#this makes me dread calling even more and last time he totally flipped shit on my mom and stormed away and i haven’t talked to him since

[therosevest]

i think i should be allowed to kill my dad

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

[lalaangeldust]

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜

[ 𝚜𝚏𝚠 // 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 ] [ 𝟽𝚔+ 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 ]

[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ] : ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ʏᴇᴀʀ, 3-ᴀ // ᴄᴜʀꜱɪɴɢ // ᴀɢɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ // ꜱᴇʀᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʏꜱ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ ᴊᴜɪᴄᴇ // ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴀ ᴍᴀꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴅᴏʀᴋ // ɢᴏᴅ, ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ

[ 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ] : ᴍɪɴᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇɴᴋɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢʀᴏᴡɴ ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʀᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍɪʀᴀᴄᴜʟᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ꜱᴛᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴛᴏ. ꜱᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴄʜᴇᴍɪɴɢ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴀ ʀᴀ��ʜᴇʀ ꜱᴛɪᴄᴋʏ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

( ᴘᴜɴ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴢᴇʀᴏ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜱ )

[ 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ] : ʏᴏᴜ - ʙʟᴜᴇ // ꜱᴇʀᴏ - ᴏʀᴀɴɢᴇ // ᴍɪɴᴀ - ᴘɪɴᴋ // ᴅᴇɴᴋɪ - ʏᴇʟʟᴏᴡ

[ 𝗺𝘆𝗸𝗶𝗲'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ] : ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘɪɴɴᴇᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ꜱᴇʀᴏ ᴀꜱ ʜᴇ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴏᴋᴀʏ??? ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪꜱꜱᴜᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ (˶◡‿◡) ~ <3

ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ, ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴜᴘ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ- ·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊    ┊        ┊

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊   ˚✩ ⋆｡˚  ✩

┊         ┊       ┊   ✫

┊         ┊       ☪⋆

┊ ⊹     ┊-

✯ ⋆      ┊ .  ˚

˚✩

"Come on, come ooonnnnn," Mina groans as she tugs at your ankles.

"You lazy butt!! You can't stay in here like a hermit forever!" she exclaims with a final yank, sending you off the edge of your bed with a loud thump.

"Ugghhh, but I'm tireedddd! I spent all day shoving boxes around and reorganizing my stuff!" You grumble underneath your arm that's dramatically draped over your face.

"I know! Which you did an amazing job by the way. You truly have a talent for decorating," Mina says with a teasing undertone as she looks around your new third year dorm.

"Aaannnnd that is exactly why you should unwind with the rest of us in Denki's dorm," she says as she bends down, grabbing your ankles once again and lets them rest on her hips.

"Think of it as a dorm warming party and celebration of our last year here at this god forsaken school," Mina concludes as she looks down at you, her eyes pleading you to give in.

"Nnnnggh- Finee!" You let out a disgruntled grunt as you dramatically fling your arm off your face and look up at Mina hovering over you.

"Yay!!" She squeals as she drops your ankles and bounces on the balls of her feet.

"God, you make it so hard to say no, Mina," You say as you sit yourself up.

"I know~ it's what adds to my irresistible charm," she replies with a wide smile and a wink, to which you roll your eyes at.

"And besides, I would've been so sad and lonely without you," She fake pouts at you, sticking out her bottom lip and gives you her best puppy eyes.

"Oh please," You say as you squish her cheeks together, making her bottom lip jut out even further in a comical manner.

"Shero would'b missh'd you tooooo~" Mina muses, her words slurring together while wiggling her eyebrows at you suggestively. You gasp, tossing her head back and you cross your arms across your chest.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," You say flatly as you turn to the side, no longer facing Mina's direction. Though you can't see it, Mina is giving you a devilish look as she giggles at your reaction.

"You totally know what I'm talking about, y/n~" she hums as she approaches you from behind.

"There's no way you miss the way he looks at you all love sick with big, gross googly eyes," She teases as she throws herself on your shoulders, her cheek now squishing into yours.

"Don't even get me started on how he went gaga over your new hero costume," she giggles, a shit eating grin pressing on your cheek, "Mans was practically drooling,"

"Wha-!??" you guffaw, "He was not!!" you exclaim, growing increasingly flustered from Mina's taunting, you throw your hands on your face.

"Oh, poor sweet y/n," Mina cries out dramatically, throwing her hand to your other cheek to push your face impossibly closer to hers, brushing your hands off your face while doing so.

"Too whipped for stinky Sero to see he is infact also painfully whipped for her," She sighs as she shakes her head against yours in fake disappointment, "Tragic..."

"S-shut up before I decide to change my mind!" you exclaim, your face glowing red.

"What?? Did I lie??" she says. You open your mouth to retort but Mina's hand flies to your mouth, pressing one finger against your lips with a shush to silence you.

"No. The answer is no," She concludes in a matter-of-fact tone. Angrily, you wiggle your way out of Mina's hold and turn around to her with a flustered scowl.

"I don't know where you got any of that from, but we're just friends," you huff at her, placing your hands on your hips. Mina's hand flies to her forehead with a slap as she lets out a groan in either annoyance or frustration. Probably both.

"Oh my god, you two are so cliché it's putting me in physical pain just watching it!" she cries, "The friends to lovers troupe is getting all too real!" You roll your eyes at her as you grab your phone and tuck it into your hoodie pocket.

"Common, let's go before you make me question myself more than I already am," you say, grabbing her wrist and make your way to the door.

Mina immediately snaps out of her dramatic manner and trails behind you with a cheerful "yay!". You can't help but giggle at the way your friend's mood flipped on a dime as you two make your way out of your dorm.

[ time skip; Denki's dorm ]

You have no idea why you ever agreed to letting Mina drag you here. Your whole body tenses up and everything in you seizes as Denki calls out your name from the strip of paper he pulled out of the beanie in his hand. Your heart is beating so hard it might as well burst right out of your chest and Denki hasn't even announced who you're being paired with yet.

"It'll be fun," she said, "You'll have time to unwind," she said.

Bullshit

And you believed her! You thought you'd be playing Mario Kart with your classmates or singing karaoke! Not playing a dumb game of chance to see who's going to be trapped in a closet together for nearly ten minutes. Embarrassingly close in a dark closet, fumbling over each other as you two awkwardly shuffle around in the closed space-

You shake your head to try to get rid of your anxious thoughts, silently cursing to yourself as Denki flashes you a smirk that has nothing but trouble written all over it.

"It's ok, y/n, Loosen up. You'll be fine, I promise," Mina whispers to you as she squeezes your hand reassuringly.

You give a nervous chuckle and shoot her a look that says I'm going to kill you when this is over. Mina gives you an innocent smile in response before averting her gaze back to Denki.

"Now, let's see who's the lucky fella, or lady, who am I to judge, is to be paired with the lovely y/n~" The electric blonde announces as he makes a show of shuffling the papers in his hat.

You anxiously fidget with your fingers as Denki continues to drag on in suspense. After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulls out the cursed slip of paper. His gaze shifts between you and Mina before he sends her a mischievous smirk before announcing,

"Sero Hanta!!"

Your eyes fly to Sero sat directly across from you and you see that he's already looking intently at you. After hardly a split second of eye contact, your eyes dart away, looking at anything but him.

"Dare I say I'm jealous~ you get to have sweet y/n aallll to yourself," He cries out in a dramatically animated manner.

Your stomach drops and you let out a strained gulp and your throat goes dry. You hesitantly look back at Sero, his dark eyes still glued on you and he gives you his all too familiar grin with a cocky wink. Holy shit- you think to yourself as your breath hitches, your cheeks already blooming an embarrassing shade of pink at his action.

"Come, come!!" Denki shouts as he gestures for you and Sero to stand next to him, "This is no time to be shy now!"

Sero lets out a soft grunt as he pushes himself off of the bean bag he was lounging on, running his long fingers through his shaggy black hair. Now anxiously gnawing on your bottom lip, you approach the center of the room where Denki is standing. Your eyes fly back and forth between the loud blonde and the lanky boy but unlike you, Sero's eyes have never left you since the moment Denki announced your name. Whatever nervousness he was feeling at the moment, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it. Though you hate to admit, you can't deny his confidence is insanely attractive. The way you can practically feel his eyes on you sends swarms of butterflies fluttering around angrily around your insides.

"Come on you two!" Denki exclaims as he places his hands behind both your backs and ushers you towards his closet, "Time is of the essence and it can't be wasted!!"

"Kami, shut up or I'm gonna punch you in the nose," You say bluntly, too nervy to care or think about what you said.

Sero snickers at your comment and Denki sucks in through is teeth in response.

"Tough crowd,"

You shoot him a nasty look and Denki throws his hands up in defeat while taking a step back, leaving you and Sero right in front of his dreaded closet. Sero looks back at him and Denki gives him a big thumbs up with a stupid grin smeared on his face. Sero rolls his eyes and shakes his head before looking back at you. He slides the door open and extends a hand towards you.

"Ladies first?" He hums and you smile at his gesture, your eyes nervously shifting from your feet up to him and you bite your lip before taking his hand. Sero gently guides you into the closet before quickly trailing behind and Denki's head peaks in through the doorway behind Sero.

"Alright now, you behave, kids. Sero, make sure you use protection, I don't want a mess all on my shit," Sero punches Denki on the shoulder at his sly remark and Denki snickers, "and y/n?... You're an angel so I trust you'll keep tape face in line," he adds, slipping in a wink at you and you can't help but giggle.

Sero scoffs loudly and slaps his palm flat on Denki's face earning a dramatic "mmphf!?" from him before Sero shoves Denki out of the doorway. All you can see is Denki's arms flinging backwards before you hear a series of fumbling followed by a yelp and a loud thump as he tumbles from the force of Sero's hand. Sero with his head now poking out, looks down at Denki on the floor.

"My bad, g," Sero says behind a stifled laugh, a shit eating grin spread on his face.

"Oh, fuck off," You hear Denki grumble as he gets back up to close the closet door, "Y/n if you ever come to the realization you're too good for Sero's clown ass, just hit my line, baby," he quickly blurts out before slamming the door shut in Sero's face.

Sero flips off the door and turns to you. Now quivering with your hands covering your mouth from trying to hold in your giggles, you find yourself unable to hold back anymore and burst out laughing. Your laughter fills the closet as Sero looks at you with a goofy grin plastered on his face. Your giggles being majorly contagious, he starts laughing along with you and makes his way to get closer to you but quickly gets cut off when he trips over something on the floor. He gasps as he's sent flying forward, the only thing stopping him from collapsing right on top of you is his large hands slamming on the wall behind you.

You stop laughing, holding your breath from the shock of what just happened and you look up at Sero in surprise. He looks down at you, wide eyed at the realization that he now has you pinned underneath him.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry y/n. I didn't mean- I can get off if I'm making you uncomfortable," nervously stumbling on his words, he shifts his weight to one hand as he raises the other to rub the back of his neck, subtly averting his gaze to hide the blush creeping up his face. He starts to sit himself up but halts as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"No, it's fine, really," you say reassuringly, "I don't think you'll be able to anyways with all of Denki's stuff scattered on the floor," you add, looking down at your feet.

Though the lighting in Denki's closet is dim, being illuminated only by a small lantern in the corner behind Sero, you can clearly see the floor is nearly completely covered in Denki's belongings that are haphazardly strewn about. The already small space only seeming smaller with the limited foot room. Not to mention Sero kabbdoning you, your bodies mere centimeters apart.

Sero huffs at your observation, silently cursing Denki under his breath. You would think his closet would be at least somewhat tidy since you guys haven't even spent an entire day in your new dorms yet. Guess that's Denki for you.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," his eyes come back up to yours, "but you're sure you're okay with this? You're not just saying it," Sero inquires. Touched by his sincerity, you slide your hand from the edge of his shoulder to the crook of his neck and you can feel slight goose bumps form underneath your fingers where your skin is touching his.

"Sero, have I ever said things just to say it?" answering his question with another.

"Hmmm, I don't think you want me to answer that," Sero teases.

You quirk your eyebrow at him. Though you are still unbelievably nervous about the unusual close proximity between you and him, you are significantly less anxious than before, becoming more relaxed with Sero's chill and goofy atmosphere. His personality has always been so inviting, it's one of his best qualities that you happened to fall hardest for.

"But seriously, we don't have to do anything if you're not ready or don't want to... Last thing I wanna do is make you uncomfortable," he says, nervously shifting on his feet. A soft smile forms on your face and your cheeks grow warm at how considerate Sero is being. Your heart clenches and you're already practically melting underneath him.

"Sero, if you didn't care, you'd already have your tongue shoved halfway down my throat by now," you reply with a light giggle, " You've never made me uncomfortable, love," you say as your voice grows softer.

You truly meant it too. Sero is one of the few people you've met in your life that you never felt you needed to put up a front for. Just simply having his presence around eases your anxieties and the time you spend with him is always relaxing. Even on that one night where he had kidnapped you from your dorm and before you knew it, you were shrieking in his arms as he swung the both of you from building to building.

A lovesick smile spreads on Hanta's face and his heart stutters at your bold statement, especially at your use of the endearing name. Although he's done a good job at hiding his nerves thus far, it's a miracle he isn't shaking like a leaf from how you're looking up at him with those doe eyes, the dim lighting reflecting on your face just right. You're the only one who's managed to put a dent in his usual chill and aloof demeanor. You make him feel a way that is so unnatural to him, a way he doubts he's ever felt before and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like it.

He clears his throat to try and shake off the nerves swarming in his stomach and starts to lean into you. Your noses now just barely grazing each other as he slides his hand underneath your ear, his thumb resting on your cheek.

"So... it's ok if I'm this close.?" his breath ghosts your lips as he speaks, his voice dipping to a low and sultry tone, "It's ok if I kiss you, right?" a slight rasp accenting his words.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart palpitates at the way his voice pleasantly settles in your ears. Heat rises up your neck and you take a deep, shaky breath to try and calm your racing heart, completely unaware that you're making him feel just as flustered.

"Don't tease me," you say in an attempt to sound more assertive, but an unintentional whine laces your voice that undeniably turned Hanta on.

"Hm? I have no idea what you're talking about," he murmurs to your lips.

His are just barely touching yours, taking his time basking in the closeness and reveling in the way you react to his teasing advances.

Annoyed, you grip the back of his neck and shove his face into yours, your noses bumping into each other before your lips crash together. Surprised by your sudden movement, he grunts into your lips, the vibrations sending heat cascading down your spine that settles into the pit of your stomach.

But to your dismay, the kiss ends just as fast as it started as Hanta pulls away from you, leaving the warmth of his lips to be replaced by nothing but cool air. His eyes practically consume you as he slides his hand down to find its place in the small of your back.

"Dammit, y/n. I wanted to initiate that kiss," he grumbles

"You were taking too long.. and I was getting impatient," you grumble back at him, swiping the hair out of Hanta's face.

"Oh, is that so?" he quirks an eyebrow, "Am I just too irresistible? Even for a pretty girl like you?~" he purrs as he pulls you in closer to his body.

You slide your hand up the back of his neck, letting the dark tendrils of hair tangle between your fingers as you place your other hand on his chest, gently pushing it but not enough to actually make him move.

"Shut up," you whisper, the sides of your noses pressing together as you once again grow dangerously close to his lips.

"..Okay..." he whispers before colliding his lips with yours, this time more passionate than the last.

Hanta is holding onto your waist so close, so desperately, that you might as well meld into him. You sigh into each other, any tension from before melting away as Sero leans you into the wall. Overwhelmed by the sensation of having him so close, you pull away from him for air.

Hanta rests his forehead on yours, taking his time to breathe you in, sucking in every detail of this moment despite the fact neither of you can see very well through the poorly lit space. Gently letting go of your waist, his hand travels its way back to your cheek, cupping it in his palm.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that..." he says breathlessly and you hum in agreement.

"I don't think you know how long I've been wanting that," you say, mirroring his words.

"No, no. Impossible. I've definitely wanted you longer," he teases.

"Wh-? Ooooh, so it's a competition now?" you muse.

"I don't know where you could've possibly gotten that from,"

"Uh huh, cus it sounds to me that- wah-!" your cut off midsentence by Hanta gripping the back of your thighs as he hoists you up onto his hips. With your face now hovering above him, your back pressed flush against the wall, his chest presses against yours as he tucks his face underneath your ear.

"We can spend all day arguing over who wanted who first, princesa but... all that matters is that I want you right now~," He murmurs into you. His breath tickles the column of your neck, sending chills down your spine as he starts to gingerly suck on the tender skin under your jaw.

"Sero~" you sigh at the unfamiliar sensation of his lips marking your neck. He gives an amused hum, nipping at your ear lobe before raising his head to look at you. His gaze hungry, yearning for more.

"Call me by my first name, yeah? No need for honorifics anymore," he whispers before diving back into his assault on your neck.

You throw your head back in a daze, running your nails across Hanta's scalp and down his neck causing him to shiver underneath you. The way you lightly tug on his hair sends electricity through his body, encouraging his kisses to get sloppier and gradually starts to swirl his tongue on your sensitive skin. He nips at the collar of your hoodie, tugging it down as far as he can to gain more access to your skin and latches to your collar bone.

You can't help but let out a low moan as your mind goes hazy with how Hanta's lips somehow already know the spots that make you weak. You feel him smile against you, doing the exact same action that got you to make noise and squeezes the plush of your thighs.

"Ay dios mio... tú eres tan hermosa~" ( oh my god... you're so beautiful ) Hanta purrs against you, silk weaving through his voice as he licks the shell of your ear, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

"y tú suenas tan bonita..." ( and you sound so pretty... ) his hot breath brushes the back of your ear, causing you to whimper in response.

You have no idea what he's saying as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear but what you do know is that you don't want him to stop.

You grab his face to pull him away from you. Looking down at him with your eyes half lidded, you lean in and he meets you with a passionate kiss. Your breathing becomes rapid and shaky with the heat of the moment. Hanta softly swipes his tongue on your bottom lip, asking permission to deepen the kiss. Parting your lips, granting him wider access to your mouth, Hanta doesn't take a moment's hesitation as he sticks his tongue in. Tongues swirling together, he pushes himself harder against you, sandwiching you between himself and the wall, causing you to let out a muffled moan into his mouth earning one from him in return.

Hanta pulls away from you, surfacing for air as you pant against each other.

"Forgive me for being so bold but... I want to hear more of those noises you make..." he purrs, unintentionally rutting himself up against you.

"Well... maybe you should try a little harder to coax them out of me, hm?" you taunt in his ear, intentionally making yourself sound needy in hopes of riling him up a bit.

"Is that a challenge, love?" he hums and your breath hitches at the way the rasp in his voice sends heat up your neck.

"Only if you want it to be~"

Silently accepting your challenge with a low chuckle, he dives his head into the other side of your neck and starts kissing and sucking sloppily. His sudden change of pace, going from slow and sensual to hungry and passionate makes your head spin. He guides your legs to wrap around his waist and as soon as you got yourself situated, his hands fly to your ass. He squeezes and massages the soft muscle causing a mewl you fall out of your mouth.

But through the haze of your bliss, you're hit by a sudden realization that you're fairly annoyed with would rather not be bothered with right now... Shouldn't your time be up by now..?

"Hah..-Hanta..?" you speak hesitantly, a soft moan mixing with his name.

"Hm~?" he hums against your jaw.

"Don't you think our time should be up by now..?" Hanta raises his head to look at you, a shadow of an emotion you're not familiar with spread on his face. Worry? Disappointment?

"Well, probably not since Denki has yet to come barreling through the door, shrieking at us so... I think we're good on that," He says reassuringly, "Why do you ask? Do you want to leave..? ...Was I being too much?" He worriedly asks, nearly about to go into a nervous ramble.

You hold onto either side of Hanta's face, making him meet your gaze. A soft smile spreading on your face as warmth blooms in your chest from his genuine concern for you, despite how heated things were getting just a moment ago.

"No... no, I don't want to leave and I don't want you to stop. It's just- I-" you stutter on your words, trying to find the right ones to say.

"It just crossed my mind and got worried that Denki might've decided to lock us in together and... get stuck in here..." you admit.

The unreadable expression on his face washes away, being replaced with a soft, love struck expression and he returns your smile.

"There's no need to worry, cariña. ( darling ) He has to let us out sooner or later," giving your upper thighs a reassuring squeeze as he lowers you ever so slightly to make your face more level with his.

He furrows his brow, contemplating whether he should tell you what he knows or not. You look at him, his expression not going unnoticed and you give him a look, silently inquiring his worry.

"What's on your mind, love? You look upset," you ask softly. Hanta sighs loudly, silently cursing to himself before he continues.

"...I have a confession to make," he admits, averting his gaze from you. You look at him in concern, trying to keep your expression neutral before you jump to any conclusions about what he's going to say.

"I, uh- I knew we were gonna get locked in here... I wasn't in on it though..!" he blurts, "I wasn't supposed to know but Denki ended up telling me anyways. I don't know how long but... we're gonna be in here for a while," speaking quickly, he internally winces in preparation for your response.

Hesitantly, Hanta looks at you and is met by your dumbfounded expression. Your eyes wide and you start to laugh, a flurry of emotions you can't decipher rushing in.

"Y/n you're scaring me.. I can't tell what you're thinking," Hanta says, only half joking and you lean your head on his shoulder.

"Haaaa~ I'm going to kill him," You mutter, "I'm 99% sure Mina was in on it too," you groan into Hanta before raising your head back up.

"I'm afraid to ask if your mad at me or not," he says.

You look at him for a second, entertaining the idea of being upset at him but you decide against being petty.

"Hmmm, that has yet to be decided," you reply with a playful tone.

"That's a relief," he chuckles.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Hanta says, trying to change the subject, "You got to spend some time with me... and I got to make out with the cute girl I've been crushing on for a while~" he muses. Your quirk your eyebrow at him, a smile spreading on your face from Hanta's dorky demeanor.

"Mmm, she must be pretty lucky, managing to grab your attention like that," you play along.

A goofy smile tugs at his lips, sighing dreamily.

"Nah, I'd say I'm the lucky one. I never thought in a million years she'd ever feel the same way I do..." He leans his head to rest on yours and Hanta hums contently.

"She sounds pretty awesome," you jest.

"She's amazing..." he trails off and nudges you to lift your head. You look at him, his eyes staring intently into yours and you feel his thumbs brush up and down your thighs, his strong arms still holding you.

"You're amazing," he implores, his dark eyes looking deep within you.

"Hanta..." you whisper, cupping his face in your hand, feeling as if you might cry at how sappy and affectionate he's being.

You, rendered speechless and Hanta with no words left to say, you usher each other into another kiss, this one so many times more meaningful than the others. All the words you could ever say falling into the others' mouth as you exchange yet another passionate kiss. Hanta gently pulls away, not wanting to let go of you but continues to ask a question.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Take your mind off things?" you shake your head in response.

"Just you being here is enough, Hanta," you say, planting a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose, "buuuuuut~" you continue, craning your neck to the side, examining the floor to see if there's any room for the two of you.

"Do you think there's enough room for you to sit down..? I wanna sit in your lap," you say. Hanta gives you a wide, mischievous grin before looking side to side, assessing the absolute mess of a closet underneath him.

"I'm sure I can make it work..." he hums, pressing a kiss on your lips before lowering you onto your feet.

Though the closet is narrow, there's just enough room for the two of you. Hanta turns around and eagerly kicks around the junk scattered on the floor. Once he's satisfied with the cleared space, he settles himself on the floor and pats his lap and opens his arms, inviting you in. You smile and make your way to him, sitting yourself between his thighs and you give your hips a teasing wiggle against his crotch as you get comfortable. Hanta clears his throat, trying to choke back the groan threatening to escape his throat from your movements.

"Now... where were we?" he asks in a playful tone.

"Hmmm," you hum, taping your finger on your chin, feigning contemplation before answering, "I think you were in the middle of attacking my neck, if I recall correctly," you conclude with a terrible British accent, reflecting his playful energy. Hanta chuckles, placing his hands above your hips, pulling you in closer to him.

"Ahh, yes, yes. I remember now. Thank you for reminding me, my dear," he teases, his British impression much better than your own and he gives you a sly wink that sends a new swarm of butterflies down your stomach.

You giggle, glad your able to be so comfortable with him, even in intimate moments like this. Hanta leans in and kisses your jaw.

"I love your voice so much, mariposita," ( little butterfly ) he muses, using the pet name he had coined specifically for you.

"I love when you laugh... and when you sing- regardless of whether you think you're good at it or not," he adds, assuming you'll try and retort. He moves his mouth right behind your ear, lightly squeezing your hips and drops his voice to a low husk.

"But I've found I especially love it when I can get you to moan~" he nips your ear lobe and lightly drags his tongue up the edge of your ear, causing you to shudder against his touch.

Hanta gives a low chuckle. You feel the vibrations from his throat in your chest and you lean into him, silently begging him for more. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, letting out a long sigh against your lips as the two of you resume where you left off.

Eager to touch him more, you slide your hand in between the two of you and drag your fingers up his torso, his shirt bunching up around your fingers as you do so. He groans at your touch, his mouth opening just enough to allow you to stick your tongue in and swirl around his. He absentmindedly bucks his hips up against you, his mind foggy under the feeling of your magical fingers now caressing down his abdomen, your other hand playing with his dark hair. You take his movement as an invitation to start lightly grinding on him, Hanta's grip on you tightening in response and he pushes you down harder onto him. Groaning at the new pressure, he nips your bottom lip, lightly tugging the plum flesh.

Growing unbearably hot in your hoodie from your bodies rubbing together in such a close space, you stop and pull away from Hanta. You start shrug off your hoodie, revealing the spaghetti strap you're wearing underneath and Hanta looks at you like a deer in headlights. Hanta's face flushes and his pants start to tighten underneath you. With a surge of confidence, you draw out your movements, stretching out farther than you usually would and you hear Hanta swallow hard.

His eyes glued to your frame, unable to rip them off of you. A barely audible "dios mio" falls out of his mouth as he finally brings himself to tear his eyes off of you, his large hand dragging down the bottom half of his face as he throws his head to the side. You, now finished with taking off your hoodie, readjust yourself and look at Hanta as if nothing happened.

"Sorry.. I got hot," you say, feigning innocence.

So many things running through Hanta's mind, so many things he could say, so many things he could do but he bites his tongue, trying to keep himself in check as his eyes wonder, combing you up and down, drinking you in. He normally wouldn't be so affected by seeing you in a tank top, you often wear them in the dorms but this- this is something entirely different.

Hanta places his hands onto your waist and looks you right in the eyes, a certain darkness hidden in his eyes causing heat to pool inside your stomach.

"Yeah, you're really fucking hot...y eso fue realmente sexy..." ( ...and that was really sexy... ) he breaths out.

With an amused hum, you lean into Hanta, your arms sprawled lazily over his shoulders as your lips graze the shell of his ear. Hanta growing hyperaware of the way the plush of your boobs press against his chest. The way your top pulls down ever so slightly, revealing you are in fact not wearing a bra. How your soft breath fans against his neck and the way the smell of your shampoo has his head spinning. He looks away, trying his best to stay respectful. His face flushing a deep red and his breaths ridged as it grows harder and harder for him to keep his mind from cascading down a slew of dirty thoughts as his pants threaten to fully tent underneath you.

"I know~" you coo, your breath ghosting his ear, the low and sultry tone of your voice sending goosebumps cascading down his spine.

That was the thing that sent him flying out of control. Your confidence turning him on to no end, he grips your chin and pulls your face in front of his.

"Tú estas jugando con fuego, chiquita bonita," ( you're playing with fire, pretty girl ) He growls.

You gasp at his sudden aggression. You don't understand a word he's saying but the lust lacing each word sends the heat already pooling in your stomach shooting to your core regardless, making you throb in anticipation. You start grinding on him to try and relieve the tension in your core but it does little to help you. He lets out a brief moan at the sensation of your bodies grinding against each other before shoving your face into his, teeth clashing together as the two of you desperately latch lips.

"Is it ok if I touch you?" Hanta asks, his words muffled against your mouth as he doesn't even bother to pull away to speak.

You mewl into his lips, nodding against him as you grab his hand, placing him right under your boob, granting him permission to roam. He immediately cups your breast, messaging you in his large palm and rolling your pebbled nipple between his fingers through the fabric.

Wanting something to do with your hands as well, you rake your fingers down Hanta's chest all the way to the band of his sweats. Hooking your finger around the elastic band, pulling it out the smallest bit before releasing it, hitting his lower abdomen with a muted snap. He grunts at the feeling and lets out a shaky breath.

"Can I touch you down here..?" you inquire against his lips, your fingers dancing dangerously on Hanta's waistband. He grips onto your wrist, tongue still dancing with yours as he presses your palm forcefully on his clothed dick, a choked moan falling out of him as you round your wrist, making you rub his member in circular motions.

"Tú me estas volviendo loco," ( you're driving me crazy ) he groans into your lips, "Te deso tanto que me duele el cuerpo..." ( I want you so bad, my body aches ) he shudders underneath you, his kisses growing hungrier and sloppier as he gets increasingly intoxicated by your motions.

Growing more and more needy by Hanta's enticing voice, you slip your hand underneath his sweats and start palming him through his boxers. Hanta places his hand on the back of your head and shoves your face closer to his, deepening the already heated kiss and moans in your mouth.

But to Hanta's disappointment, you pull away from him. He cranes his neck forward to try and meet your lips again but you gently place a finger on his mouth to keep him from making any more advances. You pull your hand out of his pants and Hanta lets out a barely audible whine at the loss of friction while you trail your hands up to his abdomen under his shirt.

"Can I take it off?" you whisper.

Hanta looks at you, his dark eyes blown with lust as he gives you a mischievous smile.

"Of course, princesa," he purrs.

You give a content hum as you tug at his baggy shirt. Hanta helps you by lifting his arms as you slip it off of him and looks at you with admiration once you shrug it off. You run your fingers down his now bare chest, admiring his toned muscles underneath you.

"You like what you see, pretty girl?" he muses, his eyebrows raised suggestively in an attempt to tease you. You hum in response and kiss his neck.

"I think you're very handsome~" you hum softly into him and you feel his heart rate spike as your chest rests against his.

"Geez, y/n you're gonna make me blush," he says only mildly flustered.

Amused by his reaction to your compliment, knowing he's not very used to being on the receiving end of them, you continue, sliding both hands to rest behind his neck and you lift your head to look at him.

"But I mean it..." You coo, toying with the dark strands of hair on the nape of his neck, leaving Hanta as nothing but putty in your hands.

With his eyes half lidded, looking at you as if you're made of gold, he pulls you in for another kiss. Wasting no time, he sticks his tongue in your mouth, hungry for more of you. But before you could do anything more, you hear the closet door swing open.

"Surprise shawties!!! AHHHH-" you hear a dreadfully familiar voice drilling through the romantic atmosphere.

Incredibly startled and practically jumping out of your own skins, you and Hanta whip your heads to the door. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest instinctually as if to shield you, even though he's the only one shirtless.

"DENKI THAT'S WHY I SAID TO KNOCK, ROCKS FOR BRAINS," you hear Mina yell behind the door.

