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curly-bangtan · 4 years

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Heatwave Anniversary Drabble: i miss u like ... a lot (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- read first! but this drabble can be read alone

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: One night until Taehyung is back from his boys’ trip but you miss him too much.

Genre: fluff, smut, kinda crack?, boyfriend/established relationship au

Warnings: unprotected sex (oc on contraception so don’t u do it), teasing over the phone, riding and grinding, just kinda vanilla i-missed-u-so-much sex, a particular selca

Word count: 5k

A/N: It was Heatwave’s one year anniversay on the 17th so I decided to write a quick(?) drabble for this. I fully intended on posting this on time, but wanted to change up some stuff so only managed to finish this now. Happy birthday to my first fic and forver my baby!

MOSTLY UNEDITED

The absolute one thing you hate most about your boyfriend being away from you is your boyfriend being away from you.

You have never been the clingy needy type, that is more his role in this relationship, nor are you really one to show affection. In fact, you would hate for that false image to be perceived of you because all that sappy shit makes you want to throw up your dinner. But one thing you’ve learnt since Taehyung had gone away on a week-long boys’ trip down by the coast is how cold the house feels in his absence, despite being in the middle of a sizzling summer.

Everything is so eerily quiet without his random outbursts into song and fits of laughter. Having spent 3 years living together, you have gotten so used to his constant presence that you had even caught yourself several times calling out for him only to remember that he isn’t here. Waking up without his arm draped around your waist, slided up your top at some point during the night, impacts you more than you’d like to admit.

Are you glad that he’s having a great time with his friends by the beach, relaxing all day and drinking all night? Of course. Are you having a great time all by yourself over here in the absence of your boyfriend? Certainly not.

Though, of course, this isn’t something you would confess to out loud, especially to him. He doesn’t need to know how often the thought: ugh fuck, I miss Tete is crossing your mind, lest you want him to rub his smugness in your face.

It isn’t just that. Your relationship hasn’t been without its tests in the course of its years and things have only finally stabilised. It’s not that you don’t trust Taehyung to be with his ladish friends for seven days, shirtless dusk till dawn, intoxicated to the point where he calls you thinking that you’re the pizza delivery guy but…

A hammered Taehyung at a beach full of girls who are no doubt thirsting over him leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You trust him to be loyal to his core, but you don’t trust anyone else to keep their hands from copping a feel. No matter how you look at it, you would just so much rather he be at home with you right now.

You have endured this for six days. Six full days without Taehyung. Six full days with no sex, no tummy kisses, no clammy hand holding even though you’re only to get groceries. Just one more night and this torture will fucking be over, praise the lord. But you also don’t know how much more you can hold back that I miss you text because you’re combusting from the need to see him again.

It’s almost 4am. Your sleep schedule is fucked and it’s really his fault.

The bright screen of your phone offers the only luminescence at this hour. Your messages from him in the past week have not been shy of your daily dose of Taehyung - clips of the beach (always mischievously caption with something along the lines of “thinking of Mykonos ;D” where you went on your first holiday together), selfies that you dwell way too long staring at because you miss that face buried in your neck, drunk videos of the antics him and the boys get up to that you’ll definitely chastise him for when he comes back yet can’t help but laugh at. You find yourself scrolling through them every single night.

Your personal favourite: a pouty selfie he sent you after he dropped his ice cream, the picture you always go back to and the one you’re staring at right now. His hair is frizzy from the sea, lips jutted out childishly and cheeks puffy. Your chest constricts, fuck...

Just one more night, you remind yourself. And then he’s back and all yours again.

Then suddenly, the phone in your hand vibrates, short and abrupt. The bar slides down from the top of your screen reading New Message from Tete. Surprised, you scramble to open it, maybe a bit too desperately for you to be proud of.

04:11

Tete: bby

You blink at those three letters, lips pressed together because your heart is cinching.

Tete: ur prob aslep rn but

Tete: i missu

Tete: <334

The typos indicate that he is wasted, and you take a guess that he has just returned from their last night out of the holiday. The corners of your lips turn up knowing that he is thinking of you right now.

You: no im awake

Your fingers are itching to reply with i miss u too, and it takes all your willpower and stubbornness to stay true to your steadfast self. There is just something so unpleasantly moist about these kinds of texts, something that makes you cringe and gag when you read them. You refuse to be one of those people. A heart is all that you allow yourself to reply.

You: <3

You: r u drunk?

Tete: drunk in love

Tete: yes

A giggle escapes you at his god awful cheesiness - drunk, sober alike. Insufferable. But probably Taehyung’s most endearing quality.

You: did u have fun!!

Tete: yeah

Tete: but i miss u

Tete: more than i had fun

God, you feel like a teenager again, suddenly overcome with this gushing urge to roll over and scream into your pillow. You’re glad he’s merely texting this to you right now because if he had said this to you face to face, your skin would most definitely stain scarlet from neck to hairline, scalding to the touch. Even months into officially being his girlfriend, these curveballs of overwhelming affection throw you off guard.

Again, the compulsion to tell him you miss him too yanks at your heartstrings. You truly don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to say how you feel, let yourself be soft and vulnerable. You know it’s one of your flaws so it’s something that you’re working on, but you can’t say you’ve made much progress.

But just as you decide that maybe you should take the plunge, suck it up and just text him those three words, he sends you a picture.

Tete:

No, not just a picture. A selfie, of him in bed, shirtless under the covers. “Oh, fuck…”

Hand clasped over your mouth to prevent any sound from involuntarily escaping, it takes a moment for your breath to return to you and for you to stop gawking. At this hour… Really? Is he seriously doing this to you right now?

His sleepy eyes. His messy curls. And his fucking nose mole.

The undoing of your existence.

Tete: this boy misses u :]

You: bruh

You: bruhhhhhhh

You: taehyung

Tete: oui my lady :))

You: 👁👄👁

You: can u not do this to my heart

You: y did u send me this </333

You: what was the reason

Tete: coz i miss u

Tete: do u like it

Tete: :D

‘Do u like it’... Actually, you have tears in your eyes, albeit mostly due to staring at a screen for too long so late at night, but it’s certainly contributed by this selfie. You tell yourself you’re acting out because it’s been six days since you last saw him. Perhaps Taehyung Withdrawal Symptoms is the explanation behind why you want to print and frame this picture because that is definitely not a normal reaction to a picture. But this is a masterpiece.

You: taehyung my soul left my body

You: like i could weep

You: u look so soft and fluffy

You: :’(

Tete: lollll

Tete: simp

This boy has some nerve?! Simp! He called you a simp?! Laughing like a maniac, you can’t even pretend to be mad at him, not after this picture he sent anyway. So you guess you are a simp. This selfie is your kryptonite.

Tete: jkjkkkkk

You: hahahaha

You: y r u doing this to me

You: its 4am

You: u can’t send me this rn

You: i won’t be able to sleep

Tete: o yeah how come ur still up?

Tete: go to sleepppp

You: can’t sleep

Tete: aw no whyyy

Because you miss him that’s why.

You miss Kim Taehyung. You miss Tete. You miss your boyfriend, your best friend, your other half. You miss his touch, his smile, his wide eyes when he’s confused. You miss his morning snuggles and late night kisses. You miss the way he hugs you from behind as you prepare your meals. You miss the wandering hands that he can’t help when you’re out in public. You miss playing PUBG together until the sun comes out then both sleeping past noon. You miss taking baths together where bubbles would get into your mouth as your kisses get heated.

You just miss him.

It’s only been six days and you’re in this state. What has he done to you?

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you let out a great sigh and deflate. No other reason offers itself for you to be awake at this hour; he knows you cherish sleep above anything. Teeth digging into your lip, you inhale long and hard, then exhale the gust of your cowardice. It’s not that deep, stupid. Fuck it.

You: coz

You: i miss u

You: like … a lot

You: 🙄

It’s final - you guess you’ve become a mushy wet sap. Truly it is embarrassing how big of a step this is for you; but the sense of pride and accomplishment feels oddly validating. Baby steps. The eye-rolling emoji right after is subconscious because you could only betray the core of your character that much. Forgo it and taehyung might not believe that it’s you.

Tete: omg

Tete: :D

Tete: rrly?

You: *blank kissy emoji*

Tete: wow

Tete: u actually don’t know how hard i’m smiling rn

You: simp

Tete: ofc that’s my middle name

Tete: i miss u a lot too

Tete: like a lotttttt

Tete: i’ll show u how much when i’m back

Ah… Of course, the Taehyung specialty - smothering you with his affection. You freeze at the thought of his wildfire kisses and head between your thighs. Nothing screams of how much you’ve missed each other more than a good dicking down, climax after climax until you’re both panting messes of sweat and entangled limbs. The anticipation makes you squirm under the sheets, legs pressing together.

You: pls do

You: i need u

It’s uncertain what spirit has possessed you at this ungodly hour for these words to come out of you. There’s an instant flash of ickiness, but you let the self-cringing simmer and dissipate into the realisation that this is okay, this is normal. Taehyung’s your boyfriend, couples text like this. You need to grow some.

Tete: fuck baby

Tete: i’m so not used to u texting like this, it's driving me crazy

You: crazy how *cat smirk*

If you weren’t smiling before, you’re definitely grinning like an idiot now. His reaction is predictable, yet oddly still, an incredible wave of satisfaction hits you. And because you want to savour this moment, maybe give him a taste of his own medicine, you send him a picture of yourself.

Camisole strap slid off your shoulder, hair splayed out, bottom lip deep red from biting down on it too much. Just to return the favour.

Tete: y/n

Tete: call me now

-Incoming call from Tete-

Laughing to yourself, you wait a good few seconds before picking up to prolong his torture. “Yes, Taehyung?” You put your thumb between your teeth to suppress the laughter.

“Fuck.” Against the silence of the night, the low rasp of his voice permeating into you from the speaker of your phone sends tingles up your toes. You’ve fucking missed his voice more than you thought. “Y/N… You can’t do this to me.”

“I told you, I miss you. Like… a lot.” The saccharine tone in your reply is foreign to your own ears, but you like the sound of it and the deep rumble it elicits from your boyfriend.

“How much?” Taehyung eggs you on. His words are barely slurred, so you gather that he has sobered up at least for the most part by now. Yet there is still a slowness to it that suggests

“Hmm, like… I touched myself every night at the thought of you a lot.”

A sharp inhale. Then silence. But you know better so you give him a moment to gather himself.

“You shouldn’t be putting that image in my head.” Exasperation is evident in his voice, desperate and yearning. You can imagine him now, one hand on his phone, the other sliding over his pants that are getting a bit too tight for comfort. Your breath hitches.

“Then you shouldn’t have sent me that picture, Taehyung…”

“You said it was soft and fluffy. What you sent me back was not soft and fluffy.”

“Just because it’s soft doesn’t mean it doesn’t turn me on. You do things to me… okay?” Heat trapped beneath the skin of your cheeks, your grip on the phone against your ear slackening as your thighs rub together.

“Fuck, I’m getting hard, baby…” Nothing gets him going more than the knowledge that he turns you on, it’s his weakness but somewhat his strength.

“That’s… unfortunate. Are you going to do something about it?”

His gulp is audible even over the phone. “Uh…” A sigh. “Um. Maybe. Thoughts are being thought.”

“What kind of thoughts? Thoughts about me touching myself and moaning your name? Thoughts about how much I wish my fingers were your cock thrusting so deep into me that I feel it in my guts? Or are you thinking about what you’ll do to me when you’re back tomorrow? Fucking my mouth until I’m crying or filling me up with your cum first?” Your hips buckle at the filth leaving your mouth. This is more like you; you haven’t abandoned your nature after all.

“Oh, fuckkkk.” His moan resonates into your skull, not quite as if he’s here with you but good enough to fill your desire. “Y/N… I need you so badly.” Breath ragged, you hear movement of his sheets in the background as he adjusts into a more comfortable position.

“Are you stroking your cock right now?” A warm slick oozes out of your own entrance. There’s something about Taehyung masturbating to you that elevates you to a different kind of high.

“What do you think, baby?” As you listen closely, you hear the slow rhythm of his pumping, and your fingers ache to pleasure yourself. ‘The things I’ll fucking do to you when I’m back.”

“Mmm, but it’s late, Taehyung, why don’t we go to sleep.”

“Wait, what?” The stroking stops instantly and surprise in his voice releases a smug satisfaction into your veins. The equivalent of pouring a bucket of ice water over his head right now. Teasing is an old undying habit, what can you say? “You wanna end the call now?”

“Yeah, we should sleep, babe.” Grin unsuppressed, you turn over onto your side, probably a bit too pleased with yourself at your success. Taehyung is an easy victim always.

“What the fuckkk?” Your boyfriend groans. “You’re seriously going to tease me this hard then leave me high and dry?” When you offer no more response than a sly chuckle, he add, “You’re so evil.”

“Save it for tomorrow, Taehyung. Think about it, we’re one sleep away from seeing each other again.”

“Fuck, I know. But you just got me so fucking horny, bruhhh. I thought we were gonna have phone sex.” You are still laughing at his whining, basking in the victory you’re holding over him.

“Taehyung, save it for the real sex.” The idea of phone sex crossed your mind several times to be honest, but you really want to collect every single drop of desire and longing and unleash it tomorrow. Raw and pent up. Nothing to dampen the fire.

A sigh of defeat down the line. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know?” You know. “How am I supposed to sleep now though? I’m so rock hard that it hurts.”

“You can figure that out yourself, big guy.” Your cheeks ache from smiling for too long; they often do during calls with him. “One sleep away, okay?”

“Ugh, fine, you demon. I can’t believe you sometimes.” He lets out another sigh. Your heart skips at the anticipation of how he will punish you for this. “Good night, I miss you.”

“Good night, I miss you more.” There’s a sudden change of tone with these words. Because you truly mean it. Sex and physical intimacy aside, you really just missed his voice, his banter.

You fall asleep almost immediately.

You don’t think you’ve heard a sweeter sound than the keys rattling at the door the next day. Practically leaping off the couch where you had been awaiting him in your Taeyhyung-less boredom, you run to the door.

As it swings open, heat courses to your chest when your eyes land on his, so full of comfort. Your boyfriend is home. Handsome as ever, much more tanned than your memory of him and much more attractive. White t-shirt and loose black shorts, a mundane outfit that only he could make look exceptional.

And as much as you want to sprint up and throw yourself onto him, your feet stay planted on the floor.

“Hey.” You barely breathe out.

Stay calm and composed, you tell yourself. It was only one week without him, it’s not like he’s returning from war.

But Taehyung doesn’t even reply, because in two long strides he is standing before you, bags tossed to the side, a sign of their insignificance in the presence of you. His arms find their home circled around you, face buried in your hair before you can utter another word. You don’t hesitate to return his embrace, holding his waist as you let yourself fall into his chest. He smells like what summer should, the ocean, sweat and young love; his familiar musk greeting you as if he never left.

Your lips meet his, strong and full of intent. He’s so unexpectedly soft when he kisses back, a timeless romantic dance like he is saviour your taste on his tongue.

With your weight leaning on him, he slowly topples back, stepping hastily until your bodies land on the couch. You fit your legs on either side of him as you burrow your nose in his neck and breathe him in, memorise him. In nothing but a large shirt, your bare thighs are exposed for his roaming.

When you pull away and face each other, you are struck by his beauty. His skin is sun-kissed and glowing, hair an effortlessly beautiful mess, the slightest hint of a stubble peeking through below his nose. Your heart belongs to him forever, you know it without a doubt.

“You smell so good. I missed you so much, baby.” And his voice… That deep baritone honey that you have taken for granted all this time - music to your ears.

“Imissedyoutoo…” You mumble, shy under his undivided attention and mercilessly unbroken eye contact.

With your chests pressed together, his chuckle rumbles into you. “What was that?”

“I missed you too… I guess.” Face flaming, you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye at your admittance, fingers twirling around his curls to preoccupy yourself.

But he cups your chin and turns your face to him, forehead pressing up to yours until your noses are touching, breaths mixing. “That’s not what you said last night.” Taehyung smirks, hands sliding down to your waist, the material of your shirt bunching up in his hands. “Do I need to remind you?”

“No…” You find yourself unable to keep your eyes open, your core pulsing mercilessly as you grind onto him. “How are you already hard, Taehyung…” And though you mean to scold him, it comes out breathless.

Lips hovering, he traces the edge of your jaw, tingling the sensitive little hairs on its way to your ear. When he reaches the shell of your ear, warm breath infiltrating so relentlessly into you, you almost lose yourself right there on his lap. “Don’t you know how much I love you?” He whispers.

“Show me.” Is all you make out.

His hands are already beneath your shirt before you even notice, palms kneading into your breasts as he takes your nipples between his two fingers and rolls. As he kisses you again, the same tenderness exchanges between your lips. It’s a different kind of desperation to be so slow and gentle, one that means so much more than sex, one that’s telling of how much you truly missed each other. Your hips roll with a mind of their own over him. One hand of his comes down to your ass, guiding the waves of your rocking. And each time his stiff clothed member digs into your clit, you whimper into his mouth.

Carefully, Taehyung rolls you over onto your back, sucking your bottom lip to keep the seal from breaking. He pulls away when he’s on top of you, and a string of glistening saliva bridges between your mouths. “Foreplay or no? Tell me what you want?” Compliant as ever.

“I need you to fill me up right now. Anything else can wait.” You watch the devotion ignite in his eyes. His fingers are in a hurry as they pull your panties off, knees spreading your legs open as he kneels between your gaping entrance. He tugs his shirt off from the collar, such smoothness in his action that your insides coil up. His newly-bronzed rich skin revealed, you can’t help but reach up and run your hands down from chest to navel, revelling in his blemishless ridges.

A low sound reverberates from the back of Taehyung’s throat as your touch travels down to unbutton his shorts. They fall loose. His hard throbbing members springs free, a glistening bead oozing from his slit. “You didn’t wear boxers?”

