blurb no. 9

possible spoilers for Out of Time, my simsta story on @/wandererwhims on instagram

this is what a feral is btw [x]

THE two managed to kill another wave of ghouls that had been occupying the test site. Neither of them had any idea where vertibird fuel might be, so the most logical solution lied in the terminals. Finding a terminal that belonged to inventory, research, or even the CEO could prove useful in pointing them to the right direction.

Nora didn't bother holstering her pistol. The location was crawling with ferals. MacCready led them down another hallway, both of them walking in a crouch, close to the floor, in order to be silent. Either they could sneak past ferals or have the added bonus of hearing them before they got jumped.

They passed door after door, empty room after empty room, until finally approaching a room that hadn't been caved in. A glowing green terminal waited inside, its light inviting them in.

Nora stood up, crossing the room to where the terminal sat.

"It's locked," she noted, attempting to type. "Try and find a password somewhere, I don't want to get locked out for good."

"You know how to hack terminals?"

Nora put out her hand, tilting it side to side in an unsure fashion. "Eh. It's complicated. I'm not really a tech person."

MacCready nodded, looking around the room. He pulled out drawers, checked the bookshelf. Nora attempted another password, only to receive a warning that she was incorrect. To cool off, she took a step back from the desk to the middle of the room.

Nora paced back and forth as MacCready continued to search the bookshelves along the walls.

She paced left, thinking if they could find the fuel without help from the terminal. She paced right, thinking where fuel might be. A lower level, maybe? She paced left--

Nora stopped. Her feet began to shake, the floor below her making a noise, vibrating beneath her feet.

"Do you hear that?"

MacCready looked to Nora, then at the floor. His eyes widened in realization, reaching out to her. "Nora STOP!"

It was of no use--Nora had stepped one step too far, putting her weight on the weak and crumbling floor. The floor below her collapsed, breaking and sinking to the room underneath. Nora yelled out as she fell through, crashing through with the broken floor, dust and debris flying about.

Nora plummetted to the floor, her bones rattling, her body vibrating, her brain swimming around her skull. It wasn't a long fall, but she did land on her side.

"SHIT!" she cried, rubbing her head and the side of her ribcage. Nothing felt broken, but it still was enough pain to have her wince from simple movement. Luckily, she landed on some of the broken floor, so the distance was even shorter.

MacCready peered down into the hole in the floor. "Oo-kay. That looked like it hurt. You alright?"

"NO!" yelled Nora. "No, I am not 'alright!'"

Though he knew she was in pain, MacCready couldn't help but laugh. Nora rolled her eyes, concealing a smirk. She continued to rub her side, looking about the room. Her eyes met the door, and she attempted to open it.

The door flew open without a hitch, but to her dismay, another pack of ferals were lying in wait just on the other end. When the floor caved in, the sound must have attracted them. Nora shuddered a breath and scrambled for her pistol, which had been knocked out of her hand when she had fallen.

Where was it?

She had no weapon on hand, and the ghouls had now noticed her. They were running to her, shrieking, clawing. Nora had no choice but to try and close the door again, but two had already made their way into the room.

Nora yelled for MacCready's help, begging him to throw down a gun. He complied immediately, tossing down a spare 10mm.

"That's IT!?" she yelled again as she fired the gun, trying not to focus on the sound, the heat, or the screaming ghouls about to rip her to shreds.

MacCready panicked, speaking quickly. "Climb up the debris and get back up here!" He had already seen one person he cared about get mauled by ferals, he didn't need nor want to see another one.

Nora was too focused on pulling the trigger, trying to dodge the ferals attacks as she ran around the room. More ferals had came in, attracted by the noise and the smell of Nora's flesh. "It's too far a jump!"

There wasn't much MacCready could do. He kneeled down to the hole, extending his hand for Nora to grab. "Here!"

She glanced at him and the distance from the pile of concrete to the ceiling. Nora shook her head and continued to fire at the ghouls. Though she had already picked off a couple of them, more had outnumbered her. She was in too close quarters to throw a Molotov, it would only hurt her.

"Nora, take my hand!" MacCready reiterated desperately.

Nora took another look at his hand. "No!" she yelled back, still trying to defeat the ghouls on her own. Nora managed to cripple a couple more of them. She thought back to the night before, where she was more vulnerable with him than she had ever been. She couldn't do anything more to give him the wrong idea, even now. She had too much pride.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm trying to save your life!"

She couldn't put it off any longer. There were only a few left, but they had backed her into a wall, and she was running out of bullets. One of them had clawed at her leg, shrieking and groaning as though they were taunting her.

Nora tossed the gun aside and climbed atop the pile of debris as fast as her legs would allow. MacCready extended his hand further. Nora leapt from the top of the pile and grabbed MacCready's hand. He grabbed onto her with both of his hands, pulling her up as hard as he could. The ghouls tried to follow, but they could not make the jump that Nora did. Instead, they continued to claw at Nora, trying to pull her down. She reached the part of the ceiling that was rising up to the floor above, providing a small space for her to put her feet on so she could climb with MacCready. Their eyes met--Nora's brown eyes wide with fear, MacCready's blue eyes wide with desperation.

MacCready didn't care that his muscles were burning and he might have been gripping Nora's hand too tight, he pulled with all the strength he had in him, enough to knock him down to the floor when Nora finally made it up. She was still holding onto him.

She let go and lit a Molotov cocktail, finally having enough space to throw it safely. It hit the room below the hole, suffocating the remaining feral ghouls in smoke and fire. The screams stopped.

They were safe.

The room was silent for a minute, until MacCready let out a snort.

"What was that?" Nora asked, turning to him. They were both sitting on the floor now, exhausted.

MacCready burst out in laughter, unsure of what exactly he was laughing at. Despite her efforts to hold it in, Nora joined him, giggling. MacCready's face crinkled as he laughed, and Nora clutched her stomach as both of their laughs grew louder.

"You, uh--you okay?" MacCready said at last, standing up. He offered his hand to Nora again to help her off the floor.

She accepted his hand with less hesitation than she did before. Nora let out a whimper-like chuckle, smiling. "Yeah. Let's get going."

[wonderlustlucas]

four - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt They say good things come in fours. Who? Couldn’t tell you, but they especially do during Christmas. Maybe that’s just Saint Nick. ⇢ pairing hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 11.7k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings swearing. mentions of alcohol & s e x. teenagerz being teenagerz. insane amount of fluff & stupidity. kind of ends w a smutty cliffhanger. ⇢ summary After suppressing how you felt about Hyunjin back in high school, you thought you were done going back on your feelings. Turns out, a little time apart, the spirit of Christmas, and an accidental nap is the perfect cocktail for falling in love with your best friend.—friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n hello & merry christmas! here is a gift for you all on this very merry day. also, thank you for 1,000 followers! that in itself is one of the best presents i could ask for. thank you for all your kindness & support on my blog & for following me in the first place! it truly means so much to me. i hope you enjoy reading! ♥︎

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Sorry! I just woke up

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Whats wrong fool

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Did u rlly think 12 texts were gonna wake me up?🤦🏻‍♂️ godt damn u on some WACK shit

You roll your eyes in time with each consecutive text that Hyunjin sends, waiting for the lock screen of your phone to blacken after reading them. He’s about as useless as pedals on a wheelchair, you think, ignoring the texts and forcing the device into the snug back pocket of your jeans before transferring the last two excessively packed grocery bags into the trunk of your car with an exhausted huff. Christ, if the bagging lady put one more item in those bags, she would be the one to blame for six cans of soup rolling about the parking lot.

The license plate rattles when you slam the trunk lid closed before hurrying around to the driver’s side and anxiously hopping inside to start blasting the heat. It is obnoxiously chilly for the first of September. Well, not really. Your body is just beginning to get used to the ungodly wrath of summer’s sweltering heat leaving you in a constant state of sweat and nausea for the past three months. Not that you’re complaining, of course. You nearly did somersaults of joy when the morning news reported a temperature of sixty-one degrees with some wind gusts and welcomed the beginning signs of autumn with open arms.

You would never admit to Mom who told yo uon the way out to change out of a tank top or at least wear a jacket, but yes— you are, in fact, cold. But now you have godsent warmth blowing from the vents and the seat warmer on its highest setting beginning to thaw away the goosebumps painted on your skin. Giving your arms one last rub, you lean up enough to retrieve your phone and open the conversation with Hyunjin.

[2:37 PM] YN: please. smell my balls

[2:37 PM] YN: nothings wrong btw. i was GOING to ask if u wanted any specific snacks for tn buttttt someone didn’t answer

[2:37 PM] YN: and excuse u i called too. i may be an idiot but im not stupid

[2:38 PM] YN: ik u would never hear a text when ur having wet dreams of yeji

You stop there with a smug smirk when the three dots on his side appear, knowing you’ve hit his funny bone with this one.

[2:38 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Bruh

[2:38 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇 :I’ve literally never have had a wet dream ab Yeji pls stop

You cannot fight your shit-eating grin, thumbs circling over the keyboard in thought as he apparently deletes whatever other text he was going to send when the three dots disappear.

[2:38 PM] YN: mmhmmmm

[2:38 PM] YN: because last time you slept over you weren’t whimpering her name in ur sleep

[2:38 PM] YN: sureeeee

You decide to end your teasing there and continue once you’re home. It is starting to get late, after all, and Mom will begin to worry that the creepy employee always in aisle sixteen has abducted you. Plus, you’re cruel and like to watch Hyunjin suffer. Switching the ringer off, you throw your phone into the cupholder and drastically lower the heat and turn off the seat warmer. It’s starting to feel like a sauna in here, and not in a fun way. Can’t understand how anyone enjoys hanging out in a sauna to begin with anyway, but to each their own, you guess.

In the five-minute drive it takes until you are pulling into the driveway, Hyunjin calls three times. He is incredibly peeved at your lack of a response to his distressed texts and still wound up from your text about Yeji. As if! You’re already a clown not realizing his ever-growing affections for you, but to think he had a crush on Yeji? You’re the whole damn circus!

By the time he calls a fifth time, now sat up on his elbow in bed and strumming an annoyed beat of his fingers at his thigh because he really just wants to yell at you for being the most annoying person alive (and maybe to hear your voice, too), you have brought in the last of the bags and look to Mom who has started to put the groceries away and expects you to half-heartedly do the same.

“It’s Hyunjin. He’s having an existential crisis because I haven’t answered his texts,” you explain to her, unenthusiastically holding your phone as it vibrates against your palm. Half of you wants her to ask to finish putting everything away first just so you can torture him even longer. Alas, such extravagant wishes are denied, because when it comes to Hyunjin, your parents would undoubtedly throw you under the bus just to keep that boy happy. And so, just like any other time, Mom’s undying love for Hyunjin has her dismissing you from the kitchen with a hearty laugh.

“Jesus Christ! What?” You hiss, halfway up the stairs when you tap to answer his call on the last ring.

“Wow! Look who finally decided to answer!” Hyunjin shouts back, the swoosh of his sheets once he finally falls back against his pillow again rustling all too loudly through the phone. “I was driving,” you spit, marching into your bedroom and collapsing against your bed, the same rustle of your blankets sounding loudly into his ear. “There’s a thing called the speaker, ___. Ever heard of it?” He retorts, evidently shutting you up and he knows he won this round if your silence is anything to go by.

“Whatever,” you groan, using all your toe strength to kick the sneakers off your feet by their soles, “what was so important that you couldn’t wait and had to call me five billion times?”

“I had a question. And you hurt my feelings.” Well, shit. You can practically hear and see his pout through the phone and your heart positively swells in your chest at how undeniably, unjustifiably cute he is. You sigh.

“I’m sorry for making fun of you about Yeji. I’m going to do it again but next time I promise I won’t pull the wet dream card,” you apologize frankly; because, in all honesty, it would be worse to say you are not going to do it again when you most certainly will. Bullying Hyunjin is fun, what can you say?

Hyunjin heaves an exasperated breath from his lungs because he knows there is no point in arguing with quite possibly the most sarcastic human he knows and that’s the best form of an apology he’s going to get. Whatever. He’ll make sure to wipe his morning snot and droll on your shirt in the morning. “Anyway,” he grumbles, in the background you hear Kkami bark from a few rooms over, “I was going to ask if you wanted to come over my place instead? I know your parents probably want to see me and stuff but mine are out of town for the night so we can sleep in my bed until like three without Mom waking us up to force feed breakfast.” You roll your eyes. Of course your parents want to see him.

“Plus, Mom just put that grey comforter I know you really like on my bed so we can cuddle all night and watch stuff on YouTube,” he quickly adds as a convincing afterthought. He’s really got his sales pitch going on this one. Truth is, you have only slept in his bed with that stupidly soft blanket twice last winter break, but it’s still sweet that he remembers how much you loved it (aka how quickly you fell asleep and how grumpy you were being woken up because it’s just that darn cozy). Either way, you would never pass up an opportunity to snuggle up with Hyunjin in the comfort of his own bed with his citrusy, floral scent on the pillows luring you to sleep.

“My Mom is going to be heartbroken, Hyunjin,” you tease, “but who cares. You had me sold at sleeping until three. Do you still want me to bring the snacks I got?”

“Oh, thank God. I love your Mom’s cooking but I haven’t left bed all day and I really want to keep it that way. And yes, please. I’ve been eating dry cereal for the past two hours.”

“Hyunjin, have you brushed your teeth yet?”

“No. Didn’t you just hear me? I said I’ve been in bed all day. Eating cereal. When would I have brushed my teeth?”

“You’ve officially taken breakfast in bed to a whole new level, Jin. I’ll see you in a few hours. Oh, and please, you have no concept of personal space so make sure you brush your teeth before I come over.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Love ya, bye,” Hyunjin promptly hangs up, probably eager to get back to binging whatever drama he’s watching before you lecture him about his hygiene again. Not that it matters, anyway; chances are, it went in one ear and right out the other and you’re going to drag him out of bed later to brush his teeth.

Damn. You didn’t even get the chance to say love you back. Not that it matters.

It doesn’t, you quickly shut down the pesky thought that keeps you up at night and force it back into the storage part of your brain labeled ‘Deal with Later,’ because, really, you’ll have to think about that later. It’s not that you don’t want to think about it yet… you just don’t have the time to stop and really figure out what your feelings toward Hyunjin actually are. Yeah. That’s it.

And now isn’t the time, you tell yourself, scooting up the mattress in order to bury your face in the pillows to suffocate the pounding throb in your head. Hyunjin is nothing special.

Well, no. That’s a lie. Everything about Hyunjin is special. Anyone with eyes, ears, even a nose can sense that. You had quickly found out just how wonderful he is when you met him freshman year of high school. At the time, he was everyone’s sweetheart by the first day, but it just so happened his eyes were all on you.

He was obviously adorable, and every class you had together he always made a point to talk to you and returned your sarcasm with an impressive level of expertise. So, when it came to him asking you to the first homecoming, the answer was yes without a second thought. But during the last slow dance of the night, with his hands gently holding your waist, he at last listened to his conscience and revealed that as much as he liked you, he truly did not want to date in high school. Or right then, at least. And honestly, you were glad; Hyunjin was quite possibly your favorite person you had met thus far, and you would have rather kept him as a friend than commit to a relationship the second month of school and risk losing him later down the road.

And boy, keep him as a friend you did. As it turned out, Hyunjin grew to be your truest, best friend in high school. Sure, you each had your own friend groups, but the two of you were the iconic pair everybody knew. But strictly platonic, despite the rumors and wishes that went around for the next four years. You like to think that neither of you ever developed feelings past what everyone feels toward their best friend— an innocent, wholesome sort of love.

But when had things changed? Hormones, as always, were definitely a big part of it. Hyunjin was always a cutie, but it wasn’t until he grew into his own skin and developed a newfound confidence did you start to see him differently. Until everyone saw him differently. Neither of you missed the way people stared him down, pupils dilating every time he ran his fingers through the black tufts of his hair, hearts aching for some sort of interaction. Or when you started attending parties, groups of girls would fling themselves at him in a blundering disarray, most of which he would turn down with a gentle dismissal that flew over their heads, too drunk to actually care.

But then there were times his dick made the decision for him, desperation and deprivation weighing in on him and you’d watch with a tight jaw as he’d leave the room with the pretty girl of the night skipping after him. You never realized it was only on those nights did you wind up in the back seat of Han Jisung’s car.

But even after the physical attraction sizzled out over time, things were not the same. Hyunjin wasn’t your hidden little treasure anymore. All eyes were set on him and it took more than a glass of water to swallow your jealousy. But why? Why were you so resentful all of a sudden?