"What the hell Denki!?!?" you yell, your head still turned to the door and though you can't see it, you can feel Hanta giving a scary glare at Denki. Denki's face is flushed red and Mina stomps over and shoves him out of the way .

"I'm so sorry," she exasperates, "y'all continue and come out when you're ready," she finishes, waving her hand at you two without looking, in fear of seeing something she'd regret. Though, there wasn't much to see. Denki's just dramatic.

"There's no one in the room by the way! It's just us," she adds as she closes the closet door.

You sit up and look at Hanta, his arms still not leaving your waist and you see an infuriated look on his face you are not familiar with at all. His eyes meet yours and you can't help but laugh. Laugh at Denki's ridiculous personality, laugh at how Sero look genuinely pissed and just laugh at the overall situation you've been in this whole time. Hanta's hard expression quickly melts away at your giggles and despite him trying to fight it off, he starts laughing along.

"God, he's such a fucking idiot," Hanta says through giggles and laughs and you hum in agreement. You cup his face in your hand and give him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

"We should probably leave," you murmur under a giggle and Hanta groans at your words.

"Yeahhh but I don't wanna deal with Denki," He sighs, resting his forehead on yours and you agree. You two sit in silence for a moment, doing nothing but enjoying each others' presence as you think of what snarky comment Denki might have instore for you when you get out.

"Sooo... we'll continue this in my dorm?" Hanta muses, breaking the comfortable silence adn you giggle in response.

"Pfff, yeah... Yeah I'd think I'd like that," you hum in response as Hanta grabs your face to pull you into a gentle kiss, chuckling a bit against your lips.

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜

𝒇𝒊𝒏 . ✩

[ SORRY FOR THE ABRUPT ENDING D: I LOST INSPO AND MOTIVATION BUT I REALLY LIKED THIS FIC AND I HOPE YOU LIKED IT REGARDLESS AHHH!!! <333 ]

[anika-ann]

One Door Closes... (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2700

Summary: For Steve, your door is always open... or he thinks so. And even when it isn’t, it is.

In which one small Zoom mishap leads to an (un)usual ‘welcome home’.  

Warnings: brief mention of blood and violence, lightest angst, attempt at humour, crack-ish, fluff and language

A/N: For @anjali750, because this is totally her fault. Thank you for inspiring me :-* Have a little bit silly weekend reading, y’all!

“Tell me about it,” Steve encouraged you gently, soft smile playing in the corner of his mouth despite the pain it must be causing him due to his busted lip.

You couldn’t but grin at the lenient picture he made. Feeling blood rush to your cheeks at the thought of him probably calling you cute in his mind if his expression was anything to go by, you obliged, proceeding to tell him about the new project at work.

Your project. Because somehow, you finally earned your boss’ confidence and could bring the great ideas in your mind to life.

You felt so giddy just talking about it! So you started explaining, excitedly gesturing with your hands so Steve would get the right visual and you grew so enthusiastic that you almost forgot to keep an eye on him.

But you were watching him – always.

His lower lip was split, but already healing – it would have healed much faster if he stopped tugging at the healing skin whenever he talked or smiled at you from the screen. He looked a little drowsy, a shadow of a bruise forming on his cheek, but as far as you knew, those were the only injuries he had; that and many hours of sleep to catch up on.

Steve had a habit of calling you via Zoom whenever he got back to the Tower from a mission. He usually took a quick shower and was online until the last second before he had to leave for a debriefing; the only reason why he didn’t head straight to your place.

He admitted once that he loved seeing your face and talking to you even if for a moment after a mission, that it grounded him. On a very sappy and loveable moment, he even called you his sun; and the fact that after few minutes of being with you – as much as technology allowed – his face always seemed brighter, made you think that it truly was how he felt.

Even exhausted as he was now, you could tell his half-lidded eyes shined with life unlike when you started the call.

And so you kept rambling, feeling your heart bursting with love for your man and with euphoria, because goddammit, finally some recognition at work!

“Well, obviously, to reach as much general public as we can, we’re gonna launch a world-wide campaign! World-wide!” you emphasized with a blinding grin, throwing your hands wide to demonstrate.

---and your fingers caught in a cord from the laptop, pulling at it.

Steve’s benevolent face disappeared as your screen went black.

Because of course it did.

You had been talking yourself into buying a new laptop or at least having this one fixed for a few weeks now, because this was always the result whenever you accidently unplugged it. The battery was useless, ready to retire.

“Motherfu--- ugh!“

You wanted to be mad at the device – but this was totally on you.

Sighing, you hooked up the laptop again, waiting for it to wake up from a coma, shooting Steve an apologetic text in the meantime. Closing your eyes, you let your forehead lightly fall against your desk, mentally cursing yourself.

Dummy. If you only weren’t so lazy… and didn’t hate certain aspects of adulting with so much passion… you could have been talking to Steve-

Your eyes flew opened when it felt like it was quiet for too long; no reply to your text. Dread filled you and you quickly reached for your phone again, this time to dial.

You prayed you were wrong; but as the phone kept ringing with no one to answer it on the other end, you felt misery creep up you back and whimpered. Sliding your phone on the tabletop, your not-so-deft fingers stumbled over the keyboard, harshly welcoming it into the world of living by opening Zoom again to reconnect the call.

Your breath hitched in anticipation as the window opened---

An amused and yet somehow unimpressed face of Natasha Romanoff welcomed you and this time, you didn’t bother slowing down as your head hit the desk. It hurt, but that was only a presage of the real pain.

“Nooooooo,” you whined loudly, faking and not quite faking a sob, because shit.

“Oh yes,” Natasha hummed nonchalantly.

You straightened a bit in your chair, narrowing your eyes at her as you noticed the corners of her lips twitching while she pretended to be busy checking out her possibly-mission-broken nails.

“It’s not funny.”

She snorted and glanced at your no doubt desperate face.

“It really is. But also kinda sad,” the spy noted, something resembling concern flickering over her face before she scrunched her nose, irises twinkling. “And disgustingly cute. It has Rogers written all over it.”

You glared at her some more, not even bothering to roll your eyes.

“Tell that to my landlord,” you muttered under your breath, leaning your elbow on the tabletop and dropping your chin to you palm. A second later, a brilliant idea hit you and you tried to manipulate your legs from under you.

The thing was, even if you had a pretty good idea of what was coming if you didn’t stop it and knew that it would be a bitch to deal with, Natasha was right.

In a way, it was utterly cute, disarmingly charming and entirely heart-warming. Your stomach fluttered, the fabled butterflies flipping their wings, your face grew hot and your heart… well, it felt as if it was growing in size.

It was also sad, heart-breaking even; Steve, especially after a mission, was a man running on instincts. It was one of the reasons why he had developed a habit of calling you, why he wanted to hear you ramble about your either boring or exciting but always wonderfully normal day. A day which involved no shooting and no blood besides papercuts and a quarrel with your stubborn boss who shoot you glares at best.

On a mission, these carnal automatisms often meant survival. But back home, Steve didn’t want to be a sum of instincts of survival, fight and fear; he wanted to feel again. And with you, he did. He wasn’t just a Captain America, a soldier to be put on battlefield whenever the general found fit. He was a human being. A wonderful one at that, with beautiful soul.  

So yes. It was also rather upsetting.

And in a way, it was a little funny too. You knew it was totally your fault and that Steve was being kinda ridiculous, because he knew you and your inclination to wild gesticulations ending up catastrophically. On top of that, he was aware of this particular problem being almost a daily occurrence; hell, he tried to talk you into having Stark look at your laptop and failed.

And now... well. Here you were.

“You know, maybe if you get up and welcome him with door opened…” Natasha teased you with your own genius ides and you grinded your teeth, frantically trying to move your foot, which was pretty much on fire and yet dead.

“I would, but I… eh, pins and needles, was sitting on my feet,” you explained, embarrassed, testing whether your feet could carry you or not, naturally finding that without support, you���d be down before you could take as much as a step.

This time, Natasha didn’t snort in amusement.

Instead, she graced you with an outburst on honest full belly laughter, her red hair unfairly shiny for a woman who just spend week on a mission in damn Moldova and probably kicked more asses that you could imagine.

“You know what, Romanoff…” you grunted, forcing yourself to wobble towards the door. Very slowly. And cautiously. Knowing your luck, you might actually get hurt.

“I’m not even sorry,” she choked out and then continued to howl in laughter. “You so deserve each other. I finally know what the ‘idiots in love’ mean. Thanks for that!”

“You’re very welcome,” you huffed, voice dripping with irony.

Finally able to put full weight on both of your feet, you headed towards the exit – and entrance – of your apartment.

Halfway, you decided it was a lost cause. You would be willing to bet that the moment you’d touch the doorknob, you’d get hit to your face. It wasn’t worth it.

Yes, maybe if you did get hurt, it would make Steve think twice before coming all guns-and-shield blazing into your apartment; then again, it would probably cost you a broken nose.

Not to mention Steve’s tendency to get swallowed by the enormity of his guilt.

So not worth it. Best if you stayed put.

That was what you kept telling yourself when you stood there for about two minutes, in which you’d be able to open the door about forty times. Your annoyance – mostly with yourself and the cackling redhead – and the anticipation was becoming unbearable. As seconds ticked by, you were trying to convince yourself into taking the last few steps and opening the door and save yourself some trouble---

You yelped when the loud bang rattled your apartment the door sent flying of their hinges along with a spray of powered plaster despite knowing it was coming.

A glint of metal appeared next, the striking red, white and blue no longer there as it was covered in more bland colours for stealth missions.

And then a large figure cladded in blue shirt and grey jeans entered, his chest heaving, face flushed with red. Piercing blue eyes wiped of all previous traces of tiredness scanned the room, instantly falling on you as you awkwardly stood there, dumbfounded, startled and utterly speechless.

Also, much to Steve’s puzzlement, you were perfectly fine otherwise – even with both legs functioning, no remnants of pins and needles present.

Steve eased his posture instantly, eyes narrowing and then widening as he looked you up and down, lips parting in genuine surprise – and relief.

He said your name, clear and almost reverent, dropping the shield on the floor with a clang.

The ‘hi babe’ got stuck in your throat as you could see the tension leaving his shoulders, his eyes turning glassy and absent despite relief rolling off him in damn tsunami waves.

It hit you like a train – that you were delighted to see him, actually see him, even under these circumstances; and you truly didn’t want him to withdraw to some freaky brain-space after he had probably got one of the most ridiculous scares of his life due to the fact that his brain was not fully back in the normal world.

In the normal world where you abruptly disconnected a call without warning, because you talked too animatedly and not because some terrorist high on the FBI’s, CIA’s, NSA’s and SHIELD’s most wanted list found out you were Steve’s girlfriend and decided to take you out.

So to prevent another psychical horror trip of his, you went for distracting him – with a very relevant issue.

“You broke my door.”

Steve blinked, gaze refocusing on you fully, simply staring for a long moment.

“You went offline,” he objected quietly, a hint of accusation in his voice. God, you missed his voice.

“You broke my door, Steve.”

As if hearing his name was a spell, his frozen figure came to life and he took a cautious step closer, repeating his previous statement, this time with a hint of guilt.

“You went offline.”

“And you broke my door. That’s the second time this month, Steve! My landlords gonna k--- be real pissed at me,” you corrected yourself in the last second, not wanting say kill.

Steve ignored the slip and apparently got the message, his face twisting in genuine apology. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it!”

With efficiency of a supersoldier, he spun on his heels and rushed to pick up the door as if it was lighter than a paperweight and swiftly put it in place.

Only for the door to slowly tilt his way again. He caught it with a loud curse and moved it aside, leaning it partly against the wall. The action sent more plaster down onto the floor, like the only truly white snow in New York City. Peripherally, you noticed Steve grimacing, his face an expression an epitome of yikes.

You let your eyes slipped shut, shaking your head with a sigh, but couldn’t but chuckle. When you looked at Steve again, he resembled a 240 pounds giant Labrador puppy, truly regretful, approaching you reluctantly as if he was afraid you would slap his big paws for being clumsy.

What he would deserve was for you to clip round his ear for impulsiveness, but could you blame him? God knew what he had seen in Moldova in the past week, what horrors he had lived through and what a nightmare his mind had created when you ‘went offline’.

Him barging in like this due to your own dumbassery was kinda sad; a prove of his demanding job full of terror.

It was cute and heart-warming, because he just cared for you that much.

It was a little ridiculous, because as Steve finally crossed the distance between you two, the head of your elderly neighbour peeked from behind the empty doorway, puzzled and rather concerned.

You snorted unattractively, the scene in front of you seeming epically hilarious all of sudden.

“I’m good, Mr. T!” you called over Steve’s shoulder after the poor man who gossiped like an old woman and was just as hospitable. “Just my boyfriend fussing because of a technology fail!”

A grin spread on his wrinkled face; a testimony to years of laughter and amiability. “Oh. Hi, Mr. America!”

“Afternoon, Mr. T! I am verry sorry for disturbing you.”

The older-looking man waved off Steve’s politeness.

“It’s fine. You keep taking care of your lady, Mr. America, and keep her safe!”

“Yes, sir,” Steve humoured him with a salute, earning a wink.

As your neighbour walked away with a fresh topic for his Sunday tea party, Steve turned his attention to you again, eyes searching, wide, apologetic – but also soft, taking in the view of you, revelling in it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered lowly, the lopsided smile you loved so much gracing his face, once again pulling at that damn split lip. You grimaced a bit, the sight of him almost brining tears into your eyes; the gentleness and the remnants of fight punching you straight in the gut.

His eyes fluttered close when you lifted your hand and traced the line of the bruise on his face with the lightest pressure you were capable of. This time, tears definitely prickled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, cupping Steve’s cheek and pulling him close.

“Oh come here, babe,” you breathed out, fingers carding through his hair as he leaned his head on your shoulder, lips brushing the crook of your neck, strong arms embracing around your form.

He was warm and big and held you a bit tighter than necessary and dammit, you loved your sweet of heart and occasionally dumb of ass boyfriend. Boyfriend, who was crazy in love with you. Sometimes with emphasis on the crazy.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he muttered, nose nuzzling the sensitive skin of your neck, breathing in deeply. You pretended it didn’t do things to you as he did everything to get lost in you and leave all the bad behind. You failed.

“You’re totally paying for fixing my door.”

Well, maybe not failed entirely.

“Of course,” Steve assured you dutifully, no hint of humour in his voice.

It broke you on a completely new level; he was serious. Dammit you loved this man!

“I missed you too,” you finally admitted and this time, he did chuckle, squeezing you even tighter, hand running up and down your back. Without any warning, he tightened his grip and lifted you from the floor so you had to cling to him entirely, causing you to gasp.

You never got the chance to gather your wits and comment on that, because an annoyed voice of a certain redhead sounded from your laptop.

“…alright, you crazy kids, you had your cuddles. Now, Rogers, should I tell Fury you’re coming back for the debriefing or should we just finally change with the times and do it over Zoom?”

Clutching Steve’s waist and shoulder, face contentedly in his chest, you voted for the latter.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Lovely divider by whimsicalrogers​.

A fic from collection ‘This was supposed to be a drabble.’  Also, I couldn’t for the love of god figure out a better title.

I hope you enjoyed at least a bit :-*

Thank you for reading!

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Soul On Fire•

Summary: Just cheesey porn with a dash of plot. Very mushy, very chick flick feeling. Hitoshi and reader try to decorate for Christmas but get distracted, Hitoshi has a BIG surprise for the reader.

Pairing: Pro Hero Hitoshi Shinsou x FemReader (both aged up)

Warnings: Oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, light spanking, lots of romantic feels, a sprinkle of praise kink.

Word Count: 3,307

A/N: This is DIRECTLY inspired by that one scene from Tom and Jerry that's going around tiktok when Tom tries to romance that pretty white cat. I wrote this after three cups of hot chocolate at 2 am entirely manic and full of gooey romcom feels.

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

"You're going to fall."

"I am not."

"Right on your ass."

"Toshi. Stop."

"You're totally gonna eat shit."

"Hitoshi!"

You're on the last step of the pitiful, three step ladder you borrowed from your neighbor, reaching with every inch you have left to place the star on top of the Christmas tree that's tucked into the corner of your living room.

Decorating is happening late this year… late being Christmas Eve. With you being a full time student, and Hitoshi being a full time hero, hanging tinsel and trinkets kind of ranked low on the priority list. This is your third Christmas together, but your first while living together after moving in this past spring. Toshi insists that the decorations aren’t necessary, but you want to have a tree up at the very least.

It’s nice to see him relax, though, so you’re okay with throwing a tree up with some lights and calling that Christmas. You both agreed to keep gifts minimal this year, trying to make it as easy going as possible, but a part of you does want to partake in some of the cutesy festivities, especially with him.

"You could always get off your ass and help me, oh great lanky one." You grumble, finally securing the star on the highest branch, pouting when it tilts over from the weight.

"Oh, of course, how insensitive of me." His voice is dripping with sarcasm as he lazily stands up from his spot on the couch. He gently sets his coffee cup down before sauntering over to you.

You don't like the look in his eyes, all lavender and mischief as his mouth twitches into a smirk.

"Don't." You say shortly, lifting on your toes so you can fuss at the lopsided star.

"Don't help? You're giving me mixed signals, love." His arms loop around your waist from behind. Even with your elevation, he's a decent amount taller.

Against your will, you melt into his arms. He nuzzles his face into your neck before blowing a fat, wet, raspberry against the skin. You reach for his hand and yelp when he hoists you into the air and off the ladder. You want to protest, but all you can do is giggle as your chest fills with fondness and warmth.

He falls back onto the couch with you, landing with a huff as he squeezes you against him.

"It looks marvelous, darling." He says in a mock trans-atlantic accent. He's learned that funny voices and terrible accents are the way to your heart.

"You're hopeless." You laugh as you squirm around a little so you can turn. Once he realizes you're trying to face him instead of escape, he loosens his arms enough for you to turn.

You place your knees on either side of his legs so you can straddle him as you tangle your fingers in his wild, violet waves.

"I very well may be, but whose fault is that?" He says with his velvety voice, leaning in to kiss your nose quickly.

"Did I mention cheesy?" You laugh, letting him shower your face in soft kisses.

"Oh, do you want cheesy?" He says, sitting up suddenly as he slides his hands to hold your back so he can lean you backwards slightly.

The sudden shift makes you cling to the front of his shirt as more laughter tumbles from your lips.

You look up into his enchanting eyes, the soft glow from the lights make them twinkle like brilliant gemstones.

"Oh, mademoiselle." He says in a terrible french accident.

"Oh no, Toshi, please don't." You protest between giggles.

He plants sloppy, dramatic kisses along your collar bones. As comical as they are, the feeling of his mouth on your body makes your skin run hot.

"Baby, I want to finish decorating for Christmas before it is Christmas." You breathe.

"Perhaps I can change your mind with a bit of… romance, my dear?" He wiggles his eyebrows as he continues with his dreadful accent.

You can't help but throw your head back and laugh into the air as he chuckles against your neck.

"That is so bad." You say with a playful slap to his chest.

He slides one hand up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping the other wrapped around your waist. He plants a kiss on each cheek in a melodramatic fashion.

"Oh how you set my soul on fire." He continues despite your criticism, his lips are relentless against your neck.

"Am I taking a break from decorating?" You ask, hands slipping to the back of his head so you can play with his hair.

"Please?" He drops the accent when he says it, eyes darting to yours in hopes you'll relent.

"Hmm… convince me." You say with a teasing grin, knowing he'll catch your implications immediately.

He doesn't waste one second before pressing his lips into yours. As always, you're filled with a wonderful, buzzing sensation as his mouth works against yours. Behind closed doors, Hitoshi is a hopeless romantic, all gentle touches and poetic confessions of love.

You break for just a moment, foreheads pressed together as you both drink in the dazzling atmosphere.

"You taste like coffee." You whisper, still grinning like a fool.

"Good thing you like coffee" He says, lips brushing yours slightly.

"I love it." What a pair of cheese balls you two are, but you wouldn't change it for the world.

"I love you." He breathes before kissing you again.

Slowly, he pulls you back up so you can straddle him again. Your lips move more boldly, hands grab with more urgency. You both take your time undressing each other, kissing newly exposed skin and whispering praises.

Soon he has you laid out on your back, panting beneath him as he slides his lips down your body. First between your breasts, them down your stomach until he's just below your belly button. He flips one leg over his shoulder as the other dangles over the side of the couch.

"Gorgeous, gorgeous girl." He muses, mostly to himself, as he grabs at your hip with one hand and the top of your thigh with the other.

The hand on your hip moves inwards towards your lower stomach, his touch is feathery and taunting. His eyes dance with mischief as his thumb traces lower.

"You're a tease." You sigh as you card your hands into his hair.

"You just lack patience." He whispers before pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh.

"Relax, sweet girl. Let me have some fun."

His jaw drops and his tongue lolls out before he dips down to lick so slowly up your lips, he just barely flicks your clit with the tip of the muscle. Tease.

Your head flops back and you focus on relaxing the rest of your body like he taught you. Your eyes flutter shut when you feel his hand leave your hip, knowing exactly where it's going.

You feel two of his fingertips slide over the hood of your clit, pressing in gently before moving in lazy circles. The stimulation is so faint, just a hint of what he's capable of making you feel.

Then he moves lower.

Fingers slide down to gather the slick leaking from your aching hole, just to slide back up and start his lazy circles again. This time he gets right on your clit, pressing just slightly harder.

"Shit- Toshi, right there." Your voice breaks as your head shoots up, you shift up onto your elbows so you can watch him work.

The sight sends you reeling, sweat turning cold as you meet his lust blown, calculating eyes. Without looking away, he presses his mouth into the soft skin of your thigh again.

With a devilish look, his tongue pokes out so he can lick a long strip upwards while his fingers continue their teasing. Your walls flutter around nothing while he does this, your breath leaves you lungs in a shuddering sigh.

"Please, baby-" Anything else you might beg for is stolen from you as he slides his hand back down to your hole, only this time they press in with his middle and ring finger.

He twists his hand so his palm is facing the ceiling before he curls his fingers towards himself. The pads of them rub right along your sweet spot, your legs twitch as you sob gently, hands grasping at the couch beneath you.

"Please what?" He starts to pump his fingers in and out of you so damn slowly.

"Please, put your mouth on my pussy." You gasp as he pushes his fingers all the way in.

His eyes turn even darker before he bites the skin of your thigh where he was kissing.

"I love it when you talk like that." He mumbles before dipping his mouth down to tongue at your clit immediately.

You can't rip your eyes away from him while he licks at you. His fingers maintain their lazy pace as he flattens his tongue and moves it in slow up and down strokes.

All of you starts to wind up immediately, your walls tremble and pulse as your abs tighten and your breath hitches.

"Oh my god, Toshi." You whimper as the tension in your core builds.

He doesn't stop, he doesn't increase anything, he just keeps going.

The hand that isn't knuckles deep inside you reaches up to play with one of your nipples, tweaking and tugging. Your back arches at the added stimulation, small cries rip out of your throat when the fingers inside you crook just right.

You feel so hot, so full, so worked up. His tongue massages your sensitive bud as his fingers hit every single sweet spot inside you. You cry out and twitch as you finally fall over the edge. Falling doesn't seem right though, you don't feel any pull from gravity. You feel weightless, floating and flying through all of the sparks that twirl around you as you clamp down on his skilled fingers. He stays put between your legs, tongue and fingers guiding you through your climax.

“Perfect baby, that was perfect” His praise makes you dizzy, his fingers slow inside you before he pulls them out just so he can take them into his mouth with a sinful look in his eyes.

“-And so fucking sweet.” His eyes roll back as he licks his fingers clean.

“You’re incredible, Toshi.” You smooth some of the hair away from his forehead.

He scoots up to rest his chin on your stomach, he looks up at you with unusually bright eyes. It’s probably the warm wash of the christmas lights, but the bags that typically sit under his eyes almost look nonexistent.

“Get up here." You say with a weak voice.

"Yes ma'am." His voice is syrupy and enchanting, making you feel impossibly warm from the inside out.

He scoops you up into his arms with ease, settling you both back onto the couch so you can straddle him again. You feel him everywhere, in your chest, your bones, especially between your legs. Your hips grind down on him, hands needy and selfish as they find any skin they can.

“Wanna feel you, please, let me feel you.” His words all mush together a little, almost drunk sounding as his hips press up into yours, his heavy length stuck between your bodies.

You just nod and whimper against his neck when your head falls forward as you lift yourself up slightly, inviting him to shoot his hand down so he can line himself up at your entrance.

“So good, so fucking good.” He pants as you settle back down, taking him in easily as you do.

You don’t think the feeling of Hitoshi pressing into you like this will ever get old. It’s all so perfect, so quiet, so safe. Your nails dig into his pretty skin as you settle onto him completely, enraptured in the dull stretch he provides, mesmerized by his tip kissing your deepest sweet spot.

His arms snake around your waist, lifting your torso up just slightly. He holds you in place as he presses a kiss into your temple. Your hands find his hair again and you gather as much as you can. You both moan against each other when he rolls his hips up the first time.

“You’re so good for me, kitten, so damn tight.” He whispers before nipping your ear.

You can’t respond, you don’t even know how.

His hips keep rolling, then he's thrusting, then he’s fucking.

He keeps your torso locked against his as he snaps his hips up into yours, hot pants of breath fan against your neck as you whimper and tremble in his lap.

“You always like it when I get going, don’t you darlin’?” His voice rumbles against you, deep and full, punctuating his words with the snap of his hips.

You sniffle and nod, maybe answering somewhere amongst the string of moans and whines leaving your body as the pleasure builds inside you.

His palm cracks across your ass suddenly, then he grabs at the meat of your hip afterwards. It’s not a show of dominance, definitely not punishment, when you finally meet his eyes you know it’s all passion. All consuming, delirious passion.

“More, Toshi, please.”

“You got it, love.” He buries his face in your neck and lets out the most gorgeous, strangled moan as he starts to fuck you even harder. He spanks you one more time as he takes every inch of you, intense and dedicated.

With every thrust in he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. He angles his hips up just a bit more, rubbing your insides just right.

“There- fuck, baby- right there, right there.” You cry out into the room.

“Shit- let me look at you, let me see that pretty face.” He fists his hand into your hair so he can pull your head up, again the movement lacks any possessive bite, he’s just guiding.

“You’re such a good girl, so fucking good.” He’s close too, he always gets mouthy when he’s close.

Your walls start to pulse around him as he pounds away at your insides, his fingers sink into your hip as the other pulls your head back a little bit more.

“Oh kitten, I felt that, you close? You gonna cum for me?” He lures you in with his filthy words and his rich voice.

“I’m- Toshi, oh fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck.” You sob out each word as your body seizes completely, heat settles between your legs as your walls start to clamp rhythmically around him.

“That’s it, cum on that cock, cum on that fucking cock.” With a few more deep, sloppy thrusts he stills inside of you, spilling into your cunt as he groans in the back of his throat.

You both moan and twitch and whimper against each other. Your bodies shiver and grind, hands cling as breathing slows and you both just feel everything all at once.

“So good, so beautiful.” He mumbles into your damp neck.

As you both roll through your aftershocks as you slide your hands up to cradle his face.

“I love you, bad accents and all.” You kiss his forehead, his nose, his chin.

He just chuckles and stays still, letting himself be loved.

“I adore you.” He beams up at you, that mischievous glint dances in his eyes again.

“Don’t move.” He says before depositing you onto the couch.

You plop down with a small yelp of protest which he promptly ignores. You shake your head as he dashes off down the hall. You assume to get a washcloth or something, but why so abruptly?

You shiver a little bit, your damp body making you feel a little too cold now that you’re not moving so much. You scan the room for the discarded clothing, eyes locking on his shirt immediately. You throw it over your body and let the black fabric drown you, the long sleeves swallow your hands as the length of it meets the middle of your thighs.

Hitoshi thumps down the hallway and rounds the corner with a little too much speed and certainly no washcloth. He’s thrown on a pair of basketball shorts, they hang off his toned body so well, making your mouth water and your thighs rub together even after you’ve been so satisfied.

“Shirt thief.” He laughs before walking towards you lazily.

He settles on his knees in front of you, hooking his hands under your knees so he can pull you towards him. He moves so your thighs are around his ribs and his arms are around your hips.

“Round two already?” You tease, running your hands through his messy hair.

“Bet you’d like that, little minx.” He pulls you in and lays his head against your chest.

You giggle as you soak up his warmth, hands twirling his wild strands as he lets out a long sigh.

“I do adore you, you know that, right?” He asks as he brings his head up so look at you.

“I do, are you going to tell me what that weird exit was about?” You ask, bringing one hand down to caress his cheek, curiosity digging at your brain.

He settles back a little, putting just a bit more space between you so he can look you in the eyes completely.

“I love you, you make me feel alive and awake and aware. You make me feel seen and known and so fucking loved. I want to keep feeling that way, and I want to make you feel that way.” He says, his words make your heart soar and tears well in your eyes.

Then he’s reaching for his pocket.

Then he’s pulling out a little black box.

“You really do set my soul on fire, so… would you please, please marry me?”

He pops open the box and it’s perfect. It’s your favorite stone set beautifully in the metal you like, nothing over the top, simple and stunning. There’s not even a second of thought, every inch of your being loves Hitoshi Shinsou. It’s been that way since you first met him, that lanky mess of purple hair and bad jokes. This is all you want, it’s all you need.

“Yes, duh, absolutely, yes, yes, yes!” You sink off the couch so you can kneel with him, throwing your arms around his neck and knocking him onto his back. You attack his handsome face with kisses, grabbing the sides of his head to hold him in place.

“Who’s cheesy now?” He laughs as he grabs you by your sides and flips you over, between giggles and kisses he somehow gets the ring out of the box, he pulls you up to your knees as he mirrors you on his.

You offer him your left hand, when did it start shaking? Slowly, like he’s scared you’ll run away, he slides it onto your ring finger.

“Toshi, it’s so pretty.” You breathe.

“Well, then it matches you, love.”

He kisses you again, long and deep, hands on your waist as yours fly to the collar of his shirt, wishing to pull him closer and closer.

“Merry Christmas.” He mumbles against your lips, both of you grinning so much you know your cheeks will hurt.

“Hell yeah it is.” You reply, filled with the love you feel for your person, for the man that will be your husband.

[aetheternity]

Hard Pass P3 (Levi X Reader)

Synopsis: Levi is forced out of his comfy dorm room and in a strange twist of events right into your arms at a college party.

Levi was relieved for the silence as he clicked away at his keyboard. Mike had gone to his only late class of the entire week. Which meant Levi could actually study in his room.

The scent of tea and the small aroma diffuser on his desk as well as the open window in front of him welcomed a nice calming smell that was normally masked by Mike's gym bags and sweaty clothes. Which reminded Levi of the laundry he would have to do soon.

He pressed his tea cup to his lips feeling a twinge of irritation as he was interrupted by two knocks on the door. He looked down at the time. 6:15. A little too early for Mike to be back complaining that he'd forgotten his keys.

Then it was probably one of his girls complaining that she'd left her shit in the room. If Levi had a dollar for the amount of times that had happened he could pay for a new roommate.