When you glance up, you notice his sheepish grin. He presses his mouth onto yours, still smiling, guiding you back onto your back. “I just couldn’t wait.” Taehyung whispers. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, especially since last night… Ah, fuck.” Another deep groan erupts from him as you reach down and slather that bead of precum all over his tip. His head falls onto your neck, writhing under your merciless stroking.

His tip brushing against your clit, your toes curls at the teasing of your weakness, hips jolting up involuntarily and perhaps a bit too violently. You’re so embarrassingly sensitive after this many days without Taehyung, and he notices from your breathless reaction. Smirking, he takes his shaft in his hand and runs his stiff head over your clit mercilessly. And as you roll your head back helplessly, he nibbles onto your exposed neck, faint stubble grazing your skin.

“Quit the teasing…” You whine, unable to withstand the build up of twisting pressure begging to be fulfilled between your legs. “Just put-”

Taehyung pushes himself into you so abruptly that you yelp. And there it is, that mind-melting stretch of your walls that you’ve so much missed. “Fuck, Taehyung…” Your entire core feels ablaze, so numbing that your nails dig into the leather of the couch before they find grip on his arms.

“Like that, baby?” His voice his strained, as if he’s struggling not to lose his mind as well.

Nodding because you can’t make out a word as he slowly pulls out, you grab his face and pull him up to meet your lips. You whimper into him mouth when he rams into you again, hitting your walls in full force, no mercy. His kiss doesn’t lose its sincerity despite the juxtaposition of his vigorous thrusts, though you can’t say that he is quite as gentle with as before. You pinch his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on it as your fingers get lost in his hair.

After seven days of deprevation of his cock, your cunt is leaking with the fluid of your arousal, aiding in the ease of each plunge. You feel the stiffness of his ridges pulling you open as he slides in and out of you. “Fuck…” He pants, mouth hovering over yours.

“Let me get on top.” Taehyung’s eyes flash at your suggestion, instantly rolling onto his back. He slips out during the switch of position and the wetness of your cunt is assailed by a sudden rush of cool air.

You swing your leg over and mount him, watching him watch you pump his dick, your own liquid slathered over him sticky in your hand. Letting his member fall against his abdomen, you grind over him between your folds, hands splayed out over his chest. The friction created each time your clit would slide over the thin pinch of skin where his tip unfolded into his shaft has Taehyung a groaning mess.

He looks remarkable under you.

You push his sweat-dampened curls out of his forehead, eyes half closed in euphoria, half watching you roll your cunt so lewdly over his length. You know you could make him cum like this if you continue. But you want him to cum inside you first, you want to feel that thick hot spurt of his desire shoot again and again into you until his cock is twitching.

So slowly, lubricated by your wetness, you sink inch by inch down until the skin of your ass meets his thighs. This angle fuck with your mind; you think you feel him at your cervix. Then your hips start to do what they know best, pounding over him with a rhythm that you’re proud of.

Taehyung grabs hold of your waist, your breasts, fury in his eyes as he watches you ride him with such determination. “I love you so much.” He heaves between heavy breaths.

“I love you, I missed you more than you could imagine.” You huff, thumb running over his red swollen lips.

“I love when you admit it.” He sits up and takes the swell of your breast in his mouth, making his way to your nipples where his tongue relentlessly flickers over.

Your thighs are starting to burn, core aching because his cock is thrusting up into you so deep that you feel it in your guts. The signs are appearing - your vision is going hazy, walls squeezing tightly around him, tangle upon tangles knoting in your stomach. His are too - his head is slumped against your chest, arms crossed behind your back as he holds you close to him, whole body starting to tense as he begins to curse.

Pace quickening, you don’t let the tire of your muscles stop you from your chase. The slap of your skins ringing in your ears, you keep riding, cunt swallowing his cock whole each bounce. Taehyung breaks first. “Fuck!” He calls out into your neck. His cum squirts into you, pulse after pulse, your boyfriend’s hips jolting each thrust.

“I’m so close, babe, keep going for me.” You plead, knowing how sensitive he is right after his climax. He nods wordlessly, face still buried in you hair. The lubrication of his cum abolishes any resistance, letting you slide over him easier than sitting down. And not five thrusts later, your own coil snaps. You through your head back at the wave of pleasure that drowns you, your entire core on fire as your moans echo through the room. It takes maybe twenty seconds for your walls to stop throbbing and for the orgasm to slowly die down.

Taehyung is already growing limp inside you after his orgasm. “Thank you.” You whisper against his forehead while you dismount. His cum flows out of your slit and down the insides of your thighs, but he refuses to let go of you.

When he looks up, you are struck by an overwhelming sensationf of adoration. His long dark curls fall slightly over his eyes, in disarray but just the way you like it. His eyes are so full of genuine love and gratitude of having you that you can’t help but capture him with your lips. “No, thank you.” He mumbles against you, falling back onto the couch with you in his embrace.

After a long kiss of after-sex affection, you pull away before it leads to a second round. “I want you to know that I really missed you a lot. I can’t even call you a big baby anymore because I stared at all the pictures you sent me every night till the sun came out.”

Taehyung’s boyish smile melts your heart. You’ve missed him way too much. His smile, his goofy comments, his tender kisses. “My heart… is squeezing…” If his smile doesn’t tell how smitten he is, his eyes definitely do. “I missed you so much too. All the boys made fun of me for being such a wettie ‘coz I couldn’t shut up about you.” The thought is so endearing that you can’t help but hide your face.

“So how was your trip? Plenty of hot girls drooling after you?” Trick question of course, you know that for a fact already.

“Haha, it was good, fun. Bet you couldn’t sleep ‘coz you were trembling from jealousy.” Scoffing you land a smack on his chest. “But nah, no hot girls. Nowadays there’s only one hot girl in my eyes.”

Your own lips spread like a cheshire cat. “Shut up, cutie.”

“Rachel McAdams.”

“Let go of me. Don’t even touch me.”

A/N: Moral of the story, never sit on their couch if you’re a guest at the Heatwave house.

24/08/20

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iguessilovebakugou · 3 years

Text

Stranger || Bakugou x Reader || { Anon Request } || Stalking

TW: Cursing || Stalking || Threats of violence || Implied desire for Non-Con (not from Bakugou tho) Word Count: 5.5K

It started after the Sport Festival.

A DM that had been sent to your private social media account - a friend from your old school named Honoka. You hadn’t spoken to her since starting UA - and the moment you saw the notification, you felt guilty that this was how she had to reach out to you. She had been so proud of you when you got accepted, she almost started crying, hugging you tightly and telling you as much. She asked you to keep in contact in High School. You had promised her you would.

You had been so busy, it was hard keeping promises.

Honoka: Hey! I saw you on the TV - you were amazing! I can’t believe they wouldn’t let you pass onto the finals. Good thing though - you would have gone against that asshole.

Honoka: Not that you couldn’t have handled it!

It should have tipped you off that one of the quieter kids of school would have used such language, but it didn’t. It had been a few months since starting high school and people have changed faster. You didn’t think much about it aside from replying before your train pulled into the station. You might miss your stop and be late to school.

You were always punctual and refused to have something as stupid as that go against your record.

You waited until you were off the train, standing on the steps before sending a quick message.

Thanks! It was really terrifying. But I lost fair and square. Besides, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t make it to the finals. So I guess it’s okay. :)

You decided not to humor her comment about Bakugou. While it drew a hot, angry tie around your neck, part of you understood. Honoka wasn’t alone in thinking he was...less than pleasant. It had been a point of contention, something that bothered you both that day and since. People were just wrong about him. She didn’t know him like Class 1-A did. A few short clips from some televised sports festival didn’t do him nearly the justice he was deserved.

You didn’t have enough time to put your phone back in your jacket pocket when it buzzed again.

Honoka: Still.

Honoka: You were so strong. We all think they should have made an exception for you.

Honoka: We should meet up sometime. Gtg! Text me after school to set up a time!

You wanted to question it but you didn’t.

You really should have questioned it.

King Explosion Murder was a perfectly good name.

Miss Midnight just doesn’t understand art.

The conversation had been going on for a hour. It was the longest that you and Bakugou had texted. You had moved from a group text to your own private thread. He didn’t text you like normal boys did - no pictures, no emojis, no stupid memes he had found. It was...conversation, one that hadn’t been as hard to keep going as you thought. you tried to distract yourself with school work while he replied, but found it hard not to keep your attention on your screen as the text bubble flashed.

Bakugou: It was better than “Deku”.

Well Deku was less violent

Bakugou: AND IT WAS STILL BETTER

Bakugou: THAN FUCKING DEKU’S

Honoka: You still up?

You stopped. Honoka? Why on earth was she texting you...oh shit. You groaned, rubbing your eyes and kicking yourself for forgetting to text her back like she had asked. You had been so wrapped up texting Bakugou since getting home that it just completely slipped your mind. Though, to be fair, most things slipped your mind around him.

You opened your chat with her, trying to figure out how to apologize without seeming like too much of an asshole.

Hey, yeah, sorry.

I started talking to one of my classmates and totally forgot.

My bad, dood.

Once again, she replied quickly.

Honoka: Who were you talking to?

There was a small part of you that wanted to ask her why it was her business, but you bit your tongue. She probably didn’t mean anything by it and some residual bitterness from her comment this morning was probably lingering. You took a deep breath.

Bakugou.

We workshopped hero names today. His got shot down by our teacher.

It was so sad. 🤣🤣🤣

Honoka: Why are you talking to him?

It wasn’t a question, not really. It was a statement. Like you talking to Bakugou was taboo, you could practically hear her grasping her pearls. You shouldn’t have had to explain to her why you were talking anyone, let alone him, and it bothered you that she felt she was owed that right. That she even dare ask the question. Your brow furrowed as you sat up in bed.

What do you mean?

Honoka: Why are you talking to him? He seems like an dick

Honoka: And isn’t good for you.

Honoka: You need to focus on being the best hero you can be.

Honoka: He seems like he would only drag you down.

Rage filled your stomach. Your hands were shaking as you tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. She had never acted this way before...right? She had always been so nice and meek and unassuming and...

You were confused, finding yourself chewing on your lip as you tried to make sense of what the hell you were seeing.

He’s my friend. I really like him.

Look, he’s not as mean as he appears on TV. He’s actually a really good guy. And he’s really smart and he’s going to be a better hero than even me some day.

So I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about him like that.

The chat bubble popped up. Then disappeared. Then popped up. And disappeared again.

It’s funny - you had never felt so threatened by someone not answering. But as the bubble flashed for a final time, something told you that you had fucked up.

Honoka was always quiet, yes, but she was also amazingly sweet. She cried when you were little kids at the ending scene in All Dog’s Go to Heaven, always scrounged up change to donate to someone on the street looking for food, and volunteered every weekend to help with the younger students struggling in studies. She hadn’t been born with a mean bone in her body.

But by the end of the week, you were certain the person messaging you wasn’t the same Honoka you knew. She had changed - and not for the better. Not in the slightest. She was growing more insistent that you talk to her - every night. And if you didn’t?

The calls were incessant. One after the other until you finally had to shut your ringer off. And the voicemails - she never spoke. Just let it sit for a moment before hanging up. And you were grateful for it - you didn’t want to talk to her. Every chance she got, she showered you with praise and adoration while slinging hate at all your friends in 1-A. But no one got it like Bakugou did.

Honoka: Stop talking to him.

It’s not any of your damn business who I’m talking to.

Honoka: If you don’t stop talking to him, I’ll tell him what a whore you were in Middle School.

The water of your bath was scalding, but that didn’t stop you from shaking. Why was she doing this to you? Why was she so adamant about making your life miserable? This wasn’t Honoka - not even in the slightest.

I’m blocking you. Leave me alone.

Don’t talk to me anymore.

No matter what, he was pure evil to Honoka. He was disgusting, arrogant, rude, a monster, a villain hiding in sheep's clothing and would do nothing but drag you down. He would hurt you, she said.

Honoka: Go ahead. I’ll just make other accounts.

She was as good as her word. At least that hadn’t changed.

Your classmates were starting to take notice. After the first few accounts were blocked, she started using a calling app to randomly call you - only to hang up the moment you answered. Sometimes it was once a night, supplemented with texts about what a no good, lying whore you were. About how you were just some slut who’s opening you legs for the first guy who gave you any attention.

Honoka: Fucking skank.

Honoka: You’re so fucking worthless.

Honoka: You fucking him? Is that it? Is that why you want to defend him so bad?

Honoka: He’s probably fucking every other girl in your class.

Other times, the calls were every hour on the hour. It had gotten so bad, that you started sleeping in later and later.

You raced through the empty halls, trying to will time to back up. You had slept in, missing your first train. When you got on the second one, you fell back asleep until the stop after yours. The only thing you could do was get off and just run to school as fast as you could. Class had started 20 minutes ago. This had never happened before - in your whole life. You were always meticulous about getting to class early.

You were a good student. A good person. You were.

“Well, look who decided to join us.” Mr. Aizawa didn’t even bother to hide the annoyance in his voice. It made it all the more terrible

You wanted to cry. You felt the eyes of everyone in your class fall on you. It made your skin squirm, your stomach flip. You wanted to turn around and just...run home. To crawl into your bed and...

You bowed low, your head almost hitting the floor. “I’m so sorry I’m late, sir! It won’t happen again!”

“Be sure that it doesn’t.” His glare hardened. “We’ll talk after class about your punishment.”

Punishment. Shit. You couldn’t speak, resigning to solemnly nodding as you making the walk of shame to your seat, collapsing down. You had to take a minute, to steady your breath. To try and collect yourself. At least at school, you had an excuse not to answer her texts. To ignore her and pretend like she wasn’t out there being fucking crazy. School was safe. School was free from it all.

Almost by habit, you turned and looked over at Bakugou. A small part of you was praying that he was looking at you. That his glare would ground you in a way only it knew how. But when your eyes met...the only thing you felt was misery.

You fucking him? Is that it?

Your heart raced, panic flooded your nerves, and all you wanted to do was run. Get away from everyone and just...just go to sleep. You just wanted to sleep. But Honoka wasn’t allowing that. You couldn’t stop thinking about half of the things she said while the other half had been resting heavily in your stomach, making you sick. She was stealing everything from you.

You’re a fucking slut opening her legs for the first guy who gives you attention. And of course it had to be that fucking dog.

No...no you couldn’t look at him for too long, afraid that he would know. Terrorized as you were, you couldn’t run the risk of him finding out. Because...what if she messaged him first? What if she told him all of her lies and...what if he believed her?

No. No, that couldn’t happen.

You pulled away from his stare, folding in on yourself. Just get out your books. Focus on class and get out your books. Your phone dinged and your blood ran cold. You dreaded even looking at it, but as you tugged out your notebook, the piece of plastic fell, resting against the back of your bag. It was as if some higher power was damning you to be always aware of the vitriol Honoka was spewing in your direction. The lock screen shone bright: 21 missed texts, 44 missed calls. But the most recent message sent horror down your spine.

Honoka: Naughty girl, sleeping in late for school.

You slipped out of the lunch room and made your way down the hall. You were going to put an end to this - once and for all. You didn’t know what game Honoka was playing at, but whatever it was, you were fucking done. She was starting to seep into every facet of your life and it was ending now. Right then, in that hallway.

When you got a safe distance away from the double doors, to ensure no one could hear you when you started screaming, you searched through your contacts for her number. When you finally found it however...

God, just looking at her name made you sick. The fact her contact picture was of you and her, eating ice cream at a beach, grinning and giving the camera a peace sign, posing as only 12 year old girls knew how, it drove a knife into your chest, twisting it even deeper the longer you stared at it. She was making your life a living hell. It wasn’t right, it didn’t make any fucking sense. Why was she doing this to you? Did you do something to her? Were you cruel in your last interaction? Did you make a joke that went so poorly that she decided the only way to get back at you was to ruin your entire life? To push you so close to the edge that...

She going out of her way to make your life a living hell and for what?

Well, no better time like the present to find out.

Your thumb slammed down on the dial button. Each ring was like nails on chalk board.

Her voice was even worse.

She said your name so surprised, before crying it out in joy. “Oh my god, it’s been so long!”

Well...that...wasn’t...true?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Honoka went silent on the other end of the phone. “Uh...are you okay?”

“You’ve been harassing me since the festival and you’re just going to act like-”

“Wait...what?”

“The thousands of texts!? The millions of calls!?”

She didn’t answer. You couldn’t help the grin that spread over your face. You fucking got her. You caught her in her bullshit lie and she didn’t have anything to say for it. You hated to admit it, but part of you was excited to hear how she was going to explain it way. How she was going to break down and finally you could tell her off and it was going to stop and you could get a good night’s sleep and maybe your mom could make your favorite curry and you would be able to eat it and not throw it up later and -

“I haven’t been texting you.”

Well...you couldn’t have said you were expecting that. You stopped, staring at your feet. “I...what?”

“I...haven’t been calling you. Or texting you.” She said, her voice - that ever familiar voice - filled with worry.

...of course she would be worried. She was always so fucking nice.

“Yes you have!!” You shouted, gritting your teeth.

She said your name, so softly and so calmly, “No. I haven’t. I promise you, I haven’t. Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

The phone vibrated in your fingers and the screen lit up once more. Another unknown number was calling you. You didn’t hesitate and for the first time since this all began you answered the her-him-they-it.

“What!?” You screamed, pressing the phone to your ear. You strained to hear, to try and find out who was doing this to you. “What do you want!? Why are you doing this to me!? Leave me alone!!!”

...click!

The dial tone felt like a death sentence.

The hallway shrunk and expanded, growing larger and darker - like the mouth of the beast, it was going to swallow you whole. You pressed your phone to your forehead, slumped to the floor and realized...you were crying. No, not just crying. You were sobbing, each one wracking your body and shaking your bones. Shit...shit, shit, shit. You just wanted to go back to the way things were. You wanted it to stop, wanted whoever was doing this to leave you alone and -

Your phone buzzed again. Another message.

Another sob rocked your body, but you found the strength to turn it back into view.