It’s hard to share Hwang Hyunjin, you decided. Once established that you were his main hoe and he was yours, it became a significant burden watching others try and get in between. Not that they did it with a malicious attempt to separate you, but it still hurt. You’re selfish, and you admit it— Hyunjin, quite frankly, is the love of your life. Romantic or not, nothing could change your feelings toward him. It goes beyond his unfathomable beauty and spunky personality. Everything about him from his nose to his hands, to his distaste for onions and the way his face scrunches up when he lets out that giggle of his and even to the way he prefers to sleep against the wall but will force you to when you’re over so he can “protect you in case there’s a monster” all mount into this big, giant section of your heart set aside for Hyunjin.

So despite your efforts to ignore the pang of jealousy each time he would find a potential someone or the joy whenever he’d find his way back because “they kept wanting to hang out in the morning even though I said I don’t wake up before noon,” this Hyunjin-shaped hole in your heart seems to only grow the longer you ignore it. Kind of like every medical condition out there: the longer you ignore it, the worse it gets. So, basically Hyunjin is your heart disease.

Yikes. Sounds a lot worse when you try putting it into words.

Well, he won’t be your heart defect for long if he keeps ruining those pearly whites of his by only brushing once just before bed, you chuckle to yourself, rolling to your side at the sudden lack of oxygen between your face and the pillow. There’s a fleeting moment without thought when you unconsciously reach for your phone to check for any notifications before the fattest revelation of them all falls from the ceiling and smacks you right upside the face.

Shit. Looks like you’ve gone right ahead and totally dissected each and every fiber of your feelings for Hyunjin.

Blinking up at the ceiling, the weight of your emotions isn’t as heavy as you expected them to be. Instead, it’s more of a breath of fresh air, as if you have finally accepted the way things fell instead of ignoring them. Your feelings for Hyunjin have always been there. It just took a little effort to get them out.

Nevertheless, it is going to be difficult hanging out with him in a few hours with your exposed emotions still needing to be processed. Especially when he will pull you to his side and keep you nestled there the entire night. Rubbing your temples, you realize it will take some serious self-control to put everything on the back burner and just enjoy the time spent with Hyunjin.

Sighing, you check the time on your phone again. 3:21 and a text from Hyunjin asking if you could bring green tea.

“Mom!” You yell, defeated. “You were right!”

You used to think Hyunjin lived far away. Truthfully, he’s only fifteen minutes away if you go ten over the speed limit. But the only way to get to his house entails driving through the chaos of the mall and town center, which adds an extra ten minutes sitting through traffic no matter the time of day.

Now, Hyunjin’s college campus is two hours away. Well, technically five from you, since you’re almost three hours away in the opposite direction. So you’re lucky if you get to see him once a month with how hectic school becomes and how difficult it is trying to plan to come home the same weekend. Fortunately, it has worked out this semester. And while you should spend this time with your families, they know how much you crave one another’s company as the weeks drag on. The twenty-two minutes it takes getting to each other’s homes is totally worth it.

You expect Hyunjin to tell you to use the key hidden underneath the resin meditating frog statue in the front garden to unlock the front door when you text him you have arrived, but to your utmost surprise, he’s there, awake, to open the door for you.

“Stinky!” You yell, dropping your things on the floor to burry yourself in his embrace, standing on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck in order to really get the full experience of hugging your favorite giant. “Poopy!” He shouts in return, long arms winding tightly around your waist and even going so far as to lift you up a few inches. God. Hate when he does that.

“Why are you up? I thought I’d have to let myself in with you sleeping all your problems away,” you ask, smiling gratefully when he bends down to pick up your bag. “I realized Kkami hadn’t been out all day, so I came down to let him out and find actual food,” Hyunjin explains as he makes way into the kitchen, opening the back door to let said dog back inside. “Aw, poor thing,” you pout, squatting to scratch at Kkami’s neck when he zooms faster than the speed of light to you, “does that mean you brushed your teeth?”

“I did, actually,” Hyunjin snorts right back, scrunching his nose at you before turning away to open the fridge. Sitting on the floor with Kkami in your lap, you take the opportunity to finally get a good look at Hyunjin now that he’s distracted. And of course, he looks good. Really good. Last time you saw him he still was a brunette, a look he rocked during the spring and summer months. This is the first time you’ve seen the freshly dyed black hair in person. Even though he always looks handsome, something about Hyunjin with black hair completely changes his aura. Brings back memories of how badly you wanted him in high school. You shiver at the thought.

And, to top it all off, how he manages to stay in such disgustingly good shape despite his atrocious eating habits never ceases to amaze you. Like, come on. The boy eats worse than a raccoon seven days out of the week, lives off boba, works out maybe five times a month, dances in his free time and still keeps his body in tiptop shape. God, you hate him. His pediatrician probably hates him, too. You even go as far as to sniff the fries in your dining hall and you gain five pounds.

Even now, he looks unnecessarily regal in the baggy material of his sweatpants and flannel. And the warmth of his kitchen’s ambient lighting does nothing to suppress the heavy thumping of your heart. So casual is his dress, yet how immaculate he looks rummaging the cabinets for a snack.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, the familiar softness of his voice shaking you from your daze as he closes the refrigerator door after his unsuccessful search. Here’s the thing: you really aren’t hungry, but Hyunjin clearly is, so if you say no then all he will be thinking about is food until you decide that you are hungry. “Yeah,” is what you say, nudging Kkami off your crossed legs to stand, “I brought green tea and a few snacks, but we could order Chinese food or something. The place near Dunkin’ and the gas station makes bubble tea now, too.”

Hyunjin’s brows shoot up, flashing his boxy smile. “Is it good?”

“I mean, I’ve only had their pork dumplings and mango tea before, and it was pretty good. I don’t know about their noodles or anything, though,” you shrug, moving to stand beside him at the kitchen island. Distracted by Kkami trying to jump onto the sofa in the living room, you don’t look to Hyunjin until the poor dog is successful in doing so. Startled to find him already gazing down at you, your heart truly is not prepared for him to go right ahead and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. Totally not freaking out or trying to overthink his need to constantly cling, you justify his actions by quickly recalling the time he said, “My head is too godtdamn big for my godtdamn body.” More like his head is too heavy because instead of a brain it’s just a chunk of cement up there. He just needs to rest his head sometimes.

Yeah.

“Mm, I don’t know,” Hyunjin hums, swaying your body with his to an unheard tune. By now, any coherent thought has dissipated into thin air and all you can do is melt against him. “Why?” You manage.

“’Cus if we order anything that means I’ll have to get up and get it.”

“Oh my God, Hyunjin, really?” You laugh. Your hands naturally glide to where his are linked at your stomach, pressing to interlock your fingers overtop his. “If that’s the only reason for your uncertainty than I could always come get it, idiot.”

“No! It’s okay,” Hyunjin says, jumping back before you can even process it, “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

“Ohhh ‘kay,” you laugh breathlessly, whiplashed by the whole thing. Good thing you aren’t hungry, because when was the last time Hyunjin turned down food? Blinking at him precariously, he doesn’t seem to notice until one too many seconds of silence pass by.

“C’mon,” he demands excitedly, jumping back into reality, “my roommate told me to watch this anime called Soul Eater but I wanted to watch it with you.” Once again, before anything can even register past every single That Was Cute™ alarm ringing in your brain, Hyunjin is grabbing your bag and reaching for your hand, leading you out of the kitchen and upstairs.

You and Hyunjin binge aforementioned anime until he falls asleep first around 2 AM, only stopping to order food an hour in (he’s an indecisive man indeed), to get up to retrieve it, and to actually eat while catching up. For most of the night, you are able to forget the way his heartbeat against your back mirrored your own in the kitchen. But then, a little while after you fall asleep yourself, Hyunjin unconsciously shifts closer and you spend another hour blinking at his relaxed hand twitching against your abdomen, trying to keep the hurricane inside your heart at bay.

You can’t make it home October. Hyunjin texted you to let you know he was going to be the third weekend in, and you tried desperately to manage your time in order to make it work. But one group project in chem lead to another paper in psych and before you knew it, your roommate was listening to you sob over a boy and curse out your classes.

September left you emotionally wrecked, to be totally honest. You hate Hyunjin and you hate the way he makes you feel and you especially hate how realizing you have a crush on him makes you unsure if everything he does is his way of hinting he feels the same or if he’s always been this touchy and you are just now recognizing it. So, missing a month of seeing your favorite human being essentially means missing another day of trying to decipher which actions of his go in the Friend list, and which go in the Questionable list. And that, my friend, is unacceptable.

You absolutely cannot not go home this month. November is the calm before the storm (the storm being exams looming the second week of December), and while it would be beneficial maybe staying on campus to continue preparing, you tell yourself going home will be just as helpful. Mental breaks, and stuff. Totally not just to see Hyunjin.

Either way, Hyunjin asks you if you would join him on the seventeenth to go to his second cousin’s christening and you absolutely cannot say no when you know how bored Hyunjin gets at family events when they aren’t for him. And so, fast forward to the third Sunday of November and you are ready to pass out ten minutes after entering the church.

“I’m so happy for you two! I always knew you would last into college,” one of Hyunjin’s aunts exclaims, pinching your cheeks but the only pinch you feel is that of your heart.

Clearly she is misinformed, or just prone to jumping to conclusions but yet again, you can’t really blame her with how couple-y you and Hyunjin are. Past the single tunnel vision of your gaze, you watch her smile falter when Hyunjin goes rigid beside you and oh my God this is the most embarrassing moment of my life, his whole family thinks we’re dating and here we are still stuck in each other’s friendz—

“I’m glad you think so, imo,” Hyunjin suddenly picks up, sneaking an arm around to rest his hand on your hip, tugging you close, “I don’t know what I’ll do if she ever decides to leave me.”

It’s nice to think that he means it, to imagine that you are here not as a tag-along but to join him in a family ceremony because you are part of the family. The thought turns your blood to sugar and everything surrounding you falls apart; you listen to the rest of their conversation without processing it, the precise detailing in the marble pillars blurs into a mass of white, and you still feel his strong hold on the curve of your waist yet you are lost in the swam of possibilities.

How lovely it would be to live up to her assumption. To ‘last into college’ as a couple, not as best friends. To be able to call him yours even when you’re not together, to come home and kiss his lips, to sleep in his bed and it mean more than the laziness of blowing up the air mattress. At some point, he leads you into the third pew to sit beside his parents, and when you greet them with a hug all you can think about is them viewing you as more than their son’s friend.

God, you hate it.

You’re not as religious as Hyunjin and his family. But for the first time in years, you find yourself looking to the crucifix during the service and praying to whoever is up there to give you some strength and patience, because Lord do you need it.

Hyunjin is a funny guy.

Or so he thinks.

It’s not that he isn’t funny. It’s just— compared to your friends Minho or Changbin, he isn’t at the top of the list. When you think of Hyunjin, the first words that pop up are soft, loud, and dramatic.

It’s not that he isn’t funny. He’s just weird.

Insanely, ridiculously weird. For example, the time he called Jeongin a vitamin. Or the time he slapped half a bottle of sunscreen on his face. Or his random bouts of dancing at inappropriate moments. Just to name a few.

After the Baptism, Hyunjin acted like nothing happened. Didn’t even bring it up. Not even a joke. After the ceremony, you joined his family for a luncheon, which just involved the two of you being weird and making peculiar dancing videos on SnapChat with the swirly filter and complaining about school for a few hours until he drove you home. Obviously you stopped for food again on the way.

But that was it. Things went on as normal, and you returned to campus later that night and forced the whole experience to the back of your brain. It was officially grind season, and grind season meant studying for exams. No parties. No boys. And certainly no Hyunjin.

You both were home for winter break in the blink of an eye. And in normal Hyunjin style, he sort of vanished for the first week. Probably catching up on his strict sleeping schedule, you presumed, and accepted the fact that it was going to be a few days before you saw or even heard from him. The only anticipation you felt was wanting to give him his Christmas gift.

After what seems like an eternity away from Hyunjin, you get out of the shower on this fine Saturday before Christmas to find a slew of texts from him.

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Aloha mamacita

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: How do u feel about getting froyo tn

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: We can get fat and then u can sleepover aaaand

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: We can stare at the wall for a few hours

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: And

[5:53 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: *cough*

[5:53 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Exchange Jesus gifts

See? Weird. Who wants froyo when it’s thirty degrees out?

[5:53 PM] YN: “aloha mamacita”

[5:53 PM] YN: uHmmmMMM

[5:53 PM] YN: im down mr president

[5:54 PM] YN: why do u want ice cream in winter tho. don’t u want like

[5:54 PM] YN: hot chocolate or seomthing

Obviously not. Two hours later, Hyunjin arrives to pick you up for froyo despite all your efforts in convincing him maybe you could take the train to the city and watch a light show, or simply drive around and swoon over the rich people houses and their Christmas decorations. He didn’t budge. This leads you to your second question of the day: why is it that when you threw on sweats for the occasion you called yourself a hag, but upon entering Hyunjin’s car you make a mental note of how hot he looks when he’s wearing the same exact thing? You groan at the thought. It’s because it’s Hyunjin, of course.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he greets, flicking your forehead once you settle into the seat of his Subaru WRX because he’s a hotshot and likes to flex that he can drive a manual. Not really— the car is absolute garbage by now, having been his Dad’s old car (his Dad likes to flex too, apparently). However, Hyunjin takes care of it enough for it to seem five years old instead of ten, and, either way, watching him work the stick shift is unexplainably hot.

You swat his hand away. “Drive, bitch,” you huff, twisting to buckle yourself in. Once he’s reversed out of your driveway, you glance back to find him fighting against a devilish smirk.

“So,” you start once he has navigated out of your neighborhood. His brow twitches up. “Are you taking Hawaiian and French at school? You’ve been throwing quite a lot of languages at me recently.” Hyunjin shoots you an unamused look. You return it with a wrinkle of your nose.

“Anyway,” he ignores your teasing, pausing to switch gears for whatever reason so he can make it through a yellow light, “how did your exams go?”

“Well, you know…” You trail off, looking to your window. It feels a lot later than eight o’clock. With it getting dark so early in the evening nowadays, it feels as if nighttime is always following you.

“You know… what?” Hyunjin interrupts your daze, concern laced in his voice. “They were fine. I passed everything, I’m just worried about my major,” you explain sadly, barely glancing at him before you are turning back to the window to stare at the moon. Must be nice being a moon. Just get to hang out in the sky watching everyone and being watched.

“I mean, if you want to switch, now’s the time. Better do it now before the second semester,” Hyunjin advises, wise as always. Not really, but he’s right. “What are you thinking of going into?”

Yikes. He’s going to kill you.

“Nursing,” you blurt.

“Oh my Lanta, ___, are you serious?” He groans, stopping at a convenient red light presenting the perfect opportunity for him to smack his forehead on the wheel. Dramatic. “How are you gonna manage that? You’ll practically be two years behind everyone else!”

“I know,” you sigh, throwing your head back on the headrest, “that’s the problem. Bio just isn’t doing it for me. I don’t think I can spend the rest of my life in a lab watching mitosis. I need something more rewarding, so theoretically nursing is a perfect start. I don’t know, though.”

“Why don’t you switch to interior design or something? We could get our own HGTV show, ___,” he says, but you don’t meet his gaze when he glances over because beneath his words, you can sense some serious hopefulness. Interior design would be cool, but you’ve never considered that as a career choice. You once helped your parents pick out everything when they redid a bathroom at home and that turned out great, but as a major?

“I don’t know, man. I’ll have to talk to my counselor about it, I guess,” you shrug, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt over your head and tightening the drawstrings until the material covers your eyes, “why can’t you audition to be a K-pop star or something? I could be your manager. Heck, even your makeup artist. I’ve done your makeup before, remember?”

Hyunjin laughs, loud, and the sound sinks deep into your heart and makes you feel warm all over. Stress? Gone.

For the next few minutes or so, the ride is comfortably quiet. At some point, he turns on the radio and Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” floods your brain and reminds you to look forward to exchanging Christmas gifts later. God, you hope he likes it. You really went out on the sentimental gifts this year.

Hood shielding your vision, you jump when his large hand suddenly comes to grab the top of your head, squeezing hard and you imagine he’s trying to press some hopefulness into your brain. “Hand on the penis stick, Hwang,” you bark, blindly reaching for his own head across the way and pulling his ear when you do so. Good Lord, you hope no one can see into the car because… what.

Hyunjin lets out a giggle this time, reaching to pull you into a headlock and even though he’s got your head shoved up against his sturdy chest and goes on to give you a noogie, you’re stuck being all high and loopy on the sound of his happiness. And hey, it’s nice to know you’re the cause of it.

