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makoodlesarchive · 4 years

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you wear them well

you know what this is, my friends? pure indulgence. 7.1k words of total, pure indulgence. enjoy xx

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader word count: 7.1k warnings: NSFW, unsafe sex, panty theft, bakugou in panties tag list: @allywritesimagines @tobiodel-ay-ee-hoo

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You’re in somewhat of an embarrassing predicament.

The boxer briefs lie on your bed, looking painfully innocuous. There are at least eight pairs. You have no idea where they’ve come from.

Well, that’s not entirely true. You know that you picked them up accidentally in the laundry room when you were collecting your own load of clean laundry, and brought them back to your dorm only to finally notice them when you were putting your stuff away. The problem is, you don’t know whose they are.

Whoever owns the underwear must have taken yours by mistake -- the boxers had been in a generic mesh laundry bag that was the exact same as yours, so it’s easy to see how the mix up had happened. Still though. You’re in an awkward situation. Because your bag had contained all of your fanciest, most delicate underwear, and you’re mortified at the thought of whoever owns these boxers opening the bag up to find all that lace and silk. All that fancy underwear had cost so much money though, and you really wanted them back. How the hell were you supposed to find whoever had them now?

Your dilemma preoccupies your thoughts for the rest of the day. It’s all you can think about as you lie in bed trying to go to sleep.

By the time the next morning rolls around, you resign yourself to just having to ask the guys in the dorm if they may have taken your underwear by accident. You try to work yourself up to it when everyone is clamouring over breakfast, feeling like you might be able to play it off casually enough that it’s not a big deal. But everyone is yelling and laughing and super hyper despite the early hour, and you chicken out. Maybe over breakfast isn’t the best time to ask, anyway.

During class, you can’t stop your eyes roving over the guys. None of them look as though they’re preoccupied with the thought of the stolen ladies underwear they procured as of yesterday, but then again, how would you know?

By the end of the day, you’re reasonably certain that you can cross Mineta off your suspect list -- there’s no way the little pervert would ever be able to keep his damn mouth shut if he had found a laundry bag full of fancy panties, and he’s been quiet all day. You cross Kaminari off the list for the same reason, although with a little less certainty. Other than that, you have absolutely no idea. No one had mentioned missing laundry at all today.

That night you lie in bed and frown at the ceiling. This was ridiculous. You wanted your fancy panties back now! Besides, you had accidentally taken eight pairs of boxers from someone. The Calvin Klein waistband told you that they weren’t cheap, either. Surely they needed those back by now?

The next morning, you’re antsy. You know that your classmates have noticed by the concerned looks that Uraraka keeps shooting you, but you just can’t get your mind off the underwear situation. The day passes in much the same way as the one before it had; not a mention of underwear to be had anywhere. You’re starting to get annoyed. You plan to mention the situation to the girls the morning after, but end up chickening out when the time comes. You can’t help but overthink everything; it’s been three days since the underwear mix-up, which is surely too long for you to have waited to tell anyone. Why didn’t you just tell them when it had first happened? You could kick yourself.

Nearly a week passes like this. For a few days, at least, schoolwork is the priority in your head. It’s nice while it lasts, to not have your every waking moment filled with thoughts of your missing panties. Unfortunately, as soon as the weekend hits and you find yourself with free time on your hands, those thoughts come back with a vengeance. It’s literally driving you insane, so you do what you always do when you’re frustrated since you started in UA -- you head to the training room to work out your frustrations.

It’s a Saturday evening, so you’re not alone in the training room, which is to be expected. Kirishima and Bakugou are having what looks like a sit up competition by the mats, and Midoriya and Uraraka are spotting each other by the bench press machine. Usually in the evenings the training room would be a little busier, but you guess everyone else is taking the opportunity to rest and relax. You wish you could do that yourself, but you desperately need to expel all of your frustrated energy before you can even think about trying to unwind. Uraraka gives you a wave and a smile, but seems to understand that you’re hoping to be left alone as you make a beeline for the treadmill. You smile back as you pop your earphones in and set up your workout playlist, before setting the treadmill to your ideal settings.

The run you set off on is a little harder and faster than what you would usually do, but your main aim is to tire yourself out. You lose yourself to the steady rhythm of your feet pounding against the rapidly moving surface of the treadmill. You completely lose track of time as your breaths start to come faster and your chest starts to heave with exertion.

After an indeterminable amount of time, a shrieking laugh sounds over the sound of the upbeat music blaring in your ears, cutting through the hazy focus that’s settled over your mind. You look up to see that Bakugou has Kirishima in a headlock and appears to be swearing loudly and rapidly at him. Despite the fact that his face is rapidly turning red from the arm wrapped around his throat, Kirishima is still giggling. A quick glance around shows that Midoriya and Uraraka have disappeared, and you wonder how long you’ve been running for.