UNKNOWN NUMBER :: [ MULTIMEDIA MESSAGE ]

Your fingers trembled so hard you almost dropped the phone. You didn’t want to look at whatever it was. Whoever was doing to you was fucking sick, was deranged and psychotic and out of their mind and...you had to do something about it. Maybe you could tell a teacher? But what could they do about it? Up security? Just for you? No, it was entirely out of the question. You couldn’t go to the police - since who ever this was hadn’t physically done anything to harm you.

You were on your own.

You opened the message.

It was your house. The sun was setting. Then another. This one was early in the morning. Then another. And another. Another another another another another another another another another different angles, different times of day...but all focused on one spot.

Your bedroom. Sometimes it was empty, but other times you were in shot. Sometimes working on homework, sometimes sitting with your cat on the window sill, other times pulling your shirt above your head, reaching behind your back for your bra and...

UNKOWN NUMBER : Stop ignoring me.

Your phone clattered to the floor as you gripped your hair, trying to steady your breathing. In two three fours, Out two three fours. In two three fours, Out two three-

“Hey.”

The scream was involuntary, as was backing against the lockers so hard that you slammed your head against them. Bakugou recoiled, staring at you, his eyes wide with surprise. It didn’t last long, quickly overtaken by gritted teeth and snarls. “The hell is your-”

He must have noticed the tears, the absolute panic on your face. The silence fell over the two of you, the echo of your scream now long gone. You wished you were. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the shame of what was happening. How could you explain it.

“You alright?”

You pulled your legs up to you chest, hugging them tightly. “No,” You replied.

Bakugou was never one for consolations. So you were almost surprised when all he made his way over to where you were sitting and sat down beside you. You flinched, only a little, but it didn’t seem to bother him none. He shoved his hands in his pockets, but didn’t say a word, his bright red eyes focused out the window across from you. You...were grateful. For the first time in almost two weeks, you didn’t feel entirely vulnerable. Like everything was crumbling down around you. And in this small moment of peace, you felt horribly exhausted. Your mind ached, your body was sore, your eyes were so red and...and...

You rested against his shoulder and he didn’t make a move to stop you. It was like Bakugou was putting himself between you and...whoever was stalking you.

Stalking you. You had a stalker.

You sniffled, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You offered.

“For what?” He barked.

“For crying.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, “Tch. Yeah, well...maybe suck it the hell up. Whatever it is, it’s not a big deal.”

Not a big...you turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. “Not a big deal...?”

He looked at you, a bored and disgruntled expression on his face. “Yeah.”

“It’s kind of a big fucking deal.”

“Oh yeah? Well then what the hell is it?”

“Whoa, it’s that kid who just won the Sports Festival!”

“Oh, wow! He’s so much scarier in person!”

“Do you think he would be mad if I asked for an autograph?”

“Yeah! Look at his mug - he’s obviously pissed off about something!”

Bakugou had stayed late, even through your detention, to walk you home. It was nearly dark now as you walked side by side down your street. The sun was struggling to peak over the row of houses and a purple ink had settled over the top of the sky.

It was taking everything in you not to apologize...again. He didn’t need to be dragged into your mess. But...shit, it wasn’t like you weren’t ecstatic that he offered to walk you home back in the hallway. He was a terrifying presence, unstoppable. As he stalked down the road towards your house, a scowl on his face as his eyes peered around every corner, it hit you that you felt safer now than you had the past few weeks.

“Hey.” You picked up the pace, making sure to stay close. “Thank you again. I just-”

“Ugh, stop thanking me!” He glared at you.

“I’m just-” You sighed and gripped your bag straps. “I...I don’t see the point of you walking me home. Not...that I don’t appreciate it, I just...won’t that make him mad?”

Bakugou scoffed. “That’s the point, you idiot.”

Sometimes, you thought you almost understood him. But then he blew up Rome and screamed at you to start over tomorrow morning. You stared at him in confusion though ultimately decided you didn’t have the energy to argue. You were just...thankful that he was here.

“This is me.” Your house was a small thing, nestled on the corner and surrounded by a garden that was meticulously maintained by your mom while you were at school and your father was at work. Sometimes the pictures had her in the shot, busy at work. Your lips thinned as you stared up at the second story window, Your white curtains lay still and your cat stared down at you, like she knew something was wrong. Like she knew...that things were amiss.

Well...Bakugou came all this way and the guy didn’t have the guts to show himself. As you had figured, you had completely wasted his time. It wasn’t like he was going to move in just to be your watchful protector. You didn’t want to think that maybe he was just patiently waiting until you were alone but...

“Do you want to come in for something to drink. It’s the least I could...”

Bakugou wasn’t looking at you. His attention was focused entirely over your shoulder. You blinked, taken aback by the cold, dead glare on his face. The way his eyes seemed to burn with...rage? Unbridled anger? Nothing seemed to do whatever it was justice. “You’ve been following us since the train station!” He yelled out. “Why don’t you stop being a fucking coward and come out of hiding!!”

…someone...had been following you?

You could see the reflection of someone in his eyes. With a shaking breath, you turned to look at who he was talking to.

You weren’t sure what you expected. But throughout the day, you had come up with an image in your mind of what your stalker had looked like. He would be the perfect embodiment of the horror you had suffered though, that was for certain. A Cheshire grin, wild unkempt hair, vacant, glossy eyes, maybe a knife or something - anything to solidify himself as the monster who had been making your life miserable. But...he wasn’t. As you got a good look at him, you realized that he looked relatively...normal. And for some reason, that thought alone made you sick.

He was about your age - maybe a bit older - in a school uniform you didn’t recognize. His hair was dark, pulled back and pushed behind his ears. His chin was dusted with facial hair and his eyes were darting between you and Bakugou. He had been standing by the cross walk and tried to pretend to be shocked that Bakugou was even addressing him.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t pull that bull with me.” Bakugou stepped around you, making his way towards him. “I saw you get off the train with us. You made every turn we did. Always stayed one step behind where you thought we couldn’t see you.”

The kid only got a word out before Bakugou gripped him by his shirt and slammed him up against the wall of the neighboring house. “Please!” The kid yelled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Bakugou!” Your legs finally remembered they could move. You bolted over to where he was standing, looking between the two of them. “Bakugou maybe it isn’t him! Maybe he-”

“Show us your phone then if you don’t have anything to hide!” He lifted him up and slammed him back against the bricks.

“I don’t have to show you anything, you fucking lunatic!”

You don’t think you had ever seen him on this street. You don’t think you had seen him ever but-

“HEY!” The boy tried to stop Bakugou from reaching into his pocket. But it was no use.

You caught it was ease, “Try the day of the sports festival for the password.” Was all he said.

This was fucking insane. What if this kid wasn’t the stalker? What if he was just some random guy who was meeting a friend. You looked back and forth between the two of them - Bakugou, hair wild and death in his eyes, and this guy who looked down at him with fear and...

...oh...

You swiped up, entering the date as instructed.

It unlocked.

And you were met with a pretty lain layout. Some photo editing apps, Youtube, a few games, and...

Texting and Calling apps. Your blood ran cold as you opened the first one up. Texts apon texts, all to the same unlisted number. Your unlisted number. You went to the photo gallery and there they were. The pictures of your house. Some of them were zoomed in and cropped to only show you. You wanted to be sick. You wanted to-

“I can explain!”

“What the fuck,” You breathed, scrolling through the pictures. Not just of your house, but of you - walking home from school, of hanging out with your friends, of you shopping. And that’s when you saw the edited versions.

Fuck. Oh Shit Fuck.

“I was only trying to help you!!” He cried, scratching at Bakugou’s wrist, making his skin bleed. “I only want what’s best for us!”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” You covered your mouth, trying to think of what to do next. Should you call the police? Your parents!? What do you do now?

His eyes fell on Bakugou, practically snarling. “I knew he would do something like this!! I knew he would try to make me look like some psycho, but I’m not. I know how he would treat you! He’s a rabid fucking dog, a mongrel! I couldn’t let him treat you the same way! I couldn’t! I’m just trying to protect you! But you wouldn’t fucking listen!! So I thought if maybe you and I could talk you would understand! You would see what I’m-”

“ARGH!”

Your body tensed as the smell of burnt stone and ash filled the air. You looked up and half expected his head to be blown clean off. But it was still attached, only now he looked terrified as he stared down at Bakugou. You followed his gaze, saw the look of pure, unadulterated rage. His hand had connected to the wall beside the man’s head, smoke dancing up and around them. And he was shaking. Oh, god, how hard Bakugou was shaking.

He spoke low, deep in his chest. “Listen close, you freak. You’re going to leave her alone from this point forward - you got that? If I find out you’re even thinking about her, I’ll kill you myself!!”

The world fell silent. No one said a word until. Your stalker was crying now, shaking as he nodded, quickly, mumbling apology after apology. You couldn’t find the words to say, but your heart. God, your heart was beating so hard in your chest as you stared at Bakugou. He...he was...

Oh.

The window in the house behind you slid open. An older man leaned out the window, his wife nervously peering over his shoulder. The looked to the source of the commotion before standing up straight, fumbling as the smoke continued to rise from the spot Bakugou...well...destroyed. “Hey!! If you don’t get off my property, I’m calling the cops!”

...the police.

...

The police.

Oh god, you had his phone. You could prove he had been stalking you!!! You perked up, smiling for the first time in weeks, “Yes! Yes, please, call the police!”

The man stared at you, confusion on his face. “....what?”

The weight of the situation only grew heavier when the police searched the contents of the guy’s backpack.

Rope. A knife. Some cloth. A box of condoms. And a jar of a clear, sickly sweet smelling liquid. You heard one of the officers say what it was, though you were sure you weren’t supposed to hear. But you did, and so did your parents. Your mom nearly broke down for the third time that evening as your father swore under his breath.

Homemade chloroform.

His name was Eito Moto - a second year at another High School near your home. You would find out later that the stalking had started long before the Sports Festival - ever since he started working at the coffee shop you and your mom would go to every Sunday for breakfast. Your neighbors, the ones who actually called the police, had seen him hanging around sometimes but didn’t think much off it.

They thought he had just been a fan.

They decided not to press charges against Bakugou for putting a hole in their fence. “Given the circumstances,” The man said, “I think I would have done the same thing.”

You had to go to the police station to file a report and request a restraining order. It took well into the morning hours, where you mainly spent your time talking to different police officers, retelling the same story, going over evidence, assuring them you didn’t know this guy so you had no clue why he thought you two had been dating for months.

They sent Bakugou home, your parents offering him their thanks and promises they would find a better, proper way to think him for essentially saving your life.

By the time you fell into a crumpled heap on your bed, it was 2 in the morning. It had been so long since you felt...okay. Your stalker was in police custody for now, you could at least rest easy tonight. You gripped your pillows, tugging them up and over your head to block out what meager light filtered in through the hallway. No more late night calls. No more insistent texts telling you what a no good whore you were. You were okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

Bzzzz.

...oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

You peeked out from under your pillow, trying to calm your racing heart. It couldn’t be him, you thought. He was in jail, so they wouldn’t let him call you - right? They wouldn’t let him do that, even if they did give him one call. With shaking fingers, you reached out and plucked your phone from your end table.

Bakugou is calling!

Oh....oh thank god.

You couldn’t press accept fast enough. You sighed, resting back against your pillows. “Hey.”

“Is that bastard in jail?”

A laugh, a good honest laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s in jail. Dad and mom are gonna to talk to a lawyer tomorrow about our options.”

“Did you get a restraining order?”

You nodded. “Yeah. That’s what took so long and why we have to go to court. They gave me an emergency one so...” You blew out a puff of air, watching as a lock of your hair jumped up and fell back into place. “At least there’s that.”

“You should have talked to me about this sooner.” It was softer than you anticipated, less of a bite than he normally had.

You knew you should have. You should have told someone but...it felt so...pointless? Like it wouldn’t have mattered. But, you had to give credit where credit was due. “I wish I would have.”

He didn’t respond. You had expected he would have started yelling at you, about hiding it from everyone. Chastised you for being so stupid and letting it go on for as long as it had. But no, he stayed quiet. You could imagine him laying in bed, staring up at his ceiling, and wondered what he was thinking about. What he wanted to say.

You rolled over onto your side. “Hey, Bakugou?”

“What.”

“Thank you.”

There was a long pause before he let out a soft noise.

“Don’t be stupid. I was only doing what I had to do.”

Stalkers are fucking scary, yah know. I had to listen to some voicemails left by stalkers to get the vibe down right - and I still don’t think Eito sounded perfect but hey. At least one blessing in that: I’ve never been stalked.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha #bnha x reader #katuski bakugou #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo #x reader #mha imagines #mha bakugou #mha bakugo x reader #mha #mha x reader #tw: stalking #tw: noncon mention #if you need anything else tagged #let me know!

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

Note

You just had to bring the symbol of Victory into this didn't you?!???? Is this some sort of euphemism I should look forward to or!??!?!?????

Yes!! Let me “paint you a picture” (groan)... Also, I sat down to draft my response and it's somehow *gestures at this whole mess* 2300+ words!?? And confession time! I’ve never even SEEN "The Mentalist"! Everything I know about Marcus Pike has come from cute GIFs and the Internet and fanfics… so… I don’t even know what’s going on with me today. But thank you! :D

(This is leaking over from this post if anyone needs to play catch-up)

Paris

Word count: 2300+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Marcus Pike x “You” in Paris, reader is an Art History Professor (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow burn; cute Marcus Pike; coffee and pastries; kissing and stuff; public-ish sex in the Louvre after hours; spontaneous P/V sex (probably unprotected, idek) we're all adults here, wrap it before YOU tap it!

It’s like, you and sweet Marcus have definitely hit it off and you’re really into each other after that field trip meet-cute and your date, but you haven’t slept together yet. He gets called away for a case, so you wish him good luck and hope that you can see each other again soon.

A few days later it’s spring break and you have a trip to Paris planned to complete some research for your next publication. You email Marcus while you're waiting to board. You let him know that you’re going to be out of town for a few days, but that you hope his case is going well, and maybe when he's back you two can pick up where you left off?

You land in Paris and check your messages, and you see that Marcus has replied to your email. He says he can't share the details of his case, but that he hopes he'll be wrapped up by the end of the week, and that he definitely wants to see you again. He asks about your research trip, so you shoot a quick email back to fill him in on the details.

You get to your hotel and sink into a hot bath with your phone. You open your emails, and your brain tells you that you're just checking to confirm the details of your appointment with your research contact in the morning... but the little uptick in your heart rate tells you that you're actually looking for another reply from Marcus. And it's there. He says that he loves Paris and that your research sounds exciting. He asks where you’re staying? You give him the name of your hotel, and tell him that you haven't stayed there before, but it's cute.

Before the water even gets cold you have another reply, sending the butterflies behind your navel into a tizzy. He says that he's stayed there once or twice and that the café in the lobby has excellent pastries. You smile and let yourself imagine a vacation with Marcus, here in Paris, sharing pain au chocolat over a little table in the café. You refill the tub with hot water and sit daydreaming for so long that your fingers prune up.

You get out of the bath and wrap yourself in a plush robe, and sit on the edge of the bed. You email Marcus back, wishing him a good night and telling him that it's late where you are, but that you promise to try one of the pastries in the morning with your breakfast coffee. By the time you're in your nightgown and ready to sleep he's responded, wishing you sweet dreams and hoping that your research goes well. You smile and reply, "Thanks," and then drift down into pleasant dreams.

The next morning you take yourself to the little lobby café and treat yourself to a café crème and an almond croissant. Marcus was right, and you nearly moan aloud as you wrap your mouth around the flaky pastry. You open your email and send him a picture of your croissant with one bite missing, and you joke that you blame him for ruining you for any other boulangeries you might visit during your trip. By the time you're done with breakfast he's responded with a wink emoji and a quick "Sorry I ruined you," and you desperately want to email him back and boldly ask him to ruin you in other ways. You stop yourself, and your brain can't think of anything appropriate, so you just don't respond and you leave to go to your research appointment.

The day is long, and the dusty archives and a few misfiled papers cause small irritations. But you find a few of the things that you needed, so you call it productive enough. You break at 3 p.m. and decide to start again fresh in the morning. Maybe an early dinner and another scalding hot bubble bath will set you right. You decide that the weather is nice, and that your hotel is close enough that you can stroll back and people watch, disconnect your brain from your work and transition into relaxation mode along the way.

You arrive back at your hotel and go to your room to change. There is a card slipped under your door, the front desk letting you know that you have a delivery of some kind to pick up. You try to remember if any of your colleagues or your boss mentioned that they would send you anything? Is it paperwork? Some kind of file for your research? You decide to shower and change into a nice dress to lift your mood, and then head back out for dinner.

You take the card to the lobby desk and hand it to the desk clerk and he disappears into the back office. When he returns you're surprised to see that he's holding a floral arrangement, not huge or ostentatious, but lovely and cheerful and somehow your favorite color exactly. The clerk sets the vase on the desk. You reach for the card and open it.

"Good luck on your research. -Marcus"

You break into a wide grin and you practically float back to your room. You set the flowers on the room table and open your email to thank him. You send him a photo and an effusive "Thank you!" and a winky kiss emoji. Is that too much? No - if one little emoji scares him off then he's not the guy you thought he was.

He responds within minutes, a quick "You're welcome. Glad they arrived in one piece." and his own winky kiss emoji. Your heart flutters and you reply immediately, "They're really lovely. Thank you for thinking of me."

A moment later his next email pops up: "Can I take you to dinner and pick up where we left off?"

You reply: "Absolutely! I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in town!"

He responds: "No, I meant tonight."

You hesitate, does he want to call you and chat on the phone while you eat dinner? Some kind of video call, like a virtual date? Before you can type your reply, a new message pops up: "I'm actually in Paris. My case is here and I arrived a few days before you did. I didn't want to scare you off or come to your hotel unannounced, but I'm free tonight and I'd love to see you."

You throw your head back and laugh. This is definitely way more fun than eating alone and people-watching. You message back an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'm ready when you are!" and he emails you and says he'll see you in 30 minutes in the lobby. When you get downstairs he's waiting by the front desk, all soft scruff and loosened tie and warm brown eyes, just as you remembered. You smile and hug him, and in that moment you feel like a fairy-tale princess meeting her prince, being swept off your feet in the most romantic city in the world.