The next couple knocks were a bit louder. "Levi? It's Y/N.."

Y/N?!

His face practically exploded. He stood far too fast because just as quickly he was flopping over his stupid desk chair and hitting the floor with a hard thud. He gasped audibly tugging at his knee and gritting his teeth.

"Levi? Are you ok?" Came her voice again.

He pulled himself up with a huff and staggered over to the door. Unsurprisingly he had to limp. With a quick turn of the lock he yanked open the door right into his forehead. God fucking dammit.

He groaned in a mix of fury and disgust partially because he'd idiotically stood so close when opening the door and partially because he hated the stupid inanimate object.

"Oh my god! Are you ok?" Y/N gasped, squeezing herself inside and shutting the door behind her. "Let me see? Did you hit your eye?" She asked

Her fingers were so delicate as she brushed aside his hands. So close.. Her thumb traced the already appearing red spot on his forehead. Soo close.. She brushed his hair to the side cupping his cheeks to gently reposition his head towards the light. Close....

She breathed out a little chuckle. "It's probably gonna bruise."

Levi barely registered her words. Occupied with her beautiful eyes illuminating moonlight and the dim lights in his room. His lips parted ever so slightly. When her hands fell away he gulped and jerked his head back. Trying to find literally anything to take the edge off.

"I'll.. go find you an ice pack, ok?" Y/N began already heading for the door.

"K-knee.." Levi tried and mentally cursed himself.

"Huh?" She asked, turning back.

"M-my.. t-two please.."

Her smile was gentle, "Two ice packs. Got it." And with a little wave she was out the door. Her lingering touch still causing heat to pool in Levi's chest.

~~~~

"Aww sweetie, are you sure you're ok?"

He was not. Definitely not. One of her hands was on his uninjured knee and the other was brushing his hair away from the ice pack. He didn't even know if he'd breathed in the last 20 minutes. His brain echoing the word sweetie.

The two of you had been sat on his bed as he uncomfortably laid his head back on the wall. Trying and failing to not fixate on your touch. Every brush of your fingertips was downright intoxicating.

"You look kinda red. Do you wanna try seeing a doctor or something?"

"N-no.." It was barely audible but he knew she heard when she nodded.

If there was a hole nearby he would crawl into it and never come out. Though he also didn't wanna move as the fear of making this situation worse for himself stayed ever present.

"Let me see?" He partially removed the ice pack from his forehead, spine tingling over the way she sucked in a breath. "You should be more careful."

Levi didn't answer. Just squeezed his legs closer together and sighed. In all the time he'd been in this room he'd never hit himself in the face with the door. Just what kind of power did this girl have over him.

"I know because my little cousin has done stuff like this but you should put some cream on the bump so that it doesn't get redder and it'll go down faster."

Little cousin? That wasn't a fair comparison. Little kids do stupid things cause they're kids. Did she think about him that way? Uggghhhh.

He was yanked from his thoughts by her hand coming down to squeeze his. "Are you positive you're ok? Do you need anything else?"

"I-I'm fine.."

Just as Levi said that his attention was brought to the door. Mike had barely stepped into the room and he was already grinning like a fucking idiot.

"Well, hello." He greeted, stepping closer. "Levi, you didn't tell me you were inviting anyone over. Especially not a pretty girl."

Y/N's chuckle was nervous, "Hello, you must be Levi's roommate." She stuck her hand out which Mike immediately took placing one hand on top of their joined hands.

"And you must be Y/N." He said "I've heard so much about you."

His teasing was met with a glare that could slice concrete. If Levi had known Mike was gonna come straight back to the room he definitely would've gotten rid of Y/N sooner.

"Oh? Really?" Y/N turned to look at Levi behind her. "You told him about me?" It was a split second thing but Levi could've sworn her features softened.

"Oh, no I meant Hange." Mike replied

"Oh."

Oh? Was she disappointed? It sounded disappointed? Did she want Levi to talk about her?

"But at no point did Hange tell me you were this pretty. Neither did Levi honestly, I'm kinda disappointed."

Alright that's enough of that. Levi stood. Placing the ice packs on his bed.

"You should probably leave." He gritted his teeth at how harshly it came out.

Now Mike was letting go of Y/N's hand. "Oh wait! I came to get my phone. Hange said you had it."

Levi blinked. He'd almost forgotten about that. It had been sitting on his desk since yesterday. His knee was screeching in absolute horror as he staggered his way over to his desk.

"What the hell happened to you?" Mike asked, clearly trying to hold back a snicker.

"Aw, it was an accident. I scared him."

Levi returned with the phone shooting daggers into Mike who pretended not to notice.

"Thank you." She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Y-yeah.."

"Did you put your number into it?"

Levi's face perked up a little. "Yes."

"Ok, then I'll text you later." She assured, brushing her finger tips over his forehead once again. "Goodnight boys." And with those last words she took off.

"Faking an injury?! I didn't think you had it in you!" Mike celebrated as soon as she was gone.

"Dickhead." Levi scoffed.

"Hey, is that any way to talk to the best friend who just confirmed your biggest fear moot?" Mike plopped down on his bed with a playful huff.

Levi flopped down into his desk chair, staring up at the ceiling. "One you're definitely not my best friend especially after that shit. And two I'm not you I don't fake shit to get girls."

"That would totally be hurtful if it wasn't true." Mike shrugged "I meant the fact that she doesn't have a boyfriend."

Levi practically flipped himself out of his chair. "How do you assume that."

"Simple. Hange told me about her ex boyfriend. By the way it was probably that guy that took her from the library that day. And Hange says that a lot of guys find Y/N attractive. Because of this her ex got too overprotective and they broke up. But he had no reason to be because Y/N would always tell people she had a boyfriend or at least around Hange she did."

Levi stared at his barely drunk tea. The liquid probably cold after being left on the table so long. So she had dated that guy.. He had been so tall and pretty muscular looking, was that her type? She didn't seem like she was going to get back together with him.. but he was still around.

"All I'm saying is she seems loyal. You better snatch her up before someone else does or she gets back together with her ex."

His attention was drawn away by his phone softly buzzing on his table. He pressed the on button, swiping his pin and clicking the notification as it popped up.

Hey Levi, it's Y/N.

Listen ik you said you're ok but I bought you some cream just in case. I'll bring it to you tm ;)

His heart fluttered and ached remembering her touch and her kind words. If he didn't full blown know Mike was staring at him he would probably hug his phone.

~~~~

Too much time had passed and suddenly the whole school was on break. Levi had been dreading this. Not because he was a workaholic like Mike claimed but because he knew Hange was gonna drag him away and make him vacation.

And no form of vacation could possibly be more relaxing for him than curling up in bed with some books, doing some casual cleaning, and drinking tea with light music playing at all times. Mike was definitely going home during this time so it'd be the perfect way to spend his break.

But Hange's family owned a couple lodges and that meant another year of begging for Levi to come ski and freeze his fingers and toes off.

"Come on, Levi!"

"Absolutely not."

"Erwin!" Hange called to him where he sat on Levi's bed, scrolling through his phone.

"You knew he was going to say no." Erwin replied

"Which is why I brought you to help me make my case." Hange complained

"You clearly made an error in judgment then." Erwin retorted

Mike laughed from where he was laying on his own bed. "Might as well give it up Hange, Levi is just too stubborn about this. We all know he wants to be close to all my junk while I'm gone cause he'll miss me."

"I wouldn't hesitate to tell your stalker where you're going over break." Levi spat

"She'll figure it out anyway. She's a high class stalker. And I'm not her first." The room fell in uncomfortable silence but Mike just leaned back giving his full attention to his phone screen.

"That disturbing remark aside.." Erwin began shaking his head. "I'm going."

"And that's supposed to change my mind? How'd Hange force you into it?"

"It may stun you but I chose to go through with this all on my own. There are studies that claim it's good for the mind to get away from normality during breaks or away from your comfort zone to properly clear your mind. It'll also help you make less mistakes when classes resume."

Hange smiled, "Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking."

Levi rolled his eyes. "If I go you can't beg me next year." Hange's loud shrill screeching made Levi's heart drop out of his ass.

"Finally!!" Hange screamed in excitement as she wrapped her arms around Levi's neck.

"Get off already! You're such a pest!"

And that was how Levi ended up on a train for almost three long hours with Hange blabbering on about nothing and Erwin sat in the seat across from the two of them listening to podcasts while staring out the window of his own very sad music video.

And all of the crap Erwin had spewed about getting away being more relaxing proved to be completely from the ass as Levi shivered along wrapped in two scarves, a pair of gloves, his long green coat that fell around his ankles and a winter hat plopped over his ears.

"Walk faster Levi! Is that the best your little legs can do?!" Hange called, somehow racing her way up the slope with three bags. One that wasn't even hers

Levi grunted in irritation. Not only were they walking up a hill but it was covered in snow so deep that every step felt like he was falling.

"Do you need help?" Erwin asked, not waiting for Levi to respond as he hoisted the overnight bag off his shoulders.

Levi just huffed. "I swear Hange was made in a lab."

"As possible as that is, Hange was basically raised in the snow so this is the equivalent of dust for her." Erwin replied as the two of them trudged along.

"Her parents own multiple ski lodges why the hell did we go to the one up a fucking hill."

"The other closest one was more than 6 hours away. Did you really wanna be stuck on a train with Hange for more than 6 hours?"

Levi just groaned as they finally walked through the surprisingly big doors of the huge ski lodge. Hange raced over to the front desk as Erwin slipped onto the lobby couch, followed by Levi who was still kicking snow off his boots and his second bag.

"What's in that bag?" Erwin questioned, nodding to the luggage Levi had yanked over his lap.

He exhaled loudly giving the bag a couple soft pats. "Clothes, extra boots, extra gloves, two bottles of cleaner and a small box of tea as well as some light reading material."

"When are you gonna have time to read? We're going to be skiing most of the time we're here."

"If you think I'm getting on a ski lift you have less working brain cells than Hange."

Erwin smirked with a roll of his eyes, "Alrighty then, what's in this bag."

"All of the shit that didn't fit in this bag, toothpaste, toothbrush, cologne, extra pairs of underwear-"

"Woah, Levi you can't just talk about your underwear in a public space." Erwin chuckled at his own joke.

Levi rolled his eyes, "It's bad for your health to hang around Mike as often as you do."

"How is it you're not dead yet then?" Erwin retorted

Hange had been chatting up the receptionist for almost 15 minutes, bouncing up and down in front of the desk and indulging him in the stories of their travel up here. The man just gave her a sheepish grin and honestly Levi felt a little bad for the man but a little less when he thought about how it wasn't his problem anymore.

Moblit.. his name tag read. Somehow Hange's mannerism seemed more crazed with him if that was even possible.

"Yeah.. it has been so long." He heard the man say. You got.. taller..

"We're never getting out of this lobby are we?" Erwin sighed as the two continued to chatter on. Levi and Erwin stared as Hange continued on about her car with a surprising amount of engagement from the other party. "You know they kind of remind me of you and-"

"Hey, Hange!" Erwin cut himself off as a brown haired girl that Levi instantly recognized hopped down each step, a bald boy following her. And Levi believed he remembered them from Y/N's stories as Connie and Sasha who he remembered from the party.

"Hange, what're you doing here?" He asked as the brown haired girl gave her a hug.

"My family owns the lodge so I brought Erwin and Levi for the break!" Hange said, pulling Connie into side hug that he immediately reciprocated.

"Oh god! Why didn't you tell me your plans for break? Jean would've driven all of us up here and you wouldn't have had to waste gas."

Hange just shook her head. "It's quite alright I was already out of gas so we just took the train up here."

"You didn't put gas in your car again?" Connie asked

"Wait, if you guys came then does that mean Y/N is here?" Hange asked completely dodging Connie's question.

At her name Levi bounced out of his seat. Almost launching himself into the spot next to Erwin. Pulling his hat over his eyes and sliding his back as far into the chair as he could.

"What's up with you?" Erwin questioned

"I embarrassed myself last time I was with Y/N.."

"What? Didn't she buy you cream like a month ago?"

"Y-yeah." Levi shimmied his feet together as he slid further down in his seat.

Erwin's chuckle next to him made him grimace. "I know you don't really get it Levi. But uh, making an ass out of yourself in front of your crush is the first real hurdle to knowing you've got it bad."

"Shut up.."

"It could've been worse.. You could've accidentally injured her. Or got caught by the loud mouth in your class while writing her first name and your last name in a notebook."

"Sounds like a personal story.." Levi replied, inching the hat off his eyes to look up at Erwin.

Erwin scoffed, "Point is it happens." He said with a roll of his eyes.

Levi let out a little snicker that instantly got caught in his throat. It had never occurred to him that he'd actually paid attention to the romance movies he'd seen a hundred times with his mother. But now that Y/N was walking down the stairs it was like a scene from all of those movies combined.

Her smile just as warm as always. Turtleneck sweater hugging her features along with dark blue jeans and brown boots. Each step felt slower than the last as if everything in this particular room had been put on the slowest speed imaginable.

The butterflies in his stomach swarmed like they were all chasing after one specific thing. Everytime she appeared somehow it was different.

"We're still going skiing today right?" Connie questioned as Y/N stopped on the last stair.

"If Jean's up to it sure." She replied, her cheeks flushed like she'd just walked in from outside.

"Well this is gonna be a fun weekend." Erwin said but Levi didn't even register his words. His heart stammering in his chest. "Go make a fool out of yourself." Erwin nudged

"Hey Jean! Come on!" Connie said

"Yeah, Jean I'm hungry!" Called Sasha

Levi's heart stopped, his chest crumbling in on itself. The same guy from before.. just as soon a loud crash sounded and everyone turned all at once.

"Oh god are you ok?!" Y/N was the first person by Hange's side followed by Moblit from behind the counter.

Hange let out a laugh, wincing as she pulled herself up with Moblit and Y'N's help.

"I'll be ok. Just took a little spill." She continued to laugh.

Erwin was soon standing by her side. "Are you sure, you're alright? Your face is super red.."

A momentary lapse in Hange's facial features made Erwin step back a little. "Shut up Erwin." She huffed

"You fell on your side. You should rest a little bit." Moblit said, coming closer. "Just.. in case."

"Ok.." Hange replied

Y/N seemed to relax at this information. Her gaze immediately falling on Levi surprisingly. He really hoped he didn't outwardly wince.

"Hi, Levi." She spoke plainly giving Erwin a small greeting as well before her, Connie, Sasha, and Jean were leaving the lobby.

Hange and Erwin unsurprisingly crowded into Levi's room about five minutes after the whole ordeal. But Levi couldn't even bring himself to wipe one thing down like he'd wanted to. He just laid still on the bed, eyes planted to the ceiling.

Surprisingly Hange had also stayed silent. Her eyes shut where she laid next to Levi.

"I can't believe you broke the handle on my luggage Hange." Erwin called still sat on the floor holding his luggage in one hand and the handle in the other. Pressing the broken part of the handle to his bag as if it'd be that simple to fix.

"Now what am I supposed to do?"

"It broke my fall Erwin. Be grateful."

"For what exactly?"

"I don't know!"

Levi blinked, his gaze falling on Hange for the first time since she took that spill in the lobby. Her hands were crossed over her stomach, thumbs rubbing the spot where she fell.

"Are you alright or not?" Levi questioned

"I'm fine."

"Ok, I know why Levi's upset but why're you?" Erwin chimed up

"What's Levi upset about?"

"What else? Y/N."

"Uggggghhh Levvviiiii why don't you just ask her out already?" Hange said

Levi sat up on the bed pulling his feet into his chest. Shoes long gone, pushed up against the wall as soon as they'd walked into the room.

"I'm not talking about this shit anymore this week."

"Levi, if we're staying here all of this week and next then chances are she's also staying here all week and next. Which means somewhere in here is a perfect opportunity to-"

"Get in her bed." Hange interrupted

"Or something less crass." Erwin suggested "You did pack condoms in your emergency undies bag right?"

"Did you pack a spare handle in yours?"

Hange's obnoxious laughter was almost loud enough to muffle the low knocks on the door. Her irritating jabs to Levi's shoulder quickly halting when Levi grabbed her fingers.

"Who is it?" Erwin asked, one hand on the door.

"It's Y/N.."

Now Hange stopped laughing. Erwin shrugged as he looked back at both of them before pulling the door open.

"Hey, here." Y/N sounded filled with fatigue as she handed over a small bottle to Erwin.

"Oh! Thank you! Where'd you get this?" Erwin smiled with delight immediately flopping back down next to his bag.

"Jean carries around extra strength glue because Connie always manages to break something fragile." Y/N replied "I doubt it'll work but maybe it'll help a little?"

Erwin nodded happily as Y/N turned to look at Hange. Her hands balled up and her fingers fidgeting where she was pulling at them.

"How's your rib Hange?"

"It's ok now, thanks for asking."

Y/N nodded and at this moment everyone in the room was looking at Levi who automatically felt extremely naked.

"Levi um.. can I talk to you? In the hall?"

Levi didn't know if he had nodded in his head or in real life but he was swiftly moving across the room. Passing Y/N where she stood and then holding the door open as she walked out just behind him. The door shut behind the two of them and if Levi felt naked before the feeling out here was somehow worse.

"What happened?"

Levi could hear the slightly muffled footsteps on the other side of the door and even a whispered Hange as Y/N spoke. His hands felt both too dry and wet all at once as he looked into her mildly menacing gaze.

"Wh- where wh-when.."

"You barely said anything to me after I brought the cream for your forehead. What happened? Did I do something wrong?"

Oh god how can she possibly assume that? Levi felt his stomach clench. He had never had it easy with text, which was why he pretty much always called everyone.

"I-I didn't mean.. it um.." He shuffled his feet a bit now remembering that he still had no shoes on.

Y/N sighed. "I wanna be your friend Levi. Please tell me you want that too."

With a deep breath he replied, "Call me."

"When?"

"Anytime.. I'm a bad t-texter.."

When her facial features softened Levi felt his shoulders finally sag for the first time since he'd heard her name in the lobby. "Ok.. oh ok, that's all it was? I thought I did something wrong. I'm glad we talked."

And Levi was barely registering her hands wrapping around his shoulders. Her body pressing oh so comfortably close to his. Hand sliding over his back, scent overwhelming his nose. And then just as soon it was all being taken away.

"I'll call you, ok?"

"Ok.." Levi's hand was still waving long after she'd already disappeared out of plain view.

"Oh god you're her friend!" Hange laughed the door suddenly yanked open behind Levi.

"It's as cute as it is sad." Erwin clicked his teeth.

"Tch, shut up." Levi stomped back into the room.

"Levi, you're in the friendzone!" Hange huffed as Erwin shut the door. "And if you don't get out of it. You're gonna be the short shoulder to cry on when some big dude with an invalid drivers license, a shit ton of tattoos and a porn addiction breaks her heart."

"That's oddly specific.." Erwin retorts

"All of you keep assuming I wanna be her boyfriend. I don't!"

Erwin rolled his eyes, "That tall guy that she was with actually. I think he'll be the guy who has her running to Levi's shoulder."

"Oh you mean Jean?" Hange nods "But they broke up a while ago."

"Then why is she still hanging out with him?"

"He's Sasha and Connie's best friend. So they've all known each other a while. They're a set, don't separate type deal."

"Then it's only logical that Y/N will marry Jean someday. You know if they all stay so close."

"Yup, definitely."

"You can both eat shit."

~~~~

Day one

Levi strained awake, blinded by the harsh sunlight stabbing his eyes through the uncovered window. He couldn't even remember when he'd fallen asleep last night but he could already tell it was too early for everyone else to be awake.

He could recall a couple things from last night. Hange overstaying her welcome in his room, Erwin suggesting that Hange pay for his fucked up luggage and somethings he would rather not think about.

Preferably the others joining in his room to discuss breakfast plans. At which Sasha had suggested the diner they had already planned to go to early in the morning. Levi's heart sank as he recalled Y/N's gorgeous smile directed to Jean who had stood behind her rubbing her shoulders and whispering in her ear.

He squeezed his eyes shut, standing from his bed and immediately working to straighten out the sheets before eyeing the book he'd unpacked last night.

Maybe he could get some reading done before Hange inevitably came to annoy him.

The one he was currently holding was of a dog wearing a big floppy hat in the mist of sunflowers. He quickly matched it with his black and white sweatpants. And with a small sigh he headed to the bathroom.

He thumbed at the spine of the book, sliding his finger between the pages to the current bookmark. A shower would probably be a better start to the morning though. He set the book down unzipping one of his bags and pulling out the first pair of clothing folded at the top. Levi hadn't remembered packing one of his mother's many silly birthday gifts to him. She had always bought him shirts with pictures on them that confused him.

He didn't even remember the last time he'd had a shower that was hot for more than five minutes. Or the last time he could look down at his feet without seeing a hair monster in the drain.

He took a couple extra minutes to completely wash his hair, combing his fingers through the strands before shutting off the water and quickly getting dressed.

As he reentered his room he remembered the random gaze Jean threw his way. The smirk on his lips, the taunting glare and then just as quickly it was over. And he was talking to her like nothing had happened.

Levi had never once in his entire life thought about having a girlfriend. It just wasn't something that absorbed his thoughts but he knew the second he saw that smirk on Jean's face what he wanted to be to Y/N.

He just couldn't imagine how.

His fluffy towel hugged his head as he popped open the book he'd discarded a couple minutes ago. He pulled his feet in closer to his body tracing the letters on the page, delving into the story-

"Levi!"

Two fucking seconds.. that had to be a new record.

A barrage of harsh knocks sounded outside his door and he yanked it open to see Hange standing there out of breath with a barely alive looking Erwin behind her. Excitement flooding her features as she pushed past Levi with Erwin in tow. A blue toothbrush almost falling from his lips.

"You couldn't let him finish brushing his fucking teeth?" Levi grunted, shutting the door behind the two of them. Erwin sighed his eyes shut, toothbrush dangling from his mouth. "Why're you here?"

"We're all going for breakfast remember?"

"Not for another thirty minutes." Levi narrowed his eyes and leaned back against the tv table.

Hange smiled, "Yup and that means we have enough time to figure out a game plan to get you and Y/N together by the end of today." Hange clapped excitedly though both Erwin and Levi couldn't possibly look less enthused.

"I don't need your help."

"Erwin, back me up here!"

"I'm not doing shit since you didn't let me spit and I had to swallow toothpaste." Erwin remarked, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

Levi's face scrunched up and Hange let out a snort. "Why did you swallow it.. you could've just spit it out in the hall or something."

"That's fucking disgusting." Levi grunted

"Why the hell would I do that?" Erwin asked

"You're not supposed to swallow toothpaste duh!"

Everyone huffed all at once and Levi flopped down next to Erwin on the bed. "If I need any help I'll ask.." He mumbled already feeling heat fly to his cheeks.

"We're finally gonna get you a girlfriend Levi!!" Hange squeezed his body in a tight hug.

Just as Levi was about to push her away a couple of soft knocks sounded on his door again, "We're leaving a little earlier, hurry and come downstairs."

~~~~

Before the car had even pulled up back at the lodge Hange was already screaming about going skiing. Erwin had asked if Levi wanted to which he'd replied with a scoff.

"Really? Cause there are plenty of chances for Y/N to fall on you. Or you to fall on her." He shrugged.

Levi just rolled his eyes and at that Erwin gave up and now he was standing at the freezing cold railing watching everyone go down the stupid slope for what had to have been an hour or so. How'd he end up with bag watch? He didn't even wanna come outside.. He blew on his fingers trying and falling to warm them. At this point he felt exhausted, absolutely none of his clothes were keeping him warm.

With a sigh he pulled Hange and Erwin's bags up onto his shoulder along with Sasha and Connie's belongings. If he could manage to get upstairs he could warm up at least a little. A hot cup of tea practically beckoning him.

It took him only a couple seconds to realize he didn't have Y/N's bag. He looked around for a couple seconds. Did she bring a bag outside? Did he lose her bag?? He'd only left once to got to the bathroom. Did someone steal it.. Shit. He grumbled in disgust. Where could he have left it?

Feeling a bit panicked he headed towards the stairs. Blood running cold, his eyes practically bouncing out of his skull. His heart stopped at the display in front of him. Jean's hand on Y/N's waist as she leaned forward on the railing. Their lips pressed together..

(Hey Siri, play Heartbreak Anniversary by Giveon.)

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

You said to put a rebuke prompt in here sO what about a sickfic? Luke is sick and Reggie and Bobby try to take care of him but then Reggie gets sick and all that's left is a grumpy Bobby who is tired of their dumbassery

Sorry this took so long. I hope you like it!! My first try at rebuke, but hopefully not my last ;)

read on ao3 here!

--

The minute Bobby gets to school, he knows today’s going to be kind of a disaster.

His first clue? Luke’s not there yet. He’s not exactly late, and isn’t in any real danger of being so—it’s only 7:30, and the first bell doesn’t ring until 7:55—but if Bobby’s being honest, he can’t remember the last time Luke wasn’t early. Usually, by the time Bobby gets to school, Luke’s already bouncing around the halls somewhere, playing his guitar in the stairwell or pretending to flirt with girls outside the library or trying to break into Bobby’s locker because Bobby refuses to give Luke his combination.

Luke doesn’t like school, but he likes being at home even less. And at least at school, his friends are there.

His friends are there now—two of them at least—but Luke isn’t.

It just doesn’t bode well for things to come, in Bobby’s opinion.

“Hey,” Reggie says when he meets Bobby at his locker, blindly bumping Bobby’s fist as he glances up and down the hallway. “Luke’s not here yet?”

“Guess not.” Bobby shuts his locker and shoulders his backpack. “Alex still home sick?”

“Think so,” Reggie confirms with a nod. “He said on the phone last night he was gonna try to be back today for a Spanish test, but I don’t know, he sounded pretty rough.”

Bobby grimaces. “Better he stay home and not infect the rest of us. He can always retake a Spanish test.”

“Yeah, but you know Alex.” Reggie shrugs. “If he’s not back, can I come over tonight? Since we won’t rehearse, I mean, just—just to hang out?”

A smile pulls at Bobby’s lips as his stomach does a weird, not unpleasant, flip flop. “Yeah, man, of course you can. Luke too?”

Reggie grins. “Of course!”

Bobby nods and turns back to his locker, fiddling pointlessly with the lock so that Reggie won’t see him blushing.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Alex—he does, a lot—he just… likes Alex as a friend. And he likes Reggie… and Luke… more than that… or differently… or something.

It’s stupid, and hell if Bobby knows how to put the damn thing into words, but… he figures the more time he gets to spend with just Luke and Reggie, the better. Even if it means taking advantage of the few times Alex isn’t available to make plans.

For the next twenty minutes or so, Reggie and Bobby hang around his locker, talking about their gig coming up in a couple weeks and the math homework Bobby didn’t do and whether it’s likely for Bobby’s finicky TV to be working well enough for them to play Super Mario Bros. after school today.

At 7:52, just when they’re starting to consider giving up and going to class, Luke appears at his own locker, about halfway down the hall.

“Hey, there you are!” Reggie calls, bouncing over to him. “We thought you weren’t gonna show up today.”

Bobby follows, and the closer he gets to Luke, the more dread bubbles up in his stomach. Luke slumps against his locker, not even reacting to Reggie’s words. He looks pale and flushed at the same time, his nose and cheeks an alarming shade of cherry, and his hands tremble slightly as he tries to put his locker combination in.

Bobby stops short a good ten feet away as the pieces fall into place in his head, and before he can think of the right thing to say, what comes out is, “You look like shit.”

Luke’s response is a little delayed. When he does raise his eyes to Bobby, they’re glassy and dull, and his self-deprecating laugh and mumbled little, “Thanks, Bobs, that’s real nice,” come out so painfully hoarse that Bobby swears he feels his own throat sting in sympathy.

He takes another step back. Luke doesn’t just look terrible; he looks contagious.

Reggie, it seems, has no such reservations. He sidles right up to Luke and slings an arm around his shoulders; Luke immediately leans back into Reggie’s hold, his expression crumpling with relief like maybe he was having trouble holding up his weight on his own.

“Aw, Luke,” Reggie coos, rubbing Luke’s arm. “Did you catch Alex’s cold?”

“No,” Luke grumbles petulantly, and then contradicts himself by coughing into Reggie’s shoulder (Bobby flinches). “Maybe,” Luke amends. “But it’s Alex’s dumb saliva’s fault.”

Bobby’s stomach flips again. This time, it’s a little unpleasant. When have Luke and Alex been… sharing saliva?

“Well, Luke, bro, you shouldn’t have taken a sip of his drink when you knew he wasn’t feeling well,” Reggie chides, parental but for the most part unconcerned.

Luke pouts. “But he had a milkshake, and I couldn’t afford to get my own, and it seemed like a good idea in the moment, it was yummy!”

Relief surges through Bobby so intensely he almost feels faint with it—so Luke and Alex weren’t kissing. Okay. Good.

Not that he should have any say in what his friends do with their mouths on their own time, he just… he’d like to know about it ahead of time, if at all possible. Maybe be involved himself sometimes, that’d be nice.

Again. Stupid.

“Why are you even here?” Bobby asks, and it comes out harsher than he meant it to; Reggie and Luke both look up at him, frowning. He clears his throat and tries to soften his tone. “I mean. You should’ve stayed home, if you’re sick.”

Luke grimaces, and reluctantly pulls out of Reggie’s grip when the bell rings shrilly above them. “Mom wouldn’t let me,” he says with a wet sniff, yanking his locker open and grabbing a stack of books seemingly at random. “I didn’t have a fever, and I may have been known to fake a cold to get out of stuff once or twice… a month…” He shrugs, and drags a wrist under his nose. “Guess I wasn’t convincing enough this time.”

“This wasn’t convincing?” Bobby’s backed up another few feet, unable to take his eyes off Luke’s dripping nose, which he just wiped with his hand—God, who raised him? How and why in God’s green earth does Bobby ever find him attractive?

“In Mrs. P’s defense,” Reggie says cheerfully, “Luke’s really good at faking.”

Luke slams his locker closed. “Whatever, I’m fine. Let’s just get to class, Bobby. We’ll see you later, Reg.”

He starts, stumbling, down the hallway, toward the history class he and Bobby share. Bobby and Reggie exchange a look behind his back—Reggie’s is concerned, Bobby’s more than a little disgusted.

“Keep an eye on him, will you?” Reggie pleads. “Just until I see you guys at lunch?”

Bobby glances over at Luke, who’s paused a little ways down the hall to have a coughing fit into the crook of his arm—sleeveless, of course. “How close an eye are we talking?”

Reggie’s smile turns tolerant. “Please, Bobby? For me?”

Well, fuck, what is he supposed to say to that? He nods, stammers out a reply, and turns toward his classroom, just in time to see Luke careen forward with a spraying, uncovered sneeze.

Bobby shudders, hefts his backpack a little higher on his shoulder, and tries not to breathe.

“He better not get me sick,” he grumbles to himself, and goes to drag Luke into class.

***

They get about fifteen, twenty minutes in before Bobby starts to think, yeah, no, no way in hell this is gonna work.