“We’re literally parked, idiot. If you had your hood down you would’ve realized,” Hyunjin snickers, releasing you after watching you struggle for a few seconds. Jerking away from him, you swiftly pull back your hood. “Oh,” you laugh, reading the flashy Yogo Factory sign above the building in front of you, “you could’ve just told me instead of watching me bask in misery.”

Hyunjin suitably ignores your moaning and groaning by getting out of the car and standing in front of the car, illuminated by the headlights. Why? Why must he look so scrumptious in his black hoodie and grey sweatpants and four-year-old white Nike sneakers? He has no gosh darn right!

After fixing the mess he made of your hair, you at last join him outside the car, shooting him another glare and moving ahead of him to open the shop’s door without waiting for him. “From now on, we have to start texting each other what we’re wearing before we go out, ‘cus this looks a little ri-donk-ulous,” Hyunjin whispers in your ear as you make your way to the cup selection, trying to ignore all the stares you— no, he is getting along the way.

“What do you mean?” You ask, plucking two medium sized cups up before turning to look at him. Then you look down at yourself. Oh. Looks like you’re both wearing the hoodie from junior spirit week. “Nice.” Just Couple Things™!

Back to Hyunjin being weird— why did he drag you all the way out here just to get a cup of chocolate frozen yogurt and maybe half a scoop of peanut butter chips?

Meanwhile, he watches in absolute disgust as you blow through your own dessert. Vanilla yogurt with probably every topping offered because you physically cannot make a decision, especially when they have chunks of cookie dough up there.

“So,” Hyunjin starts, trying not to look you in the eye considering you look like a goblin shoveling globs of diabetes down your throat, “have you talked to Jisung recently?”

You choke on a Fruity Pebble at his inquiry, prompting him to reach across the table and slap your back a few times until your esophagus is cleared. “Ugh,” clearing your throat one last time, you take a few sips of water while shooting him a glare. Jisung? Really? “How dense are you?” You hiss unintentionally.

Hyunjin raises his hands in defense. “Just a question.”

Yeah, just a question. Dumbass. “I mean,” you laugh awkwardly, “not really. We have a streak on Snap and sometimes we’ll talk occasionally but I don’t text him every day or anything. How about you?”

He shrugs, concentrating instead on stirring his yogurt into a goopy mess. “Eh. We still use our group chat a lot but that’s it. He’s too busy making music in Malaysia.”

You chuckle at this, picking out the boba from your own cup and leaving the rest now that it has started to look like something sold at the Chum Bucket. “That sucks,” you offer, not the best at giving him consolidation, you opt for linking your feet around his own in some weird act of intimacy, “isn’t he coming home for the holidays, though? I’m sure you can all have a reunion soon.”

“Yeah, he is,” Hyunjin hums, suddenly too focused on trying to escape your trap under the table. Annoyed Hyunjin is cute. “Stoooop,” he whines, kicking at your shins before breaking into boisterous laughter at your relentlessness, “I will not hesitate to throw this cup at your face.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, “I’d like to see you try.”

At this, Hyunjin drops his stupidly long arms beneath the table and easily captures your foot by the ankle, pulling hard enough for you to slip down your side of the booth. “Hyunjin!” You shriek, panicking slightly at your sweaty hand’s insecure grip against the leather. You’re going to fall. You’re going to fall flat on your ass underneath a table at a frozen yogurt place because the boy you like pulled your foot too hard. Fantastic. Ignoring you, he starts to wiggle your shoe off your foot no matter how hard you try to squirm out of his relentless grip. “Stop trying to eat my toes in the middle of Yogo!”

Finally, he releases your foot, letting it fall limp against his thigh.

“God,” you huff, breathless as you squirm back up your seat, cheeks burning ferociously, “you are such an ass.”

Behind the playful smirk he fails to hide, something darker glints in Hyunjin’s eyes and it makes your heart skip a beat. Then, “We should go.” The suggestion makes the heat of your blush scorch even hotter down your neck and you instinctively turn away, only to find the customers on the other side of the shop watching you with just as perturbed looks. Fantastic, part two.

“Okie,” you squeak out, blinking after him in complete and total bewilderment as to what just happened when he gets up to throw his trash away. Whatever. Following after him, you too toss your cup out before quickly finding your hand engulfed by his larger one as he leads you back outside, the sudden sharpness of the cold air bringing tears to your eyes. You desperately want to ask him what that was about, or why he’s acting so sneaky, but you stay silent, too afraid your voice will come out shaky and vulnerable. Instead, you let him tug you into his side and try to keep up with him no matter how badly your knees threaten to buckle with each glance you sneak up at him.

It’s silent when you enter the car, watching warily as he reverses out of the parking spot and maneuvers through the lot. Your heart rate seemingly cannot slow itself down, adrenaline taking the place of oxygen the longer you stare at him, at the concentrated scrunch to his face, at the cute tip of his button nose and at the swell of his lips and you distantly wonder what would happen if you pulled him into a kiss at the next red light.

In the midst of your daydream Hyunjin clears his throat, bringing you back to reality and you realize with a startle that he has caught you. Jesus Christ! What has gotten into you? You mentally smack yourself upside the head, instantly turning away from his cocky little gaze and staring straight ahead in search of something else to focus on. “___,” he sing-songs, slow and sensual and entirely demolishing the walls you have built around yourself. It is at this red light you wish to simply open the door and run.

“Yes?” You manage, wincing at how small your voice sounds and while looking out his window instead of into his eyes, you notice him grip the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The tension is insurmountable, weighing in heavily on your chest and you desperately wish to arrive home, even though that means having to survive the next twelve hours with him. Anything is better than the small confines of his car.

“What do you want to do when we get home?” He asks, cool as a cucumber. You pale. It is a dangerous question and you do not know if he realizes that. “Um,” you cough, scooting to sit up straight, “whatever you want.” You whisper the last part, genuinely petrified because you have absolutely no idea if your brain is twisting everything to make it seem like Hyunjin is flirting or if things are totally normal. No idea.

“Hm,” he offers, tilting his head in thought, “we shall see.”

Yeah. We shall.

The rest of the ride is quiet, comfortably or uncomfortably you cannot say because you are too busy trying to calm the Spongebob burning office scene occurring inside your own head, hopelessly telling yourself that everything is fine, Hyunjin’s fine, you’re fine. Just pretend like nothing happened, you tell yourself when Hyunjin pulls into his driveway with practiced ease. “Ugh,” he groans after retrieving your bag from the back seat, and you watch with a raised brow as he skips up to his porch, yelling, “I have to pee!”

“Begone with you, piss boy,” you tease, holding the screen door open for him as he struggles to unlock the storm door and pulling on one of his hoodie’s drawstrings just to annoy him. “Stop,” he growls, low and playful but nevertheless sending a swarm of butterflies to your tummy. You ignore him. Finally unlocking the door, Hyunjin shoves the keys into his pocket and seizes your wrist, yanking your arm down with enough force to nearly topple you into him. “Why are you being so annoying tonight?” He frowns at you, nose and brows scrunched in irritation and it is only because of his proximity do you finally soften up.

“Sorry,” you pout back, bringing your other hand up to boop his nose, “I just missed ya.”

“Ew,” he snorts, stepping past the threshold and kicking off his shoes. You follow suit, closing the door behind you and clicking the lock into place as Kkami comes sprinting over. “B-R-B,” Hyunjin announces, presumably bouncing away to the bathroom.

“Oh, boy,” you huff, squatting to pick up the fluffy little dog and hugging him close to your chest, “your dad is making my life very difficult.” Pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head, you put Kkami back down and grab your bag before heading upstairs, knowing Hyunjin is going to take his grand old time and probably take a shit while he’s at it. Plus, you’re impatient and dying to take your bra off.

Aside from what light his Gudetama nightlight offers, Hyunjin’s room is ultimately left dark. Here’s the thing: he used to have a lamp on his dresser, but then he took it with him to college and only brings it home for summer because he’s lazy and sleeps the majority of the time he’s home, anyway. Instead, he put up his little remote-controlled Christmas tree in addition to the lava lamp he has beside his bed. Perfect. For Hyunjin, at least.

Switching both of these on, their subtle glow offers just enough to keep you from banging your toe against something. It’s happened one too many times. Hyunjin’s room isn’t messy— he really isn’t a messy person to begin with, but he will reorganize the furniture in his room fifty times a year and you never know where the crooked leg to his bedside table will be to ambush your pinky toe.

Setting your bag onto his bed, you excitedly fumble past all your layers and unclasp your bra, maneuvering out of it with a delighted exhale just as Hyunjin begins his ascent up the stairs, steps creaking loudly under his heavy trudging. “I’m an idiot,” he grumbles, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath.

You don’t bother to look at him, opting to quickly retort instead, “We been knew.”

“Ugh,” Hyunjin groans, exasperated, and you finally turn to him after successfully jamming aforementioned undergarment into your bag, “anyways. I don’t know why I didn’t just come up here, because I have to wash my face anyway and you do too and now we’re both going to have to share a sink.”

“Aw,” you coo, tone dripping with sarcasm as you pat his arm, “poor baby has to share the bathroom.”

“I’m actually going to strangle you,” he sighs, nevertheless following after you into the bathroom.

“Kinky.”

Hyunjin glares, unamused as he opens a drawer for his pink bow hairband and your striped pink and blue one that he bought for you, but keeps here for sleepovers. Yeah. He throws it to your face. “Sorry,” you offer, pulling the soft headband up to hold your hair back, “I’ll try to stop. I’m just so used to annoying you.”

“Clearly,” he scoffs, flashing his stupidly cute teasing smile and in your head, you imagine raising a white flag in surrender— he’s got you, he’s won, it’s over. Time to call it quits and head home. Evidently shut up (for now), you offer him a roll of your eyes before turning on the sink to wet your hands before pumping out some of his scrumptious watermelon face wash. Maybe if you scrub hard enough, you’ll manage to rinse away all the overwhelming thoughts of the night, too.

Barefaced Hyunjin is immaculate. Well, Hyunjin is immaculate twenty-four hours out of the day, but barefaced, freshly washed, hair messy, ready for bed Hyunjin is immaculate, and you are one of the few people lucky enough to see this eighth wonder of the world as often as you do.

Now, maybe it has something to do with the unexpected ambiance the light from his laptop, Christmas lights, and lava lamp have created together that makes him look so unfairly beautiful at this given moment. Or, you’re just insanely pussywhipped and looking for an excuse. You try not to think about it.

“Why are you so squirmy tonight?” He asks, frustrated enough to interrupt Kermit singing ‘Shawty I don’t mind’ playing from his laptop. “I’m not,” you defend, a weak argument indeed, given that you have just finished adjusting your position beside him for the umpteenth time.

“I mean, four female Ghostbusters? The feminists are taking over! I’m an ad—”

“___, you’ve touched my dick like four times. Don’t try and tell me you’re not squirmy. What’s wrong?” Hyunjin interrupts a second Vine, and even goes on to talk over ‘I have the power of God and anime on my side!’ like a lunatic. Oh Christ, you have? Surely you would have noticed. “Sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed as you bury your face into the curve of his pectoral and instinctively move your leg settled between his away, “I’m just hot, to be honest.” Technically, it is not a lie. Hyunjin’s family definitely keeps their thermostat at a higher temperature than yours and you always manage to sweat your ass off every time you come over. This time, however, you are certain it has more to do with the assault your heart is facing rather than your sweat glands.

At the sound of his tap against the spacebar to pause the video, you wordlessly and reluctantly sit up from your comfortable spot beside him in order to rid yourself of your heavy sweatshirt. Now, here lies the problem. Sweatshirt: off. Nipples: out. Realistically, Hyunjin has seen your boobs a number of times over the past few years, and even if he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t even bat an eye. But right now, your heart is on the line, you’re embarrassed and you’re trying to play it extremely safe.

You toss the hoodie to the floor and nestle right back where you were anyway, slinging your right arm over his torso and ignoring his sharp intake of breath when you snuggle closer. “Better?” He asks, voice strained and it literally makes you nauseous. “Yep.”

He resumes the video. You had started early in the night watching Pom Poko, which unsurprisingly ended with the two of you crying at the bittersweet ending, then moved to TikTok compilations on YouTube to cheer up before moving on from them and onto the classic Vine compilations. You paid good attention for the most part, chuckling along with him to ‘What up, I’m Jared, I’m nineteen and I never fucking learned how to read,’ ‘Bruh chill, I don’t know why you in a big time rush,’ and all the other absolute comedic masterpieces. But after the fourth or fifth video of the same six second clips with an occasional rare one, you began to grow bored and decided to do what you do best: admire Hyunjin.

Sure, ‘Come get yo juice!’ followed by the loud smash of the oven made you smile, but you found the flashing lights casting shadows beneath Hyunjin’s eyes and lips much more fascinating. Of course, this is not the first time you have been held so close to him. But it is, however, all too easy to get lost in the sight of him and you’ve noticed recently that you are in desperate need of a map. Whether it’s due to your time away from him or simply an appreciation for untouched beauty you do not know.

Even now, your gaze flickers to his laptop once you hear ‘Get to Del Taco,’ but having already watched it five thousand times you tilt your head upward to catch Hyunjin’s silent giggle at ‘free-sha-voca-do.’ It’s a vicious cycle, really, going back and forth between wanting to simply enjoy the night and realizing enjoying the night lies totally in Hyunjin’s presence. And so, you continue to fall into this trap each time until you pay no mind to the videos at all, basking in the brilliance of Hyunjin’s joyous smile and the warmth his happiness makes you feel. It is this thought that slowly tugs you to sleep, a fight to keep your heavy eyelids open lost until finally, you give in to the comfort and allow yourself to drift off to the sound of ‘Step the fuck up, Kyle.’

You think you are dreaming.

You think.

“___,” the softness of Hyunjin’s voice at the crown of your head eases you from the clutches of sleep and you stretch your locked limbs before curling further into his side. “We didn’t open presents.” Even though you can’t see him, you can hear his pout, and you realize you must be awake to hear the disappointed words caught sluggishly between his lips so vividly. You hum, hesitant to open your eyes because you really want to go back to sleep. Just for a little while. And so, you ask, “What time is it?”

“Just past two,” he whispers.

You hum again, trying to formulate a sensible sentence in the parts of your brain still asleep, “We can… wake up at four. And open gifts. Okay?”

“Okay, weirdo,” Hyunjin chuckles to himself, sliding lower down the mattress after shutting his laptop.

You think you are dreaming.

You think.

You can’t remember ever falling asleep facing each other. But yet again, your brain is clouded beyond capability and now, you know for certain you are dreaming. Hyunjin never faces you.

Blinking slowly, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the impenetrable darkness and you struggle to make out the features of Hyunjin’s face. You know you are dreaming, and so you tug him closer, throwing a leg over his thigh and an arm over his waist. Even in your sleep, you feel the sadness pricking at your heart, for even it knows this is only what dreams are made of. You like to make the best of it.

“You know I love you, Jinnie, right?” Your voice comes out funny, drawn out and mumbled like your tongue is numb and you fight the urge to feel for yourself.

“Of course I do. I love you too.” His reply surprises you. You thought he was asleep and, either way, hearing such fond words from him puts your heart at ease. He must be misunderstood.

“No. I mean like… I like you, love you. Like I want to kiss you… kiss you good morning and before bed love you. Send you hearts and take stupid couple pics and… go on dumb dates love you. You know?” Your words feel garbled and incomprehensible the longer you go on, trying to express how you feel when nothing is real proving to be increasingly difficult. God, if only you could do it when things are real.

You start to feel yourself slipping as he mutters a reply, mind in free fall and fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s whispering and you can’t hear him but you are too tired and helpless to wake yourself up to hear it. No, too lost in the next dream to go back. You can’t tell what is real and what isn’t. Christ, were you awake? You can’t tell. All you know is that you are warm, so, so warm and letting sleep take over you once more is the best answer to all your questions.

Hyunjin always says he hates waking people up. Because he’s normally the one needing to be awoken, whenever the roles are swapped he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

This time, however, he takes it upon himself to repeatedly smack your face with his pillow. Not a fun experience when it’s coming from someone who fails to recognize his own strength. “Jesus, fuck! Okay!” You hiss, the cloud of sleep abruptly ripped away from you with the slap of his pillow against your skin. Arms raised defensively in front of you, you catch his next swing and tear the pillow out of his grasp to shield yourself all before you have even opened your eyes. When you do so, with the blatant intention just to find where he is and hurl the pillow at him, you are met with the harsh light from his ceiling fan and have to squint past the stinging white light to see his shit-eating grin.