You have dinner at a cozy bistro around the corner, Marcus making you bubble with laughter as you talk. He listens to you moan about the missing pieces of your research, your pressing need to track down a letter from one artist to another that was mentioned in an old diary but which hasn't yet surfaced. You're sure it's around the archives somewhere, just waiting for you to piece it together with the rest of your project. Marcus tells you that his case is almost wrapping up, and if you want he can arrange to catch the same flight home as you. You smile and tell him that would be nice.

You finish dinner and he asks if you want to go to the Louvre, and you check the time and say that they're almost closing. Marcus smiles at you and says, "Don't worry about it," and he looks a little mischievous. You tell him you're up for an adventure, and he takes your hand and ushers you into a taxi.

When you arrive he asks the desk staff for someone he knows, and you make a quick run to the restroom. When you return, Marcus has two laminated badges, special access for professionals and visiting staff that allows you to stay for a few hours past closing. You can't believe your luck, being allowed to spend extra time in one of the most special places in the world, not to mention that your escort is the most handsome and charismatic man you've ever met.

You start in the Denon wing and wander through the museum, talking and laughing quietly, enjoying the opportunity to see things that you would normally have to fight hordes of tourists to see. And maybe "enjoy" isn't the right word, because if someone asked you how you were feeling right now, you would say you were "on cloud nine" or "elated" or "floating." It feels like a dream, and you're not sure if you're going to remember all of it later, but you desperately want to, and you're trying so hard to file every sight away into your brain.

When you reach the Mona Lisa, an odd hush falls over you, and you realize it's the first time you've ever seen it without a crowd twenty deep in front of it. Marcus seems to know what you're feeling, because he takes your hand, almost shyly. And he keeps holding it, warming your fingers as the two of you walk on. You stop in front of Delacroix, "Liberty Leading the People," and you tell Marcus that it's the first painting you ever fell in love with, a million years ago in high school during your very first art history class. You look at the painting and he looks at you, and when you finally turn toward him he captures your mouth in a warm, urgent, soft kiss. You can feel your eyes sparkling at him when he pulls away, and you don't say a word, you just smile and hold his hand as you walk through doorways and up and down stairs.

You come around a corner and there it is, probably the most famous statue in the world: the Venus de Milo. She takes your breath away, and then Marcus does, too, stealing a kiss when you least expect it. And you're torn completely in half, unsure if you would rather keep kissing him or just stare at the curves and planes of her body. So you try to do both; you kiss him and keep one eye on the Venus and you start to feel dizzy, like you've overloaded on sugar, but it's just the impossible circumstances that you've found yourself in.

And you break apart from him, and take his hand again, leading him into a corner that's a little more private. You back yourself against a wall and pull him to you by his tie, and you kiss him the way he deserves, with your full attention and precision. Minutes pass slowly, and you only come up for air because you're afraid you're going to faint. Your thigh is blazing hot where Marcus's hand has raked up under your skirt, and the only reason you don't fuck him right there is because of a security camera keeping watch on the alcove.

You tell him that you both should finish your tour and go back to your hotel, and he agrees. You try to keep your mind on the art, and you tell Marcus about how awestruck you were as a student when you learned about the way that sculptors could depict every curve and dimple of a woman's body through the wet drapery technique; the sensuality of the human form made only slightly more modest when viewed through a veil of fabric; the sheer awesome impossibility of marble carved to look like gauze.

You both get lost in the conversation, and you wander up a staircase and around a corner, and there it is: your absolute favorite piece of art, the piece that you have studied and memorized and dreamed about. And you've seen it before: you've been to the Louvre a handful of times, but this time there are no noisy footsteps echoing off the marble, no tourists trying to capture the glory of it with their tiny and unworthy cameras and phones when there are perfectly good books and postcards available in the gift shop... the Nike to end all Nikes, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. You are, quite simply, blown away.

And if it had been a normal weekend walking tour of the sacred Louvre, if you had been there with anyone else... you wouldn't have ended up wedged against the wall of the archway to her left, skirt hiked up as Marcus pounded into you, one of your bare legs hooked over his hip and your arms wrapped around his neck. If it had been any other day or any other time, you would have stopped him before he unzipped his fly and pulled his erection out; you would have had some remaining shred of propriety, of decency. But it wasn't a normal day and he wasn't a normal man, and you really weren't yourself.

You had gotten carried away by the late hour and the thrill of being allowed to wander the empty museum, and if you were being honest, you really wouldn't have wanted to stop it. You wanted to give in to the romance of the city and the priceless treasures on display and the heady conversations with Marcus. You wanted to be exactly where you were, with exactly who he was, doing exactly what you were doing and feeling exactly how you felt as he thrust into you and grunted your name like a chant while you traced the lines of the Nike with your lust-blown eyes.

You didn't make it to the Richlieu wing until a year later, on a sunny Saturday morning with your new husband Marcus.

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Roll call: please message me if you don't want to be on my "all fics" tag list!

@221bshrlocked @danniburgh @starlightmornings @honestly-shite @spacedilf @anaaaispunk @silverwolf319 @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @the-queen-of-fools @driedgreentomatoes @juletheghoul @dihra-vesa @anxiousandboujee

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x female art history professor #idek dude #i just started writing and it all just went blaaaaah #i ain't even sorry

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serenlyss · 5 years

Text

Linger

Rating: T (psychological trauma, heavy topics, vomit) Pairings: Terumob Summary: Shigeo knows that something about him has changed, and not in a good way. He knows when his fingers start to itch, when he's sweating in a cold room, when he sometimes loses the ability to breathe right. He just can't figure out why, or how to fix it. After a week, he finally decides to ask for help. Crossposted to AO3: Linger

This ended up being really long but,, oh well. This is based wholly off the line in the anime where Mogami says the experience will be forever etched in his heart, an exploration of what kind of aftermath that kind of event could have on someone if it was the main focus of the story. I also just really wanted to write some considerate/caring Teru bc he's one of my favorite characters and I love him. Hope you enjoy! This was beta read by @thedeadgodlives, thanks a bunch for your help!

Shigeo’s pencil scratches against the lined paper of his notebook, working out a difficult math problem his teacher had assigned to him the previous school day. His head is leaning on his open hand, fingers digging into his hair and pressing against his scalp as though it will help him think easier. He hums to himself, pausing as he reaches a point in the problem where he can no longer remember the steps to solving it.

He’s never been good at math, but even after years of struggling the nervousness and fear of failure never gets any better. He rolls his pencil between his fingers restlessly, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he fights to remember his teacher’s instructions. It’s no use, he laments after a moment. He’ll have to search his textbook later for the directions. He hopes his teacher doesn’t call on him in class; he’d surely make a fool of himself in front of his classmates.

The fingers holding his pencil tingle, and he pauses in his fiddling. The sensation is familiar to him now, but he still can’t figure out where it’s coming from or why it’s happening. The tingle grows into an incessant itch until he can no longer ignore it. He sets down his pencil, rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to make the itch go away, but it isn’t working. It never has, not since he first started experiencing the itching a week ago. He scratches at his fingers with the nail on his thumb, frowning at his itchy fingers disapprovingly.

Shaking his head, Shigeo returns to his homework, but his focus has been broken. The itch in his hand multiplies and spreads to his other hand, which twitches against his scalp in response. He straightens up in his seat, pressing both hands palm-down on his desk. The sensation lingers in his fingertips, but no matter how he scratches them, the itch doesn’t go away. It’s distracting and annoying, and it’s keeping him from doing his work.

With a disgruntled huff of breath, he pushes himself to his feet and slips out of his tidy bedroom, heading for the bathroom at the end of the hall. He runs the tap hot and lets his hands hover beneath the stream of water, washing away the sickening sensation that clings to them. He leaves them there until the heat of the water becomes too much for him to handle, hissing out a pained breath as he feels his skin scald. He quickly jerks them back, turning the water off and drying his hands on the bathroom towel. He looks up at his reflection in the mirror. He’s paler than usual, he notices, and there’s sweat beading on his brow despite the comfortable temperature of his house. He scrubs it away with the towel, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. When had his heart started beating so quickly? He swallows down the lump in his throat, carefully folding and replacing the towel as though it had never been touched at all.

He’s not sure what’s wrong with him, exactly, but he recognizes that it probably isn’t supposed to be happening. He doesn’t like to dwell on it, because then his thoughts start to race to places where he can’t control them, places where he’s still trapped in Mogami’s mindscape, fighting for his life in a completely different way than he’s grown accustomed to.

But he isn’t there anymore. He’s home, he’s safe, it’s over.

He repeats the thoughts in his head like a mantra. You’re home, you’re safe, it’s over. The tingling in his fingers is gone, and his heartbeat goes back to it’s regular speed. He feels like he could probably fall asleep now despite the fact that it’s the middle of the day. He still has homework to finish, though, so he returns to his desk and slips back into his chair.

As he attempts the math problem once more, he wonders if his classmates are struggling with the concepts as much as he is. His tongue feels dry. If he keeps making a fool of himself in class, they’ll keep pushing him around, calling him stupid and useless and spilling things on him. They might even try to hurt him, if they’re feeling particularly cruel that day, and he has no way of defending himself without his-

He lets out a gasp, shaking his head. His classmates had never done such things to him. They mostly ignore him, or at best, tolerate his presence. Sure, they laugh when he’s unable to answer the teacher’s question, but they’ve never done anything outright cruel to him, at least not to his face.

His head hurts. He scrubs at his face with both hands, groaning softly. His head feels foggy and his mind is racing, trying to reconcile two polarizing images of the same group of people he’s known since he was in grade school. It isn’t the first time he’s confused himself with conflicting memories, and every time it never fails to give him a splitting headache. He needs painkillers, and something to distract him from his unsettling thoughts.

His hand moves to pick up his phone as if on instinct, and before he knows it he’s opening up his text app in search of someone to reach out to. He pauses, fingers hovering over the keys. Hesitating. Reigen always gives good advice in times like these, but he’ll pry in deeper than Shigeo is willing to divulge. Ritsu, maybe? No, he’s still at school at this time, talking with the student council. He’s not sure Ritsu would be very good at taking his mind off of things, anyway.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’s holding, Shigeo punches in Hanazawa Teruki’s contact. Yes, Teru would know what to do to take his mind off of things. He sends a quick, simple message: “Hello, Hanazawa. Are you busy?”

He keeps his messages brief and polite, refraining from using phrases that may come across as too friendly or overbearing. Teru’s never been one to take the professional route, though, and his reply comes a minute later.

“Hey, Kageyama! :D Ah, you could say so. I’m working on some homework for a class. Why, did you need something?”

A small smile comes to Shigeo’s face. Teru’s friendly tone is easy to respond to, and the emojis he always includes are an easy way for Shigeo to deduce how he’s feeling. Not to mention, they’re quite cute. “Ah, sorry to bother you, then. I was just wondering if you had time to hang out, but if you’re busy, then I understand,” he types in response, curt and apologetic.

“Don’t apologize! I should really take a break anyway,” Reads Teru’s text. “I’d love to hang out, actually! :) If you have some homework, why don’t we work on it together? You can come over to my place and keep me company.”

Shigeo’s gaze flicks to his half-filled notebook page. “Are you good at math?” he asks.

Teru’s reply is immediate. “I do well enough. I can help you with it if you like, as long as you help me with my japanese in return.”

Shigeo’s fairly confident that he can at least help a little bit when it comes to Japanese, so he agrees quickly to the arrangement and tells Teru that he’ll be over shortly. He packs up his school supplies and changes out of his uniform, trading his black slacks and jacket for a tee-shirt and jeans. He leaves his room and heads downstairs to walk over to the train station, bidding his mother goodbye with a promise to stay safe on his way.

The trip is quick and easy, nothing eventful getting in his way as he turns toward Teru’s apartment from the station. He’s only been there a handful of times, including the few hours he’s spent resting there after Ritsu was kidnapped by Claw, but he’s memorized the stop he needs to exit from and the route he takes to arrive at Teru’s front door.

Teru’s quick to answer when Shigeo knocks softly, greeting him with a smile and a wave. “Hi, Kageyama. Come on in and have a seat,” he says, stepping aside and holding the door open for Shigeo to move past him.

“Thanks for having me,” he says politely, slipping off his shoes and leaving them by the door like he always does when he comes over. He makes his way over to Teru’s living room, where his friend has already taken up shop to work on his own homework. There’s a textbook open on the coffee table beside his workbook, and an empty mug with the last dregs of a sweet-smelling tea in it. Shigeo sits down on the couch while Teru steeps another batch of the tea, a common routine for the two of them when they study together. He pulls his notebook out of his backpack and sets it up beside Teru’s, fetching a pencil from a side pocket to write with.

Teru joins him shortly after, a steaming cup in each hand, and sets one in front of Shigeo.

“Ah, thank you,” Shigeo murmurs, taking a tentative sip of the hot drink.

Teru flashes him a smile and plops down next to him, leaving just a few inches of space between them for their arms to move. Teru has always been the kind of person who likes to casually touch his friends, as far as Shigeo can tell, quick to guide him with a hand on his back or a congratulatory squeeze of his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch when their arms brush or their hands touch accidentally, and he’s quick to loop an arm around his shoulders or lean against him when he’s feeling tired. Shigeo doesn’t mind the constant contact, and Teru seems appreciative of his receptiveness, so when he lays an arm across the back of the couch behind Shigeo’s shoulders, he doesn’t react or draw attention to it. Instead he focuses on his math work, determined to solve the problem he’s stuck on.

Teru’s quick to jump in and help him, praising him for what he’s done correctly and gently pointing out his mistakes. Teru isn’t at all like his teachers or classmates, Shigeo realizes as he listens to Teru’s instructions. He moves at a pace Shigeo can easily keep up with and doesn’t berate him for not understanding right away, and he’s endlessly grateful for his friend’s innate understanding of him.

“Thank you, Hanazawa, this all makes much more sense now,” Shigeo says once they’ve gone through a few problems together. He turns to smile at Teru, setting down his pencil and letting his hands fall to his sides.

Teru’s face goes slightly pink, but the pleased smile on his face shows his gratitude at Shigeo’s words. “Anytime, Kageyama. There’s no better way to learn than by teaching someone else. At least, that’s what my math teacher always says,” he replies, reaching up with one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

His hair is getting longer again, Shigeo notices. He hums, thoughtful, and reaches out with a hand to brush aside a strand that’s fallen into Teru’s eyes. His fingers graze Teru’s temple as he does, feeling an annoying little zap at the miniscule contact. It’s not enough to make him flinch, but it’s noticeable nonetheless.

Teru doesn’t move away from his touch, but the blush on his cheeks darkens some, and he glances away in an almost embarrassed fashion. “Ah, it’s getting a bit long, isn’t it? I cut it short after our fight, but I’ve been growing it out since then. I kinda miss wearing it long,” he says, rambling a bit, but Shigeo doesn’t mind. Teru’s always been more of a talker than he is.

“It looks nice,” Shigeo compliments, letting his hand fall back to the couch again. He turns his attention back toward his homework, nearly finished now, as Teru falls quiet.

The other boy doesn’t respond, going back to his own work, but a moment later Shigeo feels bold fingers brush against the hand that rests between them, cautiously slotting themselves between his own.

The touch burns like fire almost immediately, seeping into his skin with jolts of white-hot electricity that stab up his arm and make his mind scream, Don’t touch me!

He rips his hand away with a pained gasp, holding it against his chest. The searing heat continues to spread, making his arms quiver against his control and causing his stomach to turn. He feels queasy and hot as the burn spreads to his head and he breaks into a sweat.

“I-I’m sorry,” Teru stammers, quickly retracting his hand. Shigeo’s head jerks to look at him. He looks incredibly guilty and a little mortified, actively leaning out of Shigeo’s space when he normally would lean in. “I just thought - I mean, it seemed like - ugh, what did I do?” He tears his gaze away, clasping his hands together as if to punish them for wandering.

Shigeo opens his mouth to reassure his friend that it’s alright, it’s not his fault, that there’s something wrong with himself that had caused a misunderstanding, but the words die in his throat. His tongue feels thick and dry, his throat thinner and hoarser with each passing second. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

He stands up in a hurry and makes a beeline for Teru’s bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him as he struggles to take a meaningful breath. His fingers burn terribly, the sensation making his stomach roll. He gags on his own choppy gasps, bracing his hands on the marble countertop around the sink and leaning over it in case he really does throw up. He feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest, and his lungs burn, as though there’s no oxygen in the air to replenish them. His face is pale and he’s begun sweating profusely, his forehead damp and cold to the touch. With a start he realizes that he’s crying, tears rolling down his cheeks and falling into the sink. His knees wobble, and his stomach does another nauseating flip. He barely manages to fall to his knees in front of the toilet before he’s heaving up the contents of that day’s breakfast and lunch into it.

There’s a knock at the door. “Kageyama? Are you alright?” Teru asks from behind the door, voice thick with concern.

Shigeo’s voice continues to evade him, stomach heaving once more, but there’s nothing left to throw up. He gags, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m coming in,” Teru warns. Shigeo hasn’t locked the door behind him, and it swings open with urgency. In a second Teru is at his side, a steady hand on his back. “Kageyama! You look terrible, what happened?” he frets, reaching across Shigeo’s back to tear a strip of toilet paper from the roll. He holds it out to him.

Shigeo draws in a shuddering breath, his shaky hands grasping the toilet’s rim so tightly his knuckles have gone white. After a moment he detaches one hand from it and takes the wad of paper from Teru’s outstretched hand, opening his eyes. His vision is fuzzy, black spots dancing at his periphery. Am I going to faint? he wonders with a flash of fear. He manages to wipe the edges of his mouth with the toilet paper, but his breath tastes like bile and his head feels like it’s going to burst. “Teru, I-I think I’m really sick,” he manages to choke out, voice shaky to the point of unintelligibility and thick with misery.