Luke is struggling.

First of all, he can barely sit up straight and keep his eyes open, much less pay attention to the lecture, so Bobby highly doubts he’s learning anything. He sniffles more than breathes, coughs more than talks, and gets up out of his seat to get a tissue from the front of the room so often that their teacher Mrs. Carroll eventually just nods for him to take the whole box back to his desk.

Every time he sneezes, Bobby cringes and scoots his desk a few more inches away. Every time he coughs, Bobby sinks lower in his chair, trying to surreptitiously pull the collar of his hoodie over his mouth. Every time he blows his nose, and just leaves the dirty tissues sitting in a gross little pile on his desk, Bobby wonders how the fuck they’re even friends.

When the bell rings, Luke slumps back in his chair and coughs into a fresh wad of tissues for a full minute and a half, while their classmates file out of the room around them, giving Luke grossed-out looks as they pass.

Bobby doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed on Luke’s behalf, considering they’re totally justified in their disgust. Mrs. Carroll catches his eye from her desk at the front of the classroom, and before she can so much as mouth, Maybe you should take him to the nurse, Bobby nods and holds up a finger as if to say, No, yeah, I’m on it.

“Hey,” he says, kicking the leg of Luke’s chair. “Pack up your stuff, sicky, you’re going home.”

Luke frowns at him, tissues still held over his face, muffling his already stuffy protest. “What? No, I’m—”

“Shut up,” Bobby cuts him off. “I don’t care if you claim you’re fine, I don’t care if your mom will be pissed, you look and sound like shit, I’m taking you back to my place until someone can pick you up. No arguments, you hear me?”

Luke just looks at him for a moment, and Bobby worries he’s going to fight back again, but then something shifts in his expression, and he just looks so tired all of a sudden. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Yeah, okay, I—I think that’s probably a good idea.”

Bobby lets out a breath. “Good. Me too.”

It takes longer than it should to get Luke out of his seat and to the door, even after Bobby takes his books from him so that all Luke has to carry is his box of tissues. Mrs. Carroll writes them both hall passes, and doesn’t fight Bobby when he says he probably won’t be back for her government class in the afternoon.

They walk slowly down the school hallway, Luke leaning heavily into Bobby’s side so he doesn’t stumble. Bobby almost manages not to think about the germs Luke is almost definitely passing to him, because his own health doesn’t matter as much as Luke’s right now. Bobby’s worry for him is hotter, more present, in his chest than any anxiety or germaphobia.

And that worry only grows when they get to the nurse’s office and find Reggie sitting on a plastic-covered bed waiting for them.

“There you guys are!” he says cheerfully, grinning and swinging his legs like a kid. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d last the whole period.”

“The hell are you doing here?” Bobby asks as he guides Luke into a chair.

“Felt like I was gonna throw up,” Reggie explains, then gives Bobby an exaggerated wink he doesn’t understand.

“You did? Are you okay?”

Reggie’s brows knit together. “No—Bobby, that’s just what I told Miss Ellison so I could get out of English class. I wanted to meet you guys down here so I could go with you when you leave.”

Bobby frowns. There’s a lot going on today, he doesn’t have a whole lot of brainpower to spend on Reggie’s riddles. And he’s definitely missing something here.

Apparently, Luke is just as confused. “Wait,” he croaks, sniffling and slumped over in his chair. “You’re sick, too, Reg?”

Reggie rolls his eyes. “No, Luke, not really. I just pretended so that I could go home with you guys. You are going home, right?”

“Yeah, he barely lasted one class, he’s not staying the whole day,” Bobby says, ignoring the petulant glare Luke shoots him.

“Then I’m going with you.” Reggie glances nervously between them. “Unless… you don’t want me to?”

“No,” Luke says quickly. ���No, I want both of you. Please.”

Reggie grins. Bobby’s stomach flips.

“Fine, I guess we’re all sick, then,” he grumbles, ducking his head to hide his blush, and points to Luke and Reggie each in turn. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

It’s unfairly easy for Bobby to convince the nurse to let him drive Luke and Reggie home, since they’re both “so sick” (he doesn’t even have to pretend to be sick himself. The nurse takes one look at Luke and agrees to let Bobby go with him for no reason, if only to get his germ-ridden friend off school property).

It’s a little less easy to call Emily Patterson at work and explain to her that he’s Luke’s friend, no, ma’am, he’s really sick, I don’t mind taking him back to my house until you get off work, yes, ma’am, I’ll make sure he gets all his homework, etc, etc, etc.

Reggie’s parents don’t even pick up. Bobby has a fake conversation with “Reggie’s dad” just so he can tell the nurse with some level of confidence that Reggie’s been given permission to go home with him, too. He’s not sure she believes him. He doesn’t think she cares.

“You’re gonna get sick,” Bobby says when he returns to find Luke lying on the bed with his eyes closed, head in Reggie’s lap, sniffling into Reggie’s pant leg while Reggie strokes his hair back out of his face.

“I think he’s got a fever now,” he says, which is not at all a response to what Bobby said. “Are we ready to go?”

Bobby gives a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

***

As Luke gets worse, he also gets clingier. Which, really, Bobby should’ve expected. It’s one thing in the car, where Bobby can roll the windows down and focus on driving while Luke stretches out all over Reggie in the backseat, coughing and sniffling and ignoring Bobby whenever he reminds him to cover his damn mouth.

Once they get back to his house, though, Bobby washes his hands about fifteen times in a row, then heads into the studio with the intention of recommending that Reggie do the same, only to find Reggie and Luke curled up on the pull-out couch together, fast asleep.

For a minute or two, Bobby just stands there, watching them. Both of them idiots, one of them disgusting, and yet… god, he loves both of them so much. How fucking stupid is that?

Luke’s gonna get Reggie sick, if he hasn’t already; that’s just an inevitability at this point. And then one or both of them is going to get Bobby sick, and it’s going to suck, because colds always hit Bobby super hard for no good reason, which is why he tries so hard to avoid catching them.

But a few days of misery is worth it, he guesses, if he can spend today taking Luke’s temperature and rubbing his back and forcing Vitamin C on both him and Reggie until they’re both sick of him.

And at least, whatever happens, he can blame this whole thing on Alex.

--

Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @molinapattersons @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Magicam Live

Vil’s guest is a pest. Contains coarse language, people being catty bitches, and more telling than showing.

You want more, check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag. If you liked it, let me know!

~*~*~*~

Transcript of Last Week's Magicam Live From *schoenheit_official

Vil: Hello my dearest fans! As promised, I will be showing off my newest capsule makeup collection, to be released this Monday exclusively at Feathersweep Cosmetics. However, due to high demand, instead of simply demonstrating on myself, I thought I would show that anyone could be half as beautiful as me with these!

[He holds a hand out to the side.]

V: Please welcome my fellow student at Night's Raven College, Yuu.

Yuu: Yo.

[A girl with short, dark hair and tired eyes sits down beside him. Spotty and plump, with a notable double chin. She's notably underdressed, compared to Vil.]

Y: I am she. I'm *donegotisekaid, if you haven't seen yet. Full of genuine memes from another universe, as well as me figuring this place out, and pictures of my not-cat.

V: She's simply been begging me for a makeover!

Y: He asked me if I'd do it, actually.

[Vil stops and takes a deep breath, clearly irritated.]

V: Yes, well. You've prepared?

Y: I scrubbed my face real good and managed to leave most of my pimples alone, if that's what you mean.

[Vil sighs]

V: As much as you're capable of, clearly. We'll start with the primer.

Y: [with a smile] Didn't you already give me one on how to act in this?

[Vil pinched the bridge of his nose, regret pouring from every cell in his body.]

V: Just lie back and be quiet until I'm done with you.

[Yuu looks at the camera, but says nothing. There's an audible snicker from behind the camera.]

[There are a few quiet minutes where Vil prepares her face, before selecting a foundation.]

V: So, is there a reason you don't wear makeup? You could look quite nice with it.

Y: Few reasons. It's a lot of effort, and I tire easily. I don't really like the feel of it on my face, and I tend to touch my face a lot anyways, so it doesn't last. It's a lot of money, and I break out very easily.

V: I can see that. Don't you use face wash?

Y: You should have seen me when I did use it! Much worse.

V: Ugh. I'll give you something later. And none of these have a good tone for you.

Y: Just pick the closest! I'll end up wrecking it by a few hours from now anyways.

[Vil rolled his eyes.]

V: Rook, any questions from the chat?

[A familiar accented voice from offscreen]

Rook: *stellargems wants to know how Yuu found herself at NRC.

Y: Transdimensional bullshit. I'm here until we figure out how I can get home. It's not bad, I don't miss it much.

V: Yuu even has her own dorm so she doesn't have to bother anyone.

Y: Not that it stops me.

V: [sotto voce] Don't we all know.

Y: If they kept you in a building with four usable rooms total and no electricity, you'd be out and about too. At least the ghosts there are really nice and help me out.

V: Do you kiss these ones too, or was that a one time thing?

Y: If I hadn't kissed her we'd be down a student and you and half the people I hang out with would be paralyzed, so don't make fun.

[Vil stops to regard the camera.]

V: To clarify, there was an incident with a ghost princess causing a lot of trouble at the school a few months ago. Yuu decided to kiss her to fix everything, because she's both stupid and deeply strange.

Y: It was really fun until I started dying.

V: All her blood was on the outside. It was disgusting.

Y: It did work though!

V: Keep telling yourself that, you didn't kiss the one you really wanted to.

[Yuu gives him the finger, and Vil shoves her hand down.]

R: *vilpleasefathermychildren asks-

[Yuu sputters with laughter. Vil just winks at the camera with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.]

R: They want to know if there'll be a coupon code for the new release.

V: There will! It'll be released via the official fanclub email Sunday night.

Y: It'll be a whole three percent off and you have to pay to access it.

V: Stop that.

Y: [sweetly] No.

Rook: *getterbackback wants to know what your shirt says?

Y: Yeah, hold on.

[She stands and pulls the shirt out to be seen better. It says in large letters, I'M CUTE AND I BITE]

Y: You can do one yourself if you take a dark shirt, tape the parts you want covered, and scorch the area around it with diluted bleach. I've done a few of these, a few designs more than once.

V: Destroyed them?

Y: Nah, Lil wants at least one of every one I do.

V: [to the camera] That would be our fellow student Lilia Vanrouge, from Diasomnia.

Y: He's pretty great. He's *elderbatbrat if you want to look him up.

V: Sit back down so I can figure out which blush to use.

Y: Pinks and corals work best for my skin tone.

V: I thought you didn't wear makeup?

Y: Why do you think I know wearing it tires me out? It's not something I ever did a lot because of the effort.

Y: Except for highlighter. it's basically sparkles and it's light, so I like that.

V: You remember that, but not your proper name?

Y: Ain't life grand.

R: I'm getting several questions about that. Would you care to elabourate for the chat?

Y: Yeah. I don't remember a lot about where I'm from. Culturally? Lots. What I like? What I don't like? Everything. Names and places specific to who I was? No. And don't ask me to think about it too hard, I get the worst fucking headache and I stop seeing right.

V: You've never seen right in your life.

Y: Oh, fuck off, Vil.

[Vil stops blushing one cheek to point.]

V: Stop that.

[Yuu responds by biting at his finger with an audible click when her teeth meet, laughing hysterically as Vil pulls back in shock.]

V: !!! Dreadful little monster!

Y: Yeah, but you're the one who thought you'd get more views if I was here.

R: We indeed just surged another 20,000 views and counting! Excellent work, Yuu.

Y: Thank you, Rook.

[Vil looks ready to explode.]

Y: I won't bite again, that was just too easy. Please continue, I do want to see what magic you can do.

V: This is regular makeup.

Y: Metaphorically, you jackass. 

R: *rosemassacre wants to know if you're always like this.

V: She's always this horrible.

Y: Vil first saw me and called me a dumpy little potato. I told him it's because I'm great all ways and everyone wants a taste, and slapped my ass at him. He's been obsessed with me ever since.

V: I am not obsessed with you.

R: You go into a rage over her at least once a week.

V:  She can't go a week without being a pest.

Y: I went three after you kicked me out of the movie club.

V: You can't just project violence on the walls of Pomfiore because I said we weren't going to watch it!

Y: Vil, it was The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, and it is art.

V: A man gets sawed in half in the first ten minutes.

Y: To an absolutely bangin' soundtrack. Oh that reminds me. Ad time, hold on.

[She wiggles a little before puting on her best customer service face.]

Y: If you want to access media that is quite literally from another world, please go to MonstroMedia dot com and sign up! There's ebooks, movies, tv, music, and more. Much of it is horror, sci-fi and fantasy, as it's from my person collection of media brought with me on my laptop and backup drives. You can use the code SHOENHEITSAYSWHAT for the first month free!

[She put her hand up and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone.]

Y: I completely understand piracy, but I'd appreciate if you paid because this is the only way I get spending money, and I can only bat my eyes at these boys so much before they expect something in return for gifts.

V: How'd Ashengrotto talk you into that one?

Y: He was going to make me start paying for all the food I eat if I didn't.

R: *waterwitchesbetgitches says, and I quote, "so like if ur the only gal at NRC how many boyfs you have"

Y: So many. At least twenty. Even more if there were girls here.

V: That is a gross exaggeration. She has maybe three, if we're being very generous on the definition.

Y: [points] And he's mad he's not one of them.

V: [squinting] You are absolutely dreadful and I can't understand how you're so popular.

Y: I like you too, Vil.

[Vil pauses, visibly taken aback.]

V: ... Thank you.

V: You know you're going to have paparazzi on your tail now, right?

Y: Aw, shit.

R: *insertmagicamhandlehere wants to know what's on your neck.

V: An antique chain with an attached charm specially made for me by Soleil Atelier.

R: I believe that was for Yuu.

[Yuu snickers, as Vil looks for himself. When her collar is pulled down, it fully reveals a vicious set of hickeys with visible toothmarks.]

V: Eww.

Y: You should see the other guy.

V: Eww!

[Vil takes a moment to recover, while Yuu laughs.]

Y: That could be a second part! Everyone needs that tutorial. "Bruise Coverup How-to by Vil Shoenheit: For when you just can't keep them off of you."

[Vil mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "nerds shouldn't be allowed to fuck"]

Y: Then where would your fans be?

V: At least there's only setting spray after this and then you can leave.

Y: Won't you get bored without me here?

R: One last question! *shroudstreaming has asked... well, there's a lengthy keysmash and an all-caps "why".

Y: Ah. Hi, babe!

Y: Hey, everyone go follow him, he's a total fucking babe and he refuses to take my word for it, no matter what I do to him-

[Vil sprays setting spray directly in her face, leading to Yuu coughing.]

V: No taste at all, and gross to boot. 

Y: Asshole.

[Vil offers a mirror]

V: No. Miracle worker.

[Yuu looks... well, the same, but with an even, well made-up face.]

Y: ... Aww. You remembered I like sparkles.

V: Less likely to scrub it off if you actually like it.

[Yuu's admiring herself for a few moments in silence, with Vil watching, quite pleased.]

Y: Hey, can I do you next?

V: Absolutely not.

Y: Ask the chat.

V: No.

R: Chat says yes.

V: [With a visible eye roll] Ugh, fine. 

Y: Aight. Take your shirt off.

V: What.

[Yuu brings up a case and flips it open. Inside is a magazine with a gory cover, and various things like fake blood and liquid latex.]

Y: Alright kiddies. You wanna learn how to slit a man's throat?

[Vil gets up and walks away without another word.]

Y: You said I could! Get back here!

[Yuu follows. Rook emerges from behind the camera.]

R: That's it for tonight, ma belles. Next time.

[Magicam Live ends, but not before audible yelling and scuffling, quickly cut off.]

[kasha-formerlydrabbletastic]

Ranking

Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: Food mention. Possible secondhand embarrassment trigger.

Author’s Note: Fluffy stuff. 

You had never been one for rag mags - celebrity gossip is simply uninteresting at best and horribly cruel at worst - but the bold headline this week on People Magazine catches your eye as you absentmindedly place your groceries on the belt at the supermarket. 

“Seriously?” you mutter incredulously, your fingers wrapped around a bottle of orange juice. 

Is it worthy of a chuckle? Should you keep moving, pretend you didn’t see it? Or... and you can’t believe this thought has even occurred to you... would it be worth the six bucks to bring it back to the compound and share with the rest of the team? The options occupy too much of your brain space as the cashier tells your total, distracting you from the inane tug-of-war in your head. 

“How much?” you say, shaking away the silly predicament for a moment. 

The cashier, hardly older than 16 it seems, points at the screen instead of answering. Before you pay, however, you glance back at the magazine, finally coming to a decision. 

--

The magazine slaps the counter top, its glossy front page gleaming as you unload the rest of the groceries; it gets lost in the vegetables and fruits, the cereals, the junk food... and for a while you forget it.

"Back with the grub, eh, Y/N?" Tony says, swiping up a bag of Doritos and popping it open. "I gotta say, you've done shopping trips quicker than that."

You laugh, gathering all the reusable bags into one and putting them away and say, "Maybe you should don your supersuit and fly over all the New York City traffic if you want it quicker.”

"I believe that would be an unnecessary trip," Bruce mentions from the kitchen table, sipping his tea. 

“Hey, I offered to send someone out to do it,” he replies. “You insisted on doing it yourself, remember? If I recall correctly,” he continues, feigning concentration as he puts on a teasing mocking tone, “you said that you didn’t want to let the fact that you’re an Avenger now make you too... what was the word.... bougie.”

“At least one of us needs to be grounded, Tony.”

Your gaze shifts to Steve as he passes, a subtle smile on his face when he meets your eye; your tummy flutters, having nothing to do with the hunger pang you’re feeling and everything to do with the way Steve’s eyes sparkle in the soothing lighting of the kitchen. You smile back, hoping the burn in your cheeks is obvious to no one but yourself. 

One by one, the team trickles into the kitchen, looking for a lazy Sunday lunch or ingredients for a post-workout smoothie. Your voices mingle together, a pleasant hum in the early afternoon of a rare mission-free, drama-free weekend. 

Or so you thought. 

"I'm not number one?!"

The incredulous shout draws every eye in the room; Tony sits on the counter, eyes wide as he stares into the open magazine in his hand. You giggle, turning back to your lunch, relieved to know you don't have to live with his over-inflated ego for the next century.

"What are you on about?” Thor says, looking up almost mid-bite. 

“This,” Tony replies, shaking the magazine; he flips through the pages, apparently intent on finding his ranking. “It’s the Top 10 Sexiest Male Superheroes, and I’m... not even second... I’m... how am I fifth?”

At this point, you bite your knuckle to keep from bursting aloud with laughter. You lock eyes with Steve, who mirrors your amusement.

“Lang is ahead of me? Are you serious? He’s a goddamn ant! An actual bug!”

“Who’s number one?” Natasha inquires after swallowing a bite of her sandwich.

Tony looks up, annoyed or crestfallen, you can’t tell. 

“Thor, of course,” he answers with a shrug. “Can’t beat a demigod, I guess.”

Thor jumps up from his chair, his arms raised in victory, Clint giving him a congratulatory high five. The kitchen descends into loud chatter, and after many demands to know the full list, Tony gives the magazine up to Natasha, who reads off the ranking. 

“Cap,” she says with a nod to him. “Good job, you’re second.”

“What?” he laughs; if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear it was humility that makes him say it. There’s no chance that his ranking would go to his head.

“It’s gotta be the beard,” Clint laughs. “Otherwise you would’ve been eighth or worse.”

“It’s definitely more than the beard,” you answer.

Biting your tongue might have been the better option, as now you find yourself the center of some very intrigued attention. Perhaps your tone was a little too defensive, or the blush that certainly feels infinitely hotter now has finally caught flame on your cheeks. Whatever it was that garnered such smirks from around the table, whatever your intentions, your immediate wish is for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

“Care to elaborate on that, Y/N?” Tony asks, seeming to forget his fifth place ranking for a moment in favor of someone else’s total humiliation.

You clear your throat, glancing down at your food, bereft of your hunger. 

“Well,” you begin. “Maybe it has a lot to do with the way he carries himself, you know? There’s a lot of dignity there, a lot of virtue. He’s respectful and honest, stands up for what he believes in. He’s definitely not hideous, either. You know... he’s a - ”

“Y/N,” Steve says, leaning forward in his chair. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s really sweet of you, of course, and I do appreciate it, but - “

“No, Cap,” Tony interrupts. “I think we should let Y/N keep going.”

Your throat closes in panic and you clear it again, getting to your feet as you say, “I’m actually just gonna go.... uh... make a phone call. I’ll catch you guys later.”

Steve chastises Tony as the rest of the team breaks into discussion, but you don’t hear any of it. Soon, you’re in the elevator, bumping your head against the wall over and over, wondering if it’s too soon to pack your bags and leave the team with no notice as to where you’ve gone. You barely register your surroundings until you enter your room, locking the door behind you and requesting that FRIDAY ensures that you remain undisturbed until further notice. 

---

Each time your knuckles meet the leather of the punching bag, your mind gets a little clearer. It’s almost as if all the big and little things plaguing your thoughts settle on the surface of your fists, only to be smashed to pieces when you punch. The nervous energy that settled in you at lunch drives your fists forward, burning off into nothing with every movement you make. 

Midnight was the perfect time to sneak into the gym, to get a workout in without anyone bothering you; everyone usually slinks off to do their own things a little earlier in the evening. Perhaps some have fallen asleep by this time. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing as long as they weren’t around to say anything to you about Steve.

“Y/N?”

Then again... sometimes you’re wrong. 

You halt in your activity, breathing heavily and dreading turning to look at Steve. Your hands drop to your sides as you pluck up your courage, facing the man with a deep breath.

“Hey,” you reply as nonchalant as possible.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; his eyes fix on yours, drawing you into their depths as usual as he slowly approaches you. “Can we talk?”

The pit in your stomach grows exponentially, making you regret ever leaving your room in the first place.

“We don’t have to,” you answer quietly. “It’s just a silly magazine. It’s not like it’s about anything important, right?”

Facing the bag once more, you resume your activity, hoping against hope that Steve just leaves it there, that he doesn’t press the matter. The very last thing you want to do is spill your guts about what you thought was just a casual crush to the very man you’re crushing on. You hadn’t expected to become so flustered in such a situation, but with the spotlight on you at lunch, it had really sunk in just how much you feel for him. 

“Y/N,” he continues, but you evade him.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, deciding to give up your workout for the night and hit the showers; he’d never follow you there. 

Before you can get too far, though, he says, “That’s why you’re running away from me, right?”

The anger is a surprise, bubbling up as you turn on your heel; perhaps it’s your shield in this moment, a veil to wear to save face. 

“Don’t push it, Cap,” you insist, making one more attempt at escape. Again, however, you’re stayed by his response.

“You’re definitely not hideous, either,’ he says, and you turn to face him once more; he stands there, wringing his hands, an earnest expression on his face. “You’re funny, and whip smart, and you don’t take anyone’s shit. There’s compassion and a goodness that I haven’t seen in anyone in a long time.”

Perhaps you’ve hit your head and you’re dreaming this. Maybe there’s a chance you inadvertently ingested some kind of hallucinogen at an enemy’s lair. Whatever it is, there is no way that Steve Rogers is standing in front of you, singing your praises like this. Not in the real world. Never once had you imagined the feelings reciprocated, so this must be a figment of your deepest desires.

“What?” is all you manage to say.

Steve’s brows knit over the bridge of his nose, desperation threading through every feature on his face.

“You can’t possibly think I wouldn’t fall for you, can you?” he asks gently. “That I haven’t noticed you? Y/N, you’re almost the only thing I notice anymore.”

"Well, that's a good way to get yourself killed during a mission."

You didn't mean to say it, and the moment solidifies around you, even the molecules in the air coming to a stand still. Steve’s eyes sparkle, blinking in slow motion as he moves forward. The corner of his mouth twitches upward in a sweet smirk. 

“What a way to go, then,” he says, within reaching distance of your hand. 

“So much for our selfless leader,” you giggle.

He hesitates for a moment, but when you move to offer your hand, he reaches out with his, his fingers curling around yours. The blue in his eyes glints in the low light of the gym, hinting not a single bit of insincerity. 

“There is something wrong with your ranking, though,” you say after a moment, amused at the almost-surprise in his expression as he straightens his posture.

“What do you mean?”

You grin before replying, “You should definitely have taken the number one spot.”

Steve relaxes, chuckling as he glances away. His free hand combs through his hair.

“Over Thor?” he says. “No way that’s happening.”

“Please,” you answer, finding your gumption and pulling him closer; the two of you are close enough to feel each other’s breaths on your faces, “There’s no contest.”

One more tug on his hand and his lips meet yours, hesitant at first, but with a sigh, the pair of you relax into each other. Lips parting, you taste his breath, minty and clean, as his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against his front. 

“If you say so,” he says as he pulls away, gazing into your eyes as he smiles, his expression a little dazed, a little satisfied. 

“Oh, Cap,” you reply, your hand above his wildly beating heart. “I do say so.”

[julie-and-the-himbo-ghosts]

Sometimes You Gotta Lean on Someone Else

Aahh I can’t believe this is my 5th fic in just a month (and a multichap too)!! I usually don’t write multichaps bc I just get really stressed that I’m not going to finish it but @saltpigsblog​ sent me this ask and I kinda went off when I answered it and then I got really inspired by my 2am ramblings and suddenly I’d written 1k words after not writing in weeks lmao. Salt I’m sorry this is so off from your prompt ajfshhfghdgj but take this fic as payment? (Fic title from Edge of Great and chapter title from Bright of course)

Summary: Willie is a part-time waiter in an LA club and part-time vigilante known as the Highland Park Vigilante. Alex is his roommate he has a total unrequited (or so he thinks) crush on, and when Alex gets into danger, he runs headfirst into danger - something that usually works out for him, but with Alex involved things get a little more complicated.

Words: 1,054

Content Warnings: I do swear a bit because I felt like it fit the characters and fic, but there's also mentions of gunshots in the middle and a vague reference towards guns at the end, so if those are things that are harmful to your mental health, please take care of yourself first <3 If you want more content warnings for the rest of the fic, feel free to just dm me here for a more detailed (and spoilery) list

Read on ao3

Chapter 1: I Wanna Cry (I’m Calling Out)

Willie was relaxing on his couch when he got the call. Really, he was enjoying one of his few days off - he wasn’t scheduled to work at the club, and all had been quiet on the streets. But, almost as if the universe was flipping one big middle finger at him, his phone rang just minutes after he sat down on the couch.

If it’s important, they’ll call again, he thought. After a minute, his phone stopped ringing, and he relaxed again. The quiet only lasted for a moment, though; his phone started ringing again practically the second it stopped.

He groaned and sat up to grab his phone. Illuminating the screen was one of his favourite pictures - Alex standing wobbly on his skateboard, a big grin on his face, from the time when he gave Alex his first (and last) skateboarding lesson. All traces of annoyance disappeared from his mind just like that; Alex just had that effect on him. Well, sure, he could go from pissed to happy within seconds, he was just like that, but Alex was different. He was just—

The phone gave another desperate ring, as if begging him to just pick it up already.

“Shit,” He muttered quietly, quickly swiping to answer the call before it stopped ringing. “Hey, Alex! What’s up?”

“Willie! Shit, I thought you weren’t going to pick up.” His voice immediately struck a different chord in Willie’s brain - instead of his normal light, sarcastic tone, his voice was hushed and sounded absolutely panicked. A little jolt of terror struck through his chest.

“Alex, what’s wrong?”

The voice on the other end of the line was quiet; the only way he knew Alex was still there were his long, heavy breaths. “I’m at the bank and there’s some people here. At least, I think there’s more than one. I was just in the bathroom and I heard some yelling, so I walked out to see what was going on and then there were these noises that sounded like gunshots so I ran back into the bathroom and now I’m perched on a bank toilet and I think people are robbing my bank, Willie.” The words came out all in one big breath and it felt like his brain short-circuited because Alex was in danger.

“Willie?” Alex’s voice was small and terrified, and it jump-started his brain again. Like he got a shot of adrenaline to his chest, he jumped up and rushed into his room. Alex is in danger, he thought, and his brain just repeated it over and over and over until the words blended together into one in his head. Alex is in danger, Alex is in danger, Alex is in danger, AlexisindangerAlexisindangerAlexisindanger.

“I’m still here, ‘Lex. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

The answering sigh from the other side said more than anything Alex could say.

“Okay. Can you call 911 for me?” A short pause. “And if something happens, will you—” Willie cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“No. I won’t. Because nothing’s going to happen, okay? I’m going to call 911 and haul ass to get over there, and you’re going to be all right. Got it?”

“You don’t know that.”

“I have the combined chaos of being gay and having ADHD, do you really want to bet against me?” Thankfully, that seemed to rip Alex out of his anxiety spiral and he laughed a little.

“No, you’re right.” A small pause. “Thank you, Willie.”

He located his duffel bag in his closet and slung it over his shoulder along with his helmet before rushing back out of his room and towards the door. “I’ve told you, Alex, I’d do anything for you.”

There was another small, comfortable silence as he made his way down the hall. “Willie, I need to tell you—” Before Alex could finish whatever he was about to say, something banged open and he could hear a loud, harsh voice.

“You check in there, and I’ll go down the hall.”

He could hear Alex’s breaths stop; his did, too. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t think. The line was dead silent except for the bangs that penetrated the silence - the robber checking the stall, he assumed. Every time he heard a bang, it was closer and louder than the previous one. The next one sounded like it was right there, and the noise broke him out of his frozen state. Alex is in danger.

He sprinted down his hall, moving the fastest he’d ever run, rushing towards the street where he parked his motorcycle. On the phone, there was another thump, one quieter and more muted than the robber’s, as if Alex dropped his phone behind something. Good. The image of some gun-toting bank robber finding Alex in the bathroom and on the phone was enough to make him want to curl up in a ball on the floor in the dark of his closet. But he couldn’t, because Alex was in danger.

The bang he’d been dreading finally came, and he could hear the toilet shift as Alex flinched back onto the toilet.

Then Alex’s voice, muffled and quiet but obviously terrified. “Hey, dude, don’t you know to knock before you kick a guy’s stall in?”

“Get up,” A voice barked.

“Okay. You really don’t need to point that in my face, though.”

There were more thumps he was scared to imagine what they meant before heavy footsteps, and the closing slam of the bathroom door.

And then silence.

He cursed and skidded to a stop in front of his bike, hanging up the phone and dialling 911 with his shaking fingers. The call was short, he just gave them the info they needed and the address before hanging up and nearly slamming his helmet on his head.

Only when he was on his bike, blasting down the side street that took him directly to the bank, did he realize he was going in completely blind and alone, without even a hint of a plan. It was monumentally stupid, he knew, but his chronically low impulse control plus Alex in danger made for a very dumb Willie. Or, as he was more popularly known, the Highland Park Vigilante.

Honestly, a bit bland of a name, if he did say so himself.

[moonknightly]

mistakes and sour grapes : poe dameron x reader (six)

Word Count: 2.6k+

Excerpt: “You knew there was. You knew you were attracted to Poe, knew you wanted to have some kind of relationship with him. You figured he wouldn’t have been sitting on your couch right then if he had zero interest in you.”