Kirishima is saying something, but his words are drowned out by your music. Whatever he’s said seems to appease Bakugou to some extent, because he reluctantly lets him go. As soon as he’s free of his friend’s grip, Kirishima bounces backwards and throws his hands up in the air in a conciliatory gesture, though his grin is still wickedly mischievous. You watch his mouth move again as he speaks, but this time his eyes cut towards you.

You blink in surprise, and turn the treadmill off as you remove one of your earbuds. “What’s up?” you ask curiously. As the treadmill slows to a stop and you step off, the fatigue catches up to you and your legs go a little wobbly. You grab a hold of the handlebars of the machine and hope they didn’t notice.

Kirishima looks like he’s still smothering back laughs, and Bakugou has gone a curious shade of red -- you guess he must be close to an imminent explosion. Kirishima is really poking at a bear, here. He seems to know that though, because his next move is to shrug exaggeratedly and say, “Oh, nothing! I’m gonna head out, I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

“Uh,” you return his wave as he heads out the door, a little bewildered by the jaunty bounce in his step, “Bye, Kirishima.”

Bakugou just grunts and turns back to the weights he was lifting. Your eyes linger on him for a moment, partly because you’re trying to work out that interaction and partly because when he squats with the barbell over his head his back muscles flex and ripple in a way that’s damn near mesmerising. You’ve harboured an embarrassing crush on him ever since your very first year in UA, and every time you think you’re over it you see him sweaty and perfect and you’re proven very, very wrong. Bakugou is obnoxiously attractive, a realisation that feels like a punch in the head every goddamn time you see him.

You should definitely just go, because you’re tired now and there’s no reason for you to stay. But your movements are stupidly slow as you gather up your things and watch Bakugou out of the corner of your eye. You wonder if you should say hi or something to him, but he seems pretty focused on his workout and you figure that you’ll just annoy him. Bakugou’s got a better hold on his temper than he had back in first year, but it’s probably better to just leave it.

Bakugou squats low, weight lifted high over his head. Your gaze trails over his biceps, his muscled shoulders, his thick thighs. His ass. Damn.

You look away, cursing yourself for being a pervert. Then you pause. Your eyes slowly trail back to him. It takes several long seconds of staring before you realise that you’re really not imagining it.

Bakugou’s sweatpants have pulled tight over his round ass as he sinks down further into his squat, and his waistband has been pulled down. Not much, only a little, but enough to see the waistband of his underwear poking out.

Except they aren’t his underwear. They’re yours.

You’d recognise that lace anywhere -- you had bought that pair a few months ago, when you were having a bad day and just wanted to feel pretty. They were your favourite! The front was all white silk embroidered with delicate blue cornflowers, turning to elaborate lace over the hips and the back. And now Bakugou was wearing them.

Bakugou was wearing your favourite panties.

You turn away quickly, staring stupidly into space as your mind struggles to work through this particular revelation. The underwear you had taken belonged to Bakugou. Bakugou had accidentally taken yours. Bakugou is currently wearing yours. What the fuck? What are you supposed to do now? You bite your lip hard as you think. You could leave now, pretend you didn’t see anything, and then ask Bakugou as casually as possible tomorrow whether your underwear had gotten mixed up with his in the laundry. That would surely be the best way to avoid a scene.

But then again… your gaze drifts back to Bakugou. He’s already hitched his sweatpants back into place; he must be paranoid of being caught wearing panties, but for some reason that hasn’t stopped him from wearing them to workout.

Your mouth has apparently made its mind up before your brain has, because you’re calling out “Bakugou?” before you can even finish the thought.

“What?” he grunts without turning around. He’s finished with his weights for now, apparently, and is studiously putting them back where they belong. You drop your stuff back on the ground, phone clattering loudly, and begin to approach him. He doesn’t seem to notice until you’re right beside him, and then he pauses in what he’s doing and squints at you suspiciously. “What d’you want?”

“I have a question.” you say stupidly. He looks so good this close, and the knowledge that he’s wearing your underwear is making you feel… oddly warm.

“A question.” Bakugou repeats, standing tall and rolling his shoulders. His tone makes it clear that he’s humouring you, though he looks a little amused. “Alright, ask.”

The problem is, now that you’ve been given permission to speak, you can’t think of what to say. You bite your lip hard, and your gaze moves slowly over his chest and shoulders as you think. Bakugou is surprisingly patient, and stays quiet despite his shifting feet, which reveal his restlessness. Your eyes land on his bicep, and once again your mouth moves without conscious thought. “Can I touch you?”