“Was that necessary?” You groan, undeniably annoyed and wanting to glare at him more but needing to rub the ache out of your eyes. “Yes,” is all he says, reaching for your bag and catapulting it to you. He is incredibly lucky you are quick enough to catch it before it thumps against your head. What has gotten into him? Did he eat an entire bag of Pixy Stix while you were asleep? You watch, still dazed from sleep and reeling from the whole pillow smacking attack, as he flings open his closet door and turns back around with two neatly wrapped boxes. You squint to make out the dancing Santa T-rex wrapping paper.

“Oh,” you chirp, understanding, and you unzip your bag to retrieve the large box taking up the majority of space, “thanks for waking me up. I’m surprised you remembered. Did you stay up?”

A rosy blush burns its way across his cheekbones. Odd. “I, um— yeah. No, actually,” he stutters, really odd, given he was bouncing off the walls not even thirty seconds ago, “I set an alarm. You made me sleepy.” Hyunjin sits beside you once you have scooted over, leaning against the wall and crossing his long ass legs. He keeps his eyes trained on the boxes in his hands. “Oh,” you hum, looking to your own gift and suddenly wishing for the mattress to swallow you up, “sorry. I haven’t gotten as much sleep as you on break so far.”

“I don’t think anyone ever has,” he jokes and you finally look to him, sharing a cheeky smile before he gets all shy again, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “um, Merry Christmas, ___.”

It’s a simple phrase, but it makes your heart swell. “Merry Christmas to you too, Hyunjin.” Leaning over, you wrap your arms around his shoulders in an awkward side hug, but still end up feeling all drunk and loopy on love when he eagerly returns the gesture, arms curling around you.

“Okay,” you huff, sitting back, “me first.” You dramatically hold your gift out to him, jittery and nervous all over. Buying for Hyunjin is always hard. He’s just so easy to please, but when you want to do more than just please him it’s a constant battle trying to decide how far out you are going to go for him each year.

You watch impatiently as he tears the wrapping paper open first, and then finally lifts the flaps of the box up. “Aw,” he whimpers, pulling out the quokka plushie and attached certificate, “you adopted a quokka for me?”

You grin when he hugs the soft stuffed animal to his chest, the weight on your shoulders partly lifted from his positive reaction. He reaches back into the box, brow scrunched in thought as he regards the framed picture. “The First Day…?” Hyunjin asks, perplexed as he reads the title above the constellation poster. You scoot closer, leaning over to look it over once more. “This was the constellation of stars on our first day of freshman year. The day we first met.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin sniffs, “that’s really awesome, ___. Thank you. This is coming with me to school.” At this, he hugs you again, probably to hide the tears you know are threatening to spill because Hyunjin is Baby and cries every year. “Anything for my favorite fake Aussie,” you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder as he reads through the quokka adoption letter.

“Okay! Your turn!” He exclaims, setting his gifts back into the box and passing you the smaller one of his. He catches your curious glance to the second one he keeps by his side. “We have to open this one together.”

“Christ, okay. Looks like I’m gonna be crying tonight, too,” you sigh sadly. “Ooh,” jumping ahead of yourself, you wiggle your eyebrows at the white box before you, “Hyunjin if you bought me a Fitbit… I swear to God. How many times have I said I am not working out with you?” However, once you finish tearing open the wrapping paper you find it is not, in fact, a Fitbit.

“It’s not a Fitbit, idiot,” Hyunjin scoffs a second too late, waiting for you to slip the lid off the box. “They’re bond touch bracelets.”

“Explain,” you murmur, enamored but confused at the two little house arrest looking bracelets.

“So basically, we each wear one,” Hyunjin starts, taking one of the bracelets out and a burst of color blooms across its small screen at the motion, “and if you touch it, mine vibrates and I ‘feel’ your touch.” As he explains, he buckles it around your wrist, twisting it so it lies correctly. You silently take the second one and help it on him, brain too caught up to actually say anything.

“Try it,” Hyunjin whispers, suppressing his excitement.

You gingerly bring a finger to the little screen, tapping it once, twice. Nothing happens. Frowning, you try again, tapping and holding, then a second time, and finally— a strip of pink light appears and the bracelet gently vibrates as you tap and hold a random pattern. In response, the bracelet on Hyunjin’s wrist lights up blue, buzzing in the same pattern.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you sniffle, fighting back your own tears because you refuse to let yourself ugly cry in front of him, “this is amazing. Now I can annoy you year-round. Thank you so, so much. I love you so much.” He hums, pulling you close when you turn to give him a proper hug. To your utmost surprise, however, instead of letting go he curls one fist into your side and helps swing your legs over to straddle his lap. “Oh.”

“___,” Hyunjin sighs thoughtfully, fingers playing with the sleeves of your tee, “I love you, too.”

You nearly spit up your coffee. If you were drinking coffee. Instead, you’re left with a dry mouth and a slack jaw at his words. Huh?

Glancing to the constellation picture peeking out of his box, and then to the matching bracelets you both wear, you find your mind reeling trying to make sense of it all. Yeah, you say the forbidden L-word to each another all the time, but most certainly not with you on his on lap and his lips mere centimeters away. The answer is so obviously clear as day you have trouble believing it.

“Fuck,” you laugh all of a sudden, as soon as the realization hits you, “I wasn’t dreaming, was I?”

Hyunjin lets out a joyous giggle, hands linking behind your back. Unable to hide his smile any longer, he clarifies, “You were not, madam. We literally just finished talking about when we were going to open gifts and then I got ready to sleep. Two seconds later you dumped your heart out to me, but when I answered, you were asleep.”

“Bruh,” you wince, hiding your face with your hands, “I am so sorry you had to deal with that.”

“No, don’t be,” Hyunjin comforts, reaching to tug your hands away. Your gut does somersaults when he intertwines his fingers with yours. “I was actually, uh, planning on doing some sort of confession to you anyway, but then you went right ahead and did it for me. So thanks for that.”

“Wow,” you chuckle, trying to wrap your mind around it all, “does that mean you, ahem, perhaps like me too?”

“No, I just got us really couple-y long distance relationship bracelets, pulled you onto my lap, and kissed you because I just want to be friends.”

“You didn’t kiss m—”

The sly little fucker interrupts your retort by quickly dipping down to press a fat smooch to your lips, missing miserably and you don’t know if he did it on purpose but you quickly fix the problem, releasing his hands to cradle his jaw and tilt his head the right angle. Finally, finally you kiss him, breathing in the smell of him like some sort of aromatherapy and whimpering into his mouth when his tongue swipes against your own. It is like nothing you have ever experienced, the taste and feel of him making you tremble and igniting a burst of electricity through your veins. You could kiss him forever, you think, sucking on his plump bottom lip greedily until he finally pulls back, desperate for air or trying to reel himself in you can’t say.

“You have to open your other gift,” Hyunjin reminds, chest heaving, and your gaze follows his long fingers as they comb his hair away from his forehead. Automatically, as if kissing Hyunjin once grants you some kind of free pass to do the same, you brush a few stray strands away from his face before leaning back to admire him. “Stoooop. You can’t do that and not expect me to kiss you again. Open. Your. Gift.” Hyunjin whines, squishing your cheeks and turning your head away.

“Okay, don’t blame this on me,” you huff, reaching for the second box before jabbing a finger into his chest, “you, sir, need to stop being so beautiful for like, two seconds.”

He scoffs, helping you rip off the wrapping paper, “You’re the beautiful one here.”

“Ew,” you wrinkle your nose, most certainly not used to Hyunjin dishing out such compliments, “this is too Hallmark Christmas movie for me. Let me open my gift in peace, ugly.” This box, unlike the bracelets’, is simple cardboard and when you lift open the lid, a brown leather book looks back at you. “You remember Up?” He asks.

On the leather, it reads Our Adventure Book in mismatched colors. “Yeah,” you whisper, flipping open the cover to find two baby pictures glued on the paper, one of Hyunjin, and one of you. At the top, it’s labeled ‘Before Shit Went Down.’ You laugh.

On the next page, there are random photographs from middle school, and then finally each other’s eighth grade graduation portraits. Then, written at the top is ‘Here It Begins,’ followed by a selfie he randomly took with you a few weeks into school freshman year, and then some from homecoming. Silently flipping through the rest of the book, your tears flow freely now, touched beyond comparison at all the photographs and all the memories accompanying them. Some are from large events like prom, others from random moments you don’t even remember, but each and every one comes together to form a special mold fitting perfectly into that Hyunjin-shaped hole in your heart.

The last picture is from the christening last month. Of course, it isn’t one of the nicer photos his mom took of the two of you, but a SnapChat selfie with the flaming sunglasses filter. He’s mid-laugh and you’re pressing a kiss to his cheek. Funny thing is, you don’t even remember taking it.

The page next to it is blank, aside from what’s written at the top of the page. “Togetha Foreva,” you read aloud, voice choked up and God, you cannot fathom how gross you look right now. “What the fuck, man!” You sob, punching Hyunjin’s shoulder before wiping your nose and cheeks with the back of your hands. “I didn’t sign up for this cock and ball torture.”

Hyunjin laughs loudly at this, pulling you into a hug and giving you a few seconds to recover. “Hyunjin, this is like… seriously the best thing anyone has ever done for me, holy shit. God, you Pinterest son of a bitch, this is such a good idea,” you groan, flipping back through the pages and getting teary-eyed all over again, “I can’t express how much this means to me, Jinnie. Thank you, really.”

Flashing that toothy grin of his, Hyunjin tugs you to lie back down with him and tilts your head up to press a much more accurate kiss to your lips. “I meant what I said before, ___,” he murmurs, “I don’t know what to do without you, and I know we only get to see each other once a month but I can’t keep living as just friends. You’re so much more than that. And I hope all the pictures we add from now on will show this new chapter of our lives. If not, well, then I guess I’ll just burn the book.”

“Are you asking me to be Kkami’s official poop-picker-upper?”

“Yes. Wait— what? No!”

You break into a fit of laughter, only to be interrupted with him pinching your side and causing you to let out a yelp. “Hey!” You bark, jumping closer to him and away from his hand until, finally, you give in to your self-indulgence and go right on ahead in swinging a leg over his hips and pinning him beneath you.

“You ruined my serious love speech, ___,” Hyunjin pouts, face scrunched up at you.

“I’m sorry, baby, go on.”

You pause, blinking slowly at him. He blinks back, the silence in the air weighing in heavily as both of your two brain cells bounce around trying to figure out what did you just call him?

“Never mind,” Hyunjin says, voice a low rumble of thunder as he reaches for your hips and easily flips positions, “I think you’re on the same boat.”

You laugh, tilting your head back and eyeing him indignantly. Fuck, he looks unfairly delectable hovering above you.

“Okay, how many more times do I have to tell you I love you for you to formally ask me to be your girlfriend, stupid?” You scowl, bringing your hands to cradle his neck, thumbs brushing delicately against his jaw.

“Call me baby again and we’ll see about making that happen.”

You raise a brow, tugging his face closer by the chain of his necklace. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, baby.”

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, First Impressions, Slice of Life, Character Study

No additional content warnings apply. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Kirishima Eijirou had stared at the grin on Bakugou’s face when he pulled the pin in his gauntlet and thought: Holy shit, this guy is insane.

Over multiple screens, a good chunk of Ground β went up in a blast so strong the floor trembled with its aftershocks even here, miles away. Concrete and steel and glass were incinerated in a gust of fire and debris until all that was left was Midoriya’s crumpled form amidst plumes of smoke and Bakugou standing tall in the ruins.

The cameras shorted out once, twice before the image stabilized; the transmission remained silent. There was no sound needed to see how Bakugou’s grin got an edge sharper in the wake of the explosion.

Insane and absolutely deadly.

It wasn’t Kirishima’s first impression of him, per se. Certainly he’d had some sort of reaction to the only name ranked above his own after the Entrance Exams and the total sum of zero rescue points listed beside it. He can even remember the twinge of something in his chest after seeing that infamous quirk in action on day one – be it awe or envy or plain curiosity, that innocent question of How does it work, though? that accompanies most encounters with a new power.

Still: In those first few days, when Kirishima thinks of Bakugou Katsuki, he thinks of the mad glint in his eyes as he went above and beyond in his attempt to murder their classmate (or seriously maim him, at the very least).

In hindsight, having him play the villain was perhaps less coincidence and more fate, given the optics of what could reasonably be described as a shitshow. And, okay, Kirishima knows it’s not exactly fair to judge someone based solely on fleeting observations. His parents taught him better than that. Crimson Riot showed him better than that. It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.

Endure and overcome, just like any other obstacle looming over the difficult path ahead. Kirishima smiles around the pencil he’s chewing on as Aizawa drones on, eyes trained on the uniquely tense set of shoulders across the room.

Yeah. Bakugou won’t even stand a chance.

*

It takes many cold shoulders, rebuffed lunch invitations and countless glares – and a villainous intervention Kirishima could’ve honestly lived without – for a rough voice to say:

“You there. Shark Teeth.”

The sun is starting to peek into the room as it hangs low and lazy in the sky. Class 1-A has just been released into a well-deserved weekend: Kirishima is very much aware his mothers want him home as fast as possible after what happened at U.S.J., and he’s throwing his things into his bag at peak velocity. Only after a tap on his shoulder and a subtle nod from Sero does he register it’s him Bakugou is talking to.

Perhaps ‘growling at’ would be a better description, but… semantics. Kirishima throws the guy a look and a smile over his shoulder either way, “Hey! What’s up, man?”, and given Bakugou’s eyes only narrow a little, he’s about 70% sure he’s not done something to land on his shit list.

Yet.

All Bakugou does is direct a decidedly less neutral look towards Sero, who jolts and stumbles over a quick “Um. Gotta– Yup, okay, bye!” before he books it out the classroom. Kirishima watches him go with some bemusement and a muttered “Dude”, not that Bakugou reacts to it in any way.

“Spar with me”, Bakugou says instead – demands, really – and Kirishima feels his brows tick upwards before he can stop himself, hands pausing in his quest to cram his notepad next to his books without wrinkling its cover page too badly.

“Uh. Like, right now? ‘Cause I can’t. Well, I could but I’m about to miss my train as is and I’d have to tell my–”

A slow blink, and even that is threatening when it’s coming from Bakugou. “No, asshole. This weekend, or something. I don’t care.”

Oh. Kirishima blinks. Something about Bakugou approaching him out of his own free will must be causing a substantial lag between different areas of his brain because– Oh.

“Wait. You wanna hang out?”

Maybe he could’ve hidden the clear surprise in his voice a bit better, that emphasis on you that sort of slipped in there without him really wanting it to. Kirishima’s heart sinks at the twitch to Bakugou’s brow that pretty much guarantees whatever he actually meant to say is forever lost to the ire perpetually simmering in that red gaze.

Well, it was nice knowing what going to U.A. is like. At least none of his classmates are present to see Kirishima’s inevitable – if incredibly untimely – demise.

Then Bakugou… rolls his eyes, exhales a harsh tch for good measure. “Whatever.” He shoves his bag further up his shoulder and, without a glance back, walks out the room–

Oh no, you don’t.

Out of all foolish thoughts it’s that one that shoots through Kirishima’s head before he grabs his stuff and goes after him. Bakugou somehow manages to maintain that no-fucks-given air to his gait despite how fast he walks, and Kirishima falls into a light jog to close the gap.

“It’s a great idea, man. Can’t have us going soft over the weekend! Plus Ultra, just like All Might said, right?”

Bakugou gives him a withering glance of a side-eye for his trouble. Kirishima notes the distinct lack of explode-y manslaughter, though, and allows himself to settle right into Bakugou’s pace.

“Besides, it’s been like a week and we’re already having villains crashing our lessons. I mean, we showed ‘em what’s what and all, but still! Some extra training can’t hurt.”

It’s not like Kirishima minds being the one to carry a conversation yet the fact that he hasn’t been told to shut up is… something? Not enough for Kirishima to point out, it’s just a thing he notices, just something, so he keeps talking. Past U.A.’s gates, down the stairs and onto the busy sidewalk they go, and Bakugou’s hands never leave the pockets of his pants as he marches past clusters of people in an unflinching line.

Head held high, eyes dead ahead. Cutting through the crowd with his presence alone, and in his wake Kirishima follows.

The afternoon light is hitting that glow-y hue that paints even the most mundane of things in shades of gold when Kirishima realizes they’re headed to the train station. He draws up short, slows his step in the split-second it takes to ask himself if the other even takes the train home or–

Bakugou’s eyes are on him, “What?”, that one word barked so impatiently Kirishima throws the thought right out the metaphorical window and keeps walking.

“Nothing!” A flash of his home screen proves: Five minutes left. They’re making good time. Which, actually– “So what time were you thinking for our sparring sesh? I’m good whenever, unless it’s super late at night. Overprotective parents, you know how it is.”

That gets a huff out of Bakugou. That, and a gesture that’s sort of a grab, sort of a wave that has Kirishima a little stumped until Bakugou sighs gruffly. “Your phone, dumbass.”