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no smut, swearing, alcohol. That’s it?

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

It’d been a week since you and Poe had sat together on his office floor, and things were better. They weren’t great by any means, but they were at least better. You didn’t dread going into work anymore, didn’t contemplate quitting every single second of your shift. You weren’t lying in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling while your mind raced and your stomach churned. You no longer had anxiety over the thought of seeing Poe.

Not that you really saw him much more than you did before — he still spent his nights upstairs in his office, away from all of the noise and the chaos, though you now understood that it wasn’t just because he was the boss and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

The only time you really saw him was when he helped you clean up every night; he’d started insisting on it, even though you told him he really didn’t need to. Everyone else was expected to close their positions without any help, and it wasn’t anything that you couldn’t handle on your own, but each time you tried to send him on his way he would argue that bartenders had the most closing duties out of anyone, and he was only sitting on his ass anyways. If he could help you get out of there quicker, he wanted to.

You thought he was just trying to make it up to you. You thought that maybe he felt like he owed you something for helping him get through his panic attack, and while he didn’t, of course he didn’t, if it helped him feel better, you’d give it to him.

You usually ended up walking out together since he helped you close, him going his way with a quiet “be safe” while you went yours, so when you turned left with him instead of crossing the street to head towards the parking deck, he raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking home.”

Poe’s other eyebrow met the first. “What street do you live on?”

You told him, and if his eyebrows could’ve shot up any fucking further, you were sure they would have.

“That’s like, a twenty minute walk.”

“It’s fifteen and-”

“And it’s midnight.”

“Poe, I’ve walked home before.” It was relaxing, and sometimes it felt pointless to drive the short distance to work when you could just walk.

His eyes widened almost comically, and you couldn’t tell if he was exaggerating or if he was truly shocked. “Yeah, but I didn’t know that!”

“You’re walking home too!”

“Yeah, but I have a vicious attack dog and I’m not a fuckin’ gorgeous woman-” Your heart stopped at his words, but you were almost positive he didn’t even realize he’d said them. “-and I’m only going three blocks, not twenty seven.”

“It is not twenty sev-”

“Close enough, sweetheart.”

“It’s like, thirteen-”

He interrupted you again, making a series of noises to cut you off before holding his hands up. “Stop arguing. I’m walking you home.”

You huffed, knowing that it would be pointless to fight him on it. He’d just follow you.

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, trying to pretend like you weren’t secretly looking forward to the company. His company. “As long as you let me pay for your Uber home.”

“Who said I was Ubering?”

“Poe!”

You swatted his arm, and he only smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Good.

Now you wouldn’t have to struggle to hold yourself back from reaching for it.

The conversation came easy enough, and you were thankful for it, glad that you were able to talk to him again without feeling drained afterwards. It was weird, how you kind of missed him while still not knowing too much about him.

The realization that you wanted to change that was just a little jarring. Your emotions, your feelings about him were constantly changing, evolving. Sometimes you weren’t even sure what you wanted from him, but you’d gotten pretty good at telling yourself that it was better if you just kept it professional, like he wanted.

But at the same time, you weren’t sure that you would ever call your relationship with Poe “professional”. In the short time that you’d known him, there was already too much there for you to simply just be boss and employee.

It was complicated, everything was still so complicated.

Maybe if you started trying to consider him a friend and not someone above you, you’d be able to find some clarity.

That could work.

But what if that was even too much for him?

“Did you seriously just ask me if we’re friends?”

Oh fuck, did you?

You glanced over towards him, trying to ignore the sharp angle of his jaw and the stubble that covered it, then to the street sign ahead of you. Just another two blocks.

“I guess?” you said quietly, furrowing your eyebrows. You really hadn’t meant to say anything out loud.

Poe snorted, shaking his head gently, though he was quiet for a moment. You weren’t sure that you liked his silence and what it could mean, but he didn’t make you suffer long.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we’re friends. Wouldn’t you?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I guess.”

“Ouch.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully, a small smile finding its way onto your lips. “I didn’t mean it like that, asshole. I meant-”

“You weren’t sure where we stand after everything that’s happened in the last couple weeks.”

“Exactly.” You nodded your head, sighing gently.

He was quiet for a moment before nudging you with his elbow, his eyes staying focused on the sidewalk in front of you. “Friends. Okay? We’re friends.”

You almost immediately nodded again, folding your arms over your chest. “Friends.”

The rest of the walk was silent, and once you reached your apartment, you took longer than necessary to find your keys in your bag. You weren’t ready to say goodnight yet.

But who said you had to?

“Did you want to come inside while you wait for your Uber?” you asked, not looking up from your bag, still pretending to hunt for your keys when they were really right there on top.

“I told you, you don’t need to-”

“I know I don’t need to, but I want to. It’d make me feel better. We could have a quick drink, get Bee some water...”

Poe looked down at his beloved dog — she was panting just a little bit, and could definitely use a quick drink. He nodded his head, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Fine, yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

You smiled to yourself, trying to hide it from him. You finally grabbed your keys, almost positive that he knew you had simply been stalling. You quickly unlocked the door and led him inside.

Your apartment was a cute little garden level on a residential street, with original hardwood floors and beautiful exposed brick. It had the historic charm and character that the city was known for, but you’d made it your own in your decorating and design. It was your perfect little escape.

“This is cute,” Poe hummed from behind you, kicking his shoes off after watching you do the same. “Cozy.”

He wanted to use the word “safe”, but it felt weird.

Cozy worked.

You chuckled under your breath, setting your bag down in the entryway after pulling your lighter from it. You always lit a couple of candles after getting home, just one of the steps in your ritual to wind down from the day.

“Thanks,” you said, throwing the lighter onto the coffee table once you were satisfied.

Poe plopped down onto the couch while Bee sniffed around, and you couldn’t help but smile at how relaxed he seemed, glad that he wasn’t one of those people who tried to act like a robot when they entered a new space for the first time.

You excused yourself for a moment after getting Bee her water and Poe a beer to quickly rinse off in the shower and change your clothes, taking less than ten minutes total to do so. You slipped into a pair of sleep shorts and an old sweatshirt, pulling on your slippers to keep your feet warm. You thought about taking another minute to throw on your usual makeup, but quickly shook the thought from your head.

Friends. You were friends. There was no reason to try and doll yourself up for him.

But you also wouldn’t deny the fact that you were glad you decided not to wash your hair, so he didn’t have to see it wet.

You grabbed yourself a glass of cider before heading back to the living room. You could feel his eyes on you as you took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, and you pulled your knees to your chest as you took a long sip from your bottle. You suddenly felt self conscious.

And as if he could tell, he shook his head, sliding over a few feet until your thighs were almost touching. You couldn’t tell if the close proximity made your anxiety worse or better.

“Hey,” he said softly, elbowing you gently. “We’re friends. There’s no need to be nervous around me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Am I that fuckin’ obvious?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugged, bringing his beer up to his lips. “You’re the one that invited me in, kid.”

“I know.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe it was too soon for that. Maybe-

Poe interrupted your brief debate with yourself.

“I can go if you want me to-”

And you interrupted him.

“No-”

“I really don’t mind-”

“Poe-”

“I just, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-”

“I want you to stay.”

Poe looked down halfway through your sentence, glancing between your eyes and his lap several times, and it was only then that you realized your hand was on his upper thigh.

Your stomach flipped with embarrassment. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Shit this is gonna be a lot harder than I-”

“What, trying to figure out how to be friends when we’ve fucked already?”

“We really need to stop interrupting each other.”

“Agreed.”

You both fell silent again, staring intently at one another, and once you realized your hand was still on his thigh, you pulled away almost hesitantly. Poe bit his lip, and you felt his fingers encircle your wrist gently before you could pull away any further.  

“You enjoyed fucking me, didn’t you?”

His question caught you off guard and brought heat to your cheeks, and you shifted in your seat, your eyes leaving his stupid brown ones, searching to settle on anything but him.

Poe tsked under his breath, bringing a finger underneath your chin, pulling your attention back to him. You could have melted right there. “Didn’t you?”

You almost whimpered, knew you would have if you tried to speak, so you only nodded your head as much as you could, forcing yourself to hold his eye contact again.

And he just watched you, for several long moments. You couldn’t tell if he was going back and forth with himself or if he was trying to gauge where your head was at. He finally sighed, slowly shaking his head from side to side, almost as if he were trying to talk himself out of something, but he pushed on.

“Look, it’s obvious that there’s...something between us-”

“Is it?”

You knew there was. You knew you were attracted to Poe, knew you wanted to have some kind of relationship with him. You figured he wouldn’t have been sitting on your couch right then if he had zero interest in you.

Maybe you just wanted to hear what his version of something was.

He narrowed his eyes, but his touch remained gentle as his fingers moved to actually grip your chin, the action exerting just a hint of dominance that had your mind swirling already.

“Yes. There is. Are you really going to deny that?”

You didn’t answer, though he didn’t really pause long enough for you to anyways.

“I don’t fuck anything that moves, sweetheart, and I really doubt you’re that kind of person either. I think you’re hot,” he deadpanned. “And judging by the way your breath just hitched, you think I’m hot too.”

“So you just want to fuck then?”

“No.” He shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side. His thumb moved up to your lower lip and he traced it, though his eyes stayed locked on yours. “I do want to be your friend. And if that’s all you want, then fine. We can forget about this.”

You heard his unspoken “but”, and you quirked an eyebrow.

He sighed. “But...we could try that whole friends with benefits bullshit. If you wanted.”

You would have sank your teeth into your bottom lip if his thumb hadn’t been there.

“Poe the last time we had sex you acted like a complete ass afterwards. And said we couldn’t do it again.”

“First of all, you’re right, I was terrible to you after. So maybe that’s why I was trying to be a decent person by putting a stop to it before it happened again,” he sighed, dropping his hand away from your face and back into his lap. “We shouldn’t do it again.”

There was another silent “but”, and you waited patiently for him to continue.

“But, as long as we’re on the same page, what’s there to lose?”

Our dignity. Our friendship. Our reputations.

“Are you proposing we make an agreement?”

“Exactly.”

“Like, some kind of Fifty Shades type bullshit?”

“That’s a written contract, that’s different.” He shook his head. “I don’t think we need to sit down and write all that shit out, do you?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Poe said simply, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back against the couch. He took a hefty sip from his beer, and you copied his actions, not sure exactly what you were getting yourself into, but it didn’t seem like a bad thing...

“I just have one rule.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, leaning forward to set your bottle down on the coffee table, just so you could look away for a moment.

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

For a second you thought he was joking, he said it so plainly, and you snorted in response. “You’re so full of yourself Dameron.”

“I mean it.”

You glanced back towards him. His expression was serious, eyes holding no humor. It was obvious that he wasn’t teasing you. He really was serious.

“That all?” you asked quietly, your voice hardly above a whisper, not knowing how else to respond.

He seemed to think about it for a moment, his hands twisting around the bottle in his hand over and over again before he took a final sip, finishing it off. “Don’t fall in love with me, and don’t touch the back of my neck.”

“I knew that one already.”

You were proud of yourself for acting so nonchalant.

Because keeping your fingers away from his neck, you could do. You could understand and respect a physical boundary like that. That was the easy part.

But keeping yourself from falling any harder?

You were fucked, given your track record.

But love was such a serious word that held so much weight, surely you could keep your crush at bay, keep it from developing into something more.

“I’m down, Dameron.”

He smirked gently, and before you had a moment to even process, he was pushing you down onto the couch, his hands finding your wrists and pinning them above your head with ease.

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?”

[eternalstann]

Drunk - Part Two

After your impromtu sleepover, you and Tom spend quite the morning together..

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: swearing, fluff if you squint & a lil bit of smut ;)

Part One!

Your hand goes to cover your eyes when you wake up, trying to block the sunlight seeping through your blinds. Your throat felt like you swallowed sand. Standing to make your way to the kitchen, you pause smelling bacon as you walked down the hallway. What the hell? You tiptoe on, and literally scream when you see a shirtless man at your stove. He screams back, whipping around to face you; spatula in hand.

"Oh my god! Tom I totally forgot about last night" you sigh, hand on your chest. "You scared the shit out of me" he laughed, voice rough with sleep. "I guess we both surprised each other" you shrug, sitting down at the island. You were surprised that he was still here, you'd assumed he'd be gone when you woke. You were happy he stayed though. "I hope you're hungry darling" he smiles, flipping something in the pan. "I'd better be since you're already cooking half of my fridge" you tease and he chuckles nervously, "I thought about that after I'd already started, sorry" he apologized sheepishly.

"I'm just messing with you Tom, I'm starved!" You exclaim, rubbing your belly for affect. He shakes his head at you, grabbing a plate. There was something about watching him move with ease through your kitchen, making you breakfast. It made your stomach churn in the best way. The muscles in his back moved every-time he did, and you had to shake yourself out of your stare. "Bone Apple teeth" he jokes, placing the plate down in front of you. You start to laugh, but it dies on your lips when you see the masterpiece he's created for you. The most perfect fluffy pancakes you'd ever seen, drizzled in just the right amount of syrup. Fruit and bacon on the side with a cup of tea. "Tom this looks amazing!" You gush and he grins; "I told you I could cook!" He brags.

You almost wanted to go grab your phone and take a picture of it, and maybe one of shirtless Tom too. "Taste it darling!" He laughs, motioning to your knife and fork. "Sorry it was just so pretty" you say, picking up your utensils. "Not as pretty as the girl about to eat it" he flirts effortlessly, and you blush. You think back to all the things he'd said last night. Did he mean them, or was it just the alcohol talking? You push those thoughts aside and take a bite of the pancakes.

"Oh, Tom you've really out done yourself" you moan, they tasted even better than they looked. "I'm glad you like them" he smiles, leaning his elbows on the counter to watch you. You quirk an eyebrow up, "you're not gonna eat too?" You ask curiously and he shakes his head. "Nah, honestly I'm scared to. If I eat I might vomit all over your house" he fakes a gag, before hunching over and pretending to hurl. "Ew gross Tom; I'm trying to eat!" You laugh with him, slapping his shoulder. "I'm sorry.." he says, still laughing at himself and you think his laugh might be your new favorite sound.

"So you got any plans for the day?" You ask nonchalantly, and Tom stills. "What, you trying to get rid of me Y/N?" He scoffs, but you can see the traces of a smirk on his lips. "Not at all, just wondering" you assure him and he sighs. "Actually I do have to work later, but I really want to see you again" he answers softly. You feel your stomach erupt in butterflies at his words, and relief washed over you. You'd been hoping he'd say something like that. "I wanna see you again too Tom" you smile. "What's your Instagram?" You ask, getting up to grab your phone.

When you come back to the kitchen Toms looking at you with a weird look. "Earth to Tom, what's your insta?" You ask again. "You don't know my Instagram?" He asks in shock. "Tom how would I know your Instagram? We met like, less than a day ago" you iterate and now he's really laughing. What's so funny? You’re beyond confused and wait for him to straighten up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's tomholland2013..." he manages to get out between fits of laughter. His account pops up and you nearly drop your phone when it does. 34 Million followers?! Tom watches you with a smug look on his face while you scroll. Pictures of him with Zendaya, Robert Downey Jr, and then the one that finally makes it click. The Spider-Man premiere. "Holy Shit, you're Spider-Man!" You all but scream, jaw on the floor. He nods, trying to hide his grin. "Y/N I thought you knew this whole time!" He exclaims, throwing up his hands with a chuckle.

"I thought you looked familiar yesterday, but I was tipsy and I couldn't put my finger on it! Wow,I loved you in How I Live Now!" You blubber on and he thanks you. "Hmmm, so youre really just a cool girl who brought me home from the club to protect me. Whole time I thought you were a fan" he tsks. "I am a fan! And you-" you shove him, "you shouldn't go out like that! What if someone had taken advantage of you Tom?" You exclaim and he tilts his head and looks you in your eyes when you say that.

"You're something else Y/N" he says, taking a step closer to you. He couldn't believe how much you genuinely cared about him, especially last night when you hadn't even known who he was.

"Oh my god, Tom Holland is my house...." you take a step back and put a hand over your mouth trying to take it all in. "Tom! You're probably so busy, and I've been holding you hostage here. I'm so sorry-" you apologize but he cuts you off by grabbing your shoulders and pulling you closer to him again.

"Darling, I've enjoyed every second I spent with you. And I can't thank you enough for helping me last night. So don't worry about it, this is exactly where I'm meant to be right now" he speaks. His voice flows over you like honey and you look up at him. "If you say so..." you squeak out. "I do say so. I'm gonna call my mate to come pick me up before I'm late though. What's your phone number so I can call you later?" He asks, pulling out his own phone.

You feel like a fish out of water. You stutter a bit, managing to utter out the number to him. "Thank you love, now finish your breakfast!" He demands and you nod before sitting down.

"So you act, dance and cook?" You ask while eating your food. Toms eyes never leave your face, and usually you'd be nervous...but you’re calm under his gaze. "Don't forget sing!" He adds, and you roll your eyes. "A quadruple threat" you giggle and he shrugs, "what can I say?"

You eat, and talk. You were dreading him leaving, heart feeling heavy and he wasn't even gone yet. Unbeknownst to you know, Tom was feeling it just as hard as you were. He wished he could stay with you all day. Everything was so easy with you. He hadn't felt this comfortable around someone in ages. Not to mention how beautiful you were. Your hair was a little messy from just waking up and he liked that. But your face? That was flawless to him. Lips puffy, and eyes big. He liked it best when you smiled, but you were cute when you gave him that fake pout too. Your lips looked so soft, and he was dying to kiss you. To do the things he'd talked about last night. But he'd made it up in his mind he wasn't going to mess this up by moving to fast. He wanted to make you his. He knew it.

His phone pings and your heart drops. "Harrison is here" he says dejectedly and you pout. "You're making it really hard for me not to kiss you" he says with a sigh and you frown. "Maybe I want you to kiss me" you twirl a piece of your hair and walk towards the door to let him out. Your heart is pounding, watching him throw on his shirt and shoes. He comes to stand in front of you, and pulls you in for a hug. "Thank you again Y/N" you whispers into your hair. "Anytime.." you reply cooly, leaning away from him. The two of you stare at each other for a moment and then his lips are on yours.

You'd never been kissed the way Tom Holland was kissing you. His lips were soft but strong against yours. You mouths moved together like they were made for each other. His lips parted yours and then his tongue is in your mouth. You moan against him and his hand presses into your hip, pushing you against the wall. "Tom.." you whimper, puddy in his hands. He uses his thigh to push your legs apart so he's standing between them.

Your whole body was burning for him, and the thin shorts you wore did nothing to help. He rutted against you, pushing you harder into the wall. "Fuck Y/N" he groans, erection pressed to your core as he all but dry humped you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his on your waist. You gasp when he hoists you up, rubbing against you more quickly now. He buried his face in your neck, kissing you sloppily and you were embarrassed at how close you were.

"Fuck, Tom if you don't stop in gonna cum in my fucking shorts" you cry out, back arched. "You?" He laughs breathlessly. "I've been hard since last night love" he grunts. "Then let's go to my room" you beg and Toms nodding. So much for taking it slow he thinks to himself. But who was he to turn you down? He takes a step backwards to carry you to your room when there's a knock on the door.

"Helloooo?" A voice calls out and you’re worried Tom might kill whoever it is from the look on his face.

"Harrison you div! I'm coming!" He shouts back, and you smack his chest. "Tom! That was rude!" You scold him and he shrugs. "He could've waited for me in the car" he mutters. You laugh at his frustration, "it's okay, I'll make it up to you" you whisper in his ear and give him a peck on the lips. Tom shudders , "I'm gonna be thinking about you all fucking day" he admits before walking to the door again.

He pulls open the door and a blonde boy is standing with his arms  crossed. "How am I the div when you called me to pick you up and then made me wait ten minutes!" He yells at his friend. "Oh." He says plainly when his eyes land on you. "Never mind mate, you're right. I'm the div" he laughs. "Hello! I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you" you extend your hand for him to shake but he ignores it and hugs you. "Y/N, the pleasure is absolutely all mine. If you ever wanna hang out with a real man and not one who gets plastered alone in clubs; Call me" he flirts shamelessly and Toms pushing him out the door.

You laugh at the pair, you could see how they were friends.

"It's okay, thank you though Harrison. I like drunk Tom"  you wink.

——————————

Part 3

omggg so here’s part two as promised!! If y’all still with me on this then part three is up tomorrow night👀 this part is pushing 2k and I think I wanna drag this out haha 😂 as always I hope you enjoyed ❤️❤️❤️

[jiamour]

love letters

pairing: ravenclaw!renjun x hufflepuff!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 4.7k

summary:  in which renjun has the phattest crush but he’s too shy to say anything despite being their tutor so his friend convinces him to write anonymous love letters to get his feelings out

alternatively: renjun’s a cutie and you hate arithmancy

a/n: i wrote this two years ago so its not great and its bullet point again, also the pronouns in this are they/them i think?? this is the softest i’ve ever written renjun im sorry he’s not a bad bitch in this 

“GUESS WHAT,” you yelled as you walked into the hufflepuff common room knowing your friends would be there, “I FUCKING FAILED!”

cheers broke out

applause was given

you bowed

“thank you, thank you.”

“i told you not to take arithmancy,” your best friend jaemin’s voice spoke from one of the worn down couches, “why would you choose to do math when you’re a wizard?”

“i wanted a challenge jaemin.”

“bet you regret that type of thinking now idiot.”

“you’re a hufflepuff, you’re supposed to be nice,” you whined walking over to him and plopping by his side on the couch

“i’m just teasing hun,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder in comfort “how bad did you do?”

“on the last assignment i got a dreadful.”

jaemin went to laugh but it caught in his throat when he saw how upset you looked

“i think she just gave me pity points for writing my name neatly”

“you were always good at that,” jaemin nodded thoughtfully and you elbowed his side with a glare

“if only there was a calligraphy class here for you” jaemin continued on completely ignoring your attack

“don’t act like i’m not beating you in every other class”

“well then don’t act like i was the one stupid enough to ‘predict the future with numbers’ what kind of shit? isn’t that was the crystal balls are for”

“you’re really bad at comforting me” you giggled at his stupid words

“then why are you laughing”

“i’m not”

you were

“i guess i’ll just have to tickle you to cheer you up then,” he said with a shrug, “i mean since there’s no other way”

“don’t you dare”

“don’t you fucking dare jaemin”

but it was too late

jaemin hands went straight to your sides

you toppled backwards in laughter squirming to get out of his tickling hold

“st- stop” you chocked out through tears and giggles

“only if you’re feeling better” he said “if i see a single trace of a frown when i stop you best be prepared”

“i’m better” you tried to say but it came out in a sputter with loud laughs in between

jaemin pulled away slowly and you caught your breath before sitting up

“never do that again”

“but yn”

“never”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“you’re smart right?” jaemin asked hand on his hip looking down at the kid sitting in front of him

“i mean i guess?” the kid awkwardly answered not completely understanding what was going on

“good then i need you to tutor my friend”

“umm what?” the boy raised his eyebrow and looked at jaemin completely lost

“my friend needs help in arithmancy, like serious, serious help, and you claim to be smart, so it only makes sense that you would tutor them” jaemin explained his nonsensical logic and the boy just agreed in shock too confused to know what else to do

“okay good, so when are you free-“ jaemin thought for a second “what’s your name again?”

“renjun”

“okay so when are you free renjun?”

renjun began to ramble “i um i don’t have many plans most of the time so i guess-“

“perfect” jaemin clapped his hands together not letting renjun finish “meet them in the library tomorrow at 7”

“i-okay” jaemin took that as the end of the conversation giving a soft smile before turning to go find you

“wait what’s their name?” renjun called his words coming out all at different volumes “who am i tutoring”

“yn” jaemin turned a little to face renjun “do you know them?”

fuck

this could not be happening

renjun was going to die

his face was already burning thinking about it

noticing renjun’s expression jaemin just laughed

“i’ll take that as a yes”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“GUESS WHO’S THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER”

you gasped “is hyuck here?”

“what? no? you asshole it’s me”

“oof don’t flatter yourself that much” you mumbled waving him off

“i guess you don’t need the tutor i got you then”

“OH MY GOD JAEMIN REALLY?! YOU'RE THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER”

you jumped up and hugged him squeezing both of his arms into his sides

“i knew you’d come around” he said in a cocky demeanor “how could you not? i mean look at this face”

“and you ruined it” you spoke breathily and sat back down where you were before

“who’s my tutor anyways?”

“renjun”

your whole body went stiff

“guess you know him then” jaemin shrugged

“fuck you jaemin”

“hey where’s your hufflepuff manners you should be thanking me”

you probably should have

but you weren’t

because out of all the people in the school for jaemin to pick from

he chose fucking huang renjun

the ravenclaw cutie from astronomy who always lent you his ink when you ran out

the genius who always mastered the spells in minutes no matter how complex

now you were going to look stupid in front of him

you really didn’t want to look stupid in front of him

anyone else would be fine

just not him

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

it was 7 and jaemin had instructed you to wait outside the library for renjun

it was really really awkward

anxiety filled your stomach and mind

7:01

he was late that was fine, only one minute, it’s whatever

7:04

he probably just got lost of the funky moving staircases

yeah

that’s it

7:08

you shifted on you feet

uncomfortable

people were watching you get stood up

for a tutoring session

god your life couldn’t be anymore of a mess

7:15

panic set in

you closed your eyes taking a deep breath before preparing yourself to leave

and probably go smack jaemin upside the head for doing this to you

that was until you were hit by the library door

you let out a loud groan

done with everything

but when you looked at who had hit you

renjun was standing there

holding his books to his chest looking discouraged

“hey?” you said a little confused that he hadn’t noticed he hit you with a fucking door

“oh” his eyes grew wide when he saw you “yn you were here the whole time?”

your hand when straight to your face

you were really fucking stupid

making a fool of yourself already

didn't even check inside the library

“were you inside?” you asked quietly knowing the answer anyways

“yeah i thought you weren’t coming”

“i’m so sorry, jaemin gives really bad instructions”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

there was silence

this was awkward

“so umm” renjun started “should we go study?”

“that does seem like the best idea”

“okay”

you followed him into the library in awkward, awkward silence

you sat at the same table you assumed he was at before because it was littered with arithmancy books

“so what do you think you have most trouble with” he asked looking down at a book and flipping through the pages so he could have something to do

“um- all of it”

yay humiliation

he laughed

and you died

“why are you laughing? i’m serious”

he face instantly fell he cleared his throat looking at you shyly

“that can’t be true” he spoke soft trying not to offend you assuming he was already on thin ice

“oh it is hun”

“then i guess we have a lot of work to do”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“ugh i hate arithmancy it’s literally the worst”

“it’s my favorite subject”

you coughed

“i mean i love arithmancy it’s the best yay” you said weakly adding small jazz hands at the end

“you don’t have to lie” he laughed writing as he spoke “the numbers just remind me of home”

you hummed quietly

“so you’re muggle born?” you ask glaring down at the complicated numbers in front of you

“yeah” renjun sighed “you don’t have a problem with that right?”

you were slightly offended

okay very offended

you looked at him in angry disbelief your mouth open in the shape of an o “do i look like a pretentious twat to you?”

“well...”

“don’t answer that”

he laughed

he had a nice laugh

“how far did you make it into the equation” he curiously leaned over the table to look at your work

“i have the first three numbers” you groaned spotting his already half full page

“and 2 of them are wrong” he brought his quill over and circled the numbers

you laid your head in your hands

this sucked

you felt dumb

you didn’t want to be here

“hey no yn don’t give up okay” he said softly, lightly trying to move your arms away from your face

you just let out a frustrated hum

“i’m never going to get this”

“not with that attitude you won’t”

you moved your hands away from your face to glare at him but he only smiled

he did that purposely didn’t he

fucking ravenclaws

he began to scoot his chair from the opposite side of the table to right beside you, grabbing the quill off of the paper

“here let me help we’ll figure this out together okay?”

you looked at him as he began to write with wide eyes

“okay.”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“did you understand today’s assignment?” renjun asked you

you gave him a look raising an eyebrow knowing he already knew the answer

“okay no need for that sass” he huffed “you could’ve just said no”

“you don’t deserve a no for a stupid question like that”

you began taking your books and parchment out of your bag

“i’m ready to begin this torture”

“hey i’m not that bad”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“okay but chenle is totally into jisung did you see the way he was all over him at lunch and whenever jisung walks into the room chenle’s feet turn straight towards him and he ignores everyone else that love psych 101” you said to renjun half way through your 6th study session which had more or less deteriorated into a gossip session

“oh okay ms.sherlock holmes” renjun had an impressed smile

“who the fuck is sherlock holmes?”

renjun waved his hand at you

“ugh wizards”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

the more you got to know renjun the more references that you didn’t understand at all came

it was to say the least frustrating

but his eyes always lit up when he spoke about muggle books or movies so you just let it slide

“tell me more about this spider-man guy” you said one day your head resting on your hand and you gazed at him expectantly

“okay so he was like this super smart teenager but he got bit by a radioactive spider which changed-“ renjun stopped mid sentence glaring at you slightly “you’re trying to distract me aren’t you?”

you raised your hands in the air defensively “what no-“

“oh my god you are! i’m so easy to trick how dare you,” he rambled “we’re getting back to work”

this was met by a groan

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“this is a bad idea jeno”

“you say that every time”

“that’s because all of your ideas suck”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

owls flew through the dining hall dropping down in front of students around you, delivering mail

your owl was one of the last

he had always been quite slow

jaemin was riffling through a package of salt water taffy his grandparents had sent him when your owl finally arrived

he was carrying the usual newspaper and weekly letter from your parents

you thanked your owl petting his head softly

he nuzzled into your palm before flying off again

when you moved the newspaper out of the way of your food you were surprised to see another letter under it

the envelope was completely blank except for your name

you lifted it up glancing at it curiously

“who is that from?” jaemin said chewing a pink taffy in his mouth

“i-um i don’t know?”

“do you have a secret boyfriend that you aren’t telling me about?”

jaemin was an idiot

you rolled your eyes at him and began opening the envelope cautiously hoping it wasn’t a prank

there was a single folded parchment inside

when you saw what it said your cheeks heated up and a small smile grew on your face

“wait, oh my god! you do have a secret boyfriend!” he exclaimed loudly getting annoyed glares from the people around you

he reached out trying to grab the paper out of your hands and read it but you pulled it out of arms reach, folding it and sticking your tongue out at him

you opened the letter under the table glancing to read it over once again

“i’m too shy to say this in person but i think you’re really cute. i hope you’re eating and sleeping well.” there was a tiny heart drawn beside that “have a great day!!”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“did you start your number chart?”