“Hah?” Bakugou’s exclamation is jarringly loud in the quiet that had fallen over the two of you. “What the fuck kinda question is that?”

Now would be the ideal time to backtrack to save yourself from total humiliation, but instead you blurt “Please?” even as you feel your face flush hard.

He’s staring at you in mild disbelief, but it’s slowly being taken over by something else. “You wanna… touch me.” he repeats, his own gaze mimicking yours as it begins to rove over your body. Whatever he sees has him raising an eyebrow -- you can’t work out whether it’s a positive reaction or not. “Alright. Go ahead.”

Your hand twitches. Your instinct is to reach straight for his sweatpants, but you don’t want to scare him off. Instead you do what you’ve been wanting to do for ages anyway, and run your hand over his chest. His pectoral muscles are stupidly big, and you can’t help but be absolutely enraptured by them. He’s wearing a baggy tank top with long cut outs at the arms, and when you run your hands over his chest the tank top shifts to reveal one of his nipples.

You look away quickly, worried that you’ll do something stupid and make him mad at you, but when you look up at him you see that he’s watching you. His eyes are so intense that it feels like his gaze alone is about to light you on fire. He doesn’t look mad at all.

‘Fuck it’, you think, and reach up to run your thumb over the soft pink skin of his nipple. It pebbles under your touch, and his body jerks.

“Oi, where the fuck do you think you’re touching?” he snaps at you. His voice is as harsh as ever, but you don’t miss the way he leans into your hand.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” you say. Your voice is a little breathier than you expected, and you see Bakugou’s eyes narrow when he notices too.

“You gettin’ off on this, you little pervert?” he growls, and you gasp a little as his hand lands right on your ass. He pulls you into him, and your hips meet his. You can feel his hardness through his sweatpants, and you lick your lips as your thumb circles his nipple.

“Bakugou,” you say softly, and watch enraptured as he leans down closer to your face, “How can you call me a pervert when you’re the one wearing ladies’ underwear?”

Bakugou freezes inches from your lips. You watch his throat bob as he swallows. “What,” he says, voice rough and frighteningly quiet, “did you just fuckin’ say?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognise my own panties?” your voice is nearly a whisper, but in the end it doesn’t matter how softly you say it because Bakugou is already pulling back, a blank look settling over his face.

“What the fuck are you trying to say, huh?” His lips pull up in a snarl, but his cheeks are flushing red and you realise that you’re going to have to be very careful about how you approach this.

Your hand is still resting on his chest, and you allow it to trace carefully down to his stomach, coming to a stop at his navel. “I bet you look real good in them.” That’s not really what you had been planning to say, but you’ve said it now and you meant it, so what can you do? Throwing caution to the wind, you continue with, “Can I see?”

Bakugou is breathing hard through his nose, and his gaze flickers from your face to the door of the training room. When your gaze drops, you see that his hands are clenched into fists at his side. Suddenly worried that you’ve misread the situation, you hurry to say “Ah, if it makes you uncomfortable, we can forget about this. You don’t have to-” you break off as Bakugou shoves past you and makes a beeline for the door. “Oh.”

Oh god. You totally overstepped his boundaries. You turn away, mortified and unable to watch him actually leave. Shit. How were you ever going to look at him again?

“Oi. Come the fuck over here.”

You startle as you turn around; you thought he had left. “What?” you say stupidly.

Bakugou scowls at you. He looks… a little constipated, honestly, as though he has to force the words out. “Come. Over. Here.” He over enunciates the words, his lips pulling up enough that you can see the pink of his gums even from this distance.

Your eyes dart from Bakugou to the door, confused, before it clicks. He was locking the door. “Oh.” you breathe at the realisation, “Okay.” you move over to him quickly, then chew on your lip as you watch him expectantly.

He stares back at you, nostrils flared, and you realise that he doesn’t know how to proceed. Does he need instructions? You have to bite down hard on your bottom lip to stifle your nervous giggles, because you’re pretty certain that they won’t be very well received. He just needs a little guidance. “Take off your shirt.” You coach, reaching out to pull at the hem of his tank top.

“Hah? Don’t tell me what to fuckin’ do.” he snaps, even as he tugs the shirt over his head and lets it drop to the floor. The muscles of his chest are mouth-wateringly perfect, and your hands gravitate to his pecs almost mindlessly. You keep expecting him to snarl or snap at you, but he’s being… almost suspiciously quiet. Your eyes dart continuously up to his face, searching for any sign that this has gone too far, but he just stares back at you with that intimidatingly intense gaze. Your hands trail delicately down his stomach, over his bellybutton, until your fingers are brushing against a fuzzy blond happy trail. You pause and glance up to his face again, but this time you’re met with a scowl. “Where’s all your fuckin’ confidence from a few minutes ago, huh? You think I’m gonna break if you touch me?”