Teru takes the paper from Shigeo’s hand and drops it in the toilet, flushing away the evidence. Then he grasps him firmly by both shoulders and turns him so they’re facing each other. “You’re not sick, you’re panicking,” he says, reaching up with one hand to push Shigeo’s sweat-slicked bangs out of his face. His eyes flicker back and forth across Shigeo’s face, brows furrowed in unhidden concern. “You’re hyperventilating,” he realizes worriedly, biting his lower lip. “Try breathing with me, okay? In, and out…” Odd. Shigeo doesn’t feel like he’s breathing at all.

Teru holds his gaze as he repeats himself, over and over, and Shigeo fights to match his tempo. Teru’s thumb presses against the front of his shoulder and rubs small circles just beneath his collarbone, offering some sort of stimulation to distract him from his racing thoughts. Shigeo clasps his hands over his knees and digs his fingers in, the sensation keeping his vision from fuzzing out entirely.

He isn’t sure how long the two of them sit on the cold tile floor for, Teru murmuring words of reassurance to Shigeo as he fights to control his rapid breathing, but eventually the dark spots fade and the throbbing in his head goes down enough to let him think again. His face is slick from sweat, but his hands have stopped burning, a faint tingle all that remains.

Teru stands up and releases his hold on Shigeo, wetting a rag with cold water from the tap above them. Shigeo’s breathing stalls for a split second at the loss of contact before starting back up again, unsure what to do until Teru kneels in front of him again and presses the cold cloth to his face. The sting of it shocks Shigeo to his senses, his hands twitching involuntarily. “Cold,” he gasps.

Teru chuckles, using the wet rag to mop away the sweat that clings to Shigeo’s forehead. “It’ll make you feel better,” he assures, holding the cloth against the back of his neck.

Shigeo lets out a breathy sigh as the rag cools his overheated face and neck and makes him feel overall a little less sticky and gross. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“It’s no problem. I, uh, know what it feels like,” Teru admits with a smile, and it’s so soft and sincere and caring that Shigeo almost does a double-take. “Still, you gave me a scare. What happened?”

Shigeo glances down, focusing on the fading coldness on the back of his neck. He doesn’t answer, but not because he doesn’t want to tell Teru what’s been going on. He simply doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words.

Thankfully, Teru seems to pick up on his thoughts. “Well, there’s no need to force yourself,” he says, removing the rag from Shigeo’s neck and setting it on the bathroom counter. He pushes himself to his feet. “Do you want to use my shower? It always helps me to feel better when I’m feeling overwhelmed, plus it’s good for thinking. I’ll lend you something clean to wear, too, so you don’t have to stay in those sweaty clothes.” He extends a hand out for Shigeo to take, then his smile falters and he appears to think better of it. He swallows visibly, curling his arm up toward his chest as a form of recoil. Shigeo doesn’t blame him, after the way he’d reacted to the last time they’d touched hands.

Shigeo tears his gaze away from Teru’s hand and looks down at himself as Teru mentions his clothes, flinching at his bedraggled appearance. There’s sweat stains in the pits of his white tee-shirt and, horrifyingly, a few spots of vomit that hadn’t quite hit the mark. He bites back what he wants to say, an instinctive reassurance that he’s fine and doesn’t need to be taken care of anymore, and instead just nods his head. “That sounds like a good idea,” he sighs.

“Great. I’ll grab you a change of clothes, then, and a fresh towel,” Teru says, pretending his little misstep hadn’t occurred at all. “You can use my shampoo and stuff if you want, I doubt you’ll use as much as I always do.” He laughs at his own words, turning to the door, but it comes across nervous. “Be right back,” he adds as an afterthought, pulling the door half-shut behind him to offer some semblance of privacy.

Shigeo takes a deep breath and hauls himself to his feet, using the edge of the counter as leverage. He still feels a bit shaky on his feet, but as least he doesn’t feel like he’s going to keel over and pass out anymore. He runs the tap water cold, scrubbing his hands briefly with Teru’s citrusy soap, and feels the last remnants of the burning sensation disappear as the water washes them away. He lets out a breath of relief at the return to semi-normalcy, though he’s still pale and a little uncertain on his feet. He splashes some of the cold water on his face for good measure before turning off the tap.

Teru returns, silently pushing open the bathroom door, as Mob is drying his face. He has a fluffy gray towel draped over his arm, along with the promised change of clothes. “These should fit you, I hope,” he says, setting them in a neat pile atop the kitchen counter. Then he holds the towel out to Shigeo. “Here, you can use this. Just hang it up on the hook once you’re finished so it can dry.” He nods his head toward the hook that protrudes from the inside of the bathroom door.

Shigeo manages a small smile, accepting the towel from Teru’s outstretched hand. “Of course. Thanks again, Hanazawa,” he says. “I’ll make it up to you soon.”

“Don’t worry about things like that. We’re friends, so there’s no need to keep track of favors,” Teru assures with a wave of his hand. He steps out of the bathroom to give Shigeo some space. “I’m going to work on some more homework while you shower, so just come find me when you’re done, okay?”

Shigeo nods in agreement and Teru closes the door behind him with a parting smile, leaving Shigeo alone with the shower.

He takes advantage of Teru’s offer to use his shampoo, scrubbing the salty sweat from his hair and filling the misty air with the scent of Teru’s fruity hair products. He pushes his bangs away with his fingers and cranes his neck back, letting the warm water pelt his face and return color to his cheeks. He takes deep breaths, letting his thoughts wander. He obviously owes Teru an explanation for his unexpected outburst, but he still isn’t entirely sure what had caused it. He glances down at his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers. Ever since his encounter with Mogami, he hasn’t been able to touch anyone else without feeling like he’s been scorched by an open flame. His hands had it the worst, he’d determined. That’s not even counting the times he’s found himself staring at the throats of his classmates, his mind flashing back to the student he’d nearly asphyxiated in Mogami’s monochromatic world.

Taking a breath, Shigeo lifts a hand and lightly covers his own throat. He can distinctly remember the feeling of Teru’s fingers digging into his flesh, squeezing until no air could pass in or out. His touch had left no bruises at the time, Shigeo’s body hyper-durable as a result of his psychic powers, but the memory is still there. He’d long forgiven Teru for their fight, to the point where he hardly thought back on the event anymore, at least before Mogami. Since then the thought has come up more and more often, as he recalls his imaginary classmate’s terrified eyes and gasping breaths. Did I sound like that, when Teru attacked me? he wonders, frowning.

Teru… he’d have to apologize properly for the way he’d reacted. In truth, he’d kind of wanted to hold his hand. He’d been curious about it for a while now, actually, since the two of them had infiltrated and subsequently escaped the Claw 7th division headquarters and Teru had proven himself to be a loyal and dependable friend. He caught himself staring, sometimes, at Teru’s face, at his back, his hands, a quiet curiosity he wasn’t bold enough to act on, but that was always there. What would Teru do if he decided to hug him, or reach for his hand? Would he even be able to without feeling the fire burning him?

He turns off the water after several minutes of simply standing under the hot spray, toweling himself off. He slips into Teru’s lent clothes, a soft pink sweater and comfortable gray sweats, chuckling softly. Even now, Teru was trying his best to take care of him. He appreciates his friend’s experience and comforting presence, but he knows he has a hard conversation ahead of him. He uses the towel to soak up the extra water from his hair until it’s damp instead of dripping, then hangs it up on the hook behind the door to dry. Then he cracks open the bathroom door and slips outside, leaving it open to ventilate the mist.

When he pads, barefoot, out of the bathroom, he spots Teru sitting back on the couch, staring at his open notebook. He’s not holding a pencil, though, and his leg bounces restlessly. He looks up as Shigeo exits. “Ah, you’re finished. Do you feel better now?” he asks with that familiar soft smile.

Shigeo swallows and nods, already feeling his nervousness bubbling up as he crosses the room to take his seat beside Teru once again. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry for troubling you,” he replies.

Teru shakes his head. “It isn’t your fault. You had a panic attack, and a pretty bad one at that. Those things are out of our control.”

Shigeo clasps his hands together. “So, you get them, too?” he asks softly.

“Sometimes.” Teru looks down at his empty tea mug. “I’ve learned how to cope with them, to an extent. Have you had one before?”

Shigeo hums, then nods, remembering how he’d felt the burning in his fingers just that afternoon. At the time he hadn’t been able to place what was wrong, but it fit in hindsight, now that Teru had explained it to him. “Never as bad as that, but sometimes my hands get really hot and shaky, and I get pale and sweaty, and it’s hard to breath for a while. When that happens, I always wash my hands with hot water and it goes away. This time was… the worst one, so far,” he admits. “I’m sorry I reacted so badly to you touching me.”

Teru chokes on a nervous chuckle, which turns into a brief cough. He clears his throat into his hand. “Ah, I shouldn’t have done that without permission. It was just an urge, I suppose. You obviously didn’t like it though, so I won’t do it again, I promise,” he says, but he can’t stop the hints of disappointment that come through as he speaks.

Shigeo shakes his head quickly. “No, I didn’t dislike it,” he assures. “I normally don’t mind when you touch me, I even like it most of the time. I just haven’t really… been myself lately, I suppose.” He unclasps his fingers and stares down at his open palms, frowning. “When you touched my hand, it felt like it was burning. Other times, when I’ve felt panicked, my hands will start itching until I can’t take it anymore. Like when a mosquito bites you, but far worse. It’s only my hands, too. When Master grabs my shoulder or something like that, it doesn’t have the same effect.”

Teru looks concerned to hear this, but there’s some relief in his face too, that Shigeo hasn’t completely rejected his touch. “When did this start happening?” he asks.

“It’s been about a week,” Shigeo admits softly. He fiddles with the soft edge of his borrowed sweater to give his hands something to do. “Ever since I defeated Mogami Keiji.”

Teru’s eyes widen at the name; Shigeo’s told him about Mogami’s psychic powers and the world he’d lived in for six months, but at the time he’d played it off as something that was over, finished. As it would appear, it isn’t over at all. “Did something happen in there that’s making you panic? A bad experience, or something he said to you?” His voice is edging on protective, Shigeo realizes, and the thought is oddly comforting. What isn’t comforting, however, is the realization that he’ll have to describe what he’d done.

He falls quiet for several seconds, but Teru is patient, and doesn’t push him for answers before he’s ready. Shigeo is grateful. Teru is trustworthy, he knows, and he’s sure that he won’t think any less of him for something that technically never really happened, but that doesn’t keep the doubts from coming. Shigeo can feel his headache resurfacing as he struggles to tell himself that, yeah, it wasn’t something he’d actually done with his own two hands. His body had been in Reigen and Dimple’s care at the time, but in the moment it had felt very real. “I think I almost killed someone, in Mogami’s dream land,” he confesses, the words heavy on his tongue. “They were bullying me, telling me I was stupid and worthless and terrible. I just felt so angry.” He pauses to take a breath, trying not to ramble, but the words don’t stop coming. “I know it wasn’t a real place, and I was being influenced by an evil spirit, but those are still choices that I made, I think. Sometimes my memories from that world bleed out into this one and I catch myself being scared of my classmates, wondering when they’re going to beat me up next or what horrible things they’re saying when I’m not around. To be honest, I-I can’t tell my real memories apart from the ones Mogami created for me. My heart knows what’s real, but my head gets all fuzzy and my memories get all jumbled up and then I get a really bad headache and nothing gets solved at all.”

As if on cue, Shigeo feels his head throb painfully, and he stifles a pained noise, wincing.

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough time,” Teru says, but there’s an uncertainty to his voice that says he really has no idea what Shigeo’s talking about. He stands up and moves into the kitchen, rifling around in one of the cabinets. Shigeo doesn’t blame him for not understanding. He doubts many others have had an experience like he has, and if they had, they likely hadn’t lived through it.

“I had thought it was over,” he sighs, pausing as his head gives another painful throb. “It’s been a week, Hanazawa. I feel like it should be in the past now.” He leans his forehead into one hand, the other falling limp on his lap, palm skyward.

Teru returns, pressing a bottle into Shigeo’s free hand. He’s careful not to let their skin touch, which Shigeo is simultaneously grateful and disappointed about. He doesn’t want Teru to distance himself over something that shouldn’t even be happening, but, well, he wasn’t left with much of a choice. Teru sets a cup of water on the table in front of him and says, “Take two.”

Shigeo blinks, glancing at the label on the bottle. Painkillers. Relieved, he untwists the bottle’s cap and shakes two bright red pills out of it, setting it aside and picking up the cup. He downs both pills with one swig of water. “Thank you, I think I needed that,” he sighs.

Teru hums to show he’s heard, but he’s deep in thought. “I’m no therapist, Kageyama, but I think what you experienced classifies as trauma, maybe even PTSD,” he says after a moment of quiet. “It’s obviously had a prolonged effect on your body, and your mind. That kind of thing can cause panic attacks like the one you had. To be honest, I’m not sure there's much I can do to help you with that.”

Shigeo sighs, slumping over in his seat. “I don’t know where else to go,” he says softly. “I know there’s something wrong with me, and that I should probably see a doctor, or-or a therapist, but what am I supposed to tell them that won’t make me sound like I’ve gone insane?” He pauses, takes a moment to breath before things get out of control again. “I think, if I can create a divide between what’s real and what happened in my dream, some of these symptoms will go away, but I don’t know how to do that by myself.”

Teru leans back in his seat, worrying his lip between his teeth for a moment. Then he blinks, eyes bright, and sits straight up again. “Why don’t we make a game out of it?” he suggests. “Tell me something that happened, it doesn’t matter where the memory comes from. I’ll tell you if it’s real or not.” He grins at the idea, looking quite pleased with it.

Shigeo blinks. Could that really work? “What about the things I never told you about?” he asks. He and Teru talk often, whether it’s in person or via text, but there’s no way Teru will be able to dissect all his jumbled memories.

“Well, I’ll just have to admit defeat at that point, then,” Teru replies with a shrug, “but I think it’s worth a shot, if you’re willing to give it a try.”

Shigeo hums, mulling it over. It couldn’t hurt, as far as he can imagine. “Okay, let’s try it,” he agrees. He combs through his recent memories, searching for something he knows is true. “Um… I tried to run for student council once, but when it was time for me to speak, I didn’t say anything,” he begins.

“That’s true,” Teru says immediately. “That was when Emi asked you out.”

Shigeo smiles; it kind of feels like a quiz show. “Alright. I once exorcised a group of over fifteen bikers and their gang boss.”

“True,” Teru repeats. “You exorcised a huge evil spirit there too, right?”

Shigeo nods, chuckling softly. “It was big, but it wasn’t very strong,” he confirms. “Okay, next one, then… Sometimes, my classmates like to hit me for fun.”

Teru’s smile falters at this, obviously put off a bit by the morbid tone, but plays along for the sake of the game. “No, that’s false. Your classmates mostly don’t pay attention to you at all.”

Shigeo lets out a relieved breath. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says. Logically, he’d always known the difference between Mogami’s harsh reality and his own privileged life, but something within him felt validated that someone else could also make the distinction. “Why don’t you do one, Hanazawa?”

“Me?” Teru echoes in surprise. “Hmm, I guess I can try to trick you with a lie.” He taps his chin with one finger, searching for something to say. “When I was a kid, I used to look for coins on the school playground and collect them in a little jar.”

Shigeo’s face splits into a smile. “Ah, I remember you talking about that. It’s true,” he says. “Okay, my turn. When my brother sees me in trouble, he sometimes avoids getting involved to protect himself.”

Teru shakes his head. “No way, Ritsu is way too protective of you to ever do that,” he says. “False.” He fixes Shigeo with his dark blue gaze, growing more confident in his answers. “I broke off my connection to Blake Vinegar’s gang after you beat me in a fight,” he says, leaning forward in his seat.

Shigeo nods. “It was one of the first things you did.”

Teru’s eyebrows raise and he sports a devious grin. “Oh? Who says I’m not still controlling them from the shadows?” he challenges.

Shigeo doesn’t answer, but after a moment they both devolve into fits of uncontrollable giggling. It’s good to know that they can joke about those days without feeling like it’s bringing up bad memories. Rather, the incident merely marks the start of their friendship. “I can’t imagine you doing things like that now,” he says. “You’ve changed a lot, Hanazawa.”

Teru’s laughter turns more self-conscious at Shigeo’s compliment, but he’s clearly pleased to be told so. “Yeah? I’m glad. You’ve changed quite a bit yourself, Kageyama. In a good way,” he replies, and the pink flush is back.

Shigeo finds himself staring at it, somewhat distracted. “True or false,” he begins, voice softening. “You and I are friends in both worlds.”

Teru blinks. “I don’t know,” he replies, “but we’re definitely friends in this one, so that’s what’s important.”

Shigeo nods, accepting this. He shifts a touch closer to Teru, fiddling with the fingers on one of his hands. His leg and Teru’s are nearly touching. “You and I broke into the Claw 7th Division headquarters after Ritsu was kidnapped.”

“That’s true,” Teru replies, glancing at Shigeo curiously. He’s noticed the way Shigeo is inching closer, as though he has a purpose behind wanting to be so close.

He reaches out and brushes the back of his knuckles against the side of Teru’s hand experimentally, catching the hitch in Teru’s breathing when they make contact. Unpleasant sparks poke at his skin where it touches Teru’s, and he draws back quickly, thoughtful. Teru has his eyes fixed on him, concerned but curious. He continues, “Sometimes I come to your school to walk you to my apartment for our study sessions.”

Shigeo nods. His reaches out again, this time touching with the pads of his fingers. He lets the touch linger, and Teru doesn’t move, frozen in place. Shigeo draws a sharp breath, wincing. Electric shocks sting his fingertips, but the heat is bearable for a few seconds before he feels like he needs to retreat. When he finally does, he says, “That’s true.”

“Yeah, it is,” Teru agrees, breathless. Shigeo stares at his fingers, eyebrows furrowed, and catches Teru turn over his hand in his periphery, his palm facing toward the ceiling. “Once, I even went back to your house, and we did homework in your room instead. Your mom wouldn’t leave us alone, and kept asking if we wanted snacks.”