“i spent all night working on it” you told him rubbing your eyes

he gave you a disapproving look

“yn if you don’t sleep then you can’t concentrate and if you can’t concentrate then you can’t listen and if you can’t listen then you fail”

“well wasn’t that an enlightening roller coaster of words”

he huffed

you leaned over resting on him as you gave him an awkward side hug “you know i’m joking”

he nodded

wow your heart was beating way too fast right now

“i just wanted to work on it so i could impress-“ you. i wanted to impress you “the professor”

“i know yn but just take care of yourself okay” he was blushing now which you thought was cute

very very cute

you pulled away from him with a large smile taking your work out of your bag to show to him

“wait this actually really good” he said in happy surprise “yn you’re getting better”

“well yeah i have a good tutor”

he nudged you slightly

“shut up” renjun lightheartedly laughed

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

this time jaemin was ready

he was going to read one of the letters from your secret boyfriend

there was no stopping him

well you stopped him the last 4 times

but this time

there was no stopping him

when your owl flew towards you he quickly grabbed your mail before you could and began to open the letter tossing your newspaper at you

“HEY” you yelled ready to jump the table to stop jaemin but it was too late

“i want to make a fragile human connection in the vast and unfeeling infinity of chaotic universe with you,” jaemin read the letter out loud proceeding to scrunch his face up when he finished

“what the fuck was that? is that what you and your secret boyfriend talk about? science shit?” he tossed the letter to you which you grabbed quickly and smiled at the tiny stars they had drawn along the page

“i think it’s cute” you spoke softly, adoration in your tone

“i can’t believe my best friend is a nerd”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“I DID IT” you said loudly as soon as you saw renjun in the library only to be shushed by at least 10 students at once

“you did! i’m so proud of you” his voice was a lot quieter probably trying to not get everyone to hate him

you sat down in the chair beside him which he already had pulled out and placed your essay down in front of him

“i mean it’s only an acceptable but it’s good for me y’know” you rambled on shyly his eyes shone bright at your accomplishments

“it’s great yn” he encouraged “we should um”

he looked away from you awkwardly

“hmm?”

“we should uh go to hogsmeade this weekend to celebrate?” renjun couldn’t look you in the eyes and he felt as if he was going to combust “i mean only if you want to if you don’t that’s fine too no pressure”

“you’re rambling” you giggled

“sorry i-“

“i’d love to go to hogsmeade with you”

his shoulders relaxed and he finally looked at you  smiling with his eyes

your heart was blessed that day

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“i can’t believe you have a date”

“shut up it’s not date”

“it totally is”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

it was quite cold the day you and renjun had planned to go to hogsmeade

okay really cold

and there was renjun standing outside leaning against a wall with his ravenclaw scarf pulled up just past the tip of his nose, hands in his coat pocket, shivering

you were late

and running through the halls

you yelled sorry’s as you pushed past slow moving students hoping you hadn’t kept renjun waiting long

you saw him standing in the cold somehow the small boy was looking even tinier than usual

“renjun” you yelled out waving a hand in the air so he could see you even though you were the only one around

his head lifted up from his scarf and you noticed his smile as he stopped leaning and walked towards you

“you haven’t been waiting long have you?”

“no don’t worry yn i just got here”

that was a lie

you could tell by the red tint on his cheek and the tip of his nose and also the occasional shiver

“liar” you said reaching towards his cheek to place your hands on them to see how cold they were “you’re freezing injunnie”

you couldn’t tell if he was blushing or if he had just gotten colder

“your hands are just warm” he protested moving your hands away from face and back in between the both of you

you both stood there for a second your hands in his until he realized what he was doing

he took a large step back

to your disappointment

“we should-um let’s get going?” he mumbled into his scarf

which by the way was very cute

“lets”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

renjun’s hands were waving around and he explained stories from the muggle world

and it seemed as though other wizards at tables beside yours had been listening as well

“okay so then get this,” renjun said dramatically and loudly “the sent him to england to be executed but he was abducted by pirates and brought back home”

the girl at the table to the right of you gasped

renjun shrunk back in his chair embarrassed realizing others were listening his hands quickly were placed down on the table

“don’t be shy” you encouraged him placing one of your hands on his “you get really excited when you talk and it makes people want to listen”

“oh” he looked down at your hands and then back up at you

“when he got back home there was a funeral for his kind of girlfriend but like not really cause he told her he didn’t love her...”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“today was nice”

“yeah it was”

“we should do it again some time”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

you opened the envelope the owl had brought you

“i hope these letters brighten your day even a little because you’re beautiful when you smile and when you don’t, you’re beautiful all the time..”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“i can’t do it i’m going to fail” you whined while trying to make a particularly hard chart, beginning to scribble down the page

renjun quickly snatched your quill out of your hands and placed it down beside him

“you’re getting better yn, you’re not going to fail” his hands moved to your shoulders as he tried to motivate you looking you straight in the eyes

“but this is so hard injunnie,” you reaching for your quill back but he took his hands off your shoulders and moved it farther away

“you’re not getting it back until you say something positive”

“i don’t have anything positive to say, i’m going to fail and my parents are going to disown me and i’ll have to live in a shack”

renjun laughed at how ridiculous you sounded

he pointed to a line of work on your paper “what do you do after that?”

you muttered an answer lacking any confidence

“that’s right yn” he clapped shocking you

“wait really!?”

“yeah really see you’re going to pass” he was hyping you up and it was working

“i’m going to pass!”

“you can do this!”

“i’m going to get an outstanding!”

“yes you are!”

“i’m going to do better than you!”

“you see now you’re going too far”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

mail day is what you looked forward to every week filled with joy at the thought of receiving a letter from the anonymous person

as soon as it arrived you basically ripped it open startling jaemin

leaving a long tear in the letter but it was still easy to see

“your determination is admirable”

your heart swelled when you read the words, carefully folding it and placing it back in the envelope to make sure it didn’t get hurt

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“what the fuck man step up your game”

“i thought it was good?”

“you told her that her determination was admirable what kind of weird ass flirting is that”

“okay okay fine now that you say it out loud...”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

full of anticipation for what today’s letter would say your leg bounced up and down

your owl dropped the letters in front of you and you opened it slowly learning from your mistake last time

“are you pikachu? because you’re shockingly beautiful” is all it said inside

what the fuck is a pikachu?

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“hey renjun”

“yeah?”

“do you know what a pikachu is?”

he chocked on air, coughing into his arm

“what? why- why um do you need to know?”

“i got a letter yesterday and it had the word but i couldn’t figure out what it was so i assumed it was a muggle thing, it is a muggle thing right?”

“yeah, a pikachu is a pokémon”

“wow very helpful thank you”

he laughed embarrassed “i forgot you didn’t know about any of that, pokémon are like tiny cartoon monsters”

oh so they were comparing you to a monster

yay

that made you feel so great

“pikachu is an electric type”

“oh” you mumbled sadly

renjun automatically noticed your mood drop and quickly tried to stumble to fix it “i um- i mean he’s- um- pikachu is one of the cute ones?”

you could tell he was trying to cheer you up so you smiled at him

“thank you renjun”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

you kept the letters by your bed there were about 15 now the recent ones reading

“you must be magical, because I've fallen under your spell.” (obviously you were magic they were magic too)

“are you the moon? because even when it’s dark you still seem to shine” (most letters had been space related which you found really cute)

“you must be in honeydukes, cause wow, you're really sweet” (okay this one was nice)

the most recent one “you’re an 11/0 because your beauty is undefined” would have been nice if it didn’t remind you of how awful numbers were

getting letters everyday really had made your life more interesting

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“i wonder who’s writing these, do you know who’s writing these jaemin?”

“why would i know who your secret boyfriend is?”

“because you know everything”

“i know it’s such a burden sometimes”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“are you even going to tell them it’s you?”

“i think i would probably die”

“there’s worse ways to go”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

with every session your grades were getting higher and the closer to owl’s it became

you sat with renjun in your usual spot in the library for one of your last tutoring sessions

this should have made you happy but it didn’t

you wanted more time with renjun

but the only way you knew how to talk to him was through studying and the occasion celebratory trips whenever your grade rose

“did you get number 7 on page 378?”

you watched his mouth move but you couldn’t process what he was saying too lost in your thoughts

“yn are you even paying attention?”

“most definitely”

“you liar”

you sighed

“i’m just going to miss you that’s it- miss this”

“yeah me too”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“are you a Snitch? because you're the finest catch here.” today’s letter read with a tiny broom and golden snitch drawn messily in the corner

you smiled

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“you have to tell them man”

“i can’t it’ll be so embarrassing”

“come on, no it won’t they like them”

“you have no proof”

“i see them smile every time they open one”

“well what if they don’t like me”

“like that’s even possible don’t you guys meet up like everyday”

“it’s not everyday and it’s for tutoring”

“is that why i’ve seen you on a date”

“i’ve told you a million times it wasn’t a date”

“but you wanted it to be”

“well yeah”

“then tell them, it will work out and if it doesn’t you can dye my hair pink”

“but you’d look good with pink hair?”

“oh why thank you”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

it was the day before your arithmancy owl

you were panicked

because of renjun’s help you had been receiving straight e’s

you were both immensely proud

you paced back and forth in the hufflepuff common room frantic students panicking around you

you needed a walk

you opened the door to the common room

and there was renjun looking like he was about to knock a piece of paper in his hands

“hi?” you said slightly confused but very happy to see him nonetheless

“oh yn hi i was-“ he seemed very awkward in front of you his hand fidgeting slightly and his leg bouncing you assumed it was just nerves for exams “i was just coming to see you”

“i was going for a walk do you want to join?”

he nodded

“so are you ready for your owl’s?” you asked trying to make conversation as you walked

and also clear up the tense atmosphere that renjun was creating

“i think i’ll do well i’ve been studying a lot recently at dinner and in between classes but i’m still worried y’know”

“yeah i get it, i’m worried because i could actually fail” you laughed

“hey i thought we talked about this” his voice was finally light and joking

it was comfortable again

“i know my goal is still to beat you and mark my words it will happen”

“i’m sure it will” he agreed without even a hint of sarcasm

“finally i get the recognition for the genius i am”

he laughed fiddling with he paper in his fingers

“what’s that you have?” you asked gesturing to the paper and he froze going stiff

“it’s um-“ he stuttered out “its um nothing”

you stopped in front of him clearly not buying it

“okay it’s not nothing” he lifted up the letter as if he was making a decision and then held it out to you looking away

“just don’t hate me okay?”

this confused you

why would you ever hate him?

you cautiously took the paper from his hands giving him a curious look and opened it slowly while he looked at the ground

“are you using the confundas charm or are you just naturally mind blowing?”

no way

this couldn’t be happening

you knew you were dumb but not this dumb

of course he was the one writing the letters

holy shit renjun was writing the letters

“renjun i-“ you started and he looked at you shyly preparing for rejection

“i can’t believe you wasted your final note on that”

wait what?” his eyes widened as he took the paper back looking at it “but jeno helped me write it”

“didn’t you say jeno was an idiot?”

“well yeah, i guess his other idea wouldn’t work either”

you quirked an eyebrow

“what other idea?”

he pulled a second piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to you

you laughed a little as you opened this one

“will you go out with me?” it read

your smile grew at least 100x it’s size

“i dunno this one seems like a pretty good idea to me”

“really?”

“really.”

“i guess that means i don’t get to try idea three”

you giggled “what’s idea three?”

“this,” he leaned in to kiss you gently

he had meant for it to be just a peck but as soon as he moved away you tugged on his robes pulling him in again

“i think that one was my favorite idea” you said as your forehead rested against his

“mine too.” he breathed softly

“was that jeno’s idea as well?”

“no that one was completely mine”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* 

[spiderman-homecomeme]

nuts about you

It’s simple. Thirty days. All of November. No nutting allowed. Can Peter survive? A friends/roommates to lovers tale of stupid bets, sabotage, and most important of all, nuts. 

thotumn. day 11. free prompt day finale.

Thank you @spideysmjs​ for organizing this magical month for us!! Because I am TOO impatient, I’m posting this a day early (also to keep my tradition of not posting things at the right time). Enjoy this purely goofy adventure. 

--

Of all of the stupid ideas Peter and Ned have thought of in their ten-plus years of friendship, this one’s up there. 

Easily in the top three. 

No, it’s more than stupid. It’s ridiculous. It’s pointless. No one in their right mind actually thinks this is a good idea or that there’s any reason to do it. It’s an internet joke that’s too old, a meme that has no right being funny anymore. It’s run its course, and the guise of it raising awareness for anything other than the masturbation habits of penis-havers is complete and utter bullshit.

Again. It’s stupid.

Still, Peter Parker is not one to turn down a challenge, no matter how stupid. He’s nothing if not competitive. What can he say? If he won’t do it, who will?

This is what he considers as Ned lays it on the table for him.

All of November. Thirty days. 

Peter doesn’t know how the conversation even started or how they ended up betting against each other in the world’s most moronic challenge. All he knows is that Ned is more than convinced that Peter is weak and won’t last. In fact, he’s so convinced that he’s willing to bet money on it. His reasoning ends up being that Peter isn’t strong enough.

And Peter? Well, he’s convinced that he will make it, that he can survive an entire month without giving in to his desires to bust a nut, to beat his meat, etc. etc. And he, too, is willing to bet money—a stupid amount, maybe more than a hundred—on his own success and his friend’s failure. He doesn’t want to appear too cocky, but he’s more than a hundred percent sure he’s got this in the bag. Yeah, it’s thirty days of cutting out one of Peter’s favorite pastimes—if not the favorite—but there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s more than capable of practicing a little restraint. 

Still, confident as he is, there’s still that part of him that can’t help but dread the coming month the more and more he thinks about it. 

“So, definitely thirty days?” Peter asks, eyes narrowing in thought. He tries to appear casual, as if the idea of no release for that amount of time isn’t a big deal. It’s more for clarification. “November has thirty days?”

Ned scoffs. “Yeah. Thirty days.”

“Any strikes? Any free coupons?”

“Nope.” Ned shakes his head with a soul-crushing finality. “Why? You don’t think you can make it?” 

It’s Peter’s turn to scoff, face scrunching dramatically as he recoils. “What? No. I’m worried about you, man. What are you gonna do about Betty?” 

Ned fixes him with a deadpan stare, clearly not buying whatever bullshit Peter’s trying to peddle. “A bet is a bet. She will respect that.”

“How can I trust you, though?” Peter asks, eyes narrowing in slight accusation. “You’re always at her place. I mean, how’ll I know you’re not lying?”

Ned glares. “How can I trust you?”

Peter sputters, desperately thinking of ways to throw a reverse Uno at this situation. “Wha—I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m—I’m single, man.”

Ned blinks. Once. Twice. “Do we need to talk about Felicia?”

“That was—”

“Cindy?”

“Dude—”

“Johnny? Jessica? Gwen—”

“I get it. I get it—”

“Carlie? Oh—Debbie? Caleb! Then there was Angela—”

Peter’s expression contorts into one of confusion. “Angela?” He tilts his head, squinting, searching for any kind of memory. 

“Cute red head. You met her in line at Aldi.”

“Ahhh…” A knowing, borderline too-telling smile of recognition pulls at Peter’s lips. “Angela...” he sighs, almost dreamily. Okay, so maybe Ned has a point. But just because Peter enjoys the company of other people so much that he’s got his own version of Mambo No. 5, doesn’t mean he’s incapable of living without the warm touch of another human being or his hand. 

Peter freezes, glancing at his friend. “Okay. Well. What do you want me to do about that? It’s not like I’m gonna call any of them up or anything. I have some sense of self-control.”

Again, Ned blinks. 

“And besides, Felicia was freshman year… she’s our friend now. I don’t hook-up with her anymore.”

Another blink. “Dude.”

“Fine.” Peter huffs, whipping his phone out, eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets and onto the floor as he starts swiping through his contacts. “But I’m not deleting any of ‘em, okay?” 

“Peter…” 

“I’ll change their names! How ‘bout that?” 

A beat passes of silent, overtly-judgmental staring on Ned’s part. He huffs after another second, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine.” Then, his frown shifts into a nonchalant smirk. “Whatever makes it easier for you to lose and me to win.” 

“Please,” Peter scoffs. “I’m not the one with a girlfriend. You’re going down.” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, lips pursed in mock-contemplation as he points a finger. “Or I guess… Betty’s the one going down.”

Ned nearly chokes on his water holding back a snort. “Come on, man.”

Peter shrugs. 

“Okay, well, are you gonna change the contact name for your right hand, too?”

It’s Peter’s turn to spit out a laugh. 

But before he can even come up with another totally awesome comeback, he hears the jingling of keys, the clanking of locks as their roommate comes home after a long day of classes. All he sees is a flash of her curly hair before he’s tearing his gaze away from the front door, suddenly finding the pads of his thumbs to be pretty damn interesting. 

“Hey, MJ,” Ned greets casually, as if they weren’t just sorting out a bet where neither of them are allowed to orgasm for an entire month. 

“‘Sup.” Michelle flashes them a brief, closed-mouth grin as she makes for the refrigerator, swiping up some baby carrots and the brita filter. 

Really, the conversation from earlier should be done there. Nothing else needs to be said. Especially not in front of their roommate. 

But Peter can’t help himself. 

“Let’s shake on it,” he says, putting his hand out, knowing that the more he keeps talking, the more danger he’s in of saying too much. 

Ned takes it readily, eyes narrowed in determination. “Let’s.”

The corner of Peter’s lip twitches upward, but he holds it back. “No… Peanuts.”

“No walnuts.”

They have that understanding, speaking in the code that the two of them have just made up on the spot, something that Peter can’t help but feel pretty damn proud of. 

MJ glances between the two, carrot half-way to her mouth, frozen in place, brows pinched in suspicion. 

“Peter and I are giving up all nuts for the next month,” Ned says proudly, answering the question that she most certainly did not ask. 

“Cool.”

Ned throws a not-as-subtle-as-he-thinks-it-is wink across the table, giving a just as subtle thumbs up from behind one of his stray history books. 

Peter nods. 

“Why?” Michelle asks, her question—one that shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise at is was—causing them both to exchange wary glances. 

There’s a silence that follows, one that might clearly show that these two guys have no idea what kind of hole they’ve dug themselves into. Ned watches Peter expectantly. Peter glares back. 

“Is it like a health thing?” MJ offers, popping another carrot into her mouth.

Peter nods a little too quickly. “Yeah. Health stuff.” His stomach flips when her gaze meets his, her eyes squinting as she chews thoughtfully. 

“May thinks Peter might have a nut allergy,” Ned hastily spits out. When both sets of eyes land on him, he laughs. “So his allergist suggested going a month without ‘em. To see if that makes it better.”

And honestly, Peter thinks that’s a pretty damn good save. 

The best part is that MJ seems to buy it. She nods. “So why are you doing it, Ned?”

“Solidarity,” Ned offers quickly. 

Nice save. 

“Ah,” MJ purses her lips, though she still doesn’t seem to care all that much. “Well, good luck. I guess. I know how much you guys… love… nuts? I guess?”

Peter nods solemnly. 

When she turns back to grab a cup from the cabinet, he throws Ned a quick single nod.

Well played.

--

“So, Peter’s doing no nut November.”

Felicia nearly chokes, snorting as she struggles to keep her vanilla latte in her mouth. “What?” She asks after a dangerous second. They were supposed to be having a nice study sesh, reading about Bloom’s taxonomy, not talking about Peter’s nut habits. 

“He and Ned made a stupid bet to see who could last the whole month,” MJ answers, taking a quiet sip of her London Fog. “Apparently they bet a lot of money on it.”

Felicia’s face scrunches in amused confusion. “Why?”

“Do they really need a reason to do dumb shit?” 

Considering that for a second, Felicia nods with a satisfied frown. “Fair.”

“I bet against Peter, though,” MJ continues. “After he left, I made Ned let me in on it. There’s no way Pete can last the whole month, right? Not even a week.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Felicia vehemently shook her head. “I honestly feel like he’d spontaneously combust after, like, a day.” Then, she lets out a quiet snort. “Combust a nut.”

Michelle wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”

“But for real. He’s not gonna make it.”

“That’s what I said. Ned seems to have some faith in him though—no idea why. I told him that Peter wouldn’t even last a week… and now I guess I’m involved.”

“This would be so easy to sabotage though.”

“Right?” 

“Seriously,” Felicia snorts. “All I’d have to do is hit him up one more time and he’s gone.” And then, in that next instant, her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “That’s it!” Before she says anything else, she’s pulling her phone out, quickly scrolling through, looking for God knows what. “Girl, I am gonna win that bet for you.” 

MJ leans forward, curious, yet still cautious. She’s not sure if Peter hooking up again with Felicia is the best idea, given that relations within the friend group would just make things a giant, tangled up mess of complicated awkwardness. “How?” Michelle dares to ask, craning her neck to see what the hell Felicia’s doing on her phone. 

Her friend is quiet for a moment, locked in concentration on her screen, bottom lip tucked between her teeth, brows knit together. Then, she cracks a satisfied, sly smile, turning her phone to show MJ just what she was looking for. 

Simply; a picture of Felicia’s relatively new tattoo which, in and of itself, doesn’t seem like it would get Peter’s peter going. It’s pretty. Floral. Nothing to lose one’s mind over. 

No, it’s more the placement. 

It’s a tasteful shot, the simple flowers lining the underside of her breasts, her hands acting as makeshift pasties, just barely covering her nipples. 

Still, though there’s no actual nudity, it’s enough to make MJ’s eyes bug out of her head for a moment before she’s realizing what she’s looking at. 

“Okay. So?” Michelle waits for an explanation. 

“I send him this,” Felicia says simply, pulling her phone back and (seemingly) drafting up the very message. “Ask if he wants a closer look at it.” 

Michelle considers it a moment, knowing that there’s a very strong chance that Peter could almost immediately fall into such an obvious trap. The corners of her lips twitch into a casual frown. She shrugs. “Honestly. Yeah. That might work.” 

“Might?” Felicia almost scoffs. 

“You’re a genius.”

A smirk tugs at Felicia’s mouth as she leans back in her chair, swiping up to send the message before putting the phone down on the table. “I know.”

They sit in silence, the two of them watching the screen with bated breath. They both gasp when the read receipt pops up, followed by a dead silence. MJ can only imagine how stressed that boy must be, opening his phone, thinking it’s an innocent text from Felicia, then BAM, he’s vibe-checked by her boobs instead. 

She holds back a snort, her stomach jumping into her throat seeing the dot-dot-dot pop up at the bottom of the screen. It’s almost as if she forgets to breathe, waiting to see what he’s going to say to such a blatant come on. 

It’s like he’s typing a damn novel with how long it’s taking him though, and Michelle’s not sure she can take it much longer. 

And then, her phone dings. 

Felicia’s lips pull into a frown reading the message. “‘Wow. Looks cool! No thanks, though.’ Aaaaand,” she spins her phone for MJ to read it. “Thumbs-up emoji. Smiley face with sunglasses.”

Even MJ’s surprised at that response. Maybe Peter is really taking this No Nut November thing seriously. Maybe he’s not as weak as she thought. But… it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing’s adding up. 

And with this confusion, there’s a sense of relief, knowing his response. Waiting wasn’t fun. 

“Huh.” Felicia sighs, biting her lip in thought as she starts typing out another message and sending it. 

“What did you say?” Michelle asks. 

“I told him I’d been thinking about getting my nipples pierced and wanted to know what he thought.” 

At that, Michelle snorts. “You’re an evil woman.” 

Felicia shrugs innocently. “I think he’d really like ‘em.”

Truly, it’s a genius move. It’s something that Peter has to address; Felicia’s nipples. The idea of them being pierced. It’s too much for his brain to handle. 

And again, just like before, they get into a staring contest with the conversation, watching as the read receipt pops up again, immediately followed by the ever-cruel ellipses as Peter no doubt struggles with a response that’s not too-eager. 

But then, he completely throws them for another loop. 

“‘I support you, friend!’ with…” Her eyes narrow. “A smiley face.” 

“Wow,” Michelle says, genuinely surprised. 

And Felicia seems just as shocked, if not a little offended that one of her oldest tricks in the book seem to have no effect whatsoever. “Did he just… friendzone me?” She asks, absolutely appalled.

“You were already friends before?” Michelle laughs. 

“But in this context?” She huffs, shaking her head. A beat passes where all she does is stare at her phone. “That’s weird,” she says slowly, lips quirking into a confused frown. “Huh.” 

“There, there,” Michelle deadpans, patting her friend stiffly on the hand. 

Felicia laughs. “It’s fine…” She draws out. “A hit to the ego is good for me every once in a while.”

“Oh my God,” MJ rolls her eyes. “You’re still hot. Don’t worry.” 

With a sad, a little over-dramatic nod, Felicia’s frown deepens as she pretends to wipe at her eyes. “Yeah. I am.” 

“I can’t believe that didn’t work,” MJ muses. Really, she can’t. Peter’s perhaps the easiest person she knows—and there’s nothing wrong with that at all; it’s just a fact of life. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Peter is a thot.

“I guess he’s really following through with this whole no nut thing…” Felicia’s brow furrows as she recoils. “How much money did he bet anyway?”

“A hundred.” 

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah.” 

“How much did you put in?” 

“...A hundred.”

“MJ!”

“Listen!” Michelle reasons, holding her hands up in defense. “This is gonna be the easiest two hundred dollars I’ve ever made.”

Felicia sits back, clearly impressed. “Does Peter know you’re in on it?”

“Nope,” MJ says, emphasizing the ‘p’ with an audible pop. 

“Well—” Felicia starts, shifting in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. “—I’m sure you’ll find some way to make that boy give in. Sorry I couldn’t help.”

Michelle lets out a light snort. “It’s okay. You tried.” 

“If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

But honestly, MJ already has a vague idea of what her next step is. 

And it brings her to his bedroom, to his desk, messing with his laptop while he’s out for his Sunday patrol. His password is entirely too easy to guess—really, you’d think a guy as smart as Peter would have something a little more complicated than “webshooter69.” 

If there’s anything she knows about Peter—maybe a little too much about her friend—is that while he mostly enjoys the company of a flesh and blood human being, he’s not above the occasional perusing of adult websites. 

The guy likes porn. 

The plan is to make his chrome homepage one of his regular sites. Confront him with the images that really get him going. 

She browses through his history, hoping that he hadn’t thought to delete everything or go incognito. And… luckily for her, that particular idea seemed to have slipped his mind entirely. Literally not even a week out and she’s found a slightly-more-than-nefarious-looking website. 

Easy enough. 

And it’s exactly what she’s looking for. Nudity galore. There doesn’t seem to be a corner of the site that doesn’t have a boob or a butt. It is truly Peter’s domain.

For a moment, she wonders if she should make the homepage specifically something he searches for… his favorite genre perhaps. 

She shakes the thought away immediately. It’s too invasive. Besides, the front page should be more than enough—there’s literally a video that frustratingly autoplays every time she goes back to that one page. And why would she need to know what Peter likes? There’s no reason for that. At all. 

Making sure to close out of everything before logging out, she slams the laptop shut, sprinting out of his room as if he was just about to get home. Her heart races as she slams her own bedroom door behind her, catching her breath proving to be more difficult than usual. 

And now, she waits. 

It turns out, she doesn’t have to wait very long. 

That evening, in fact, after Peter’s come back for dinner. 

He takes his time microwaving his leftovers from the day before, whistling to himself as he bounces around the kitchen. The whole time it feels like MJ’s just holding her breath, anticipating his early demise the instant he opens up chrome on his laptop. And honestly, this does feel like a low blow, like she’s just snatching up that low-hanging fruit—God, MJ, phrasing—but then she’s reminded that this, again, is the easiest two hundred dollars she will ever earn. 

And then she feels a little less bad about what she’s done. 

The second he’s finished with his food and disappears into his room, her eyes are on his door, and then it occurs to her that there’s not really a way that she can know he’s, well, “lost.” It’s all based on his own honor, if he’ll admit to succumbing to his most basic need. She likes to think that he would, though. Peter’s too much of a good, honest guy—hiding his secret identity aside—that he couldn’t lie to his friends about it. 

Ned comes home not two minutes later, deflating on the other side of the couch. 

“Rough day?” MJ asks, the teasing hint to her tone not going unnoticed. 

Ned rolls his eyes. “Told Betty I was doing this whole month thing.”

MJ winced. “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Ned chuckles. 

“Well, if it helps, this whole thing is probably gonna end in—” she checks her phone. “—five or so minutes.”

Ned’s gaze darts right and left. “What… What do you mean?” 

Before she can answer, Peter yelps from the other side of his door. There’s a loud crash that sounds suspiciously like a laptop being yeeted across the room in a hasty, knee-jerk reaction. Before either she or Ned can move, Peter’s bursting through his door, eyes blown wide, his face drained of all color, and he’s frozen in place, one hand gripping the doorframe. 

And it takes everything in her not to grin. “Everything okay?”

Peter coughs, scratching the back of his neck, before his gaze lands on Ned in a challenging glare. “DUDE. Not cool.”

Poor Ned looks as confused as ever, his jaw dropping, brows pinching together as he glances between the two. “I—What—what are you talking about?”

Peter narrows his eyes even more. 

“Did I hear something break?” MJ asks carefully, as not to seem too suspicious. 

He startles at her voice, sputtering out a response that mostly sounds like the macaroni glue art of sentences. “Oh—uh—no. It—It was the—the laptop. There was—a thing. And—I just kinda—threw it.” He laughs nervously. “It’s fine though. Not—not broken. All good—” He throws some finger guns. “—in the hood.”

Her lips twist as she nods. 

Peter nods back, hands in his back pockets as he starts to retreat back into his room—though not before throwing another I’m watching you glare at Ned. 

As soon as the door clicks shut, Ned’s in full interrogation mode. 

“MJ, what did you do?”

She shrugs, toying with the loose thread of her hoodie. “Nothing much. Just… Set his default homepage to some porn. No biggie.”

Ned’s jaw drops, thoroughly scandalized, but there’s a hint of amusement behind his eyes. “Dude… That’s evil.”

Michelle gives another shrug. 

So, her second plan had failed. Even after surprise-porn, Peter’s still in the running. He’s still holding out. Almost a two days into November, and he is surviving, a surprise to everyone involved, and already, MJ’s running out of ideas. Well, good—plausible ideas. There are plenty of ways she’s sure she could compromise him. Take him to a strip-club maybe, but there’s not a doubt in her mind that he’d be able to pick up on what she was doing. There’s no way he’d fall for it. 

Hiring an escort was definitely out of the question. 

Theoretically, both of those could work. Were they good plans? No. Absolutely not. 

He’s already turned down a previous hook-up. He broke his laptop out of the sheer panic that seeing porn brought him. 

There doesn’t seem to be much more that she can do. 

It’s not until the next day, as she’s walking the clothing section of Target with Felicia that she’s struck with an idea. 

Felicia specifically striking her with said idea. 

They’re in the middle of the sleepwear section, MJ mindlessly rifling through the fuzzy sock bin, when she nearly collides with the underwear display. She’s distracted for a moment, wondering if it’s too soon since she’s bought new underwear to justify taking advantage of the sale, when Felicia nudges her with her elbow. 

“Peter’s really into pretty underwear,” she says as if they’re not in the middle of Target. As if there’s not a mom and two kids in the actual pajama section two displays over. 

Michelle recoils slightly, startled. “What?” 