You’re not an idiot; for all of Bakugou’s harshness and his brash attitude, he wasn’t very good at hiding his nervousness. You smile at him, but don’t move your hands to where he obviously wants them. “Maybe I don’t want to touch you until you take your pants off.”

Bakugou’s nostrils flare and his jaw clenches, and it looks for a moment like he’s about to start yelling. Instead though, he steps back and shucks his sweatpants so quickly he nearly overbalances. The glare he shoots you lets you know that he will probably try to kill you if you laugh at his eagerness, but laughing is the furthest thing from your mind as you take in the sight of him.

“Oh, shit.” you breathe. You thought that you were prepared for how he’d look, but you were so, so wrong.

“If you fuckin’ dare to laugh-”

You hush him reflexively, barely aware of what you’re doing. “Just let me look.”

Bakugou is built like a Greek god, and even on his worst days he looks like a professional model. But right now? Covered in a thin layer of sweat from his workout, smelling like burnt sugar, his cheeks flushed red from insecurity and his grey sweatpants pooling around his ankles? He’s never looked more attractive. And that��s not even taking into account the panties. They’re hitched high on his hips, the pale lace laying stark against his tanned muscles. The white satin and little blue embroidered flowers look so dainty, incongruous with the hard cock that’s straining so hard against the fabric that the elastic waistband is pulling away from his skin. They fit a little strangely, because the two of you are definitely not the same underwear size, but the fact that he was apparently so determined to wear them under his clothes despite the ill fit just makes it so much hotter.

“Will you stop fucking staring-” he cuts himself off abruptly, because you’ve just fallen to your knees in front of him, still staring at the sight of his reddened cock leaking all over your pretty satin panties.

“Hush.” you say, and grin up at the furious scowl growing on his face, “I’m enjoying the view.” Before he starts mouthing off again, you reach out and drag your finger slowly along the length of his cock through the silky material of the panties. He makes a noise that sounds like it’s been punched out of him, and his cock visibly twitches at your touch. You stroke your hand down the front of the panties, relishing the feel of his hardness through the soft material. There’s a wet patch right at the top of his cock where he must have been leaking precum, and you can feel yourself cream in your own panties a little bit.

“You gonna just look, or are you gonna do something about it?” Bakugou snarls, as if that will distract you from the way his hips just humped into the air looking for some kind of friction.

“I want to suck you off.” you admit, nosing your face along the bulge distending the front of the panties.

“Yes.” Bakugou says. His voice is a little strained, but his hand is firm as it grips the back of your neck and tries to pull you closer.

“But first,” you place your hands firmly on his thighs to stop him from pulling your face straight into his dick, but then you have to fight not to get totally distracted because shit, did he shave for this? “I have a question.”

“Hah?” the pure irritation in his voice is practically palpable, but he stops pushing at your head. “What do you fuckin-”

“Is this the first time you’ve done this?” you ask, fingers dancing over the shape of his cock and drawing featherlight shapes over him, “Or have you been wearing my panties every day since you found them?”

“I didn’t know they were yours.” he snaps at you as he presses his hips forward into your hand, trying to force you to increase the pressure. Your face lights up at that, because that was basically just a confession that he in fact had been wearing your panties, and he seems to realise it because his face flushes and he starts snarling again. “What kind of fucking dumbass leaves their underwear behind like that anyway, huh? It’s not like it’s my fault my underwear bag was fucking taken, and your stupid bag was the only thing left. You literally took all my underwear, you asshole, what else was I supposed to wear-”

He’s still making excuses as though he thinks you mind, or like he thinks that you’re going to make fun of him. “Bakugou,” you say quietly, slipping his cock out of the confines of the panties, “It’s fine. You look better in them than I do.”

That, at least, seems to silence him temporarily. Or maybe it’s your hands on his dick, and the way that you’re mouthing along the bottom of it. His breaths are coming in little puffs, and you would never have believed that Bakugou Katsuki could be cute if you hadn’t seen him like this. Well, maybe cute is the wrong word. It doesn’t quite encompass the outright sexiness of his half-lidded eyes, his tensed stomach muscles, the way his balls poke out from behind the lace. He’s getting impatient though, you can tell by the aggrieved sighs he’s letting out above you. You decide to be kind and to put him out of his misery, so you lick a stripe from root to tip and then take him into your mouth and give two gentle sucks.