“Oh, sure! Here.”

The device changes hands. Kirishima contemplates feeling embarrassed about the obvious crack that takes up half the screen; he’d designed his hero costume without his delicate tech in mind, and with the whirlwind of starting and then surviving week one of the new school year, he hasn’t been able to spare a minute to get neither the phone fixed nor the costume amended.

Bakugou doesn’t comment on it – in fact, he pulls his sleeve down to hold the thing as if to cushion it, and when he taps the screen it’s with his knuckles. Before Kirishima can ask, the pre-installed voice control AI chirps its distinct jingle and Bakugou tells it to make a new contact, rattling off a long string of numbers.

Even before the AI has confirmed the input, Kirishima is catching the phone chucked rather carelessly at his head. “There”, Bakugou says, starting to climb the stairs to the tracks two steps at a time.

Kirishima doesn’t have much time to process any of that before the telltale rattling of an incoming train sounds above them. “Oh shit”, he breathes, hurrying onto the platform and to the closest door just in time to see the last passenger get out. Once inside, he pumps his fist.

“Hell yeah! Dude, we–”

The person next to him, who is not Bakugou, looks rather startled. What the…? Kirishima turns a full 360 degrees before a knock just inches from his face startles him and he meets Bakugou’s smirk, firmly on the other side of the window.

Not a moment later, the train starts pulling away. Kirishima presses close to the thick, faintly scratched glass to watch Bakugou turn and walk right back where they came from. His hand is raised, the light catching white and glinting on something in his hand.

A phone. Oh, right!

Kirishima swipes across an image of Crimson Riot’s iconic pose to unlock and reads Bakugou Katsuki, having left the tab open in his haste. First things first: With a soft snort and a few swift taps, the name is changed before Kirishima hits the speech bubble icon next to it.

Baku💣💥

bro what the hell (sent 17:14)

but thanks (sent 17:14)

it’s kirishima btw (sent 17:15)

just text me the details whenever 💪🏻 (sent 17:15)

He watches the tick next to his messages turn blue almost immediately and waits. One station passes, then two. By the third Kirishima is sure he’s been left on read and laughs, shaking his head. Of course.

The rest of his way home is spent assuring Sero he has not, in fact, exited life in a flurry of explosions as well as letting his moms know he’ll be home in a few. The next time Kirishima checks his phone is between brushing his teeth and climbing into bed, two unread messages waiting for him.

Baku💣💥

[link] (received 19:35)

6AM tomorrow, don’t be fucking late (received 19:35)

The link leads to a location which his phone matches to a quirk-friendly gym pretty close to the U.A. grounds. Kirishima scrolls through a few images of the facilities with some interest before his brain registers–

6AM. On a Saturday.

Baku💣💥

/dude/ (sent 22:08)

srsly?? (sent 22:09)

😩😩 (sent 22:19)

f @ my sleep schedule but ok (sent 22:25)

Minutes later, Kirishima stares at the near-painful sight of an alarm set to 5AM before he sighs and flops face-down into his pillow. The things he does in the name of friendship.

>>Chapter 2

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

gender-neutral baker!SO with undertaker? 👉👈

ooh. this is really good. this is really, really good. I love the idea of this. Do you care if I put my own spin on it? I hope not. Sorry this took forever to get out and posted, btw.. It’s been a rough time for me lately, creativewise...

Warnings: fluff if you squint. bantering. Tame enough for you kids to stay. Also, this is me, attempting to truly be gender neutral, so no specific sex is specified. I really haven’t done the gender neutral thing often, apologies in advance if somehow, I fuck it up.

Tagging:

@writertoo18 @thatnerdwriter @wrestlingismyguiltypleasure @chasingeverybreakingwave @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @sassymox @champbucks @hungmanhorsecarriage @wardl0w @ryantaylorgirl @dilfmoxley @hotyeehawman @darbysallins @gabbynorth98 @bec0m @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch  @daddyslittlevillain

@linziland13

Other Stuff:

[ about my writing | masterlist | tag list doc ]

You were... Less than enthusiastic when the noisy bike shop opened right next door to your quiet little bakery. All day and half the night, you were subjected to classic rock and heavy metal and the sound of the bikes that went in and out of the place rattled the walls and your brain. 

-- However... You don’t have a truly mean bone in your body. So instead of doing what you wanted to do, calling to file a noise ordinance, you did something totally different. Totally unexpected. You baked up about a dozen german chocolate muffins with homemade frosting and you waited until it got quiet at the bike shop. You’d seen the man who owned the place before but.. you were not prepared for just how intimidating his very presence seemed to be. He caught you leaving your passive little note and peace offering, by the way. Chuckled and glanced back at you. “You really leavin me a passive note right now? With cupcakes?” He stepped closer, seeming to tower over you. Parts of you were... Drawn in like a magnet. Other parts of you were terrified that he was about to murder you and the passive aggressive note and cupcakes were the signature on your death warrant. 

-- You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you’d caught in your throat when he started to chuckle. The sound was deep and warm, almost similar to the motorcycles he enjoyed so much. The sound drew a smile to your face. The laughter stopped and after a second or two of Taker, rubbing his chin in thought, he stepped out of the doorway leading into his shop as if he were inviting you into his personal private space. It was an invite you treasured, because something told you that the guy didn’t do this often, if at all. You stepped inside the shop and he stepped in behind you, closing the door. “I reckon if you need more quiet, I can get some of the little shits workin to keep the tunes down. Will that work for ya?” he asked you as he took a bite of the cupcake.

The bike shop got a lot quieter in the days following. And you didn’t see the owner all that much, which was a shame in itself, because the one thing you ENJOYED about a bike shop next door? Watching him out there, doing something he loved.. The smile on his face. The grease on those hands.. You were beginning to give up on seeing him. Figured that he put you down to one of those passively aggressive and annoying types.. Not to mention, you owned a bakery and you were... Nowhere near as rough and tumble as the crowd he ran with by any stretch. But one morning, the little bell over your door sounded and you peeked out from the back kitchen. He stood there, leaned in the door, giving you a little smirk and nod as you stepped out, covered in flour.

-- “Those cupcakes... Think y’ can make a whole cake? It’s one of the guys kids, they got a birthday thing comin up real soon...” you could tell that Taker didn’t do this stuff often at all and asking for help was... Not something he took lightly. Rather than be an ass about it, you agreed to bake the cake. And Taker overpaid you. When you tried to give him back the extra money, he waved it off... “Consider it a down payment.. Now say, I won’t complain darlin... If you wanna stop by later with some triple fudge brownies... There might even be food in it for ya.”

--It was his way of striking up a conversation and asking you on an informal first date, you discovered later that evening.. You stood there, a mess.. The brownies were tucked under your arm in a covered tray. When you smelled the barbecue going out back, you almost left because you assumed that he’d invited you over and that the rest of his crew was still kicking around the place but when you finally rang the bell and he opened the door to let you into the shop.... You discovered that it was only you two. Candles and softer classic rock playing. He dragged his hand over his head and mumbled with a quiet chuckle, “Well shit.. You’re early... I’m still cookin, just grab a seat.”

--After that first date, you two were constantly in and out of each other’s shops and homes. And Taker took it upon himself to take your old car and put it in his shop to service it after it broke down on the side of the road after one of your dates. 

Rides on the back of the motorcycle through beautiful scenery are commonplace. You’ve discovered that while you’re the baker, Taker is the true and honest to god cook. And grillmaster? The man knows his way around a kitchen. It was a true shock to you the first time you realized it. 

Slow dancing in the middle of the kitchen at 2 am. Having a ready and willing taste tester for all your newest bakery sweets that you’re thinking of adding to the menu. 

He’s good and fast with a fire extinguisher, as you quickly learned when you were trying to make something with a hairtrigger temper when it came to heat and you got it just a little wrong and the end result was a smoky and flame filled kitchen for a hot few seconds.

You’ve started to teach him how to bake and while it’s not going as good as it could be, it’s been a laugh filled and flirtatious experience. He likes to stand behind you and wrap his arms around you. He listens closely, hanging on your every word when you’re explaining the finer points of baking to him. And in turn, you’re picking up a little bit of auto knowledge also, because he’s teaching you the basic maintenance on cars/bikes. You two are just... super into learning more about each other’s interests.

Your first ‘weekend away’ was at a quiet B&B and then a stop over at Sturgis Bikefest. The B&B threw you for a loop because you’d honestly figured he’d want to take the giant camper he has sitting out behind the garage and just stay in that.. But no, you pulled up to this cozy and quaint little place out in the middle of nowhere, and he seemed thrilled about it.

[yanjuniverse]

How Should It Be - Xiao Gui/Wang Linkai One Shot

[a/n: ah yes back at it again with another cringey one shot. i meant to post this on 5/20 but i couldn’t get my brain juices to work and finish it until tonight. i hope you guys like it. big reminder that i love wang linkai ❤️. sorry if the fic is a mess btw lol.] / master list

He sags down in his seat, visibly defeated by whatever was on his mind. A pout is prominent on his lips as his best friend cracks a smile, clapping him on the back before wrapping his arm around him, their bodies crashing together.

“Why the long face, Gui? Don’t you know that frowning gives you wrinkles?” he asks. If Linkai wasn’t so down in the dumps, he would’ve smacked the exaggerated frown right off of Chengcheng’s face right then.

Fan Chengcheng has never been the kind to just let Linkai live in his misery. Oh, no. Fan Chengcheng has to twist the knife after he stabs you. Sure, the guy’s quiet when you first meet him. But once you get to know him the way Linkai knows him, it’s a done deal. Your soul is his and there’s no getting rid of him.

“You saw my butthole once, Kai. We’re practically blood brothers now.”

Don’t ask. Linkai is begging.

“Nothing,” he shifts back into the ratty couch. He thinks for a second about how Xingjie is always babbling on and on about how he should replace it (as if Linkai has the money to replace this old hand-me-down couch. He’s a soundcloud rapper. How much does Xingjie even thinks he makes off of his beats?). Something about how just because it’s old, doesn’t mean it’s vintage. Linkai thinks that maybe the spring that pops out of the second cushion of the faded blue sofa may have caught Xingjie by surprise one too many times. That’s why Linkai always sits on the arm rest or lays like a starfish on the floor during movie nights. You’ll never catch him squished in the middle of Yanchen and Xingjie on their Thursday night Grey’s Anatomy marathons (per Yanchen’s request because how could one look at the actual sun and say no?).

He’s picking at the frayed edge of the sofa when Chengcheng says, “It doesn’t look like nothing.” He suddenly snaps, reaching into his pocket before pulling out a pair of his (nonprescription) glasses. He pushes them up on his nose then opens his phone to his notes. Linkai sees him type “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH GUI TODAY” and watches him not only put it in bold print but italics as well. “I think we should start a diary of some sort. My sister has one of those and she says it’s all a part of a healthy life style. Wait, should we buy a Password Journal for you? Okay, wait Chengcheng. Too far off track. Let’s focus on the now.” He recomposes himself before saying, “First of all, do you know your rising sign? It could help explain a lot of things.”

Linkai thinks that there’s a reason for everything. He thinks that you never meet a person by mistake. But sometimes...he has to question his life mottos as Chengcheng waves his hand and tells him he’ll make his birth chart from scratch, all he needs is the time he was born (because Chengcheng’s already memorized that he was born on May 20, 1999 in the Fujian Province).

“Chengcheng, I promise on my mother that I won’t judge you. Just tell me if you were dropped on your head as a baby or not.“ He’s desperate at this point. There’s no way somebody just wakes up and makes the conscious decision to be Fan Chengcheng. Not any sane person, that is.

“Astrology is a very serious science, Gui and I will not stand for your bashing!” Chengcheng whines.

Likai gives him side eyes. “Didn’t you only get into astrology because Justin said you were a Gemini and he liked that?”

“No!” But the blush rising on his cheeks says otherwise. “Look. This isn’t about me! This is about you! What’s your deal?”

The older one shakes his head, throwing himself back against the couch and hoping that the weird stain to his left would manifest into a blackhole and swallow him hole. He crosses his arms and taps his shoe against the ground, eyes glued to the ceiling popcorn and wondering who the hell even thought that shit was cute. He starts to wonder how much he could pay Chengcheng to eat it when the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” Chengcheng says. “I’m expecting a package!” As he gets up, he throws a cushion at his roommate before hopping away.

Linkai shuts his eyes, too exhausted to even fight back. Maybe it is his package. Maybe it’s Justin. Maybe they have another “date” in Chengcheng’s room (it’s not a real date if Justin doesn’t know it’s a date).

He’s about to drift to sleep when another cushion hits his chin, causing him to bite his tongue.

He’s on his feet and ready to throw hands when his eyes land on (a very pissed looking) you.

Honestly. He’s not surprised. You have this sour face all day and all night and it’s to the point where he’s starting to consider having Chengcheng put together your birth chart so that he can understand just that much more about you.

He crosses his arms. “And what is the problem today, princess?” he raises his eyebrows. He leans down, teasingly close, and wrinkles his nose. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Don’t look so stressed,” you scoff. He pokes your forehead, causing you to stumble back a couple of steps. “Hey!” you whine, rubbing the spot. He can just hear you screaming in your head about how he has dirty finger nails or how his hands are always so cold and boney. You huff. “You’re gonna give me a headache.”

“You give me a headache every time you walk into the room,” he shrugs, pulling back. He throws himself onto the couch again and hears the floor rattle beneath him. Another complaint that you’ll throw at him is how he and Chengcheng should just move out of this ratty old place. (“And go where exactly?” “I don’t know! Go live with Zhengting! I heard he needs a roommate!” “You want us to live with Zhu Zhengting? He’ll be on China’s Most Wanted after he kills me and Chengcheng.”) You roll your eyes instead. “But go on. What did your best friend Wang Linkai do to piss you off today?”

“We had a lunch date!” you stomp your foot.

“A lunch date?!” Chengcheng repeats as he exists the kitchen, choking on the piece of bread he had shoved into his mouth. “You two go on dates?!”

Linkai snorts. Ever since Chengcheng found out the story of how you and Linkai met, he’s been begging for you two to fall in love. (“You met in college when she dropped her books and you helped her pick them up? Fingers lingering, eyes glazing over. Love blooming like spring cherry blossom-“ “Chengcheng, shut the actual hell up. I only helped her out because I’m not an asshole.” “Not an asshole? Have you met you?”). Chengcheng says that he’s read a lot of fan fictions. He knows how this will turn out. Apparently, he’s taking bets alongside Chen Linong and Lin Yanjun as to when you two will finally get together. But jokes on them because you are denser than a book.

According to Chengcheng, it’s not your fault because apparently Linkai has terrible game. His idea of flirting with you is to flake on you half the time, watch you get riled up then pat your head and walk away after you get done ranting to him. Linkai doesn’t call that game. He calls that tolerance because some of this shit you put him through makes his head spin in circles. Plus, he’s got an image to uphold. Xiao Gui AKA.IMP cannot go around braiding flower crowns and singing to the birds like this is some kind of Disney film. He’s still trying to live down that time Xukun posted a picture of him coloring in a coloring book on his instagram story (Ziyi still sends him children’s coloring books every holiday since. Whether Linkai fills them out or not is his business and his business only).

He thinks today is going to be a bad day. He thinks it’ll be one of those days where the two of you will fight to no ends and there’s literally nothing he can do to make you feel better. He hates to admit it but he likes those kind of days because they always end with the two of you laying in his bed. Those are the nights he’ll hold you and wipes your tears, whispering a mantra of “Yes, I’m an idiot” and “I’m sorry, it’s my fault for not cherishing you.” He likes those nights because even though you get on his last nerves, he’ll be willing to admit defeat if that means he’ll get to wake up with you beside him.

“Honestly, Linkai. I don’t even know why I try with you sometimes,” you groan, setting down the bag of food in your hands onto the coffee table with one too many water stains. “Chengcheng, come join us for lunch.”

“Oh, I don’t wanna intrude on your date,” he says.

You smile at him. “It’s not an actual date.“

There’s a weird look on your face as you say that. It’s a look you get that Xiao Gui has never been able to read. Your smile is big but your eyes never seem to match. Your shoulders visibly sag and your movements slow for a second before you seem to realize what you’re doing and get back to being normal. “Come!”

“No,” Linkai plops down on the floor next to you. “He has a lab with Justin due at midnight tonight. He needs to leave.”

“Hm? You keep tabs on me?” Chengcheng has a shit eating grin on his face which quickly disappears as Linkai scoffs.