Shigeo cracks a smile at this, and when his hand ventures out this time, he presses his palm against Teru’s and just lets them rest on top of each other. He tenses, hot needles poking into the surface of his palm. He curls his fingers around Teru’s hand and squeezes it, willing the sensation to disappear. I control my own life, he reminds himself firmly, and doesn’t let go despite the occasional stab of discomfort in his palm. He feels the heat spread upward, sweat beading at his hairline, but he doesn’t feel like he’s panicking, so he doesn’t let go.

Teru shifts his grip, emboldened, and slots their fingers together.

Shigeo stumbles over his breath, eyes widening. The motion feels like two strips of sandpaper rubbing together, chafing him. Teru jolts, moving to disconnect their hands, but Shigeo stops him before he can go through with it, squeezing his hand tightly to prevent him from moving too far away.

He flinches as the burning sensation begins, crawling from his fingertips up his arm. “It hurts,” he grunts through clenched teeth, but he maintains his grip on Teru’s hand despite the way Teru moves once more to break the contact. He looks up and meets Teru’s dark blue gaze. “Wait, just a bit longer.”

Teru stares at him, fear and uncertainty in his gaze, but doesn’t force him to let go, just squeezes his hand back in an attempt to reassure him that all will be well. “I stole you away from a date so you could break up your little brother’s fight after he discovered his psychic powers,” he says, watching Shigeo carefully.

The boy chuckles under his breath, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He’s thankful that Teru can still find ways to lighten the mood, even though he’s clearly just as distraught as Shigeo is. “It wasn’t a date, I’ve told you that before,” he insists, calming some.

Eventually, thankfully, the burning sensation reaches a peak and then begins to wane. Shigeo feels the heat in his face go down with his timed breathing, and he relaxes the iron grip he’d been holding Teru’s hand with. He doesn’t let go, though, feeling the itchy tingles and occasional stabs of discomfort lingering. “Are you okay?” Teru asks, worried.

Shigeo nods, giving his hand a little squeeze and smiling at the little noise of surprise Teru makes. He coughs into his hand, though it doesn’t sound very convincing. “How do you feel?” he says after a moment.

Shigeo’s eyelids droop, but he continues to cradle Teru’s hand in his; his skin is soft and the way he holds his hand is endearingly gentle. “Itchy, but otherwise okay. I think it’s going away, for now,” he says, rubbing his thumb experimentally against Teru’s. Without warning, he drops his head to Teru’s shoulder, sighing out sofly, “Your hand is warm.”

Teru jumps slightly at the contact, but quickly relaxes into Shigeo’s touch the way he always does. “Good warm or bad warm?” he asks lamely, all his usual flirtatiousness and bravado and confidence blown out the window by one unpredictable Shigeo.

“Good warm,” Shigeo murmurs. “My head feels a bit clearer, too. I think the game worked, at least a little.” It hasn’t cleared up all his misgivings, and there are still plenty of jumbled memories in his head, but he’s starting to see the distinctions that separated the real world from the fabricated one, now that someone else has been able to reaffirm them. He bites back a yawn, humming sleepily. “That made me tired. I was already kind of drowsy from before I came over,” he says. The painkillers are starting to kick in, thankfully, dulling the pounding in his head and, interestingly, banishing the lingering itchiness from his hands.

Teru peers down at him through dark blue eyes. “Wow, you do look tired. Will you be alright getting home by yourself? Your house is pretty far away from here,” he points out. “Maybe you should just stay here for the night. It’s dangerous to fall asleep on the train, and I’d hate for you to end up lost.”

Shigeo hums noncommittally, drawing a chuckle from Teru’s lips. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Don’t fall asleep yet, though, you need to tell your parents that you’re staying over. You don’t want to worry them, after all.”

Reluctantly, Shigeo sits up and picks up his phone from the coffee table. “Alright, I’ll give mom a call. Thanks for letting me stay, you’re probably right about falling asleep on the train. Honestly, I don’t know if I can keep my eyes open much longer.”

“I’ll make space in my room,” Teru says, standing up. He hesitates for a moment before untangling his fingers from Shigeo’s, then turns away before he can see his expression. “Er, be right back,” he adds, moving across the living room and disappearing into his bedroom.

Shigeo feels a flash of disappointment at the loss of contact. He likes holding hands with Teru, and he hopes his friend won’t be hesitant about touching him now. He doesn’t want to lose that contact. Shaking his head, he calls up his mother and tells her that he’ll be back the next morning. Thankfully, it’s a weekend, which means he doesn’t have to worry about waking up extra early to go home for his uniform, and his mother sounds almost excited to hear that he’s staying with a friend. Well, she’s always liked Teru. “Thanks, mom. Love you too, bye,” he says, and ends the call as Teru reemerges from his room.

“Okay, I know you’re tired,” Teru says, making his way over to where a small television is set up in the corner of the living room, “but hear me out. This is a sleepover now, which means we have to watch a movie.” He’s carrying a bunched-up, thick blanket in one arm, which he tosses onto the couch beside Shigeo. “If you’re up for it, of course. It’s an action movie.”

Well, Shigeo thinks, amused, I can’t say no to an action movie. It was his favorite genre, after all, so he nods in agreement. “Mmhmm, that’s okay. I might fall asleep during it, though,” he warns, if only so Teru doesn’t get offended.

Teru just smiles at him, popping the disk into his DVD player and turning on the television. “No problem,” he replies, moving back to the couch and taking his seat beside his friend. He takes the blanket and drapes it over both of them.

They sit close together as the intro to the movie begins, but Shigeo is quick to notice that Teru consciously avoids bumping into him by accident. He’s trying to be considerate, he knows, but it’s still a little frustrating that Teru was changing his typical behavior over concern. It’s nice of him to want to stay within Shigeo’s comfort zone, but it’s not what Shigeo wants him to do. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, Shigeo reaches over and takes Teru’s hand once more, linking their fingers together over top of the blanket. He scoots closer to make the action more comfortable, too, letting his side press against Teru’s so their linked hands lay atop his lap. He glances at Teru, searching for signs of discomfort, and instead finds Teru fighting an obviously pleased grin.

Smiling softly, he returns his attention to the movie. His hand feels normal, to his relief, and he’s fairly sure the painkillers Teru lent him are partly to thank for that. Even if it’s temporary, he basks in the feeling of Teru’s soft skin against his own, the way he idly rubs circles into his skin with his thumb. Despite the action happening on the tv screen, Shigeo finds his eyelids drooping within the first hour, lulled by the long day he’d had and Teru’s fond touch.

“Can I lay on you?” Shigeo asks, stifling a yawn behind his free hand as he turns to look at his… friend? He blinks, mind blanking. All of a sudden friend doesn’t feel like the right word. The thought knocks him so off-guard that he nearly misses Teru’s nod, a subtle action of consent.

“I don’t mind.”

Shigeo nods back, removing his hand from Teru’s light grasp and shifting away from him to make room. Teru looks confused about why he’s putting distance between them, but then Shigeo lowers himself down onto the couch and lays his head down on Teru’s lap.

It takes Teru a moment to relax into this new position, but he’s never been one to shy away from an affectionate touch. He moves one arm to the side of the couch and lets it rest there, his other hand hovering, unsure where to let it fall. After a moment, however, it finds a place at the back of Shigeo’s head, threading into his hair. His touch is calculated, experimental. Shigeo can tell he doesn’t want to go too far. “Is this okay?” Teru asks him in a soft voice, his fingers traveling down and brushing Shigeo’s bangs away from his forehead.

“Yes,” Shigeo replies, voice thick with weariness. He lets out a soft hum as Teru’s fingers grow more confident, drawing through his bangs and brushing over the skin of his scalp in feather-light touches. He closes his eyes, the movie forgotten. Part of him doesn’t want to sleep yet, wants to watch more of the movie, but Teru makes the decision for him. He removes his hand from Shigeo’s hair, and a moment later he feels the blanket being tucked around his shoulders and neck so it covers him completely. Then the hand returns to his hair, rhythmically brushing it away from his face as soft fingers trace his hairline and tickle the back of his neck.

In the soft, fuzzy space between wakefulness and sleep, he feels Teru bend over him and brush his lips over his temple, feather-soft and loving. They leave a warmth behind them, bringing a faint smile to Shigeo’s face as Teru’s soft caresses lull him into a quick and comfortable sleep.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #terumob #hanazawa teruki #kageyama shigeo #my writing #fanfic #panic attack #dissociation #vomiting #over 8000 words #oof thats longer than usual #worth it tho #i love considerate/caring teru #hes such a good kid #once you get past the superiority complex

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sugar-petals · 6 years

Text

Simulacrum of Dawn (m)

simulacrum: resemblant image or representation of reality, mirage

— summary: A beautiful incubus comes to warm you up at night. He resembles your boyfriend Jimin an awful lot. — pairing: sub!Jimin x Dom!Reader | fantasy au | 2.4k — warnings: loss of reality, smut, prostitution, coarse language, infidelity: unclear

Dusk.

The heating does not work.

It just stopped without any warning. Not one. To hell with this old flat.

To hell with this cruel city, too. The brothels, the clubs in the district.

In fact, screw everything about his day.

You hope that the new windows seal in the warmth for at least a few hours this night. Last Wednesday the same incident had spoiled date night with Jimin, but had somewhat solved itself.

The problem wasn’t uncommon anyways. Well, fuck. You learned that it usually takes four to six hours until the rusty boiler makes a grumbling recovery. If it doesn’t, freezing to death is not part of your plan.

You turn the control valve all the way up to the stop. When the heat returns during your sleep as you predict it, you want the maximum capacity to kick in. Heck, you want a giant explosion of heat.

The television flickers at the other end of the room while you sort through your wardrobe, looking for a sweater and other cozy knit to slip into. Two fleece blankets from the living room serve as a decent barrier under your duvet. If you could only remember where the electric one is.

The news anchor behind you monotonously announces more bad weather and difficulties at New Year celebrations in Seoul until you switch off. Driving delivery after the holidays will be a tough job. You send Jimin a goodnight message and a selfie. “Love you, babe. How’s the beach? It’s cold here.”

“I hate the beach. You’re missing. Think about our last night. Don’t forget it,” he texts back fast with a little heart emoji. A selfie pops up one minute later. It shows Jimin in his saffron yellow bathrobe, chest wide exposed. “Or just try this. Warm greetings from Busan,” the caption says. He writes that he goes to bed now, promising to visit the upcoming weekend. His car will be fixed by then.

Police sirens blare outside like howling wolves. Winter Seoul is busy, sick, and preoccupied outside, and so is your head. It’s hard to pass out since a bone-chilling cold creeps into the room already. Frostbite, here you come. December sucks so much. The snow has to melt already. So the new year will be better for you and Jimin. The gaudy stores downtown redecorate already. It’s that’s what you want for the New Year as well.

The lingering image of him helps you ease down your pants a fair bit, hand reaching between your legs to create the much-needed, long-absent stimulation. He needs to come back as soon as possible. You hurry to warm up your body at least a bit. The temperature in the room keeps falling regardless, leaving the tip of your nose icy cold and red. Pulling the heavy duvet over your head is silly, but it does help. But fear can’t be veiled just like that.

What if the heating won’t come back later this night?

The typical minus degrees in this borough are unrelenting. Just like the people here. Jimin should be next to you right now with his little crinkled nose and bubbly laughs, just making everything easier. Pressed against you fending off the dire cold. But Busan is so far away, and he’s lonely at the beach.

Your orgasm arrives flat and unsatisfying. Just an empty shudder. You know that Jimin is the one when even he’s better at pleasing you than you can please yourself. Part of your sex drive is already dead, that’s what the cold can’t take from you. And, at least you’re more tired now. Winter got outsmarted twice.

Since last week there’s construction work at the avenue, so the people are redirected to the side roads. That’s good for rest these days. Sleep starts to come once at least the police sirens lapse into silence. Seoul nonetheless keeps on raging and frolics in the neighborhood, leaving the acerbic prostitutes in fur coats and platforms well-tipped.

It’s a sad but flourishing business after Christmas is over. Less austere than how it is all year round. But the red-light district is still more wretched and forlorn than ever, darting continuous voices of dictatorial pimps and neon rays into your room from below. The prospect of sleep fades. It’s getting unusually loud.

Because the window is open.

An immense heat gives you a screaming start, kicking away all the blankets. You glance around the room in panic. Is there a raid again, and they got the wrong room? No, the answer is at the window. Perched in the frame sits—

Beloved Jimin.

Dressed summerly in gold, playing with his locks like a little cherub. Really, is it him? The midnight haze won’t let you tell.

“Is there a problem?” he coos from gentle lips. “I’m at your service, Lady Kwon.”

He knows your name. The voice it the exact same, too. It has to be Jimin. You can trust your eyes when your ears say yes, his soft timbre is one of a kind. How he came here, why it’s through the window, the heat, the debonair attire: You fail to grasp. Maybe it’s the latest fad in Busan. But it doesn’t matter. Your urgent wish came true, he’s here.

“I just want you close... stop fooling around at the window.”

He detaches from the frame, descending light and elegant to the carpeted floor.

“As you wish. Yes, I should probably close it as well,” he concurs benign and turns the handle with a gentle flick of the wrist. How you love the way he speaks. The flat has been so desolate without it.

Jimin lays down next to you sans his tiny sandals that he slid under your bed. For some reasons, he gives off massive waves of heat. That’s not normal. He is dressed so differently today, very ‘genteel’ as your co-driver Namjoon would say, and doesn’t smell the same. Like he doesn’t belong in this part of town, and escaped the burden of his former life. But kissing his chubby cheek creates the same kind of elevated feeling you always get. It’s him, you know it.

“Everything in best order? How do you feel?” he beams at you, tracing the spot where your lips just left with one bejeweled hand. Jimin never had a penchant for that, but it suits him.

“Shitty, that’s it,” you crawl over to him on all fours, closing the painful distance. “Babe... I missed you tons. Can’t get off without you.” His smile dwindles as you say that. Jimin knows how much his absence hurts. “I need you. Can we?”

“My delight is to always please you. Are you warm? I’m ready”

“Yes, I’m warm. Poetic today?” you climb on top to have tender seat just at the vertex of his thighs. The golden vestment hangs low from his shoulders in a waterfall, ends just inches before you.

“Everything for my splendid Goddess.”

Jimin marvels at you with big eyes. He begins to fumble at your knees as if trying to peel off the paisley pattern from the pants could work. The heat is unbearable. That golden garment needs to be off without much further ado, otherwise this drought would end it all.

You slide off the velvet cascades and damask drapes, hungry to take in what’s underneath. The luscious body you’ve been craving. Firm, compact, flawless. It takes forever to peel off your own layers of clothing. Your heartbeat is going beserk. No more ice crystals at the window. The room has turned into a sauna. This is not Seoul. You lean down to have Jimin suck off your breasts.

His skin is almost scalding hot, his lips, the nose against your collarbone. You fear that he’ll burn you, but even his red-hot lips don’t leave a trace around your nipples as he savors them. He’s just hot to the touch, and you absorb it all. Jimin, he’s your fiery little cherub. Like the sun had decided to enter a human body just to lay down in this bed.

Your chest feels set ablaze under the gentle brush from his blonde hair while he keeps sucking, kissing, and giving off sweet moans. Finally. You thought that would never resound in this flat again. His lips are so overwhelmingly soft and big, and part wide to cup your breasts. The jacquard of Jimin’s wide trousers slips down rigidly, slowly under a lascivious pull. He’s hard against your abdomen.

“Jimin babe, stop for a minute. We need a condom.”

“I would wait forever for you,” Jimin pulls off your breasts with a content smile. Whatever he had for breakfast, it must have made him this way. You reach to rummage in your nightstand for the familiar little stack. Unused since the last week, waiting for times when you’re yearning for him. This took so long. The thin latex feels like melting on him, but it doesn’t.

The eager heat disseminates when you sink down on him. The fire inside makes for an exciting flare, easy to take in. You’ve always been grateful for the handy size. Jimin’s golden necklaces and bracelets tingle with every sway of your hips going in circles. Ra, crowned falcon god of the sun devoured by aeviternal Nut, Goddess of the firmament. Your skies encapsulate the luminous and pulsating firmness. You bury your teeth in Jimin’s neck until his light gives birth to vibrant stars with little drips. He only pulls out after his hands between your legs have found the craving spot, making you bend forward under little circles.

You pull off the condom, deliver a dozen firm pumps with two hands around him. Jimin is repeating your name over and over again. Your belly feels wet with his cum. He lies next to you singing after calming down a bit, chanting words unknown. It’s a language sounding familiar in a way because you feel what he means, but foreign in its syllables. It’s not the slang from the cold avenue. You caress his hair, his cheeks. And play with his adornments.

He really smells much sweeter today, like chamomile. December is so much more appealing tonight. The brothels don’t matter. They will cease one distant day, and life will be better for everyone. Every woman and every man. Whatever they construct in the street, it must be something good. The neon advertisements, all the red lights, you know they shine as warm and bright like him and your love.

The soothing heat only ceases when Jimin comes to rise at the edge of the bed, saying he must leave after a small kiss. And another. A third one. It paralyzes you. That cannot be. It can’t. He only arrived just now. You protest, but he already topples toward the window barefoot.

“Please don’t leave. Why do you leave?”

Jimin ruffles his hair back into place. His necklace consoles you with little clinks when he turns the handle, letting in the dreaded breeze. But you’re still warm in bed. He left enough comfort for you.

“Goodbye,” he smiles, “we’ll meet again.”

And at the next blink, the frame is empty. The window closed. The breeze abated, so did the flashy neon signs.

It’s dawn.

He’s gone, no trace. You turn around to get the last dose of sleep you can get, even if every thought returns to torment you with questions. At one point, you’re too tired to care. The haze of sleep descends at last. It’s dragging you down into an abyss. Not dark, but golden. It’s like you can still hear his voice somewhere, it’s eerie. But also a solace you knew the last days needed.

You want to hit the snooze button in your delirious state as it rings. Instead, you almost knock over a hot cup of camomile tea on your nightstand. There are fresh croissants with butter, too. And toast.