Bakugou makes another one of those punched out sounds, his hips rocking a little further into your mouth. If your mouth wasn’t full, you would have smiled at his reaction. But then his hand comes down and lands in your hair, and he’s pushing his dick further into your mouth with a groan. His cock hits the back of your throat and you just about manage to swallow back a gag, but then you pull back, chest heaving, and scowl at him. “Hey, no pulling my hair. You’ll get it all tangled, and I am not in the mood to deal with that.”

The little shit has the nerve to laugh at that. “Who the fuck cares about a few tangles?”

Your scowl turns into a glare, and you pull back even further away from his dick, which is standing extremely hard and shiny from your spit. “That’s easy for you to say, you don’t have to untangle -!”

“Fine, fine, fine!” Bakugou snaps quickly, apparently realising that you’re actually going to stop if he doesn’t start listening. He removes his hand from your hair and awkwardly tries to pat it back into place, before giving up and settling it at the back of your neck instead. “Better?”

You hum noncommittally as you take him into your mouth again, but honestly, the weight of his guiding hand against the nape of your neck feels real good. You bob your head and take him to the back of your throat, then pull back before you gag, laving your tongue along the underside of his dick. You suckle at the tip like it’s a lollipop, and look up to watch him throw his head back and groan. You breathe hard through your nose as his hand guides you back down on his cock, until it’s pressing into the back of your throat once more.

Bakugou moans like a goddamn pornstar everytime you suck on him, and it has your thighs clenching together hard. You can feel your own panties getting progressively wetter and stickier as you rock your own hips into thin air and moan a little around Bakugou’s length. Seriously, you don’t think he even realises what he’s doing -- his eyes are closed and his head is tipped back as he ruts into your mouth, panting and groaning and utterly unaware of how fucking hot he looks right now. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, and you can’t stop the whimper that bubbles out of your throat as you slip your hand into your own sweatpants to rub at yourself, desperate for some kind of relief.

“What are you doing?” Bakugou’s voice sounds like he’s been gargling gravel -- it’s gone sinfully deep, and the sound of it shoots liquid heat straight to your core.

“Huh?” you say as you pull off his dick, thoughts a little hazy in your arousal. A strand of saliva stretches from your mouth to his cock, but you don’t notice it until it snaps and dribbles down your chin. “What d’you mean?”

You’re not expecting Bakugou to kneel down with you so you’re both facing each other, and it’s even more of a surprise when he sticks his hand down your pants and shoves your own hand aside so that he’s got unrestricted access to your pussy. “Unhh.” you moan out, dropping your head forward against his chest as he runs his fingers experimentally along your slit. You’re so damn horny that even the slightest touch has you rutting your hips forward into his hand, desperate for him to touch you more, harder.

“Shit,” he says, and that gravelly voice and hot breath right in your ear sends a shudder all the way down your body. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, what the fuck? You’re soaked. What got you like this, huh? Was it me in the panties? Or was it sucking my cock?”

You gasp and let out a strangled moan as he finds your clit and begins to rub messy circles around it with his thumb as his middle and ring finger dips inside you. “Bakugou-” you gasp, clenching around his fingers with a choked hiccup as he presses on your clit.

“Why are you so shy all of a sudden?” his voice is taunting, mocking, as though his own cock isn’t flexing and leaking precome all over the panties.

“Both,” you gasp out, humping your pussy into his hand as he alternates between rolling your clit between his fingers and pushing inside you to feel up your internal walls. “It was- it was both.”

“Fuck.” Bakugou hisses, and then he’s tearing his hand out of your pants and pulling at the hem of your joggers. He’s too aggressive at trying to tear them off though, and they get stuck around your knees. You bite your lip as he snarls at them, torn between helping him and laughing at him. You decide on the former, seeing as how laughing at him will probably result in him trying to fight you, and you really just want to get laid, like, now. So you help him out and wiggle out of your pants, kicking them aside and then shucking your own panties and throwing them in the same direction.

Bakugou is staring avidly at the place between your legs, and if you weren’t so turned on you might be embarrassed. As it was, you could barely think straight, so when Bakugou sits back on his ass and spreads his legs, your heart nearly fucking stops and all shame flies out the goddamned window. The panties are pretty much ruined, covered in precum and stretched out of place in the front where his cock has been distending them all day. His balls are too big to be contained by the flimsy silk, and they’re lolling out by his thigh. His cock is reddened with arousal and leaking from where it’s standing straight up on it’s own, the panties shoved down to give it space. His hair is sweat-damp and stuck to his forehead in places, his eyes burning as his own gaze gives you the same stare-down treatment that you’re giving him.

Then he raises his hand, and gestures to his lap. “Hop on.” he says, and you don’t think you’ve ever moved so fast in your life as you scramble up on him.