“He’s like, really into it,” she says, taking a casual sip of her iced coffee, reaching over to pick up a particularly lacy number. “Just saying. Might be useful.”

For some reason, MJ feels a strange heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m not gonna put these on for him!”

Felicia smirks, holding a hand up in defense. “Who said anything about you wearing it? You can just… leave it lying around for him to find, or something.” She tilts her head to the side, both brows raising. “Jeez, MJ.”

“Oh…” Michelle says, though her face still burns. “Right.” 

It’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s pretty good. If Peter’s as into fancy underwear as Felicia says he is, then maybe leaving them around like some kind of weird scavenger hunt is the best plan. She doesn’t buy much, picking a pair of relatively cheap lace and polyester. She could use her own underwear for this, but… that would be weird right?

(As if this isn’t weird enough already.)

And besides, the ones she’s buying are a little more extra in that department. They aren’t meant to be worn for long, not from comfort. 

They’re perfect. 

She feels like some kind of underwear fairy, planting them somewhere in the apartment, making sure they’re hidden, yet visible in a place that Peter frequents; it sticks up between the couch cushions, not subtle in the slightest. The second Peter’s butt hits that couch, he’ll see them. There’s no other way around it. 

It becomes another waiting game as she sits in the living chair, knees curled into her chest as she pretends to read quietly. It’s pretend because she can’t focus long enough on any single letter to let her brain absorb anything on the pages. Finally, the front door opens. Peter greets her with a cheery smile, making immediately for the kitchen. 

Good. Yes. He gets his after class snack. Important. 

Just as she’d planned. 

He emerges not two minutes later, bag of cheese crackers in hand as he launches himself over the back of the couch. “‘Sup?” he asks after shoving a mouthful of Cheez-its into his face. 

Michelle wrinkles her nose, her eyes unconsciously darting between the guy on the couch and the panties peeking out from the cushions. “Reading,” she offers, brandishing the very unread book.

Peter nods, tearing his gaze from hers after a beat and reaching for the remote. When he sits back, his hand brushes the cheap lace and he pauses, curious as he looks down to see what he touched. 

All of this while MJ desperately pretends not to notice. 

When he picks the pair up though, his brows pinch together, at first unsure as to what he’s actually looking at. “Uh…” 

At that, MJ looks up, seeing right as the realization sets in. 

Of course, she plays dumb—by staying silent. 

Peter quickly looks to her, eyes wide as if he’s seen a ghost. “It’s—it’s not—these aren’t—” His lips press together as he forces a breath through his nose. “I—Oh god—”

And then, for a split-second, she feels the slightest bit guilty. Is this actually a good plan or is she just tricking him into getting a boner over cheap department store undies? That, and is she technically lying to him by not claiming the offending undergarments? By making him freak out over nothing?

He seems to be having some sort of existential crisis, wondering if these really are from some recent hook-up and the psychological effect of not nutting in three days has caused him to forget. 

This was a terrible idea.

She has to put him out of his misery. 

“Oh, shit. Those—” Her laugh is breathy, short. “—Those are mine.” 

And instantly, Peter drops the thong, as if his hands had been burned. “Oh!” he coughs, his gaze straining as if he’s trying to keep his eyes on her face. “S—Sorry.” He swallows.

“Yeah.” Rising on legs that are shaky—from sitting so oddly in the chair for so long—she goes to snatch up the baby pink lace, clutching it behind her back before Peter can get another look. “Sorry. Must’ve forgot. Uh, when I did… Laundry.”

Peter nods, breathing out a chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah. S’fine.” He waves her off, scratching the back of his neck. 

But even after that, Peter still seems off. For some reason, he still doesn’t seem to be able to look at her for more than a split-second. He doesn’t say anything else, sitting in silence, his cheese crackers long forgotten on the coffee table. 

Michelle wonders if she should say something else. Break the tension. It’s awkward, obviously, because he feels weird about touching his friend’s underwear. Anyone would, really. He touched something that theoretically would be on her body; something that normally, he thinks is really sexy, or whatever. 

After another minute of some good old soul-crushing silence, Peter stands, excusing himself to his room without another word. 

Huh. Weird.

--

It’s the movie night that finally gives her that clarity she’s been looking for; that moment where everything clicks into place, and she can finally see how she’s going to win this. 

Ned’s out with Betty, leaving her and Peter alone not for the first time. 

She and Peter are sitting on the couch together, her head resting on his shoulder—because that’s what friends do, obviously—the two of them sharing a gray fuzzy blanket. This is a normal occurrence. They’re close enough in their friendship that some occasional cuddling isn’t too weird. Especially given how chilly it’s been lately. And, it’s comfy. Just some nice head-to-shoulder contact. 

But later in the movie, when MJ starts to get dangerously sleepy, feeling herself drooping further and further, unable to completely pull herself back to reality. Things are fuzzy, almost dreamlike, as she just pulls herself up from his shoulder, giving up entirely on watching the movie and just grumpily laying down right on his lap, his thigh her make-shift pillow.

This isn’t weird. 

It’s normal.

She’s sleepy.

And Peter’s a surprisingly comfy pillow.

Peter doesn’t even have time to ask what she’s doing before she’s just nestling further into his lap. She misses the pure dread and panic that flashes across his face when her head lines up with his head. There’s no safety here. Just a few wrong movements, and she’ll definitely know what’s up. She’ll be an unwitting tourist to Boner City, population: one. 

Peter has to do something. He can’t let this continue. Having his best friends head just straight up on his crotch is not helpful in the slightest. 

“MJ,” he gently nudges her, grimacing slightly when she just burrows further into him. 

He nudges her again, and she grumbles, finally opening her eyes and looking up at him. She puts a hand on his thigh to steady herself. 

Peter swallows. 

“What?” She asks, not opening her eyes.

“I uh—” Peter can’t seem to speak, trying desperately to come up with some excuse as to why he has to get the fuck out of there. “—I gotta pee.”

She cracks an eye open skeptically. “But I’m comfy,” she emphasizes her point by—once again—snuggling her face into his lap. 

Peter’s about to lose his damn mind. 

In MJ’s defense, this had started with the best intentions. She truly was just wanting to lay down and sleep on her friends lap—again, a perfectly normal thing—but now… even through the haze of sleep, she’s seeing how much this is effecting him. 

It hadn’t occurred to her until now, that she could be the one that makes him “crack.” They’re just friends. Sure, she thinks he’s attractive, and yeah, maybe she’s had the one or two or three sexy dreams about him before (even some soft, fluffy ones), but that doesn’t mean she thinks about him in that way. 

He's just Peter.

Sweet, adorable, kinda hot Peter.

Again, she doesn't think about him that way.

But she supposes it makes sense. Really, she should have known before putting her head on his crotch that he might get a little flustered from the proximity, that it might remind him of certain things. It's just the body's physiological reaction to a stimulus; the stimulus being her head. It's simple science.

So then, it would also only make sense for her to take advantage of that physiological response she's able to get out of him. Maybe not right at this second, given she's been a little blindsided by this whole thing. But maybe now she can rethink her gameplan. Now she has access to tools she didn't know she had access to before.

Her own sensuality.

She can certainly use that.

And it's not as if she'll do anything too out there. Just... make him feel the heat—the pressure—just a little bit. Make him sweat.

Felicia's of course delighted by this development, giving her full support in "seducing Parker into busting a nut."

(Her words, not MJ's.)

She'd also said something about how it's about time, but that'd been promptly ignored—mainly because MJ didn't know what the hell Felicia was talking about.

The problem is now, though, Michelle's not exactly sure where to start. After Peter had made a dead sprint to the bathroom the night before, he's been a little more, shall we say, cautious, around her. He bounces on his feet, trying desperately to appear casual, acting as if nothing was weird about their movie night.

She only has three days left in the week, so she has to think.

And fast.

--

Peter's not sure if MJ's up to something, but he can't help but feel as though she's acting... strange. First, the underwear thing, which made him feel all kinds of flustered and weird, and then her head being dangerously close to his dick. It's a lot. She can't possibly know about this No Nut thing, right? She wasn't there, and Ned wouldn't have told her... right?

Still, he tries to avoid her as much as he can, ready to fly away the second she's in the same room as him.

Truthfully, he's always had maybe the tiniest crush on his best friend. It's faded in and out over the years, especially in their college years. But it's always been there, even if just the ghost of one. And now, he's starting to see maybe how bad of an idea this was in the first place—No Nut November. His roommate is literally probably the prettiest person in the world and he's being constantly reminded of the one thing he definitely should not be thinking about under any circumstances if he wants to win. It's a disaster that should have never happened in the first place. This could have been prevented, he thinks.

He's not sure how he didn't think about that when he'd agreed to do this.

He just knows that he has to do something, though he's not sure what.

But any and all ideas of how to protect himself instantly leave his mind, crashing his brain, when he comes back to the apartment the next day to find it sweltering. He looks at the thermostat, thoroughly confused to find the heater set to eighty. He peels off his jacket, recoiling when the humid air sticks to his skin. It's hot. Too hot. Even for early November. It's not that cold outside.

He's about to call out for his roommates when MJ emerges from her room, and he feels like he has to pick his jaw up from the floor.

Her shorts are too short for it being fall. They show too much of her legs for his eyes to not be immediately drawn to them. Her white tank top is tight against her skin, hugging her form in a way that almost makes him jealous. And then, it's almost too much, too dangerous, when he can very clearly tell that she's apparently decided to forgo a bra for the evening.

"Oh, hey Pete!" She says, as if she's not looking like that.

"Hey—hey. Em..." He clears his throat.

Dear God. It's been less than a week. Hold it together.

"Is it..." Peter swallows. "Is it hot in here? The—the heat? Is it—is it on?"

MJ's eyes widen a fraction.

"Oh, yeah. It is," she replies casually. "Is that okay? I was just a little cold."

"So you turn it up to—" Peter stops, craning his neck to look at the thermostat on the wall. "—eighty-two?"

She glances left and right, as if there's nothing wrong with that temperature whatsoever. "Yeah," she says with a nonchalant shrug, her lips tugging into a frown. After a beat, she lets out a faint snort, apparently finding something particularly funny, before turning to the fridge. She opens the freezer, sighing as the cool air hits her face.

Peter doesn't realize he's staring as she reaches in, pulling out a box from the top shelf. When he sees what's in the box, he knows that his doom is near. It's bright, colorful. It's popsicles. He has to leave immediately if he knows what's good for him, if he has any sense of sanity left. She grabs a crinkling wrapper from inside the box, casually whipping it out. She holds one out to him.

"Want one?" She offers.

Peter can only shake his head, swallowing a near-silent, voice-cracking, "Nope."

And it's at this point, as she shuts the freezer door, as she starts peeling the wrapper off the way-too-phallic popsicle, that he knows he should run. It's not safe here.

But he's frozen in place, trying to burn his gaze into the intricacies of the granite countertops, tapping his fingers in an erratic rhythm.

He's an idiot, for sure, because he looks up at exactly the wrong time, right as she wraps her lips around the tip of the pop, her eyes meeting his for a fraction of a second.

How can it only be eighty-two in here? 

Thankfully, he gains some sense, tearing himself away from the counter and going over to actually turn down the thermostat. "Is it okay if I—" He coughs. "—Turn this back down?"

"Sure." MJ doesn't stop him. She wets her lips, hiding her satisfied smirk by taking the popsicle deeper into her mouth.

But again, he makes the fatal mistake of looking at her again, because now... well, now she's just messing with him. She has to be.

No one eats a popsicle like that.

When he thinks it can't get worse, she has the fucking audacity to hum as she pushes it further into her mouth. "This is so good," she says, half-way a moan.

Who actually says that about a fucking popsicle?

It's evil, truly it is, because it makes him imagine her swirling her tongue around it inside her mouth, and suddenly, the tightness in his pants gets even more uncomfortable.

He hurries to somewhere else in the kitchen, pouring himself a nice glass of water. It's still too hot in here. MJ sidesteps him easily, still inappropriately eating—sucking off—her popsicle. And he nearly chokes, because as his eyes meet hers again, she takes the damn thing out of her mouth—he thinks he's safe, but oh no—she slips her tongue out, licking a long stripe up the base, swirling it around the tip before taking it into her mouth again.

"What?" She asks—she fucking asks—when he can't look away.

And unsurprisingly, Peter can't speak. Can't even get a single syllable out.

"Is my tongue red?" She asks, sticking said tongue out that was just seconds before all over the popsicle.

"I'm gonna go hop in the shower," Peter spits out, dropping his water in the sink and making a mad dash to the bathroom, not waiting for a response.

A shower is what he needs right now.

A nice, cold shower.

He needs to take a deep breath. Think of not sexy things. Things that don't make his life out to be a bad porno.

Then, he needs to leave. Hide in the forest. Live among the trees, away from temptation, until November is over. Only then can he be at peace.

That's it!

Trees. Nature. Forests. Cold. Snow. MJ in the snow. Kissing MJ in the snow—NO.

NO.

He slams the bathroom door, leaning back against it. He heaves out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his face in frustration. How he can possibly survive the rest of the month, he has no idea.

MJ has to be messing with him, right? There’s absolutely no way in hell she’s not doing this on purpose. And why? Why is she torturing him like this? What has Peter ever done in his life to deserve this torment? It isn’t fair. 

No matter how desperately he wants to take care of the not-so-little problem in his jeans, he holds himself back, clenching every muscle in his body as he switches on a very cold shower. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the image of Michelle—his best friend and roommate—eating a popsicle out of his mind. It has absolutely no right to be there. 

And still, as Peter stands under the stream of freezing water, letting it run down his back and front as he holds himself up with one hand, he can’t help but think that the worst is yet to come. That somehow, someway, MJ would top simulating a blow job on an ice pop. He doesn’t know how she’d do it, but he knows it’s coming. 

He must be ready. 

--

Not to MJ’s surprise, Peter avoids her the rest of the day. He keeps his head down, not daring to even glance up at her as he walks past. Weirdly enough, this is a good sign. It confirms her hypothesis that her actions can have some sort of an effect on him. It helps her to know what to do next. 

And, well…

She’d be lying if she said it weren’t at least a little bit thrilling. 

There’s something deep inside her that finds all of this so interesting, so amusing. She wants to know how far she can go, how hard she can push before he cracks under the pressure. And the fact that it’s her that has all this power over him—it’s certainly a revelation. 

But still, even if this is “fun,” she can be professional about this. She would never let it get “too far,” whatever that would be. No, the goal here isn’t to seduce her way into Peter’s pants, but to seduce him—innocently—enough that he just does it to himself. 

Her next plan might be a little more unfair, a little more direct, and perhaps a little more daring than the last one. 

And—she should add—much more difficult than she had anticipated. 

For one, she just can’t seem to get the right angle, holding her phone above her body, making sure to get both the underside of her breasts—a tasteful amount of boob, thank you very much—and the same cheap, pretty pink undies she bought from Target. It’s awkward, tilting and twisting her phone, her thumb just barely reaching the shutter button. The first few shots aren’t anything to be particularly proud of. Too blurry, her arm cramping up from holding the camera up so long. This isn’t something she’s really done before, given she’s never seen the appeal. Why send pics when you could just, you know, show them the real thing? 

But for some reason, it makes her heart climb into her throat, makes her face almost unbearably warm. 

It’s when she changes her positioning on her bed, finding some nice light filtering in from the early evening sun. Golden hour has always proven to be exceptionally kind to her. She finds a decent pose, covering both breasts with her forearm, arching her back, making sure to get that perfect “booty tooch” that would make Tyra proud. She breathes out in an attempt to cool her heated nerves, parting her lips in a way that’s sure to incite some kind of reaction. 

Click. 

And then, she’s got the shot. 

Okay, technically it’s not a nude, but there’s something about the idea of sending this picture to Peter of all people that gets her stomach twisting in knots. 

And as her hand hovers over the send button, her heart hammers in her chest, hesitation holding her still. She takes her bottom lip in her teeth, beginning to wonder if this is the best idea. Her plan had been to send the picture, play it off as some kind of mistake, and hope that he goes to… take care of himself. Sure, it might get a reaction out of Peter—one big enough that causes him to give up this whole no nut thing—but it almost feels as if she’s crossing some kind of line. 

Miming a blow job on a popsicle was one thing—one that she can’t decide if she’s proud of or not. That was just a performance. It wasn’t something she was doing to Peter. This—sending him a racy picture when he’s literally in the next room—is a direct interference. 

Plus, there’s no telling what this would do to their friendship. It could ruin everything. Catastrophically. 

Awkward would be an understatement. 

She puts her phone face down on the mattress, avoiding the picture all together, before getting up and pulling on one of her comfy robes. 

God, all of this was a terrible idea. 

Wallowing in her own self-pity and regret, she flops back down onto the bed, grabbing her phone with the intention of deleting the picture once and for all. It’s still there in the text conversation, just waiting to be sent. She scoffs, shaking her head at herself, only for her heart to stop in her chest when—in her frazzled state—she hits “send” instead of that little “x.”

“SHIT.” 

No no no no no NONONONONO.

She drops her phone immediately, wrapping her robe tighter around herself as she scrambles for her bedroom door, nearly tripping over her rug in the process. 

Peter’s sitting on the couch, blissfully unaware, when his phone pings. And to Michelle’s utter horror, he picks it up. 

“NO!” MJ shouts, jumping on top of him. It’s a futile attempt really, seeing as her best friend—she stupidly forgets—is an actual superhero. 

Peter yelps as she pushes him down into the couch, tumbling onto the floor, holding his phone away from her grabby hands as she straddles his hips. “What the fuck—” And while he could push her off of him with a ridiculous amount of ease, he stills, becoming suddenly aware of their precarious position. 

“Gimme your phone!” Her voice comes out in a half-plea, half-demand. All panic. 

Peter still holds it away from her, his own brand of panic flashing across his features when his other hand naturally falls at her hip. He yanks it away, instead holding her back by the shoulder. “Why?”

It’s also then that he sees what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t wearing. 

And in his distraction, Michelle snatches his phone, instinctively throwing it across the room. She winces apologetically when he looks up at her, jaw dropped and brow wrinkled. 

“What the hell, MJ—”

“—I’m sorry! I panicked!”

“Why?!”

“I—”

It’s then, as they both stare at each other in shock, that they both realize the position they’re in—but neither of them seem to be able to move away, frozen solid on the living room floor. 

Peter can feel his heart beating relentlessly in his ears, his throat suddenly going dry when he notices how tightly Michelle’s thighs are holding him in place. Another problem starts to arise when he sees how her cotton robe is pooled around their aligned hips, his eyes catching the sliver of shiny pink underwear when one side falls back. “What—” He clears his throat, his voice coming out uncharacteristically breathy. “—What was on my… my phone?”

“Uh—” She presses her lips together. “A picture.”

Peter’s gaze drifts lower for a split second, dipping to the exposed dip in her chest, drawn to the rise and fall with each breath. “Of?” 

“Me?”

“You?”

MJ breathes out a laugh, glancing down. “I, uh—accidentally sent… You a picture. Well—I meant to send it to you, not that like, it wasn’t for you, but I kinda decided not to send it… and then… I did. Accidentally.” 

And even though he’s trying everything in his power to keep his eyes on her face, he can’t help the way they seem to travel lower and lower with each second. He’s confused at first, but then, it hits him, like a train, what exactly that picture was. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The air crackles between them, static in their ears. Michelle finds her own gaze drifting lower, lingering on his parted lips, a warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach. She shifts slightly, her breath catching as she suddenly feels the hardness pressing into the inside of her thigh. Peter stares up at her, something in his eyes bringing her closer, inch by inch. The warmth and weight of both of his hands tentatively, slowly moving to her waist causes something to ignite within her, and in a split-second, her lips are on his. 

Michelle’s surprised to find herself… well—surprised—at how this kiss doesn’t immediately turn into an all tongue-and-teeth, ripping-eachother’s-clothes-off kiss. It’s sweet. Slow and tender—as if the two of them are savoring it. Nothing like she’d expected Peter to be capable of. Nothing like how he’d painted himself to be from all of his hook-up stories. 

And she’s not entirely sure who’s “fault” it is when it turns into more. 

It could be the way she’s subtly grinding her hips against his, her body alight with the friction. 

It could be how his tongue swipes over her bottom lip, innocently at first. 

It could be her soft, breathy whines as one of his hands moves lower to cup her ass, pulling her closer, the new angle against his hardness bringing an indescribable feeling. 

And then again, it could be her robe starting to fall off her shoulders—she’s not sure who starts that, but all of a sudden she’s feeling cool air on her skin. 

She almost smiles into the kiss, thinking about how easily and quickly this “chaste” kiss had shifted. 

And it’s immediately after that thought that she snaps out of it. 

“Wait!” She says, pulling back and sitting up—but still staying in Peter’s lap. Before this can go any further, she has to tell him the truth. He has to be able to… back out of it. 

Where this sudden sense of generosity’s come from, she has no idea. 

He follows, sitting up with her, brows creasing, his expression a concoction of worry and panic. “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry—”

“No!” She puts a hand on his shoulder after fixing her robe. Her thumb smooths over the fabric of his shirt. “No. It’s… fine. I just…” Surprisingly, she finds herself chuckling, unable to bite back her smile as he looks at her with concern. 

“What is it, Em?” 

It’s the nickname for her nickname that does it for her. Truly. 

“You good?” He asks, wincing as she shifts in his lap again. 

“Yeah, uh—” She coughs, trying unsuccessfully to hide the way her lips are twitching violently as she fights her smile. It takes her more than a few moments, the deep breaths she’s taking not doing all that much to help mask the humor in her tone. “—I know about No Nut November.” 

At first, Peter’s confused, staring back at her with furrowed brows, his mouth in a cute little ‘o’. He tries to play dumb, maybe thinking that he can get away with one final attempt to save his pride—letting out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck, he shrugs. “Yeah, my new diet. Crazy, huh?”

She blinks, blankly staring at him. “Peter.” There’s some amusement there, especially as she pointedly glances down to their current position. 

“What?” He asks dumbly. 

“Ned told me.”

Peter curses, wincing. “Damn it, Ned.”

“Yeah…” In a strange, very unwelcome bout of insecurity, Michelle removes her hands from Peter’s shoulders, twiddling her fingers together in front of her. “I made him tell me… and I kinda… also made him let me in on the bet.”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “What?!”

“We kinda made our own bet that like… If you lasted less than a week, I would get all the money.”

“You didn’t think I’d last a week?” Peter almost takes offense at that, even if there’s merit to her prediction. “Damn, MJ…”

“I mean… I also wanted to win. So… I kinda tried—or I guess have been trying… to sabotage you?” 

At that, his jaw drops. “No! Wait—You—What? I—” He stammers like that, his brain short-circuiting as she still watches from his lap. “That was—what? The porn? On my laptop?”

MJ nods, grimacing. 

“The… underwear? Just in the couch?” 

“Yeah…”

“And you were gonna…” He looks down at her, the cotton robe still just barely tied around her—the journey his eyes make also coinciding with his mouth going dry once again. “...That picture you took…?”

She nods again, looking down at her hands. 

“Putting your head on my lap?!” He asks, as if he of all people is scandalized. 

“That wasn’t part of the plan. That was kinda what helped me figure out that… I could just… do it myself.” 

“Oh my God,” he puts a hand on his face. “The popsicle. The fucking popsicle.”

“That was probably my best work, honestly.”

“That was so cruel.” 

And when he laughs, his eyes crinkling, she starts to see that maybe this will all be okay, and a sense of relief fills her chest. “Yeah, sorry. I also had Felicia help.” 

“You put her up to that?!” 

“Nah. She offered. I felt kinda weird about it—” She says the last part without realizing it, immediately shutting her mouth. 

“That’s why I said no,” Peter replies. 

It’s Michelle’s turn to be surprised. “What? Really? I thought it was just ‘cause you were so dedicated to this whole no nut thing.”

“I mean, yeah, I was but—” He laughs, reaching a hand up to smooth the curls at the base of his neck. “—I just… felt weird about it. With you guys being friends and all.” 

The way MJ’s heart flutters is strange, but not entirely unwelcome. “Why would that be weird?”

“Why did you think it’d be weird?” He throws back, his lips twisting into a curious grin. 

And not for the first time when talking to Peter, Michelle feels all knowledge of the English language leave her body. It’s strange, how much confidence she can have while literally dry-humping him on the living room floor, but how scared she can be trying to explain something about how she feels. 

She only shrugs. 

A beat passes, and still, Michelle can’t bring herself to move. 

“So…” Peter draws out after another moment. “All that—” he clears his throat. “—stuff… that was just to win that bet?” 

“Well, I mean—yeah?” The look of hurt on his face makes her heart lurch in her chest. She’s quick to correct herself. “But—I… I think maybe that could be a good thing.” 

His brows raise in careful curiosity, though he still seems apprehensive. “A good thing?” He asks slowly. 

Michelle nods, swallowing. “Uh—Yeah. ‘Cause… If I hadn’t then I wouldn’t have figured out that—um… I might—” It’s weird, how frustrating it is that she can’t seem to find the words she wants to say, that her brain seems to have completely abandoned her in her greatest, most dire time of need. And this shouldn’t be this hard. She’s an adult. She’s in her third year of college. 

Confessing the feelings that you’ve just realized you have for your best friend since high school should be easy right?

Right?

And she’s only just figured this out. In the last five seconds. That all these years of weird feelings, long glances, warm faces has actually lead to something, they’ve actually meant something other than a weird stomach bug or whatever. 

All it took was attempted sabotage during No Nut November for her to realize that. 

The power it has. 

“MJ?”

His voice grabs her attention; the caution in his tone snapping her gaze to his. And for a moment, she just looks at him, mouth hanging open as she tries to say something, anything. But still, she can’t.

So, she does the next best thing. 

She kisses him—again—trying her best to put all of the words she can’t seem to figure out into it. And although he kisses her back—easily—he doesn’t seem to understand what she means, because he pulls away not ten seconds later. 

“Listen—MJ—” Peter stammers, running a jittery hand through his hair as he breathes out a huff of laughter. “—I don’t think I can do—” He gestures between the two of them. “—This… if it’s just… casual.” 

So, he really didn’t get it, and now, she’s feeling the impatience creeping up her neck. 

“I really like you, MJ,” he confesses, and for a moment, she’s not sure if she heard him right, or if she heard him speak at all. Her brain must be playing some nasty, cold-hearted trick on her, because Peter—perpetually single and ready to mingle Peter—just said that he liked her. 

God, she feels like she’s a teenager again. It feels so high school, the amount of butterflies in her stomach hearing him say that. 

Even more so when she finds herself responding automatically, “I really like you, too.”

“Cool,” he says lamely, his breathless chuckle making her heart flutter in her chest. 

He doesn’t waste another second before he tugs her back to him, capturing her lips to his, one of his hands moving to cup the underside of her jaw. She tilts her head, letting out a gentle sigh as he deepens the kiss. His tongue brushes against her lips before slipping into her mouth. The weight of his other hand on her waist is comforting in a way, heavy and solid as he holds her in place. 

Truly, she hadn’t expected any of her plans from earlier in the week to come to this. 

Instinctively, her hand snakes down to his hips, sliding underneath the hem of his t-shirt and dragging across his stomach, smiling into the kiss as his muscles twitch underneath her touch. It’s then, as her hand dips even lower, palming him over his sweats that he seems to snap out of whatever trance she put him in. 

He grabs her wrist—gently, of course—pulling it away and breaking the kiss. 

His chest is heaving with each breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in an apologetic smile. “I—I can’t—the… the bet.”

And it dawns on Michelle then, that she’s been cockblocked by No Nut November. 

Even though she tries to appear understanding, he must be able to see the disappointment in the twist of her lips, the way she nods quietly. 

“But—” He starts, pressing his mouth together into a thin line. He nudges her, pointing his finger as he’s hit with a revelation, talking slowly. “—You’re not… doing… No Nut November…”

MJ lets out a surprised laugh, shifting in his lap as her face warms even more. A beat passes as she stares at him, giving him a chance to take it back. “Are you sure?” She finally asks.

Peter nods quickly, insistently. He’s got this. Clearly. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely. I’ll be fine.”

Yeah, she’s not sure how much of that she actually believes. 

Probably none of it. 

But, that doesn’t mean she’s turning down the offer. 

“Okay…” She trails off, unable to bite back her grin at the brief self-doubt that flashes across his features. “What do you—what do you wanna do?” She asks, her face burning, suddenly finding herself the slightest bit tongue tied. It takes everything in her to at least look calm and not like she’s about a half-second away from just jumping his bones. 

Or, one in particular. 

Peter clears his throat, the tips of his ears turning an adorable shade of red. “Uh—” He huffs out a laugh. “I mean… Whatever you’re comfortable with? I’m cool with whatever you want.”

He’s cool. Okay. Yeah. 

She shifts her weight again, biting back a smirk when he inhales sharply as she brushes against the hardness in his gray sweats. “Sorry.” Feeling merciful, Michelle climbs off of his lap, sitting back against the couch, curling her legs underneath her. “Any ideas?” 

Though, Peter can’t seem to tell if he’s happy with this new development or not—as hard as it was having her sitting on him. “Um—” And his expression tells her that he does have one. “I could…” He coughs again. “I could go down on you?”

It’s funny, how casually he says it, like he’s offering to give her a ride to the airport, or something. But it still makes her ears ring. 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding slowly. She swallows. “That sounds—that sounds good.”

“We should probably—” He gestures to his bedroom door, huffing out a laugh. “—not do this out here.” 

“Probably,” she snorts. 

The speed at which he scrambles to stand and runs to his bedroom, compared to her somewhat-leisurely pace, makes her let out the most undignified laugh. 

A silence falls between them as he shuts the door, the click echoing. MJ takes a moment to glance around his room—literally a single moment, because in the next he’s wrapping his arm around her waist, yanking her to him and crashing his lips to hers. His hands are greedy, twisting handfuls of the soft fabric of her robe, finding purchase on her ass and grinding her against his hardness. 

MJ revels in the groan he lets out as she melts into him, her hands winding themselves in his soft curls, twisting and tugging ever so slightly. 

He guides her to the bed, pausing to gently lay her back on the mattress before crawling over her, his mouth finding itself on the underside of her jaw, his lips and tongue dragging along the column of her throat. With one hand, he prises her legs apart, happily settling between them while his other fumbles with the tie of her robe. 

His eyes meet hers first, silently asking for permission, before pulling the thick string back. His eyes darken as Michelle helps him slip the robe back, leaving her almost completely bare underneath him. He unconsciously wets his lips as his eyes hungrily rake over the expanse of her body—he feels as if the only accurate description for how he feels at this moment being a deer caught in really well-defined headlights. 

She thinks for a moment that he’s just going to do this—stare at her—instead of, well, what he said he’d do. 

But he doesn’t seem to have that kind of patience. He lurches forward, his mouth hot on her neck, trailing open-mouthed, wet kisses down to her collarbone, her sternum, the swell of her right breast. 

She bites back a gasp as he takes her nipple into his mouth, her back arching off the bed as his tongue swirls around it, palming the other with his hand. It’s a sight to see for sure, Peter’s head on her chest, his curls tickling her skin.