“No. You’re wearing cologne for once and don’t look oily. From just that, I know you’re going to meet Justin,” he says. “You usually smell like terrible B.O. and your hair looks dry. As for your project, you have it written on your calendar inside of a big red heart. I saw it when I went to steal the five bucks from your dresser earlier.” Chengcheng sputters, face red with embarrassment.

You swat Linkai’s shoulder. “Leave him alone,” you frown. “Don’t worry about him, Cheng. You always look and smell great to me!” you grin encouragingly before turning back to Linkai again to whisper yell. “He has a crush. Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten dressed up for somebody you liked.”

“Hey!” he says louder than you expected considering this was supposed to be a hushed conversation. “I’m wearing the jeans you said make my ass look fat,” he retorts. You simply roll your eyes before returning to Chengcheng. Once again, you’ve reminded not only Linkai but the world that you are denser than a book. He makes a face. “You expect me to read your mind and yet you never seem to be able to read mine,” he mutters under his breath, forcefully stabbing into his rice.

“What was that?” you turn back to him. He shakes his head, shoveling a load of food into his mouth to keep you from pressing. You thankfully don’t and once again, turn to Chengcheng. “I think you look amazing. Really. Go get him! He’ll be in your arms in no time!”

“Thanks, jiejie!” the dopey boy grins. “I’ll be on my way then. Be back tomorrow morning. Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone!” he winks. He’s out the door before Linkai can kill him (as if Linkai even had the energy to do so).

He’s too busy dissecting his meat to notice your cold stare. You have to clear your throat for him to look up and see your face. He groans, “What the hell did I do now?”

“You should be more supportive of Chengcheng.”

“More supportive? Any more supportive and I might as well just text Justin and say ‘Hey dinghead! Chengcheng is in love with you!’” he scoffs. “Honestly, it doesn’t get any more supportive than me.” He’s actually offended that you don’t think he’s all for Chengstin. Linkai is the vice president of the Chengstin fanclub, only coming second to You Zhangjing. “Who do you think always makes sure there’s ice cream in the fridge when Justin comes over? Who do you think hops off our shitty ass wifi when Justin comes to watches movies? Who the fuck ran across town just to fight with sneaker heads to get Justin the newest pair of shoes because Chengcheng was stuck in class? Have you ever had to fight a sneak head, YN? Have you?” His eyes are wild as if he’s seen some things he’d rather not talk about.

You sigh. “I just think you need to be nicer to him,” you shrug.

“Last week you told me not to let Chengcheng step all over me,” Linkai points his chopstick accusingly at you.

“Because you were deadass tired and up doing his laundry while he slept!” you exclaim.

Linkai snorts. You’re honestly a walking contradiction when it comes to him. “Just eat and be quiet. I’ve already got a headache. Don’t make my stomach upset too with all of your nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, Linkai!”

“If it’s coming from you, it is.” He shuts his foam to-go plate and stands to his feet before you could give him another earful. “I’m gonna go get a drink. Want anything? Water? A soda? A shot of vodka?”

“Ten more minutes with you makes the last option sound more appeasing than it should,” you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Nobody is forcing you to be here,” he reminds you, patting your head as he walks away. When he returns, he’s made two pretty drinks and winks at you. Bottoms up, his eyes say.

“Really? Drinking on a Tuesday?” you scoff.

“Whether it’s a Tuesday afternoon or a Saturday night, you will always find a reason to complain,” he replies. You roll your eyes, taking a sip and feeling the alcohol burn down your throat. You grimace before setting it back down on the table. “So what do you wanna do now, hm? Watch a movie? Make me watch you online shop?”

“Maybe I could put make up on you and do your hair,” you suggest.

It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “You say that everyone elses’ boy friends do this for them and yet, I feel as though I’m the only one.”

“Boyfriend?” you repeat, completely disregarding anything else he had said.

“Boy. Space. Friends,” he says before leaning back onto his hands. “Why? Do you wanna remove the space in between us?” he wiggles his eyebrows before swooping in close to you, noses bumping. You freeze at this. “What?” he smirks when you don’t push him away like usual. “You actually thinking about kissing me this time?”

You scoff, shaking your head and moving away from him. “Wang Linkai,” you scoff again. “You really are something else. You know that? Kiss you? My best friend? I’d rather eat sand or-“ You stop, looking at him and seeing the way his eyes cast down for a second. “What?”

He looks back up. “Nothing,” he says before pulling himself to his feet again. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns. “Come. Let’s go shop. Or something. I don’t know.” He shakes his head and reaches for his drink. Maybe he shouldn’t have poured so much alcohol into his drink. One sip and he’s already a mess. “What?” He notices you still haven’t moved from your spot on the floor. “Hurry up and put on your jacket. Or do I have to so it for you?” He makes a swipe to grab your arm but you pull back, holding it against your chest. “YN, what?” he sighs, a bit annoyed. “Are you mad at what I just did? Look, I’m sorry. Let’s just-“

“Linkai,” you frown. “Why do you look so sad?”

“It’s nothing,” he replies, walking around and looking for his keys.

“It’s doesn’t seem like nothing to you.” Your words are careful, almost as if you’re trying to find the right wire to cut in order for the bomb not to explode. It’s always like that when the two of you argue this deeply. And sadly, it always ends with somebody crying.

“Because it’s never anything to you!” he throws a hand down dramatically. “So like. Let’s go because I’m not going to do this today!”

“Do what today?” you ask, standing to your feet. He shakes his head and makes it towards the door when you grab his arm. He instantly spins around and pins you against the wall, arms encasing you. You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s your deal?” you huff.

“It’s not even a bit obvious to you?” He’s smiling like a deviant. Like you’re just playing into one of his cold jokes. “Are you really that stupid?”

“What did I do to you?” you cross your arms.

“Everything,” he says, eyes casting downwards. You feel your heart starting to hammer as you realize he’s staring right at your lips. “You waltz into my life and make it absolute hell. You expect me to just know what’s on your mind. You expect me to just know what makes you happy and what makes you sad. You expect me to just know these things and I don’t and it makes me so tired and yet...” he laughs coldly. “And yet when I look at you, I want to be defeated. I want to fall at my knees at your mercy. It’s been like this since the day we met.” His hand slowly makes its way up to your cheek, cupping the glowy red flesh between his fingers. “C’mon, YN. How should it be? What do I have to do to make you like me as much as I like you?”

“Linkai, you idiot! If you liked me, you should’ve just told me!” you pout.

“And then you would’ve found something to complain about then as well,” he rolls his eyes. “Honestly, YN. Just lighten up with me sometimes. I’m trying.”

“You’re always trying,” you smile. “That’s what I like about you.”

“You wanna know a secret?” he asks, leaning in closely. “I only try his hard for you.”

And as his lips finally land on yours, you realize that this is exactly how it should have been all along.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

Choo choo, the Sickfic Express has just arrived in Galar, straight from Oreburgh City! 

First fic of 2020 is a sickfic oneshot. How rivetting. I've very recently beaten Pokémon Sword and loved it! I found myself really loving the characters, what they are and what they've already become in my mind, so I couldn't help myself but type what I know best... A sickfic. Also, this fandom needs more of this stuff, so here. I'm providing. Is this story OOC? Chances they are. Was it absolutely a blast to write? You bet. I'm probably gonna look back on it later down the lane and be uncomfortable with how I depicted the characters; but you do need to discover the characters first, and what better opportunity for that than a little sickfic with some angst and pre-rel dramatic tension? Anyway, I hope you'll like this lil' thing I busted out in literally a couple hours. I forgot how fun it was to write without worrying yourself over continuity or already established elements like in Earth Never Stops... Btw, this fic was originally requested to me as a FE3H fill for Hubert, so I decided I'd most likely use another square on my card for him. Sorry Nonnie for this, my inspiration got the best of me yet again! 

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Candles in the Rain

Summary: Is feverishly staggering through the damp streets of Hammerlocke under the rain with very little hope to feel warmth again and even less sense of direction a fitting end for a former Champion now that he's been defeated once? Scratch that: he doesn't have the time or brain power remaining to process such a question. Or: Leon witnesses a miracle in the form of a little dog and a childhood friend.

Fandom: Pokémon Sword and Shield (post-canon/game: beware for spoilers) Relationships: Pre-relationship Leon/Sonia

Wordcount: 3.1K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​

AO3 version available here.

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The streets of Hammerlocke are covered by a thick layer of rainwater, typical early winter in Galar. Nobody dares going against the terrible weather, which isn’t unlike the flooding that almost ate Kabu’s region of origin, or rather how he once described it based on bedtime stories, a couple thousand years ago. Honestly, after what Galar just went through, he can believe the tale to have been real all along, no issue there…

As always, he’s lost in the grand city of his main rival, and that frustrates him. He’s cold from the water having filled his shoes and wet his hair for hours and hours on end, not even the fire of the camp being able to make him feel warmer. If it wasn’t for his partners’ demands, urging him to stop camping in the wilderness and find a Centre already, he’d have surely stayed in the Wild Area and biked to a better spot. Ah, he misses Postwick, now. At least, he can’t get lost in Postwick, there’d be Hop and his now-Champion best friend, if not Sonia paying them all a visit, and there’d be the warmth of his childhood home… Gods, perhaps he does miss the peaceful life of a ten-year-old whose only contact to the Gym Challenge is dreams of grandeur.

Ah, if it didn’t rain so badly, Charizard could be warming the both of them as he tried to make his way to the nearest Centre.

 Despite his best efforts to remain proud and confident, he ends up having to lean against a wall to stop a coughing fit from suddenly urging itself out of there. He must look pathetic and he does wish, deep down, that someone would get out of their house for a reason or another, recognize him like literally everybody in Galar; but his pride and brand would be on the line, and nobody is fighting against the terrible, terrible weather today. He’s all alone in the streets of the city, pushing himself from the wall with wobbly arms, trying his hardest to remember where to go with slow, hazy thoughts…

Even if he was cold merely moments before, his head now burns. He feels too hot under clothes that are wildly unfitting of such a muddy season, despite the hair rising on what is exposed of his arms. A Cramorant stole his jacket when he was training, a Linoone tried to steal his stuff, and he ended up having a Pokemon knocked out and losing most of his healing items in the kerfuffle. It really hasn’t been his day, lately…

 His chest hurts. Not from the outside, as if he had injured himself in one of the falls he endured trying to feel from the Wild Area with no Pokemon to battle with and the slippery grass constantly trying to get the best of him, but from the inside. He doesn’t doubt the possible existence of bruises under the shirt that sticks to his limbs like a second, drenched skin; but this isn’t it. It intensifies when he coughs and it rattles strangely. When he tries to ignore the excruciating weather wishing for his demise, he hears the strange sounds his breathing now makes. He doesn’t know them so, in a moment of out-of-character lack of reason, he gets scared of them and vaguely wonders about worst-case scenarios.

It isn’t just his chest either. It’s his throat, it’s his mouth, it’s his feet, it’s his legs. Everything in his body is tired and screaming for rest, but he cannot provide it for any of his own self at the moment, stuck trying to navigate with what little he can distinguish with almost-closed eyes from how much he has to squint. His eyes can’t focus anymore, this much he realizes with a bitter sense of resignation, so everything he sees is blurry, including the weird gooey stuff he keeps coughing out whenever he can’t breathe anymore and has to stop for who knows how long.

 He trips over his own unmade shoe tie, losing in one fell swoop what was left of his balance, and falls right into the rainwater that has accumulated on the ground. It sounds and looks and feels like it’s the end, that this is where his journey ends: in some damp street of a city that he has never been able to find his way in, alone, cold and hot at the same time, rain burying him with the rest of the pavement. Not that he even thinks he has the energy to go on… Not like that. Not when his strength, the only thing he thought he had left, has all but given up on him too. Truly alone in a time where, sitting against a giant wall, he realizes what has been going on and poisoning his breath. Hah, ironic.

Still, this isn’t how he should admit defeat. He’s been won over now, and recently at that, and it’d be more than a shame for him to all but give up now. He needs to bring his team to the Centre, he can’t not try taking his revenge on the new Champion, he can’t not at least prove his superior battle skills to Raihan yet again, he just can’t leave Hop, and Sonia, and everyone else like that…

So he rises up once again, on weak arms and unsteady legs, almost tripping over himself, shoulder stuck against the wall. He won’t let this be the end of him.

 Even with a new resolve, it still doesn’t make it much better for him. Unless there’s a miracle happening right before him, he’s stuck with his heavily weakened state trying to find a place whose location he has no idea. His phone doesn’t seem to be able to show a map, its signal disturbed after whatever happened to it while he was looking or doing the polar opposite, so he’s stuck with his truly inefficient sense of orientation.

But it’ll be okay. It’ll have to be okay, because he needs to see Hop become a Professor, to buy Sonia’s new book, to rematch the Champion and his Leader friends, to give his team at least one more chance to shine. It’ll be okay, surely it’ll be okay, of course it’ll be okay… It’ll be okay, because this is all a terrible nightmare he’s going to wake up from, where he isn’t stuck in the torrential rain with a fainted party and very little hope of finding way out.

It’ll be okay, oh so okay…

 He tumbles and falls over again, this time hitting the ground with no grace whatsoever, most likely scratching elbows and knees in the process. Even rising his head up as not to cough in water when a fit claws at his throat again takes most of the energy he has left, only for his blurry sight and cottoned-down hearing to spot the first good thing in who knows many hours: a familiar yelp and vague brown-and-yellow figure rushing towards him.

With a trembling and feeble hand, he tries reaching out to the Yamper who has guided him so many times out of dangerous situations, only for an oh so familiar voice to yell in his direction. Still, it’s hard to know if it’s real or just his imagination. Ah, well; he’ll have to see when he’ll have woken up. If he even wakes up from the darkness starting to invade his vision…

  “Yamper, where in the world are you running like that?!” This creature never stops running, doesn’t it? “Yamper, wait for me!”

If she’s used to her trusty furry assistant running around everywhere it goes and pursuing it, Sonia has to notice there’s something odd in the air. Yamper never goes this fast, especially not in a city where it could smash muzzle first into people. There’s an urgent feeling to its yelps as it runs in one precise direction.

 As suddenly as Yamper started running when she had just gone out of the vault to investigate a little bit more into the Galar mythos she had become a specialist of, it stops right in its tracks in a little street she’s frankly never seen nor noticed before. With how much it’s raining and how unlikely it is to stop pouring soon, she doesn’t want the both of them out for much longer than needed.

She stops to regain her breath, hands on her knees as she folds in two, wet red hair hanging from her head. Yamper stays in place, running around her in circles, then disappearing from her view into the old, little street covered in rain and shadows. It doesn’t seem to have any intent on leaving soon.

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“Why did you… bring me here…? Seriously, it’s raining Growlithes and Purrloins…!”

Still, Sonia gets herself together and goes on to follow her “assistant”. There’s dread building in her chest and stomach that she can hardly ignore… She’s seen enough movies as a teenager to know where this is going. She’s going to end up tangled into some messed-up situation, isn’t she…?

 Her heart skips a beat when she notices a very familiar person lying face down on the pavement, drenched to the bone. A person who hasn’t given her any response or sign of life for a few days.

Someone who’s gotten lost in Hammerlocke again.

 -------

 When he wakes up, everything feels different than the last time he’s been awake. It’s all white, dry and soft. He stills feels too hot and too cold, breathing remains a chore and he wishes he wasn’t there anyway; but he supposes he’s now safe and, honestly, he can’t think of anything much worse than treading through the torrential rain with little strength left.

Now, if he knew what the thing on his face was, he’d be doing a bit better, but his arms feel like they’re made out of lead and he lacks the energy to rise them to his mouth and at least touch it…

 “Leon?”

The voice, even if it’s muffled, is undoubtedly Sonia’s. He can’t quite put a finger on why exactly, yet he feels like this confirms something. If his chest didn’t feel so heavy and full, he’d have sighed in relief. That doesn’t prevent him from coughing again when trying to respond to his own name.

“Let me do the talking, okay? I’m sure you have a metric ton of questions to ask, but for the love of Galar, spare your voice unless necessary.”

 Now that his vision is focusing again, he notices both the pipe inserted in his wrist and the frown on her face. She seems less than content with something. What, he doesn’t quite know, and thinking hurts his head even further than it already bothers him, heavy on his neck despite resting on a pillow. Speaking of which, where is his stuff? His clothes?

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sonia rises from her chair and puts her hands on his chest, putting him back into his mattress. “You stay here and don’t cause anyone any worry more than you’ve already done!”

 He’s confused as to why she’s so adamant on him not doing anything. No speaking, no moving… If he didn’t feel this drained and lethargic, he’d absolutely get back at her with playfulness. Well, that does kind of answer his own question, doesn’t it? Or, at least, it seems to make sense to his brain which has troubles keeping up with the situation…

Yet, he sees a small smirk contrast with her frowned eyebrows. She seems… pained. Pained by what, or who, he doesn’t know; he’s most likely at least partially responsible for it, because she wouldn’t be there otherwise.