Once you’re in his lap his hands clamp down on your waist and guide you to grind your bare pussy against his exposed dick. “Ugh, fuck,” you gasp, grabbing his shoulders for balance as the tip of his dick presses against your clit. “Come on, just-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakugou shrugs off your impatient prompting, grinning into the bare skin of your shoulder where your shirt has slipped. He pulls back when your grinding starts to get desperate and starts to push the panties down.

“No!” you blurt, stilling his hands. He freezes, his eyes searching your face urgently. The flicker of panic in his eyes makes you realise that he thinks you’re trying to stop him from going any further and that he’s trying to figure out what he’s done wrong. You hurry to elaborate, growing hot from embarrassment as you murmur out, “Leave them on.”

His eyes widen, and you swear you can feel his dick pulse against you. “Okay.” he says roughly, his voice strained. He pushes the elastic waistband down and tucks it under his balls, but otherwise leaves them on. “You gonna take a seat or what?”

You laugh a little breathlessly at his attitude, because it seems like some things never change, but shuffle forward and raise yourself up on your knees until you feel the tip of his length brushing against the lips of your pussy. You sigh softly at the feeling, and reach down to steady his dick as you rock your entrance back and forth a few times, nice and slowly.

“Fuck, you’re dripping all over me.” Bakugou grunts, his hips thrusting shallowly in his attempts to coax himself inside of you despite your hand holding him steady.

You have a feeling that he’s exaggerating, but it’s true that you’re ridiculously aroused right now. You dip your hips down and close your eyes at the feeling of the tip of his cock pushing inside you. You had planned to go slow, but before you know it Bakugou’s hands are clamping down on your hips and he’s pulling you down his dick until he’s fully seated inside of you and you’re sat flush against his thighs. You’re gasping at the stretch, the feeling of fullness, barely conscious of the rocking movements of your hips.

Bakugou lets out a long, low moan right in your ear as his hips grind up to match your little movements. “Fuck,” he hisses, his hands so tight on your hips you’re certain they’re leaving bruises, “Fuck, you’re so hot inside, so wet-”

You feel yourself tighten up and clench around him at his words, and the two of you moan at the same time. “Shit.” you breathe, and lift yourself up a few inches so you can drop back down. A few more times, and you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock.

Even as you’re riding him though, you can’t help but look down to admire the view. The panties highlight the way the muscles in his ass ripple when he strains his hips forwards to meet yours. “Fucking hell,” he says suddenly, and you look away from the view to meet his gaze. He’s frowning at you, looking confused even as his forehead creases in pleasure. “Are you still fuckin’ looking at them?”

“Sorry,” you whine, sounding totally pathetic as you grind desperately against him, trying to get his cock to hit just right, “You just look so- so-” you gasp as he hits the spot inside you that has your legs going weak, and you lose track of the thought.

“So what?” Bakugou growls out. He’s obviously clued into the fact that he’s hitting a sweet spot inside you, because his thrusts become so precise that he just about has you squealing on his dick.

“So- so pretty!” you blurt. It’s not the word you had been planning on saying, and judging by the look on Bakugou’s face it’s not the word he had been expecting either.

“What?”

Fuck. Looks like damage control is definitely necessary. “In a manly way! Pretty in a- fuck - in a manly way!” you groan out, internally cursing yourself -- you fucking sound like Kirishima.

“Yeah?” Bakugou asks, and the fucker is laughing at you! “So pretty that you can’t even tear your damn eyes away while I’m fucking you?”

You groan, partly from arousal and partly from embarrassment. “Shut up,” you say, and then his eyes are flashing and he’s surging up. A yelp is driven out of you as you land on your back, Bakugou’s hands slamming down on either side of your head as he looms over you. He’s grinning down at you, sharp and wild as his gaze tracks steadily over your face, chest, and down your body.

For the first time since this has started, you’re self-conscious enough to start getting a little insecure. One arm comes up to cross over your chest as you start to get embarrassed under his wandering eyes. It was intimidating being naked under him when he was pretty much physically flawless, and the sudden fear that he’s disappointed by how you look is crushing. Your other arm goes down to try and block his view of your stomach and pussy, but you’ve barely done so before Bakugou has grabbed both your arms and pulled them away.

“Bakugou-” you start to protest, squirming a little on his dick as he presses your arms over your head and holds them there by your wrists.

“Hush,” he says in a low growl as his eyes track over your squirming body, his hips rocking deeper into you even as he holds you still, “I’m enjoying the view.”