“Easy, easy. Good morning,” a soft voice soothes next to you. It’s familiar. You turn around.

“Jimin?!”

“Hey, jagiya. The car got fixed yesterday.”

He’s in his yellow pajama. Hair messy, lips a bit chapped. A bit tired overall.

“Didn’t you leave just this morning?”

That raises his brows.

“Y/N... I know your fantasy is very intricate. But this has to be a joke. I left last week!”

Astounding. You feel the electric blanket at your side as you turn towards him. Of course, he took it with him to Busan.

“When did you get here?”

“I slipped in when it was starting to get really warm in here. I don’t know when exactly. But I left the heater this way. You turned it up this way with good reason, right? You said it’s cold here. So I switched on the blanket, too”

Indeed the radiator is busy rumbling at the wall. The room’s all stoked up, window steamed.

“Yes, right. But you really showed up here this early?”

“Well, hm. Maybe around midnight. You were really clingy against me for hours. At sunrise I left to make breakfast, ventilated for a bit. Just now I slipped back.”

“Did I say something to you earlier, or...?”

“I just know you said I’m poetic while you were sleeping. That was super funny. Y/N, what did you eat the evening before?”

There isn’t much you can say. Better than sleepwalking. Jimin breaks one croissant in half and distributes some jelly on it.

You stand up to turn down the control valve of the heater, then start eating next to him. So the car did get fixed. The beach wasn’t so boring, he made pictures. He shows them on his phone until only a couple crumbs of toast are left. The sun is brilliant through the receding steam on the window glass. Jimin switches off the electric blanket and says you’ll go and see the fireworks at the Han River, he got tickets for the fair.

The police sirens are now closer than ever. Business as usual. A dusty concrete mixer rattles down the avenue but gets stuck in traffic. In the bathroom, the shower started running. Chances are that Jimin’s bathrobe will get its great moment in ten minutes. The teacup is empty when you check the space underneath your bed with one tentative arm.

And there are shoes.

Panic-stricken, you raise them from the ground and glance over the edge of the bed.

Just Jimin’s red sneakers.

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bxebxee · 6 years

Text

Thanks For Your Input!

Note: Where’s that upside down smiling emoji because I think about cancer mars Yoongi and impregnation all the damn time. Title is somewhat based on this one particular song that made the discovery channel weep in embarrassment. As per usual, I lost steam towards the end.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: Werewolf!AU Warnings: no external editing (rip), werewolf sex, imagined breeding kink, barest hint of degradation Word Count: 3107 Rating: A-, for A Whole Lot Less Kinkier Than You Thought! (MA/NC-17)

Now that he’s sitting down next to you in close proximity with none of the aroma of the burning oil vaporizing into the cramped atmosphere of your kitchen, he could smell just how primed you are to receive his seed. Yoongi cringes; it sounds terrible in his own head, but his cock loves where this thought is going. Call it a baser need driven by whatever DNA or RNA or societal conditioning or what-the-fuck-ever coded werewolves to react this way, but your ovulation days are when Yoongi salivates over giving you a nice, fat sperm deposit up your precious pussy.

Yoongi is in an uncharacteristically good mood on a dreary Thursday morning when he sleeps over at your place for the first time. He stretches upon waking up, moaning as his joints and bones crack and pop after last night’s fun with you. You keep up relatively well for a human girl, and you never fail to surprise him. The whole casual fucking deal you insist upon is new to him, but he’ll accept your bizarre human practices for now.

His hand reaches out to where your body should be, but instead of your flesh, he is met with cold sheets. The dull sounds of your cursing from somewhere outside of your bedroom hit his ear as his senses return to him. Yoongi sits up, groggy and a pouting because he would have liked to have you next to him. Still, at least he knows you’re somewhere in the apartment.

Without bothering to put on anything except his boxers, Yoongi follows the unmistakable sounds of cooking to find you. He leans against the entryway of the kitchen, a slow smirk growing on his face as he observes your quiet panic at having to multitask and manage three burners. Plastic shopping bags from the grocery store litter on the floor. It’s not the most picturesque moment of domesticity, but he’s touched that you woke up at an ungodly hour just to go food shopping for him.

“Good-” Yoongi cuts himself off, eyes widening when he catches a whiff of one of his favorite scents on a woman. The fumes from the pan in which you’re over-cooking the eggs and charring the bacon cannot disguise what his sensitive nose picks up. It’s buried behind the distraction of food and smoke, but it’s there. You’ve just started to ovulate, and it smells like heaven.

You turn around at his voice. “Morning,” you chirp, flashing him a winning grin. “I’m almost done ruining breakfast! Help yourself to coffee.”

He can’t even laugh because once he zeroes in on the very specific, very arousing scent of your ovulation, it’s like everything else gets shifted downwards on his priority To-Do List. Eating, drinking...hell, even coffee takes a distinct second place to this.

You don’t even notice his stilted response, or perhaps you chalk it up to lack of sleep. In any case, you’ve turned your attention away from him to focus on shutting off the burners and frantically searching for plates. Yoongi shakes his head to snap out of it. It’s not even the first time he’s smelling you like this, but every month it hits him hard. And being in your home surrounded by everything that smells like you amplifies the effect.

Yoongi spots the disposable paper plates before you do, and he wordlessly walks over to open the new package to help out as a means to distract himself.

“Thanks,” you sigh and carefully spoon in equal portions of breakfast something-or-other onto two plates. It looked as if the eggs started out as your standard fried eggs that turned scrambled halfway through. “You’re really great.”

“I did nothing,” he snorts.

“Oh I know,” you laugh, winking at him and grabbing a skillet filled with something that looked like they used to be vegetables at one point in their short, miserable lives. “I mean it’s great of you to play eye candy and hand me things while you’re nearly naked in the kitchen.”

Yoongi leers at you. “That turns you on?”

You nod emphatically, placing strips of bacon in an artistic way as a failed attempt at hiding some burnt pieces of potato of the sad hash brown you attempted. “Yeah, it’s like the Old Spice stuff, y’know?”

No, he doesn’t know, but Yoongi swallows down his question and settles for kissing your forehead. Your lips could wait until he’s gotten rid of his morning breath. After the last time you chewed him out for kissing you with his “hideous, werewolf stink-bomb, morning breath,” he figures he’d spare you and himself the trouble.

“Did you sleep well?” you ask as he fixes himself a cup of coffee.

“No,” he lies, “You snored too much.” You did no such thing, and he slept like a baby if his puffed face is any indication.

“Ha ha,” you reply sarcastically, grabbing the plates of food and sitting down at the table. “The drool on your face says Otherwise.” You laugh for real when Yoongi stops mid-trek just to walk over to the sink faucet and observe his reflection for spit stains. “Just kidding,” you amend wickedly. “Now come sit down and eat.”

Yoongi points a plastic fork at your direction after sitting across from you. “Lying gets you spanks, Miss.”

“Ooh, cane me daddy. I’ve been bad,” you tell him, voice dropping to a comical exaggeration of Horny Girl. It’s all a big joke to you, and he feels embarrassed to be somewhat turned on. He blames it on the ovulation.

Yoongi gulps down hot coffee as he watches you eat, the scalding liquid doing little to distract him from the fact that you smell like the girl of his wet dreams. You cautiously bite into the eggs, humming when they don’t taste as bad as you expected. They were a little salty, but not too bad for a first try. As a rule, you don’t cook for men you fuck around with, but Yoongi’s not just any guy, after all. A little breakfast never hurt anyone.

“Just eat the eggs with a lot of toast, and you’ll barely notice I dumped in half the box of salt,” you tell him with a giggle.

“I’d rather eat you.”

Your eyes widen and the egg falls off your fork. Yoongi coughs because that was a slip. And again it’s nothing he hasn’t already done to you multiple times, but that was such an amateur porn line...

He runs a hand through his messy bed hair, not trusting your growing smile one bit.

You put down your fork and place your hand over your heart. “I’m touched, Yoongi. I really am. That is probably one of the most romantic things you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snorts, deciding to put himself out of his misery and fill his mouth with food so that he doesn’t embarrass himself any further. You are merciless when it comes to teasing him even though he is just as bad.

“I’m serious!” you laugh, poking at your bacon with the tines of the fork. “I can’t believe you stole a line from Fucking the Virgin Pizza Boy. How did you know it’s a favorite of mine?”:

Yoongi crunches into the toast, glaring at you without meaning it.

“Okay I’ll stop,” you sigh, rewarding his patience by rubbing his calf with your toe. Yoongi jerks his leg away to keep up the pretense even though his cock practically jumps at the touch with want.

“You’re so annoying,” he grumbles, eighty percent of the jab aimed at his friend in his pants already standing at half-mast. You don’t have to know that though.

He groans audibly and obviously.

“Are you okay?” you ask wondering what the hell was going through his mind.

“Yes,” he sighs, “Just horny is all. Ignore me.”

“I would never,” you reply, standing up and walking around the small table to sit on his lap, a little flattered that he’s like this so quickly. You feel the erection press up against your core, and he really wasn’t kidding. “Wow... What’s gotten into you?”

Yoongi buries his face into your chest, moaning at how your scent envelops him. He would probably do anything at this point to have you ride him to completion so that he could fill you up. The need to have you reeking of his cum is overwhelming and disorienting.

He feels the soft scritch-scratching motions of your nails around his hair and ears, and Yoongi grasps your ass in return, thrusting up gently as he presses you down.

“Not that I mind this,” you breathe out, “But did you have a good dream or something?”

Yoongi pulls away from your chest to lick up your neck, growling gently. “You just smell really, really good,” he answers, tabling the discussion about ovulation for later time when he wasn’t preoccupied with the fantasy of pupping you.

“I’m not wet yet,” you whisper, body thrumming with the nice feelings of Yoongi’s hands roaming around.

Yoongi nods. He knows. “I’ll get you there,” he promises. “Grab my condoms for me?”

“Okay,” you sigh, getting off his lap and pausing when his hand encircles your wrist.

“On second thought...” Yoongi trails off, licking his lips. “I’ll get them.” He stands, kissing you gently before maneuvering you to bend over the table.

Your face feels hot as he unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down along with your underwear. You step out of them without too much difficulty but yelp in surprise when you feel his cool tongue poke at your opening.

You weren’t kidding when you told him you weren’t wet, and Yoongi rubs the flat of his tongue against your opening. And down here kneeling behind you like this, it feels like a pretty interesting mix of heaven and hell - Yoongi can practically taste how ready you are.

“Woah,” you sigh, eyes drifting shut as you spread your legs wider for balance. Yoongi is gripping your asscheeks apart for ease of access, and you’re not complaining one bit. You can hear how sticky everything sounds, but you’re pretty sure that most of that is caused by his saliva and not your own arousal. Based on the way he licks at you enthusiastically, you’re getting there.

Yoongi pulls away almost as abruptly as he started, panting from how little he chose to breathe in favor of tonguing you down. Your taste consumes him, and he feels it in his bones with every inhale and exhale.

“Play with yourself until I get back,” he begs, nearly tripping on his own feet to find the condoms quickly.

“Oh jeez,” you chuckle, reaching over behind you to tease against your entrance. Your fingers swirl and poke at your opening, and it’s not long until you’re a finger deep inside, cautiously rubbing at your walls.

This is how Yoongi finds you - only one finger in and struggling. He can feel his cock stiffen as he sees the way your finger is practically sucked inside safe and snug. He drops the condom on the table in arms-reach, and pulls your hand away with impatience. Yoongi’s mouth waters when he sees how you react to the void left by your finger, clenching around nothing. Swallowing, he presses his covered cock against you, pretending for a split second that he’s about to fuck you raw.

“Didn’t you get enough last night,” you mention throatily, grinding your ass against him and marveling at how this is ten times more arousing than the conscious effort to force wetness.

“I never get enough of you,” he shakes his head.

You smile. Yoongi is a master of telling you what you want to hear. “We’ve literally fucked every, single day for like eleven days straight - I counted.”

That’s his cue to push down his boxers and tease you with the head of his naked cock.

“Twelve,” Yoongi corrects, “I counted too.”

You wrinkle your eyebrows. “Well, if you count today, then yeah, it’s twelve, but I was only counting up to and including yesterday, which is still eleven-”

The head of his cock pokes against your entrance in a decisive manner, and you lose your train of thought. It wasn’t important anyway. Eleven days, twelve days - the point was that this is the longest fuck streak you’ve had with the werewolf, and you’re wondering if he’s not at all tired of you. But judging from the feel of things, he seems pretty interested.

Yoongi actually barks with want at the sensation of his cock pressing against you, the sound coming out of him almost automatically. He grabs at the condom before he embarrasses himself, somehow engaging the industrial-strength latex made for werewolf usage over his cock without poking a hole through it.

If you’re confused by his intense desire, you don’t question it. After all, you have your I-Need-Sex-Now-Now-Now moments too.

“Put it in me already,” you tease, shooting him a flirty look over your shoulder. “You’ve been gagging for my cunt for how long?”

“You bitch,” he curses, a fang peaking out from his feral grin, and you know that he means this in the best possible way.

“Not yet I’m not.”

Yoongi pushes in slowly, utterly satisfied with the grimace of pleasure on your face as he finally shuts you up. And through the dulled sensations of the condom, he can still feel how you squeeze him.

“This is just a starter,” Yoongi groans. “I’ll make you a proper bitch later.”

You don’t doubt it. Yoongi doesn’t make empty promises. The last time he made you submit to him was just about a month ago, and that experience left you sore and dazed for a good twelve hours afterwards.

“Yes,” you hiss, your hands balling up as he thrusts inside you roughly to get himself off in the quickest way possible. The force of his thrusts edge you towards pleasure, but you’re nowhere near the level of need that Yoongi is exhibiting.

He leans forward and rests his chin against the crook of your neck, nuzzling you like a treasured thing - a sharp contrasts to his punishing thrusts. Thank goodness Yoongi anchors you down with an arm around you waist. Otherwise, you would have probably fallen.

Yoongi inhales deeply, nipping at your earlobe in the process. “You smell so fucking good,” he repeats, voice low and stilted from thrusting away inside of you.

“Huh?” you sigh, noticing how he’s pointed out your smell again. Yoongi doesn’t take vocal note of your scent as often as humans might assume because he never wants to be rude, so this is different...

He doesn’t answer, focusing on himself and his own thoughts about ripping off the condom and letting you have it.

“You better do this right later,” you hiss, your cunt throbbing from the rough treatment and how he keeps edging you towards something good only to pull you back to nothing.

A stab of desire cuts through Yoongi as you openly challenge him while being bent over in front of him.

“If I did this right, you’d be having my pups in nine months. Think you can handle that?” he sneers, pausing his thrusts momentarily to reach over and turn your face to look at him with an imperious hand.

Your mouth falls open in surprise when his comments hit you out of left field.

“Y-yoongi...”

“You’d have a whole litter if I had my way,” he continues, the hand holding your waist moving forward to caress your stomach. He has to laugh at your incredulous expression. At the very least, you’re not screaming in disgust, and dare he hope... intrigued?

You swallow rapidly, trying to get some moisture down your throat to say something - anything, because right now, you are shocked into speechlessness. But it seems all the wetness in your body has shifted to your nether regions where you have now grown exceedingly damp in addition to all the saliva from earlier.

“Bet you’d look real pretty all swollen,” he snickers, rubbing your stomach suggestively before thrusting again.

Your heart thumps rapidly as Yoongi kisses you, groaning into your mouth. This time, you’re right there with him, and you happily reciprocate. You can feel the stirrings of arousal grow as Yoongi continues to murmur sweet nothings about making you conceive.

The squeak of the latex is a blatant indication that this is all talk, but sometimes all you needed was a good talking-to for the good shit to take place. You are adamant about using condoms with Yoongi since neither one of you are particularly monogamous, but the thought of his cum inside you is... nice. You might consider it at a later date but for now...

“Wanna cum inside me?” you gasp when he rests his fangs over your neck - one of the indications that he’s close to losing it. The whimper that reaches your ears is enough to know that yes, Yoongi desperately would love to cum inside you, in theory. If this was something that was driving him up the wall, you’d happily egg him on to get his rocks off.

“I want you to cum inside,” you moan, the sounds you make not entirely lies.

Yoongi closes his eyes and cums, filling up the condom but dreaming that his seed is coating your womb instead. He nearly weeps from how intense this orgasm feels, and with a jolt, he realizes he’s expanding.

“Shit,” he exclaims, pulling out of you rapidly just in time for the condom to burst as his cock swells from knotting over nothing.

“Oh my god...” You stare down at his cock, fascinated at how it’s pretty much doubled in size.

Yoongi winces, hobbling over to sit down gingerly as each movement sends ripples of overstimulation down his spine. He rarely knots, and he wonders if it was because of the intense visualization of getting you pregnant that did it.

“Just give me a minute.... or thirty,” he pants.

“Yeah,” you swallow, wondering how it would have felt to have him expand inside you.

Maybe next time.

#bangtan bookclub #btswriters #noonanet #yoongi smut #suga smut #bts smut #yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #bts scenarios #yoongi fics #bts fics #suga fics #member: yoongi #genre: smut

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wrestlingimagination-blog · 7 years

Text

Serious [Seth Rollins]

requested

Seth Rollins. He asks (Y/N) out on a date, but on the day before the date, when she’s about to leave the arena, she sees him with another girl & she’s flirting with him, so she feels stupid & when he asks her why she doesn’t want to go, she spills the truth. Angssssst and fluff pleaseeeeee!

fuck look at him the precious little puppy

also this is kind of long lol

You were out in the hallway, chatting back and forth with the Bella’s before they scurried off for their match where you were left, standing quietly, chewing raspberry bubblegum and tapping rapidly on your phone, earbuds stuffed in as you hummed along to your favourite song.

“Hey, is that (SONG)?” You hear.

Turning your head, you plucked out your earphones to meet Seth Rollins’ gaze. “Huh?”

“(SONG). I could hear you humming it,” the fuzzy-faced man said, a grin creeping up on his cheeks.

“Oh, yeah,” you felt a flush crawl up your cheeks. “Sorry, was I humming loud?”