 “I don’t know how you’ve ended up in that situation exactly, Leon, but you’ve managed to surpass yourself in terms of putting yourself in harm’s way. You’ve scared us before, but not to that extent!”

“I…” His voice sounds hoarse and it absolutely feels that way. “It’s complicated…”

“Your entire party was fainted, safe for Charizard who was about to follow; you somehow bricked your phone in the process and ended up catching more than a death of cold. Where were you during all that time?!”

Sonia sounds a bit too scared for someone who’s facing her childhood friend stuck in a bed.

“The Wild Area…”

“That’d explain why you were soaked to the bone when I found you lying in a puddle… You’ll have to excuse me for using that crude language, you scared everyone on that one!”

 It’s his turn to ask a little question, even if the state of his body makes him want to remain quiet. Still, no matter how intelligent she is, Sonia doesn’t read minds, so he’s somewhat forced to go through with it if he wants his answers.

“Where are we?”

“A clinic in Hammerlocke. I forgot to add you also scared the ER staff with how bad your breathing was.” Has to be that irritating wheezing sound he’s hearing since he’s woken up. “By the way, since I know you’re going to ask me about that, your team is safe and doing much better now. They’re all gently resting in their balls while you recover.”

He misses Charizard and everyone else already. He owes them a big apology, that’s for sure, but he’s also certain his brain can’t process much right now. Sometimes, you just need to admit yourself to have been defeated… even if it bothers you to no end.

 Sonia paces around for a little bit before sitting down on the chair next to the bed, arms still crossed. She sounds more than frustrated, and, well… He can’t really hold it against her, can he? He already can barely hold anything against her to begin with, considering how much they’ve lived through together; it’s not today, in these circumstances, that he’ll try finding a reason for her not to be frustrated. Who knows how long he’s been gone without giving news: he frankly, forgot how quickly or slowly time was passing while he was wandering through the Wild Area.

“At least, you’re still here and breathing with us. Just, if you could not do that ever again, it’d be better, you know? I can’t always be there worrying after you when I’m now a Prof! Arceus, I don’t even imagine what sequence of events has thrown you into such a state. You looked absolutely pitiful when Yamper found you.”

 He tries to puff at himself to ease the tension he feels rising, but all he ends up doing is coughing. And coughing. And coughing.

“What did I say about sparing your voice? Tch, you’ll never change, will you? You’ve always stubborn, after all, so there’s no reason that’ll change now. That’s part of your charm, I suppose.” She shrugs before suddenly darting her eyes away from him. “But you’re right, I shouldn’t have to worry! You were the Champion of Galar for more than ten years, why would I be afraid of you? That makes very little sense, haha!”

“S-Sonia…”

 He only now spots the dark rings under her eyes and the hair pulling out of her ponytail, one strand at a time. How long was he out for, and for how much of that time was she there, exactly? (Hey, he does work fairly well, for someone who can’t stop sweating and whose entire frame is shaken up by chills at irregular intervals!). Too many questions, too little available brain space, he guesses…

“Go for it, make fun of your good old friend who still hasn’t gotten the memo. I should have been like Hop and blindly believed you’d come back to us, as you’ve always done…”

Oh, right, Hop! How is he doing, has he advanced in his research, does he still worry for him? Well, sadly, it’s not the time to think about his brother: his childhood friend seems to have a meltdown right in front of him.

“Why?”

 Sonia stares at him, completely silent, eyes wide. Seems like she doesn’t have an answer to her own interrogation, until pain comes back on her face like the wave crashing on the shore.

“You don’t… think it’s ridiculous?”

“What?” His throat doesn’t take kindly to his attempts at having a conversation.

“Everything! We swore we’d trust each other, but look at me, worrying over you as if we were still kids running in the fields with the Wooloos… And I’m telling you all that while you’re cooking on the inside! Really, isn’t that ridiculous?”

 Gathering his breath and his strength, he rises up with shaky arms against the bedhead, pillow still preventing his head from entirely lulling over his shoulder from how heavy it is. Whatever he’s caught, it’s one hell of an affliction he’s found himself with. Still, if it’s for Sonia, if she’s this distraught over the situation (he did almost pass away), he can put up with the migraine, the difficult breathing, the mask over his mouth, the lethargy, the chills…

“I’m sorry, Sonia.”

He does cough immediately after apologizing, as expected. For once, she doesn’t reply immediately, doesn’t make a witty remark; instead, she looks confused and maybe embarrassed, considering the red he can see with the eyes that still refuse to entirely focus for more than a few seconds.

“Sorry for what? And, again, spare your voice, you…”

“For all of this.”

 Her expression softens, eyebrows drooping and eyes shining brighter. Even if it’s slight and his eyes almost miss it, she finally smiles.

“How long…?” He’s interrupted by a fit.

“How long you’ve been out?” He nods, still trying to calm his chest down. “Around half a day. You did wake up at some point but immediately passed out again. No wonder why you don’t remember that.”

He now points at her with an unsteady finger. “Why are you… Oh, how long I’ve been here?” He nods again. “Most of that time, I’d say. I’d also say I fell asleep at some point too…”

 She crosses her arms again, just as his vision starts weakening again. It’s back to sleep, right?

“I think we both need our rest. I’m also certain Hop is waiting at the door, so you’ll even have a guardian angel watching over you, isn’t that super cool? And if you attempt rising from that bed, you’re sure to be put back into it in mere seconds!”

He’d try laughing if it didn’t trigger such a massive reaction from his lungs, so he decides to just nod instead.

“See you later, Leon. Goodnight.”

He waves at her, the lethargy still reflecting in his slow and sloppy gestures, but that’s fine enough for now. Her smile is worth it, isn’t it?

 Absolutely worth trekking through the rain with full lungs and little energy left…

[forasecondtherewedwon]

17 or 48, both together, or just one, or whatever you want if they haven't already been requested, NSFW I guess if you don't have any problem with it. I wanted to add, in honor of Tom wearing glasses: for some reason, any silly reason or plot device you need, that makes Peter have to wear glasses, and MJ freaks out about it finding she's especially very attracted to him wearing glasses. You're super awesome btw!!!!

Thank you so much for these requests, Anons! As 48 and 17 were requested together more than once, I have included both prompts in this fic. And it’s NSFW (if you’re a perv, I’m a perv, Anon #3). And Peter wears glasses (feel free to determine the level of silliness of my reasoning for them, Anon #1 haha). Extra thanks to you, Anon #1, for your kind words! Hope you all enjoy!

This Spa Day Provided to You by Stark IndustriesPairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: E/NSFWWord count: 3752

17. “I know what I want, when I want it. So get over here.”

48. “If you want to get me naked, you’ll have to convince me it’ll be worth my time.”

Peter sighed into the phone.

“When I said the decathlon team really needs to relax beforeour next competition, that was just me complaining! I wasn’t asking you tospend money on us!”

“Yes, but that’s the beauty of being Tony Stark’s favouriteintern―”

“―only intern,” Peter mumbled.

“―I solve your problems before you even realize they needsolving.”

“I did realize,”he argued, flinging himself down onto his bed.

“And you weren’t going to do anything about it besidescomplain? That’s not very ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ of you, kid.”

“I… had some thoughts,” Peter said defensively.

“Such as?”

“Puppy room?”

“Like you rent puppies to help your pals cope with pre-competitionstress, is that the definition of ‘puppy room’ we’re working from?” Mr. Starkchecked. “Meaning you have puppies brought into your school, meaning you exposethose halls of learning to the evils of… what’s it called? Pet dander! Becausethere’s always one kid, Pete, always that one kid who’s allergic to puppies andspoils things for everyone else. And then, gee, it’s not the puppy’s fault, butnow there’s sneezing and itching and throats swelling shut, an ambulance iscalled to cart poor Timmy off to the hospital, and in the meantime, the puppieshave peed and ralphed all over the floor, thereby causing more stress than whatexisted to begin with! Then, of course, you’re blamed for the whole thingbecause it was your idea, probably kicked off the team, definitely sociallyostracized, and always left wondering, ‘Was it worth it?’”

There was a long pause.

“What happens to Timmy?” Peter wondered.

“Oh, they couldn’t save him. Anyway, doesn’t a spa day soundmore peaceful than all that?”

“Only because you turned the puppy room into some kind ofhorror movie epidemic.”

“It was a rhetorical question, since the obvious answer,”Mr. Stark informed him, “is a simple ‘yes.’ By the way, why am I having to sellthis to you so hard when I’m the one who paid for it?”

“That one’s gotta be rhetorical,” Peter said, but his mentorhad already hung up.

\\

“So, there’s, like, a sauna, a pool and hot tubs, or you canget a massage, or―”

“Living in a luxurious, fluffy spa robe for a day isbasically my dream,” Ned declared, interrupting Peter.

With a glance around the room, Peter saw that most of histeammates seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Ned, expressionssmiling and full of relief. Most of them. MJ was frowning.

“Have we done research on this place?” she asked. “When wasits last health inspection? How regularly do they test the chemical compositionof the pool water? Have there been any reported cases of―”

“It’s fine,” Peter assured her. “Mr. Stark goes there allthe time. Actually, I think he might own it…”

“And there’s never been a negligent billionaire businessowner with his fingers in so many pies that he lets standards slip at one ofhis investments,” MJ replied sarcastically.

He didn’t know where to start grappling with that, but hismouth hung open, waiting for his brain to fill it with an intelligent yetsensitive response.

“Yeah, but, MJ―” Flash jumped in.

“Michelle to you,” she corrected flatly.

“―free massages!” He raised his eyebrows like she was anidiot for having any misgivings in the face of complimentary spa treatments.

MJ rolled her eyes.

“Fine, we can focus on that, in which case, I have questionsabout the staff’s training, techniques―”

“Are you serious?” Peter said, accidentally out loud. Dumbquestion; his girlfriend was always serious.

She gave him a fixed stare.

“I’d like the person who massages me to know what they’redoing. If you want to get me naked, you’ll have to convince me it’ll be worthmy time.”

He felt the heat seeping up his neck into his face.

“I don’t want… N-notme personally…”

“I’ll do some research before we go,” Betty cheerfullyvolunteered. Peter smiled gratefully at her as she turned to face MJ, uncappingher pen and holding it poised over a pad of paper. “What were your concernsagain?”

“Happy thoughts,” Ned instructed as Peter cradled hisforehead in his hand, rattled. “Fluffy, fluffy robes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, tone striving for levity. “Robes. Right.”

What he was really thinking about was how much trouble hewas in. If MJ was this brazen in front of their friends, how was he supposed tohang out with her at the spa? Sure, they’d found enough opportunities sincethey’d started dating to make it to second base, but actually seeing her in abathing suit was a whole different thing! The robes were Ned’s idea of acalming thought, but what did people wear underneath them? Nothing! Picturinghim and MJ in matching robes was therefore not a very calming thought.

This spa day was going to kill him.

\\

“What’s next on your itinerary?” Peter asked distractedly,leaning against one of the large lockers in the men’s changing room. It wasuncanny, being in a room full of lockers without even the faintest odour offoot sweat―this spa was a distinct step up from the locker room at school.

“Couples facial with Betty,” Ned replied happily.

Peter frowned.

“That’s a thing?”

“Yes, Peter,” Ned sighed, exasperated. “Maybe you should’vespent your time doing a more thorough scan of the veritable smorgasbord oftreatments instead of concentrating on avoiding MJ.”

Peter jerked away from the locker.

“What? Avoiding her?” He shifted his feet.

Ned sighed again.

“You can’t hide in the changing room all day.”

“I haven’t been!”

“Every time I come back here to get my water or change into swimtrunks, you’re here.”

“We’re obviously very in sync,” Peter insisted. “And I wasjust leaving.”

Ned folded his arms and stared his best friend down.

“Uh huh.”

“I am! I’m going… swimming.”

“With your shoes on,” Ned checked, glancing down to Peter’ssneakers.

“I don’t want to contract a foot fungus. Better safe thansorry.”

“Can you even get a foot fungus?” Ned asked, lowering hisvoice and leaning closer for increased discretion. “Wouldn’t yoursuper-spider-ness protect you from something like that? Wouldn’t seem right ifyou could avoid supernatural attacks only to be felled by a foot fungus. Orwould it―”

“Bye, Ned,” Peter interrupted, and exited the room.

He did actually have his bathing suit on underneath therobe―Ned had been adamant about the robe-wearing―so he might as well headtowards the pool. Following the scent of chlorine, Peter turned down a quiethallway, lined with doors on both sides.

He could swim for hours if he had to. Just until―oh man, hewas totally avoiding MJ. He’d only seen her for about two seconds today afterthey’d arrived. Being gifted a spa day by Iron Man wasn’t the same as astandard field trip, so the team had had to make their own way here. (Peterwasn’t going to remind Mr. Stark that he’d blanked on providing transportationin luxury cars; Pepper would take care of that.) Too chicken to even sit nextto his girlfriend in the back seat of a car, Peter had waited until Abe offeredto pick up Flash, Cindy, and MJ before assuring a few of the others that hisaunt would be happy to give rides as well. This was pathetic.

Peter went to brush his hair back anxiously and bumped thecorner of his glasses, unused to them. Disoriented, he stopped walking tosettle them back into their proper position on his face. His arms tingled as helowered his hands and Peter became tense and alert. Quickly glancing around, henoticed that the door at the end of the hall was ajar. He flattened his back tothe wall and crept hurriedly and silently towards it.

The hairs on his arms were completely standing up once hewas right outside the door, so Peter pushed it open and darted inside, shiftingto a defensive posture and pulling the door closed behind him―one less escaperoute for whoever or whatever was in here with him. Besides the soothing soundtrackof wind chimes by the ocean.

Beyond the massage table dominating the space, a door at therear of the room opened and out stepped MJ, head down, tying a robe identicalto Peter’s. It was suddenly difficult to swallow.

She looked up and gasped, then sighed, hand to her chest.

“What the hell, Peter?”

“S-sorry,” he blurted, straightening up. “I thought… therewas something…”

Peter studied his arms, confused. He’d believed that extraSpidey sense was just, like, a space donut alert system. Now it was an MJfinder? He guessed he had been thinking about her a lot lately. Possibly, theconscious fixation plus theunconscious longing that had her appearing in his dreams most nights hadtriggered some kind of biological recalibration, thereby setting the sense toprepare for hormones instead of intergalactic battle. The potential science ofit was pretty cool and Peter tried to think about that in order to maintain hisrapidly failing composure.

MJ flipped her trapped hair out of the neck of her robe. Holyshit.

“I’m still not used to the glasses,” she said, approachinghim and sounding enviably calm. “Are you self-conscious about them? Is that whyI’ve barely seen you today?”

“No, I’m not… I’m not self-conscious,” he choked out.Clearing his throat, he continued. This was a safe topic which would aid him withnot stare at her legs below the hem of the knee-length robe. “They help my eyesrelax. Dampen stimuli. Kinda like those old black goggles I had. The ones Ishowed you―”

“―when we were in your bedroom.”

Abort. That was not a neutral memory. He revisited it―ohboy, did he revisit it―but only in private, in bed at night. Sometimes in theshower. His pulse pounded unmistakeably in his groin.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed weakly. “Then.”

“I like the glasses.”

“You do?”

MJ stopped in front of him and Peter imagined the feel ofher robe’s tie in his hand as he pulled it free of the loops. It was so easy topicture.

“Mhmm, you look… They just make you look more…”

Peter caught her eye and noticed something. She wasflustered. While MJ searched for whatever she wanted to say, she shoved her handsinto the pockets of her robe; it strained the tie, slackening the fold offabric across her body to expose a larger V of her neck and chest. Petergestured awkwardly at the bared skin, then reached out, intending to fix it forher. (The swelling in his swim trunks pleaded for him to yank the materialapart.) Her hand collided with his as she went to do the same thing.

“…sexy,” MJ concluded.

Peter’s fingers slid across her skin until his palm was flaton her chest, then he brought his other hand to the back of her neck and kissedher. They held each other with shaky hands, nervous and giddy. Everything withher was still brand new. Internally, Peter felt like he was inside one of thosepaint can agitators at the hardware store―the kind that he’d seen when May hadpicked a new colour for the kitchen and dragged him along to pack-mule the cansto and from the car―but his lips were becoming more certain against MJ’s. Andhis dick was really committing to this erection, thickening with every passingsecond.

Peter was getting lost, unable to tell how theirclosed-mouth kiss had opened up to allow their tongues to meet and tangle. MJmoaned softly and he wrapped both arms around her with urgency. He wondered ifhis glasses were fogging up, like the windows in steamy movie scenes; he didn’topen his eyes to check.