Having your own words repeated back to you in that low, mocking tone seems to really do it for you, because you find yourself moaning helplessly as he kisses and nips his way along your neck and shoulders. “Can you- will you just-” you push your hips mindlessly into his, hoping he’ll get the message and start moving. “Come on, come on-”

“Fuck, you’re desperate, aren’t you?” Bakugou says, grinning at the way you buck into him, “Look at you. You really want to get fucked that bad?”

“Obviously!” you snarl back, wiggling your hips determinedly.

Bakugou actually has the nerve to laugh at that, but it doesn’t last too long before he’s finally pulling out and driving his hips home. “Oh, yeah,” he grunts, thrusting his hips a few times experimentally before settling into a rhythm.

He fucks you hard and fast, and all you can do is gasp against him and clutch at his shoulders. You shouldn’t have expected anything less of him, really. Every time he drives his hips into you knocks the breath right out of you, and you have to shut your eyes tight because it feels so stupidly good. Every time his thighs slap into yours you can feel the lace of the panties rubbing against your skin.

It doesn’t take long to realise that neither of you are going to last -- you were half-way to coming from the first moment you saw his cock straining against the silk of those panties, and having him pounding you into the ground like this is like the fulfillment of every wet dream you’ve had over the three years of knowing him. And judging by the mindless grunts and sloppy snapping of his hips into yours, Bakugou’s just as close.

You lock your ankles behind his back, trying to urge him deeper as you sneak your hand down between you to rub frantically at your clit. Your breathing is interspersed with gasping moans as you feel your stomach tightening, the muscles in your legs beginning to clench up.

Then, just as you’re about to tip over the edge, your hand is knocked aside. “What the fuck!” you complain instantly, scowling at Bakugou.

He scowls back at you, though most of his focus is still going into keeping his rhythm of fucking you. “What are you doing? Am I not- unh- enough for you, huh?”

“Stop being so mouthy and make me come.” you complain, reaching your hand back down. It’s knocked aside yet again, this time to be replaced by Bakugou’s own. His fingers fumble a little at first as he tries to lean his weight on one hand and balance the thrusting of his hips with the rhythm of stroking your clit. “Fuck-” you start to moan, but then his lips descend on yours and he’s kissing you. It’s messy, drool going everywhere in a way that is decidedly not sexy, but you’re apparently so far gone that you couldn’t care less.

“Come.” he mumbles into your mouth, pulling at your lower lips with his teeth before kissing you hard again, “You need to come, you need to come right now-”

You were so close anyway, but the way he’s kissing you combined with him actually telling you to come and the way he’s rutting into you so sloppily and his fingers massaging those hard, fast little circles in your clit has your whole body heaving and locking up. Your back arches and you let out the softest, most breathless little gasp as the build up of your orgasm finally snaps and you come.

You strain against your orgasm so hard that you damn near pull a muscle, chest heaving with the force of your breathing as you try to calm down. Your thoughts are a mess as your muscles start to relax, aching after the way they had tensed up so hard. Your body has barely loosened up after your orgasm before Bakugou is cursing colourfully and pulling out of you, knocking your legs away as his hand grabs at his cock and pumps it viciously fast.

You push up onto your elbows, eyes wide as you watch him fist his cock so hard it looks painful. The sight he makes is absolutely sinful -- his cheeks are flushed red at the highpoints of his cheekbones, his eyes fever-bright as he watches you watching him. His mouth lolls open, his brow scrunched as he fucks his fist, desperately humping into his own grip, panties shoved carelessly down around his thighs.

“You look so gorgeous.” you tell him, your voice hoarse and absolutely wrecked.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bakugou snarls, and then he’s coming, cum erupting in spurts all over his hand and dripping down onto your stomach and still throbbing pussy. He keeps stroking himself all the way through, shuddering hard. His eyes are still open, flicking from your face to the places where his cum is streaking your skin.

You fall back to the floor, exhausted, as though Bakugou’s orgasm had sapped the last of your strength. “That,” you say, with no small amount of satisfaction, “was very nice.”

To your surprise, Bakugou drops down on you and shoves his face into your neck, ignorant (or uncaring) about his weight on top of you. “I knew you were a weird little pervert.” he murmurs into your skin, nipping at the same place.

“Excuse me?” you protest immediately, fruitlessly pushing at his stupidly broad shoulders. “Wait until you’re wearing your own underwear before accusing me of being a pervert, please.”

That makes him snicker, but he still makes no move to get up from where he’s pretty much crushing you. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You want these back?” he plucks at the stretched out waistband of the panties slung around his thighs. Apparently one good fuck was enough to knock all the insecurity about the panties right out of him, because he just looks smug and cocky as he watches your eyes drop down to them.

You scowl in an attempt to hide how flustered the sight of him laying on top of you, spent and sweaty with the dirty panties halfway down his thighs, makes you. “You stretched the front of them all out of shape.” you complain halfheartedly.