Seth laughed. “A little.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” you joined in with his laughter. “I hope nobody heard me.”

“Oh, I did,” Seth pressed a hand to his chest, “and I appreciated the humming. It sounded quite lovely. (Y/N).”

“Why thank you, good sir,” you chuckled.

“Hey, uh, what’dya say we get to know each other a bit better?” Seth asked, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, you’re gorgeous and I can already tell you have great taste in music. It’d be great to see what else we have in common.”

You smirked a little, “is Seth Rollins asking me out on a date?”

“Seth Rollins is asking you out on a date,” he confirmed with a wink, his hands crossed over in front of him. “So... what’dya say?”

“I’d be an idiot to say no,” I smirked.

“Awesome! Could I get your number, then?” Seth questioned, gesturing between the two of you.

“Oh, sure,” you responded, exchanging mobile phones with each other and punching your number in. “There.”

Seth glanced down at his phone, “look, I gotta go, I have a promo in five,” Seth sighed, sucking on his teeth with aggravation. “I’ll catch you later, (Y/N).”

“See ya,” you hummed, waving at him before grinning and staring down at your phone as you noticed he sent you a peace emoji.

***

After a few days of texting back and forth, yourself and Seth had decided to go out later on that week. The two of you had a relatively busy schedule as you were always on the road, but you managed.

“Good morning,” you muttered, brushing gently past Seth to collect a paper cup of coffee, your brain and body craving a stimulant.

“Mornin’,” he grinned cheekily, digging his teeth into a sugary doughnut as he pulled out a chair to sit on around an empty table, where you joined him, dumping your duffel bag down beside you and rubbing your temples. “Tired?”

“Yup,” you nodded, knocking back some of the scalding liquid energy. “I was up all night talking to Nikki.”

“Oh?” Seth rose a brow, picking up on the fact that the two of you were probably having more than just an ordinary conversation.

“Yeah, she’s really stressed with John and all that,” you explained briefly, “I think she’s decided to call it off with him.”

“Jesus,” Seth responded, nearly choking on the last bite of his doughnut. “Why?”

“Because she wants to get married and have a family but John’s not ready to commit to something like that,” you shrugged. “I tried to help her change her mind, but she’s not budging. I really think this is it for them this time,” you muttered into your cup, sipping some as you noticed Brie walk through the hallway, looking particularly strange without her twin clinging to her side.

“Is she okay?” Seth questioned.

“She’s a big girl; she’ll be fine,” you bit your lip and glanced down at your clock, “I better start getting ready. I’ll see you around.”

***

You’d just finished your match and tossed your hair up into a bun, making your way back to the locker room to change into something more casual. As much as you loved your wrestling gear, it was made for support, not comfort.

On your way there, you were distracted by the distant sound of Seth’s laughter, causing you to perk your ears and look up from the scuffs on the corridor floors. You spotted Seth conversing with Nikki, who’s face lay emotionless, so you hesitated, stopped walking, and watched them from the corner.

“Are you single?” You quietly heard Nikki gushing.

“Uh... yeah,” Seth agreed. The words rolled off his tongue like silk and stung like a venomous bite, though Seth and yourself had not even gone on a date yet, let alone made anything official. He wasn’t lying.

“Awesome,” Nikki pouted her lips as she leant against the wall. “So... I’m seeing all this muscle under your shirt,” Nikki rose a brow and touched his tee. “It’s made me interested in everything else.”

You turned away as you felt your face flush; you felt embarrassed and betrayed and somewhat disheartened at how confident and sultry Nikki was, whereas yourself, on the other hand, were more quiet and reserved. Your shoes squeaked on the floor as you hurriedly set off, feeling a lump of annoyance and hurt build in your chest. Nikki knew how much you liked him. She knew about the date. And after all you did to make her feel better about her situation with John, she goes and does this?

Swallowing your pride, you snatched your duffel bag, threw a hoodie on and grabbed Paige’s arm, who jumped at your touch but followed without a word. She was your carpool buddy, and one of your closest friends, so allowed you to drag her away and into the car where you slammed the door shut, your heart pounding and your fists clenched around the wheel.

“What’s going on?” Paige asked, her eyebrows raised.

“You know how I was supposed to be going out tonight with Seth?” You turned to her, a bitter look on your face.

“Uh-oh,” Paige muttered. “What happened?”

“Nikki happened,” you thumped your fist against the side of the wheel. “God damn Nikki with her fake-”

“Woah, hold on,” Paige threw her hands up, “what’s she done?”

“I saw her and Seth in the hallway,” you admitted, “at first I thought Seth might be talking to her about John because she looked kind of upset, but then she was throwing herself all over him.”

“Are you sure you aren’t taking it the wrong way-”

“As if. She was asking him if he were single, and oh, ‘I’m seeing all these muscles, I’m interested in the rest’, were her exact words,” you seethed. Paige leant back, eyes widened.

“I don’t know what to say,” she swallowed, “are you going to talk to Seth? It might’ve been a one-sided thing.”

“Maybe it was. But I’m not going to face him after my so called best friend was swooning all over him,” you admitted bitterly, just as your phone flashed with a notification. “Speak of the devil,” you sighed, swiping your thumb over the screen.

“What’d he say?” Paige questioned, craning her neck.

“He said: ‘hey, can’t wait for tonight. where are you? haven’t seen you since your match xx’. Totally nonchalant.” You huffed, rubbing your nose. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I think you should at least talk to him,” she answered, “I mean, he seems to totally dig you. It wouldn’t be fair to just leave him questioning why you never answered his texts or calls or even bothered to show up to the date.”

“You’re right,” you sighed, rubbing your lips together, “I’ll just cancel tonight. See how things go, see if Nikki makes any more advances. Then I’ll make up my mind.”

“Okay,” Paige agreed, nodding her head. “Come on, let’s get back.”

***

“Geez, grumpy pants alert,” Nikki giggled, teasingly you jokingly as you brushed past her and a group of other Diva’s who oohed at your cold shoulder, your sour attitude clear. “Damn, what’s your problem?”

You whipped around. “Drop the attitude, Nikki. I’m not in the mood.”

Nikki’s mouth opened slightly. “Hey, what the hell have I done?”

“I thought we had an understanding, Nikki,” you muttered, throwing a side-glance to the other Diva’s who chatted amongst themselves rather than gawking at you. “You know how much I like Seth. And after you had me up all night comforting you over John? You’re really pathetic, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Nikki questioned, voice noticeably quieter as her shoulders tensed and she swallowed anxiously.

“Playing dumb won't get you out of this one, Nikki,” you rolled your eyes, “I saw you and Seth in the hallway.”

She flushed.

“Forget this,” you muttered, walking away, ignoring Nikki as she called your name before you rushed through the corridors, hoping to find consolidation in a friend. Suddenly, you noticed the scruffy-faced architect and you froze up.

“There you are,” Seth called, grinning from ear to ear as you tried your hardest to avoid his gaze. Stopping in your tracks, you turned to face him with a small smile.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Did you not get my text?” He questioned.

“Oh, sorry, no, my phones been off,” you shrugged, feeling extremely weird in his presence. Surely if he weren’t interested in Nikki at all and he truly wanted to date you, he’d tell you about the incident earlier, yes?

“Are you feeling alright?” Seth asked, noticing how distant you were trying to keep yourself from him.

“Mhmm,” you trailed off, your eyes catching Nikki as she walked by, an aroma of strong perfume left in a trail behind her. You took in a deep breath before looking Seth in the eye, “I don’t think tonight is a good idea.”

His smiled instantly dropped. “What? Why?”

You stepped back as he tried to reach for your arm. “Look, Seth, I don’t know what game you’re playing but I’m really not prepared to waste my time on some-”

“Hey, hey,” Seth placed a hand on his chest, a hurt frown on his face. “What are you going on about?”

“I’m going on about you and Nikki, Seth! And all your other string of Diva’s,” you muttered coldly. “I don’t know how many there is of us you’re dragging along but I’m not about to be a part of it.”

“Woah, woah, you’ve got this all wrong,” Seth laughed anxiously, “there are no other girls. Especially not Nikki,” he frowned further before a hint of realisation crossed his face. “Hold on, is this about earlier? When she was talking to me in the hallway?”

You rolled your eyes, confirming his statement.

“Jesus, I went over to apologise to her about John and she took my comforting a little too far,” he said. “I thought I was being courteous but she kinda... took it the wrong way.”

You huffed, feeling less irritated. “Alright.But I still feel weird about this,” I gestured between the two of us, “I mean, I feel stupid. You might as well take Nikki out tonight instead of me, save me the embarrassment.”

He frowned and jerked back at your statement. “Why would I take Nikki out?”

You shrugged, mouth opening and closing but with no response.

“I’m not interested in her,” he sighed, “and she’s probably just looking for a bit of a fling to help get over John.”

You bit your lip. “You’re probably right.”

“And she’s your best friend - you should know her better than anyone else,” he scratched his head, “surely if there was something going on between me and her she’d be the first to tell you.”

You dropped your tense shoulders in defeat. “Okay, Seth. You’re right.”

“Okay, good,” he blew out a huff of air in relief, “so... are we still on for tonight? I’d hate to miss the only opportunity we have to hang out together.”

You smiled a little. “Sure.”

#wwe imagine #seth rollins imagine #shield imagine #seth #rollins #seth rollins #seth rollins one shot #imagine #one shot #wwe #wrestling #seth imagine #seth one shot

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areswriting · 5 years

Text

a x e : vii

I look at our hands, her delicate fingers knotted between mine—like white lace ruined by a black-tar stain. I should let go, I think. It isn’t right. But my hammering heart makes the decision for my head, and I hold on tighter. I don’t understand how something so chaste can feel so primal—untamed and full of teeth, eager to tear into her.

My breath catches in my throat, and I will myself to breathe slower.

“It’s okay,” I say, my words pressing into her hair. “That you don’t know. Things like that get confusing.”

Elise lifts her head from my shoulder and looks up at me, eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean?” she asks, so close that I can smell the champagne on her breath.

“You know what I mean,” I whisper—like it’s a secret; because it is.

“No, I don’t think I do, Abram,” she whispers back, fingers curling tighter around mine.

I take in a sharp breath and move in closer.

“You say my name like it’s a one-word poem for your tongue, like it’s a delicacy and a crime—like you’re not sure if a taste is worth the punishment,” I say. I move my hand to her hair and push the fallen pieces out of her face. “You don’t know—but how else will you find out?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers, her hand on my face, thumb stroking my jawline.

“Me either,” I breathe against her mouth. My lips brush over hers—soft, slow, steady.

But Elise is a hurricane and her body hurtles against mine with all of the intensity that I had been holding back. She’s on my lap, her arms snaked around my neck, her hands in my hair. My hands run up her sides, pulling her closer and she moans against my mouth.

I bare my teeth to the side of her neck—my lips and tongue write a letter to the Gods, thanking them for her.

▲ △ ▼ ▽

I wake up to an empty bed and a hangover—despite my headache, my guilt-riddled body wills me to a shower that scalds me. A layer of skin later, I still feel dirty. I wipe the steam from the mirror but I can barely look at myself and I wonder if everyone else will be able to see my shame.

I step closer to the sink flipping my head to the left, my damp towel shaking against my wet hair—and that’s when I see it. Red and purple in the shape of Elise’s mouth.

“Merde,” I gasp and lean closer still, wiping the side of my neck, hopeful that it’s just a lipstick stain. But it isn’t.

I’m half-dressed when I hear my phone chime from my dresser and my heart sinks, making an even bigger pit in it. I hesitantly pick it up—and for the first time I hope it’s not a message from Sylvia. While I see several alerts, I focus on the newest one, an Instagram message.

➢lislaire: Fyi we’re going shopping. Like, all of us. As in, everyone xx

Dyer: thanks. Getting dressed now.

I use my thumb to scroll through my notifications, swiping them off until I get to the last one.

New messages: Sylvia

S: Morning Kai x

S: lol sorry I’m half asleep, ignore the x, it was supposed to be a heart emoji.

S: I love you.

K: I love you, too, Sylvia. I’m about to go out with my family. I’ll text you later.

I throw my phone down and try not to think of all of the hearts that might break because of what I did.

“Finally,” Malachi says as I step into the dining room, which smells like bacon and maple syrup. I look at the table, my stomach growling loudly, to find it freshly cleaned. “You missed breakfast, but you can find something to eat while we’re out.”

Malachi is the first to stand from the table, followed by Cerise.

“Bro,” says Jason, who I haven’t been able to look at yet. “What is that shit you’re wearing around your neck?”

I pull the black and white scarf tighter. “It’s a Los Angeles Kings—”

“I know what it is,” he cuts across. “It’s shit!”

“Jason, darling, I think you’ve said shit enough in the last five seconds,” Gigi says, patting his cheek as she walks by.

“Sorry,” he says. I notice his and Elise’s hands entwined on his lap and I feel sick to my stomach. “But dude, you can’t be a Kings fan. You need to burn that and buy a Ranger’s scarf.”

“Maybe if they win a cup,” I say, forcing a smile, just as Gigi stops to kiss my cheek. “Morning Gigi.”

“Morning, darling,” she replies, and steps back to look me over. She flattens out my black pea coat and adjusts my scarf. “Word of advice, if you want to hide that you smell like you’ve been marinating in champagne, cover it with cinnamon, not peppermint.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“The Kings just got lucky…Twice.” Though Jason speaks directly to me again, I follow behind Gigi without responding. The eight of us pile into one elevator and Malachi and Cerise lead us out of the lobby.

“So, what are we going shopping for?” I ask.

“Christmas shopping,” Gigi replies. “Apparently it’s going to be a whole ordeal this year.”

“You don’t go shopping the day before Thanksgiving,” I say. “You go on Black Friday.”

“No,” laughs Cerise. “That is when poor people go shopping.”

“What does poor people mean?” asks Eva.

“People who aren’t in our tax bracket,” Malachi replies.

“People like me,” I say under my breath.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look up to see that it belongs to Gigi. She gently pulls me aside so Elise and Jason can walk around us.

“I know my son is no more of a father to you than I am a grandmother, but Abram,” she pauses, reaching for my hands. “I want to be. I just ask that you don’t hold his wrong-doing against me.”

I consider what she says and offer as much of a smile as I can muster. “I don’t hold anything against you, Gigi. And you’re already family to me.”

She smiles and hugs me tight. “And you’re a part of this family, too, which means you’re in this tax bracket, like it or not.”

I laugh. “I’m not a fan so far.”

▲ △ ▼ ▽

The Allaire’s separate from the blended Rose family as we go into each store, from Prada to Macy’s to Sak’s, until Malachi has to call a car just to carry all of the bags we had accumulated. We settle for a late lunch at a high-end restaurant that was probably over-priced for its portions—a place Cerise suggested no doubt, and much like Jason, Malachi followed her like a well-trained puppy.

I find myself at the end of the table with Elise and Jason and I carefully take my coat off, taking care not to move the scarf from my neck, even though I have a white collared button down on. I roll the sleeves us and notice Cerise eye-balling me from the other end of the table. A look of disgust brings a bright smile to my face and I give her a faux-pageant wave, which is enough to make her turn her nose up at me and look away.

“I can’t believe your mom let you get all of those tattoos,” Jason says. “My mom would kill me.”

I offer a weak shrug. “She helped pick most of them out,” I tell him after taking a sip of water. “And talked me out of some stupid ones. It was sort of therapeutic.”

“Was your mom tatted up?” he asks, eyes wide.

Elise and I both snort.

“What?” he says.

“She’s seen a picture of my mom before,” I explain, still not completely looking at her. “She most definitely wasn’t tatted up.”

Jason and I keep the conversation of our mother’s going even after we leave the restaurant. I notice how similar we are; little by little, he feels like home. And I know better than to make houses out of people—but I am flawed, and these people are the only homes I’ve got.

▲ △ ▼ ▽

“You’re really just going to sit here?” says Jason.

Elise folds her arms over herself, and looks away. “Yes, I am. So, leave me alone, now. Thanks.”

I don’t mean to listen, but I can’t help it.

“Why are you mad at me?” Jason goes on. “What did I do?”

“Nothing!” Elise yells. “Just leave me alone!”

Jason throws his arms up and I look back at the skate I’m lacing up. I tie a knot at the top, while Jason sits beside me.

“Do you know what’s bothering her?” Jason asks.

My stomach churns; I could think of maybe one reason—guilt.

“No idea,” I say, looking up at him. “But consider yourself lucky, she’s been way meaner to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” he says, shrugging. “Ever since Cerise said that we were going ice-skating, she’s been like that.”

I glance at Elise, her pale skin glowing against the darkness. With the way she holds her head in her hands, I can tell she isn’t mad at Jason. Maybe, instead, she’s mad at herself?

“Jase!” whines Emilia, “are we ever gonna go skate?”

Jason sighs. “You coming?”

“I’m right behind you,” I say, watching Eva as she skates around in front of the exit of the outdoor rink.

Jason takes Emilia’s hand and helps her onto the ice. I laugh as I watch her feet fall out from underneath her, the only thing stopping her from hitting the ice is Jason’s quick reflexes.

“She has no future as a hockey player,” I say, turning to face Elise.

“Who cares?” Elise says. “She probably doesn’t even want to be a dumb hockey playing jock anyways. Did you ever think about that, Abram? God—what is with you men and your obsession with this anyways? Il fait froid!”

“Pas quand vous trainspirez,” I reply, tapping my index finger to my temple.

She presses her lips into a thin line but the corners of her lips pull up against her will, and she’s smiling.

“Sais—tu painter?”

“Oui, Abram,” she replies, then stands and dusts know off of herself. “Or I used to. I haven’t since I was a kid.”

“How will you know if you still can if you don’t try?” I ask, mimicking her.

“I don’t know, Abram,” she says, and I get a chill up my spine that isn’t from the cold.

“Me either,” I say, somehow realizing how dangerously close we are to each other.

“Embrasse moi,” she says.

“Et Jason?” I say, my voice strained from desire, from guilt.

#ae #my writing

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