His trail continues, back to the dip in her chest, lower and lower, his kisses hot on her stomach, down to her hips, the lace trim of her thong.

Peter sits back on his heels, breathless as he looks down at her. “Fuck—” He curses, drawn to the damp patch in the middle of the soft faux-satin, how it clings to her. 

He doesn’t give it another second, hooking his thumbs around the lace and roughly pulling them off of her legs. 

He’s diving his head down in the next instant, his lips leaving scorching kisses on the inside of her thighs. He thinks that he can maybe tease her, trying to slow his pace as he gets closer and closer to where she wants him to be. 

(Okay, it’s where he wants to be, too.)

He pulls back a little, trying not to smile too much at the disappointed edge in her shuddering sigh. As much as his mouth waters with her so close to him, he controls himself. Kind of. To a degree. He takes a finger, experimentally teasing her entrance, his sweats—somehow—tightening at Michelle’s quiet gasp as he touches her. There, he collects her wetness, coating his finger in her arousal, swirling it over her cunt, around her clit. And he sits there, marveling at how impossibly wet she is already. 

Though, it’s not long, probably less than a minute, before his impatience kicks in again. 

He thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t eat her out. 

Dramatic? Maybe. 

Valid?

Who’s to say?

But he can’t help himself, and any thought about slowing down is thrown out the window as he licks a long stripe up her center, his eyes rolling back as he tastes her. He dives right back in, his tongue circling her entrance, lapping her up. 

And Michelle can’t help but notice how at home he looks between her legs, how in his element he is as he moves to start sucking on her clit, flicking it back and forth with his tongue as he teases her with two fingers. 

His eyes meet hers and she wonders how on earth she’s going to survive this, especially when those two fingers push into her, curling as he pumps them in and out. 

“Shit—Peter!” She cries, her back fully lifting off the mattress as he picks up his pace, moaning against her. 

Clearly he’s enjoying this, too. 

A choked gasp slips from her lips when he slows suddenly, his eyes locking with hers again before picking back up even harder and faster than before. She reaches down, tangling her hand in his messy curls, holding him in just that right spot. Her thighs try to close on him, trapping him in as the coil in her tightens, but his free hand grips her, holding her in place. And she can’t fight the way her hips buck against him as she begins to grind herself against his face. 

It builds and builds, teetering just on that beautiful edge, when Peter adds a third finger—and then, she’s seeing stars, her brain going fuzzy as all of her muscles tense, electricity shooting from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She comes with a strangled moan, panting as her body’s overcome with pleasure. 

Peter’s movements slow, and he pulls off of her sensitive clit, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, before taking each finger into his mouth, sucking them clean. 

MJ sits up on her elbows, her chest heaving with each breath as she watches him—and at that moment, her eyes drawn to the hard line in his sweats, she curses No Nut November again, because honestly, she’s never wanted him to fuck her more, never been so angry at a single month.

He seems to be in the same fire, his expression wrought with the inner turmoil he feels. His eyes screw shut, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to ignore how painfully hard he is, how he can feel his dick pulsing already, and how stupidly hot and beautiful MJ is. 

His decision’s made before he opens his eyes. 

Michelle lets out a surprised yelp as he leaps on top of her, his mouth on hers before she can start laughing. Somehow, his hands are greedier as they explore her body, squeezing and kneading her breasts, her waist, her hips, down to her ass. 

None of that’s to say that she’s complaining, though. Peter just ate her out like it was his full-time job, like he was stopping crime as Spider-Man. As far as she’s concerned, he can do whatever he wants right now. 

It’s when he starts to take his sweats—and boxers—off that she gets confused, if not a little too hopeful. 

“What about the bet?” She asks breathlessly when he pulls back.

He holds her gaze, his lips curving into a sly grin. “Fuck the bet.”

If there’s a god, Michelle wants to thank her right now. 

Peter’s hands grip her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin as he wraps them around his waist. He takes his dick in his hand, pumping a few times, swiping it down her center, tapping her clit, before Michelle suddenly remembers to use their one collective brain cell. 

“Wait—” she gasps. “Condom.”

Peter curses under his breath, hanging his head for a moment, biting his lip. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re right.” 

If she thought he was fast running to the bedroom, watching him scramble through his bedside drawers looking for a rubber is something else. A giggle—a fucking giggle—bubbles up out of her at his relief when he finds one. 

He rolls it on quickly, expertly, days of No Nut November clearly not slowing him down. 

He’s back on her in the next second, eager as he gathers her arousal and coating himself with it. 

They both let out a string of curses as he pushes into her—finally. Peter screws his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath as he feels how warm and snug she is around him, almost unable to believe how well she fits him. MJ grips his shoulder, face burning as he gives her a moment to adjust, a moment to take all of him in. 

When he starts to move, they both wonder again why they hadn’t been doing this in the first place. 

As with everything else, Peter doesn’t waste their time. Even though he revels in how fucking amazing she feels around him, how he can’t even remember the last time this felt so good, so right, he picks up a steady pace, fucking into her like it’s the last chance he’ll get. He hikes her leg higher on his waist, the new, deeper angle causing Michelle to arch her back, a wet moan ripping through her. 

“Peter—” She chants his name over and over, unable to say anything else as his hips snap into hers. “Fuck—”

“God, MJ, you’re so fucking good,” his voice is almost a growl, lower and more desperate than he’s ever sounded. “Taking me so well.”

Michelle should’ve guessed he was one for dirty talk, though she can’t say she’s surprised. 

Or that she minds. 

Peter bites back a groan, stilling momentarily as she clenches around him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He’s already so close, teetering just on the edge, but he’s filled with a sense of determination at the sting of her nails digging into his shoulders. 

His hand trails down her stomach, his thumb pressing her clit, scrubbing furiously as he pumps in and out of her. She squeezes him again, head thrown back, slack-jawed as he tilts her hips even further, the new angle causing a string of curses to spill from her lips. Her muscles spasm around him as she comes for a second time, her eyes screwed shut as she clings to him for dear life. His own orgasm crashes over him, and he moans loudly into her skin, holding her to him , fingers digging into her hips as he comes undone. 

It’s something MJ can’t help but want to see again. And again. 

He flops down on top of her, his head on her chest as he struggles to catch his breath. 

Her hand comes to smooth down his curls at the nape of his neck, and she smiles as he shifts his head to look up at her. 

“God, fuck No Nut November,” He breathes into her skin. 

A light laugh bubbles up out of her. 

He lets out a heavy sigh. “What day is it?” He asks.

“November fifth.” 

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Damn.” He pulls out of her, standing up to throw the condom away, almost missing the bin in the corner of the room. 

“You made it longer than I thought you would,” Michelle laughs.

Peter flops down next to her, his eyes narrowed, though there’s still a smile on his face. “What?” 

“Well, yeah. I bet Ned that you wouldn’t last a week,” she replies, patting him on the chest as she gets up, disappearing into the bathroom. 

Peter’s eyes widen before he covers them with his hands. “Oh. Shit. Ned.”

He’s still there when she comes back; still naked, too. 

“Ned, doesn’t have to know,” MJ says, falling back into the bed with him. 

Peter peeks out from underneath his arm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can like, pretend you’re still doing it.”

There’s a crooked grin on Peter’s face as he stares at her—a look that makes her insides gooey and heart fuzzy. 

And she hates how much she doesn’t hate it. 

“And when Betty inevitably breaks Ned,” she shrugs. “We can split the money.”

He shakes his head, amazed and somewhat scandalized. “MJ, you’re a genius.”

Again, she shrugs. 

“So, we can keep doing—” He gestures between them, brows raised. “—And let Ned lose. The money’s ours.”

“Right.”

He lamely sticks his hand out, offering for her to shake on it.

“Deal?” He asks.

She kisses him. “Deal.”

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Collapse- Prompt Fill

Jon is a Dune fan. How can picking up one book change things? Idea from a tumblr prompt and a post by @roseunspindle (permission was granted for writing this)

cw all the typical episode 160 stuff and references to nausea and of course manipulation and fainting. Some dialogue from 160, and a quote from Dune, of course!

I am still accepting bingo prompts (card by @celosiaa​) Pick a prompt from the card and a character and let me know if you want art of fic! (I am much faster at art). I have several outlined that I need to write, and I will get to those... Soonish?  Have an excellent day and I hope 2021 treats you well!

Jon isn’t sure why he grabbed the book.  He’s read it before so it doesn’t hold the same interest it once did.   He had to work on that reading habit of his in school, and now he’s managed a few rereads, but he still prefers the unknown and interesting.

But he did love this book when he read it.  He was too young for it, of course.  But that hadn’t mattered.  He sucked the whole world into his young and greedy mind.  

And now that glossy, second hand cover.... makes him pause over it.  He doesn’t know how it survived evictions and his absences.  He must have subconsciously stored it out of the way.  But he grabs it, with a few statements, and his small collection of clothes into a very battered backpack that he’s sure once belonged to Melanie.  

He wishes he had more books.  Maybe once he and Martin reach the train station, he can pick up something else to read.  Or maybe he can borrow some books from Martin….

He stuffs Dune into his backpack.  It’s on the top, distending the fabric slightly, straining the zipper as his grandmother had always reprimanded him for when he shoved too many pleasure books into his school bag, (always to read under the desk and he was always inevitably caught and reprimanded again, but what could you do with an inattentive student who still pulled good marks?).  

He boards the train with Martin.  Battered and aging backpacks filled with worn clothes and statements and books and granola bars.  The station had been loud and busy enough to send Jon reeling with the information spilling off a crowd of people as well as the less eldritch sensory overload.  His head aching dully as they settle into their seats.  

Medicine for motion sickness sends him drowsy as soon as it is effective.  He spends the time before it works staring queasily out the window, clammy hands holding tightly to Martin as much to sooth his uneasy stomach as to hold Martin in this plain of reality.  He nods off, hands still clasped with Martin’s.  Wrapped up in the elation of having Martin with him, around him, talking to him…. almost safe.  

He wakes up in a storm of hurried breaths and crashing thoughts…. precarious as the crashing waves that haunted the lonely, but far closer and more oppressive.  Statements tumbling with his own crashing thoughts.  Fear on his breath.  His fear making him Hungry in the nauseous way of autocannibleism.  

He presses his face into Martin, only just then realizing that he’s been using Martin as a pillow.   Martin, who is dozing.  Martin, who is still a little foggy.  The last of the haze burning off with the contact.  Jon can see the steam rising between them, mainly and gentle.  The sun burning the fog off a meadow in the early morning.  

Jon sits himself up, but stays pressed against Martin.  The imprint of Jon slowly thawing Martin as the train gently sways them both.  

Jon doesn’t want to sleep more.  He would much prefer to read, but it is still more than a bit of a gamble for him to even medicated.  But…. he’s bored.  

Dune.  

Right on the top of his bag.  Leaning over starting to make him queasy (which doesn’t bode well for reading attempts), he pulls it out and straightens up.  

He turns it over in his hands a few times, until his stomach settles.  He’s fine.  Just a few more minutes before the medicine works… probably anyhow.  

He flips through the pages, still waiting for his breathing to calm as well.  

Oh.  

He remembers this words… in a half remembered haze of childhood and tracing those words on his limbs and his walls.  With his eyes, and markers, and pencils.  On the inside of his eyelids.  Carved into the air about his bed as he repeated them to himself.  

‘I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.’

Reading those words again makes his hands shake like they had when he first read them… with Mr. Spider fresh in his nightmares.  Still missing the life he could never have with his parents.  

Jon fumbles for a pen.  

He traces them again on his forearm.  

Poorly written, of course.  Hands far from steady with the rocking of the train and the rocking of his stomach and the rolling of his world after the day he’s had.  But he is once more too tired to focus on anything much, so he tucks his book away again, and shoves the pen in his pocket.  

He tucks himself up against Martin again, using an old jumper as a blanket.  He knows he is taking a bit of a liberty, but he buries his face in Martin’s neck and breathes deeply.  He’s asleep again in moments.  

The trip isn’t eventful.  Lots of track clicking past.  Lots of drowsy hours.  A disappointing sandwich and a tasteless cup of tea.  Jostled shoulders.  Cramped restrooms.  Cramped necks.  Jon’s bad leg protesting the seating arrangements.  Then the slightly uncomfortable walk to the safe house.  Weighed down with hasty shopping and their lumpy bags.  Jon limping more heavily by the time they drag themselves over the threshold.  

In the domestic bliss, time stretches.  Lazy afternoons on the couch Jon and Martin entwined stretch into years in the golden light of afternoon.  Two weeks of cups of tea.  Of trips to the store.  Of statements that Jon goes through way too fast, try as he does to ration them.  Frantic phone calls to Basira as Jon can’t make the trip to town anymore.  More cuddling on the couch.  Bickering over who does the dishes, over who makes the best eggs.  Over what to have for dinner.  Discussions of what counts as a sandwich and whether cereal is a soup.  Jon being appalled that Martin eats cereal from the box directly with a spoon.  Martin being horrified that Jon eats dry cereal from a bowl with a glass of milk.  Playing footsie through dinner.  “Yes Martin, another soup.  Means less cooking.”  Sloppy kisses over glasses of wine.  Jon being too dizzy to go on walks.  Jon retracing Frank Herbert’s words on to his arm.  Over.  And over.  And over again.  

“I must not fear…”

“I must not fear…”

“I must not fear…”

“I must not fear…”

Until a package arrives.  

It’s unassuming and labeled in Basira’s careful penmanship.  If Jon expects to see tear-staines over a lost partner, he doesn’t see them.  

Martin kisses him soundly, and leaves to take pictures of good cows.  

Jon has been tucked up on the couch.  Under a thick blanket.  Finally in better spirits now that he has statements again, ready …so ready for his limbs to feel like his again.  

He tastes copper as he started to read.  The words don’t sit right in his mouth.  Before he can even properly start… before his mind is lost to him, he can feel the wrongness building.  And when the betrayal occurs, he can’t find it in him to be surprised or hurt.  All he can feel is a hollow fear…. a hungry fear.  Gaping and endless.  Tearing into his skin as he tears at his clothes, his skin, the statement that does not belong to Hazel Rutter and has nothing to do with a fire.  Aside from the fire in his throat and in his hand, and leaping from mark to mark as Jon learns what they actually are.  A map of manipulation.  A tool to make the actual tool.  The wood and hammer and nails that make him the door.  The door that he… that he.  “ Come to us in your perfection.                         

                                                                                               Bring all that is fear and all that                    

                    is terror and all that is the awful                    

                    dread that crawls and chokes and                       

                    blinds and falls and twists and                        

                    leaves and hides and weaves and                        

                    burns and hunts and rips and bleeds                    

                    and dies!                                              

                                                                                               Come to us.                                            

                                                                                               I-“

“I…”  Jon chokes.  His eyes sliding helplessly over the room.  Over many tokens of a happy life that he is never going to have.  Because of this…. this… he can’t even call it a betrayal.  His entire life has lead to this.  Every unhappy moment.  Every instinct he has ever had.  Every poor choice.  Every step another step towards the inevitable.  His eye catches on a familiar cover.  Somehow still glossy.  Despite Jon having carried it around like a safety blanket for the last few weeks.  And he catches those smudged and traced over words on his arm and he tears at himself, trying to stop.  

“I…”

He chokes again.  Around those last few words.  The words that will wrench the thunder from the sky and rend it asunder.  

“I…”

He breathes.  Possibly for the first time since his hands ghosted over the unassuming manilla folder.  

“‘I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.’”

His vision cuts out.  He must have stood at some point, because he is falling.  Stings cut.  Nothing to manipulate.  The puppet is broken.  

He wakes with a head full of cotton, but a heart devoid of fear.  There is a clarity in his limbs.  But exhaustion sits heavily on his chest.  He feels… clear.  And real.  And… like utter shit.  

But the arms around him are solid and warm and smell like tea and toast and all the good things Jon can think of in the world.  And even if Jon could bring himself to move… he wouldn’t have dreamt of doing so.  

There is burnt ink in the air.  

“Wha’?”  Marble-mouthed.  Heavy with the exhaustion of years of poor sleep, of running and fearing and the adrenaline crash of something horrifying being…over.  

“It’s alright, Jon.  Everything’s fine.  I…. I don’t know how you did it, but you stopped reading… and I burned it.  It’s gone.  We’re okay.”  

And Jon isn’t sure he understands…. but he doesn’t care.  Because he is not afraid, and Martin told him that everything is okay.  And he thinks… just Maybe.  Just… maybe… that it might be.  

He lets himself be tucked in.  He lets himself sleep.  

Jon takes up calligraphy.  He hates it.  Utterly despises it… but he becomes decent enough to write one thing for their mantel.  In the safe house.  Miles away from fear and Jonah Magnus… if the bastard is even still alive…  

Framed in gold, traced out in neat and flowing calligraphy:

‘I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.’ - Frank Herbert, Dune.  

[imissjoongsmullet]

Too Far and Over and Out

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: smut

Summary: The last part in a very dirty Bang Chan series in which a one night stand leads to a bunch of fuckery.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

In this final installment, Chan makes you pay for kissing another and things reach a boiling point. 

Warnings: graphic sexual content (duh), swearing, fuck buddies, violence, choking, a bit of degradation, unprotected sex (be safe kids don’t be like Bang Chan), bit of romance, bit of angst

Word Count: 3K

Author’s Note: Ok. I never expected this series to receive the amount of love it has (heck I didn’t think this would even be a series!) so  just want to thank every single person who’s read it and left comments in their tags or reblogged or shown me any kind of support ♡ You have no idea how much I appreciate it! Thank you so much and if you like my writing, be sure to check out my other stuff cause I will be back with more~ ♡

►

"What the fuck!"

The voice is startlingly loud compared to the hushed conversation you'd been in for the past few hours. Before you can even see where it came from you’re pulled from your new lover’s arms. Realization hits you like a dreadful bomb when you see the dark haired man you’d been kissing crash into the wall after being pushed by a shorter, blond haired guy.

Fuck.

Chan twists around and his eyes are wild. He grabs you by the arm and, without a word, drags you from the scene. You want to say something to make him stop but you’re still so perplexed by everything that’s just happened, all you can do is whimper at the painful grip he’s got you in. He looks around furiously as he takes you into a narrow hallway and through the first door he sees.

You let out a yelp when he yanks you in after him and immediately throws you against the wall, blocking you with his frame.

“What the fuck was that?!”

You stare up into his searing gaze, for the first time actually afraid.

“What do you mean?”

The corner of his mouth curls up but it’s not a warm smile. His eyes are fire and he’s not going to let you get away.

“What do I mean?” he scoffs, “You’ve got to be kidding me! You acting like a cheap whore is what I mean!”

The comment hurts and he has no right to talk to you like that. You want to speak up but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he goes on, jabbing you in the shoulders, “you do this with a lot of guys? Huh? You let them fuck you too? How many guys have you spread your legs for lately?”

The image of him and that other girl flashes through your mind and with it, all the anger and frustration you’ve been feeling towards him swells, threatening to burst from you at any moment.

“Answer me!” he yells, banging his hand against the wall.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you spit back and try to shove him off but he pushes you back with ease, his hands now tight around both of your wrists.

“You don’t talk to me like that,” he snarls, pressing himself too close for comfort.

This just rouses your anger further. “I’m not afraid of you,” you retort, still trying to pull yourself from his grip. He squeezes the blood from your wrists for a few painful seconds longer before one hand lets go and shoots up to your throat, applying a dizzying pressure.

“Well maybe you should be scared cause you’ve really fucking pissed me off tonight.”

You’re eyes flutter. It’s hard to breathe and for a moment there’s nothing you can do but gasp for air.

“Coming in here tonight, looking like a grade-A slut, it’s disgusting—”

You tear his hand from your throat. “Don’t you dare call me that!” you pant, trying not to choke on the air that rushes back into your lungs. “You’re the one that came here to pick up girls!”

His eyes widen for the fraction of a second but then they turn vicious once again. “You were the one sticking their tongue down a stranger’s throat!”

“As if you weren’t on your way to do the exact same thing!”

“Only because you left the moment things got real with me!”

“That’s—” you start but he cuts you off.

“You’ve been ignoring me for days what do you expect me to do huh? You're the one that disappea—"

“Fine, okay? Maybe I’m scared!” you let out in a voice shakier than you’d like to admit, “maybe I don’t want any of this confusing stuff! Maybe I just want things to be simple!"

“Well, I’ll make things simple for you then,” he interjects and presses himself flush against you, crashing his lips into yours.

You gasp into his mouth but can't help but kiss back. It feels like the floor has just been wiped out from under you and you swear, if Chan wasn’t holding onto you so tightly, you’d be falling down to god-knows-where. It takes more than a few moments for the initial shock to wear off but when it does, you manage to break the kiss.

“What are you doing?” you gasp, looking up at him.

“Making things simple for you,” he replies, instantly kissing you again. His hand slips into your hair to the back of your head so he can bring you nearer, letting his lips take yours more deeply. You let out an involuntary whimper. You’re so weak for him already that, when he pulls away for a brief instant your legs tremble.

“From now on, you’re mine and mine alone,” he breathes onto your lips before claiming them again. His free hand roams around to the small of your back to pull you impossibly close. His grip on you is tight but his tongue is soft and wet against yours, making you moan.

“I want you to be mine,” he says with another chaste kiss, “and I’ll be yours.” He doesn’t give you any time to respond for his lips find yours again and again, only growing in desperate passion and you can’t help but let him. He feels so good on you. His words echo in your mind as your hands find their way around his back and shoulders.

You feel a tug at your waist and you move, walking with him. You follow blindly until he twists the two of you around and pushes you down.

Your fall is broken by soft plush. You hadn't even realized you were in a bedroom up until now. He's on you in a flash and has somehow taken off his shirt in the process. You gasp into his mouth at the sudden weight of him on you. His hands find your wrists and pin them to the mattress while his hips are already starting to slowly grind into you.

You’re finding yourself looking for breath because his lips are merciless, kneading and tugging at yours as if it were their sole purpose. His familiar smell envelops you, reminding you of the incredible things you’ve done together. This only fuels your eagerness; you kiss back with more fervor and feel the side of his mouth curve up.

Without warning he rises, bringing you up with him until you’re on his lap on the bed, your legs straddling him. He fingers the hem of your dress and brings it up. You shift a little, allowing him to take the fabric up all the way over your head, leaving you in your bra and panties. He takes a short moment to ogle your body before meeting your eyes and capturing you with another kiss.

His hands roam the skin of your back, massaging you into him in a blissful, slow rhythm. You whine when he brings his lips down to your jawline, going down to your neck, where he knows exactly how to make you go crazy.

You let out a moan and press your fingers into his shoulder blades. His bare skin feels so nice. You let your nails run random trails up and down his back, feeling him start to harden beneath you.

He’s at your collarbones now, sucking you purple while his hands unhook your bra. His lips come off with a pop and he looks up at you dazedly. You know what he wants; your bra is off in a flash giving him more territory to mark.

He’s even more fervent than usual, sucking and biting bruises into your skin from your neck, your shoulders, all the way down to your breasts, making sure no one will ever be confused about who you belong to.

The feel of his lips, his teeth, the pain and pleasure, it’s tantalizing. Your breath grows heavy and, slowly, you start to move your hips into him.

The effect is instant.

“Fuck,” he sighs against your breast, “fuck, I want you.”

He raises his eyes to yours again and, shit, he’s never looked so good. There’s not nearly enough time to appreciate him though because he suddenly pushes you down onto the mattress and tears off the rest of his and your clothes. He looms over you and pins your wrists once again as you feel him position himself over your entrance.

“Chan?” you ask wearily but whatever you’re going to say next gets cut off because he snaps his hips into you all at once, filling you up so much, so fast, you let out a piercing cry.

The sound is stupidly loud and you’re scared someone might have heard you, but then Chan’s lips are on yours again and you forget everything.

“Shhh,” he hisses into you as he starts thrusting himself into you relentlessly.

But you simply cannot be quiet. His dick is so hard and you are so unprepared for this. You want to clasp yourself around him but he’s got you pinned tight so all you can do is cry out under him as the initial pain starts to turn into pleasure.

“Bad girl,” he pants and his hand comes over your mouth, stifling any sound you make. His voice shakes with the rhythm of his thrusts and you can now see just how far gone he already is. You’re stuck beneath him, unable to do anything but let him ride you until his spills over. And he will soon if he keeps going like this, you can tell. The way his face is slack in total ecstasy for you, brows slightly furrowed, lips parted; it drives you wild. You can barely breathe with his large hand covering your mouth and most of your nostrils but all it does is drive you closer to your high.

“Fuck,” he pants squeezing into your wrist, “fuck.” He pulls out swiftly, only to flip you over onto your stomach. Then he grabs your hips and pulls them up and back towards himself. You manage to get on your elbows just in time for him to slam himself back into you and recommence his assault on your body. The new angle he’s hitting you at makes you shudder. You bite into the pillow under you to keep from screaming as he bounces you around like a rag doll.

A hand takes hold of your forearm and pulls you back. At once, your lewd moans are released into the air, a thread of drool extending from your parted lips down to the pillow you’d been biting into.

Chan’s other hand clasps over your mouth again, pulling you up against himself.

“I said be quiet, baby girl,” he whispers hotly in your ear, never slowing down his hips.

You whine into his palm weakly, feeling yourself start to shake. You know you’re being too much but you’re out of control.

“Such a loud little whore,” he spits and he lets you go.

You bounce into the mattress and before you can do anything, his hand is at the back of your neck, holding you down. You’re suffocating in the plush pillow he’s keeping you locked in. Your desperate cries are now barely audible, which is probably a good thing because he’s somehow picked up his tempo, snapping his hips into you with an almost cruel intensity.

“You’re fucking mine,” he grunts, “you hear that?”

He’s panting and groaning above you and you wish you could see his face. You’re starting to struggle for breath and you’re seeing stars. You still hear him but everything is growing fainter by the second. You make out a few more mines until the rapid thrusting comes to an abrupt halt and you feel him release inside you. He lets go of your neck and half-collapses on top of you. He rides out his orgasm slowly, his lips grazing the skin of your back as he moans softly.

“Fuck, baby.”

You’re still catching your breath when he moves off you and when he turns you onto your back again you’re met with his signature smug smile.

“You thought we were done?” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

You open your mouth but don’t know what to say as he spreads your legs and promptly gets down in between them.

His tongue is on you at once, lapping up the mess he’s made.

This time, you clasp your own hand over your mouth to keep from letting everyone at the party know what’s going on.

But he’s not being quiet either. He moans into your heat like it’s the best thing he’s ever had.

“I’ve missed your taste,” he says before his tongue enters you. He goes in and out a couple of times and then moves up toward your clit, trailing softly around the most sensitive area, listening to your breath as an indicator of what to do next.

He looks up at you once and curses.

“You look so fucking hot,” he breathes, before sticking two fingers in you at once.

You gasp and he smirks, coming up to kiss your lips while his fingers continue to pump in and out of you.

“I bet you’d like to moan for me right now,” he whispers against your lips.

You can only let out the tiniest, most desperate whine for him, nodding.

He bites into your bottom lip. “Hmmmm,” he hums into you, curling his fingers inside you. “How about you choke on my dick instead?”

Your eyes go wide at the sudden remark and he’s already moving off of you. He lays down and tugs you on top in reverse so you’re facing his already hardened cock. He grabs you by the hips and brings them to his face so he can finish what he’s started. His lips are on your clit, sucking and a shriek escapes you.

“Get to it,” he orders and you do as you’re told, moving down and wrapping your lips around his cock.

“Good girl,” he moans against your center and his hands start to massage your ass.

You coat his length with your saliva and start to move up and down, slowly at first, getting used to his size as you always have to.

Even now it’s hard to keep quiet. He just knows exactly how to touch you to drive you nuts. He’s sucking at you with such eagerness, swirling his tongue against you, fingers squeezing into your ass, pulling you closer and you’re finding it hard to even focus on anything but your own pleasure. So you sit there, whining helplessly around his cock and, thankfully, that seems to work for him. The vibrations of your voice seem to spur him on. He moans into you just as you moan into him and you start to feel his hips move. At first he’s rolling his hips into your mouth slowly but after a minute or so he’s turned to bucking up into you, making you gag.

His dick twitches and pulses under your tongue, which prompts you to start hollowing out your cheeks. You want to hear him more so you move against his hips, trying to take him deeper. He claws at your skin and groans so deliciously against your clit. You feel yourself near your high.

“Chan I’m-” you start.

“I know,” he cuts in, voice muffled. His tongue travels up and down again before he starts sucking exactly where he needs to.

You squeeze your eyes closed as you moan around his hard cock, taking him in all the way. Tears stain your eyes because Chan is not letting up. His lips play with you as wave after wave of pleasure surges over you, making you shake.

You’re crying around his dick, digging your nails into his thighs as you cum and cum and all of a sudden, you feel him release inside your mouth and and the back of your throat. You gag but are unable to move so you let him fill you, swallowing him down until he comes to a stop.

You feel him tugging at your hips so you turn around to face him. He’s looking up at you, lips glimmering and eyes full of bliss. He takes your hand and pulls so you fall down into his arms. His fingers travel over your neck and collarbones, where your skin has turned all kinds of purple.

“So is this it then?” you ask, following his fingers with your eyes.

He kisses your temple and that’s a first. “What?”

You smile. “You’re just going to mark me 24/7 so no one else can have me?”

“I might have to, yeah,” he replies.

You roll your eyes and face him. “You won’t have to.”

“Oh?” he says, raising his brows at you, “and why is that?”

You mimic his chiding look and answer, “I’m not gonna say it.”

He let out a chuckle and pulls you closer. “Always so loving, you are.”

You lie in silence for quite a while, just staring at the ceiling, minds trailing off to whatever. It’s so nice. You almost think you might fall asleep right there in his arms, when there’s a sudden knock on the door and you both shoot up in panic.

Instinctively, you roll off the bed, taking the blanket with you. He stumbles after you, shouting at the door for people to ‘don’t come in!’

The two of you wait in fear for a full couple of minutes before getting up. The amount of rumors that would start if someone would find you two like this would be disastrous.

When nothing seems to happen, you go around the room collecting your clothes and try to make yourselves look at least a little presentable for the outside world. You run your fingers through his fucked out hair as he pulls your dress down further over your legs. You give each other the okay and approach the door. He cracks it open just a bit and peers out into the hallway. It seems to have emptied but he hesitates nonetheless. You’re about to say something when he turns around to face you.

“You know,” he starts, taking your hand, “I’m serious about this.”

His eyes are piercing yours. You feel your whole body heat up and, for once, it’s not because you’re horny.

“I want you to be mine and mine alone,” he adds, swiping the ground right from under your feet again.

You don’t know what to say at that. You just stare at him as his hand comes to cup your cheek.

“You’re so cute when you’re speechless,” he chuckles and pinches the skin. And with that, he opens the door and walks the both of you out.

So you suppose you’re going to have to rethink your opinion about Christopher Bang. Yes, he’s loud and obnoxious; and yes, he might have an ego more inflated than a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float. But he’s also sweet and funny, and let’s not forget he knows how to fuck your brains out.

And he is your boyfriend now,

so you suppose he’s alright.

♡