Touching his face in a way that felt more profoundlyintimate than what seemed possible for the length of their relationship so far,she pressed her body closer. Oh god. Snatching a shallow breath between kisses,Peter let his hand tumble from her neck, sweeping unevenly across the plushstretch of her robe and resting on the small of her back. He didn’t push her―wouldn’t push her―just braced herlightly as his hips rolled forward. MJ gasped, tenderly tracing his earlobewith a fingertip.

Peter tilted his head forward until his forehead and hersseemed to support each other. He listened to his thumping heart, a steady bassto balance those tinkling wind chime noises. The natural ambiance of MJ’sragged breathing was magical. But everything was moving so fast. They weren’tsupposed to get this! A parental figure should have been interrupting rightabout now, or a ringing phone. A pizza delivery guy maybe.

Uncertainly, Peter took a step back, hands still on MJ’swaist. She wrapped hers around his and he opened his eyes to see her face.

“Stark booked this whole place for us, right?”

Oh, they were talking about Mr. Stark now. Peter was thrownby his girlfriend’s lack of transition. She always did like to get to thepoint, not waste words. He jiggled the corner of his glasses.

“Yeah…?”

“All day?”

“Yeah,” Peter answered with more conviction, focusing now.

“Well, then there’s no one else coming to use this room,”she informed him. “I went through the team’s treatment schedules myself.”

Just when he’d thought he was getting the gist of thisconversation.

“You’re saying…”

“I’m saying I really like the glasses.”

Yeah, her eyes were saying a lot more than that. What wasgoing on in there was much easier for Peter to follow. Like the absoluteawareness while MJ let go of his hand to draw her wavy hair forward over oneshoulder; she knew what she was doing to him. Were spa robes any good atconcealing erections? He was curious.

To give himself a second of clear thinking (which in itselfmight be wishful thinking), Peter released her waist, arms hanging at hissides.

“Are you sure?” he checked.

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth had flickedup.

“I know what I want, when I want it. So get over here.”

Rather than going to her, Peter took a deep breath andbrought her to him, guiding MJ by her hips. Before he could kiss her, she put ahand to his chest.

“Just for now,” she assured him, and plucked his glassesfrom his face.

Folding the legs in carefully, MJ set them on a counter nextto an orderly line of jars. All Peter could think about was being able to kissher more roughly without worrying about his glasses getting in the way; hedecided to make a move based on the likeliness of her thinking the same thing. Hecupped her face, touching his mouth lightly to hers only momentarily, thendiving in with a firmer pressure.

There wasn’t a clear path in his mind, but he directed MJanyway, steering her by the hand on her hip while they kissed, until the solidspa table halted them. Her lips parted as though the minor impact had sent ashockwave through her body and Peter stepped right into her space, tongueteasing the inside of her lip. Incredibly (to him), his hips weren’t shyagainst hers, pressing flush, as much as the thickness of theirever-more-irritating robes would allow.

His eyelashes fluttered on her cheek as he barely opened hiseyes.

“Did they massage you?” Peter asked quietly. The room wasvery still. Seemed like the wind chimes must have run out of breeze.

MJ’s legs shifted against his, thighs parting provocatively.

“Not everywhere.”

With a groan, he squeezed her hips, not really helping asshe perched, then wiggled onto the table. MJ continued spreading her legs soPeter could come closer and his hands skipped down to her thighs, smoothing upher skin as the fabric drew apart. He almost forgot about kissing, gaze slidingdown her body, but MJ grabbed his jaw and leaned forward, initiating somethingfiery. It made his hips jerk ahead and his fingers clenched on her legs. MJ’sother hand found the tie of his robe and quickly worked past that barrier, thenthe next―which was the tie on his swim shorts. Peter inhaled a rapid doublegasp, experiencing the wonder of her hand wrapping tentatively around hiserection. More securely after his slow moan.

He broke away from the kiss, nosing languidly below her jawand down her neck as he pushed his hands to her hips. Hypothesis confirmed: peopledid not wear anything beneath those robes. Or at least MJ didn’t. Peter shapedhis hands to the front of her hips, thumbs settling into the warm crease at thetop of her thighs where the band of her underwear would’ve been. She wasstroking him now, stoking his own heat with the warmth of her palm, and he lethis thumbs descend until he could feel her pulse thumping resolutely. By then,his hands were between her legs, covering everything but the place he waslonging to touch; Peter skated one thumb towards the middle and it was slickedwith her arousal.

MJ was breathing heavily, nudging herself against his hand,so he rotated his wrist and slipped his fingers along the track of her wetness.She shuddered, rolling her fingers against his length. Peter gave her throat awet kiss. When she tilted her hips, lifting them slightly like she wassearching for something, he made sure they came back down on his fingers,easing one inside her.

“Peter,” she said,fast and sharp, and jerked her hips forward with the same desperate haste.

He released MJ’s hip with his other hand to reach into hisswim suit and tighten her grip around him, his hand over hers. Then, Petercurled the finger he had inside her, probing gently as he got his bearings.Cautiously, darting a look up at her face, he added a second finger. She made asoft, contented sound and rocked so that his fingers sunk deeper. Peter’s hipsbucked reflexively and she gave him a short pump, his hand tense on the back ofhers.

Wetting his lip with his tongue in concentration, he hookedhis fingers more insistently, tapping her taut front wall. MJ groaned, tooloose to produce an “oh.” Peter dug in, repeating the motion she’d enjoyed, andpushed his thumb against her clit. A hissing, sucked in breath from hisgirlfriend had him feeling tingly all over―seriously, his super-senses weregoing to be even more goofed up after this. Something in him had realigned,attuning him to MJ.

He worked his fingers faster, moving with her when shecouldn’t sit still. Actually, Peter started to worry that MJ was going to falloff the massage table because she kept scooting forward, so he encouraged herto lie down, gasping as her hand disengaged from his dick. Watching hisgirlfriend on her back, he forgot about missing her grasp; her neck arched whenhe rubbed her clit in a circle and every time he thrust his fingers intoher―sneaking a look to witness them emerging glossy―she thrust the opposite wayto take them, slackening the wrap of the robe until its V stretched nearly toher waist.

Peter was fantasizing about crawling on top of MJ (only fantasizing for now because theyhadn’t really talk about that yet and he certainly didn’t have a condom at theready in the fluffy depths of his spa robe’s pocket), yearning to drag hisfingers out and plunge his cock in. He was grinning, hot and hazy in his dirtydaydream, fingers wrapped around himself while he continued to, well, massageher. The word would never be the same for him.

“Mmm, god,” shesaid, legs twitching where they hung off the edge of the table.

Hearing himself faintly echoing her less distinct butequally impassioned noises, Peter was almost living her pleasure. He kneadedher clit, bent and scooped his fingers frantically within her. MJ came with anextended moan, muffled because she pressed her lips shut, and Peter swallowedthickly like he was consuming the sound.

He removed one hand from his trunks (erection still throbbing),the other from his girlfriend’s body. Panting, Peter retied the string (wipinghis fingers on his bathing suit while he was at it), then the wider band of hisrobe, not taking his eyes off her. Body limp, MJ ran a hand across her face. Hewas mesmerized just watching her breathe.

“Help me up,” she said, voice thick and altered.

She pulled the robe closed and reached out her hands forhis, which Peter eagerly provided. Their eyes met with a sly shyness once theirfaces were level. After a minute, MJ rolled her eyes and grabbed Peter’s neck, bringinghim into a kiss. She sighed against his cheek when they leaned apart.

“You wanna trade places?” she asked as she lifted her head.Her hand went to his robe’s tie, giving a gentle tug.

Peter laughed, heart beating hard.

“Yeah, I really wantto, but Ned’s going to expect to see me at the pool after his facial.”

MJ frowned and her playfully disappointed eyes made him wantto stay that much more. Glancing at her watch―the only thing she wore, besidesthe robe―she shrugged.

“I have to meet Cindy for pedicures anyway.” They exchangedwistful smiles. He couldn’t make himself turn away, let alone walk to the door.“I’m good, Peter,” MJ said. “You should sneak out of here first. Lesssuspicious that way.”

He hesitated another few seconds, then stepped back with anod.

“Ok, but I’ll see you later. Promise,” he added when sheraised doubtful eyebrows.

Peter grabbed his glasses from the counter and put them on,comfortably dampening his vision. He glanced back at MJ on his way to the door.

“Seriously, dork, get out of here,” she urged. “Thoseglasses are testing my restraint.”

Face turning pink, Peter shot her a smile and crept warilyinto the hallway. He closed the door quietly behind him, glancing back andforth as he adjusted the overlapping fabric in front of his hips.

“Hope the pool’s cold,” Peter muttered, heading there forthe second time and wondering how many laps it was going to take to put himselfback in control of his own body.

Assuming that was possible.

Well, it was another hypothesis to test.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Good Trousers

anonymous said: Can i request a Roger x Reader imagine where the reader has a girl band and he and the guys spot them at the recording studio and Roger asks the reader out? Pleeease ♥️ (love your blog btw)

“I’m hungry, does anyone want to go grab a bite while we wait for Fred to get done?” Deacon said, hopping up off the couch and brushing his jeans off.

“I’ll go with,” Roger immediately replied, climbing up from where he’d been laying on the floor. Freddie was currently recording vocals and, of course, was taking a lifetime to do so. He’d actually almost put Roger to sleep down there, so Roger was happy to get up and walk around for a moment. He needed to wake up if he was going to be worth anything on the set later.

Brian agreed too, grabbing his coat and pulling it on as they exited the tech booth, arguing about where to go that was nearby. Roger wanted a sandwich, but Deacon wanted Thai food. 

Their argument, egged on by Brian, almost made them ignore the partially open door that they passed by on the way out, but Deacon was the first to stop, a bassline that made his heart beat out of time catching his attention. It was loud, gruff, and irregular - and he loved the sound of it. So did Roger and Brian, who quickly latched on to what was distracting Deacon.

Roger’s curiosity getting the better of him, he just had to peek through the doorway and see who was in for recording today. Although he wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he looked inside the recording booth, it certainly wasn’t what he witnessed. 

Instead of a grungy-looking dude in bell-bottoms and a denim vest over a hairy chest, he found… well, you. And he was blown away by how casually you were playing such a mean bass riff, the look on your face absolutely detached from the magic your fingers were playing out on your strings. You had two other women in the studio with you, one behind the drum set and fidgeting with her throne while the other was tuning what Roger assumed was her guitar.

He pulled his head back and looked at Deacon and Brian in amazement, almost feeling out of breath from what he’d just seen.

“Who is it?” Deacon asked, peeking around Roger as Brian peered inside, witnessing the last part of the riff before it suddenly cut out. Roger was somewhat disappointed as he heard you stop playing, Deacon huffed slightly as he’d missed the chance to witness another bass player in more action than he’d been today.

Not even one of the trio was expecting you to poke your head out of the door and speak to them, so they all jumped when you suddenly appeared. “Er, hello, are you boys lost?” you asked, Roger smoothing out his shirt and hoping that you hadn’t noticed how much you’d just shaken him when you popped up. “You looked like you were looking for someone,” you continued, pulling your headphones down off your head and resting them around your neck as you straightened up a bit, opening the door more and smiling at them.

“Oh, no,” Deacon replied quickly, smiling quite bashfully as he rubbed his neck and glanced at the other two boys. “We stopped because we heard you playing. Well, I stopped. They followed. Anyway, it was brilliant.”

“You like it?” you asked, grinning widely and stepping out into the hallway with them, closing the door behind you. “It’s something new I’ve been working on for our album, I didn’t want to call in a studio bassist.”

“Our album,” Roger repeated under his breath, raising an eyebrow as he did so and looking you up and down quickly. “What’s your band’s name? Might want to look you up, you were killing it in there.”

You rattled off a name he hadn’t heard of before, and Brian nodded as you began to talk casually, like explaining your life story to them would be no big deal at all. You had the charisma of a lead singer for sure, very different from Deacon. “Yeah, we have more of a cult following here in the UK right now, rather than anything global, I guess. But we’re all-female, so that’s to be expected in this industry…”

As you talked, Roger couldn’t help but look you over again, slower this time. His eyes traced over your facial features, admiring the alluring look you gave off with all of the conviction you put into every expression. His eyes then worked downwards towards your outfit, which he actually adored a lot. You were in a vibrant white and red blouse, the floral pattern just odd enough to draw attention but not stealing the show like Freddie’s ensembles usually did. Your red trainers and stonewashed denim jeans didn’t steal away from the blouse, which kept distracting Roger to the point where you were beginning to notice. And he was starting to notice that you were noticing.

“I’m sorry, I am listening, I swear it,” Roger laughed, scratching the side of his head for a moment before looking directly at you with an innocent look to his beautiful blue eyes. “I was just admiring your blouse, love. It’s beautiful, where did you get it?”

Brian and Deacon almost laughed as they realized Roger was already going to start turning on the charm, and Brian interjected quickly. “We’re going to go on ahead, you’ll catch up, yeah?” he asked, patting Roger’s arm as they both passed. Roger nodded, Brian bidding you farewell before he and Deacy left the building. You were momentarily distracted, but Roger’s doe eyes lured you back in and you laughed, forgetting all about the question he’d just asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask who you boys were?”

“Oh, I’m Roger,” he introduced, holding out his hand, which you took gently. It was a big rough, more calloused than you’d expected, so you weren’t surprised at what he said next as he shook your hand. “I’m the drummer. That was Brian and John, our guitarist and bass player. I’m assuming you’re the bass player for your group?”

“Bass and lead singer,” you clarified, Roger nodding and dropping your hand after a small squeeze. “Where’s your singer? You all look so familiar.”

“Still recording, I’m afraid,” Roger chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “And we’re Queen.”

Your lips went into an o-shape for a second, and then you laughed. “Of course, that’s why you all look so familiar.” After a moment where you looked him up and down, you grinned cheekily. You’d seen him in tabloids before, and he was far more intimidating there than he was in person. Granted, he was still overwhelming in person, but you weren’t the type to let that get to you. The fact that you found him to be gorgeous only fueled your repartee. “You’re not quite as large and in charge in person, eh?”

Roger scoffed at that, looking down at himself for a moment before giving you a funny look. He’d rarely met a woman as confident in their words as him, if not more. “You think so? Ouch, I thought I kept a pretty consistent image. I even wore my good trousers today.”

Laughing as he posed a bit, showing off his corduroy trousers, you shook your head, then put your hands in your back pockets and shifted your weight to the other foot. Your stance was a bit powerful, almost intimidating, and alarms starting going off in Roger’s head as he realized you were a personality to be reckoned with. Half of his brain was screaming at him to back down. The other half? Well, it was taking it as a challenge.

“You seem a bit more aggressive in print,” was your observation, and Roger almost pouted at the fact that you didn’t find him aggressive in person. “Right now, you’re just a bit of a pretty boy, to be honest.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Roger chuckled, crossing his arms in a playful manner and raising an eyebrow. “I find that to be a compliment, sweetheart. At least I’ve got balance, and you find me attractive. Win-win!”

He had you there. You did find him attractive, plain and simple. “If you want to take it that way, be my guest, love,” you countered just as playfully, remaining in the same power stance and raising an eyebrow as if to provoke a response.

“I think…” Roger mused, pretending to rub his chin thoughtfully, which just kind of made him look like a dork to you, “I think I will. That way, when I ask you on a date, I’m at least going into it knowing you think I’m a looker.”

As he said the word ‘date,’ you recoiled your head a bit in surprise. You didn’t feel disgust or apprehension, just intrigue at how confidently he’d inserted that into his banter. Also, it was a bit corny. But he was still cute in a cheesy way, and you were single, so why not? “Honestly, mate?” you laughed, pulling your hands out of your back pockets and stretching a bit before heading back to the booth’s door. “You’re not as smooth as I expected. You should feel lucky that I’m going to agree to a date regardless.”

Roger grinned toothily, following you to the door and putting a hand over the handle so you couldn’t go back in yet. “Not my best work, I’ll admit it, but is that a yes?”

You smiled somewhat and glanced up at him for a moment, then grabbed the pen from your pocket and uncapped it as you took his hand that was on the doorknob. Carefully, you wrote your home phone number on the back of his hand as he watched the cap of the pen perched between your teeth, which was drawing attention to your lips. Roger quickly licked his own lips, trying not to focus on yours too much, and resumed his toothy smile as you dropped his hand, capping the pen again.

With a knowing smile and a nod, you went back into the booth without another word and left Roger standing there in the hallway, plans to call you as soon as he got done with this bloody recording session already quickly forming in his mind.