“It ain’t my fault I got a fat cock,” he says lazily, snorting a laugh when you turn to glare properly at him. “Whatever, quit moaning. I’ll buy you new ones.”

“Yeah?” you brighten at the thought. Going from thinking all your panties were lost to this point was quite the jump, but you couldn’t say you were disappointed with the result.

“Mm.” he hums, stretching his neck before baring his teeth at you, bending his head to press a kiss to one of your breasts. “Only if you promise to show them off for me.”

“I think I can manage that,” you grin, stomach fluttering pleasantly at the implications that this wasn’t just gonna be a one time thing. “Maybe we should get you your own pair, too, so you won’t have to steal mine.”

He delivers a lazy but stinging smack to your ass for that remark, “Don’t be cute.”

“Can’t help it, it’s my default setting,” you say before flicking your gaze back down his body and grinning at him, “Besides,” you lean in and kiss the lobe of his ear, delighting in the near imperceptible shiver that travels down his spine as you whisper, “You wear them well.”

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mine

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thedistantdusk · 3 years

Text

Arcadia, Chapter 4

Well! What could happen next to our star-crossed investigative pair? Yeah idk, man... somehow, this fic got a lot darker than I intended. Anyway! Thanks again to the same folks, without whom this story wouldn’t be possible. None of this story is safe for work, and this chapter is no exception ;)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

D A Y + F O U R

She’s not sure when she wakes up. Her eyes blink open in the bleary morning… that foggy gap between night and day. Blue-green light streams through the windows, coloring the bedroom like it’s underwater.

He’s the first thing she notices, all warm and curled beside her. Harry… her Harry. A sad smile graces her lips as it all comes flooding back. Mike. The tulpa. The shower. Harry…

But together, all of those things are uncomfortable. Bits of it were nice, but the whole thing makes her stomach churn. It’s much easier to—

She presses her bum against him, hoping that wakes him up. Hoping he takes the hint. Harry heaves a deep breath, but doesn’t acknowledge her. Ginny bites her lip and wiggles back. Again.

Finally, he responds. But not how she’d hoped.

“Let’s… not jump to starting that up again,” Harry murmurs into her ear, his voice graveled with sleep. “Ok?”

She whips around, brow furrowed. “So you’ve suddenly become unattracted to—?”

He barks out a humorless laugh and reaches for his glasses. “We both know that’ll never happen.” He takes her in, reclining on the tufted headboard; she can’t help but feel flattered by the red patches that bloom on his cheeks. “Erm…” He clears his throat. “Could you get a dressing gown, actually? I really want to have a serious conversation and…”

He’s never been able to concentrate while she’s naked, has he?

“Sure.” For some reason, her skin prickles as she rises to her feet to pad across the carpet. Exposed. She feels exposed, even though Harry’s probably seen her naked more times than she has. Because this time, it’s not so much that he’s seeing her body naked— it’s that he’s about to discuss things she’s tried very, very hard to deny.

Ginny emerges from the closet in a white dressing gown and gives Harry a little twirl. “Happy?”

His lips curl in a tired smile. “Not… exactly. But I’m hoping to change that.”

“Oh?” Ginny settles in the desk chair. She’s not keen on this conversation, but some part of her recognizes it’s long overdue.

Harry begins by clearing his throat again. “So. Erm.” He places his fingers in a steeple and studies them. “As I… admitted last night, I’ve never stopped loving you. It’s been an awful, awful five years, but frankly it would’ve been worse if we’d stayed together, under those circumstances.”

She opens her mouth to object, but he raises a hand to forestall an interruption.

“Let… let me finish. Because after Percy died...” He shoots her a significant look. “You changed. Ok?”

“That’s not exactly fair,” she snaps, peering at her painted toenails. “Of fucking course I changed. If I didn’t change, I’d be a bloody sociopath. Is that who you wanted to shag?”

Harry heaves a deep sigh. “No. And I’m not going to let you get away with twisting things… again. Ok? Please, just let me finish.”

She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth. For fuck’s sake, why does she already want to cry?

“You changed,” Harry continues, “and I really don’t blame you for it, but you refused to talk about Percy, or that night, or- or honestly, even anything remotely sad! Ever!” He pauses to collect his thoughts; guilt stabs at Ginny’s stomach. She wasn’t aware this frustrated him quite so much…

“You threw yourself into schoolwork,” he adds, blinking at the far wall. “You lost interest in things you loved. We still had sex, but it was…” He winces. “Unattached. It was… it was like it didn’t even need to be me there, in particular.” His eyes flit back to hers. “I tried to talk to you about it loads of times, but then when you joined the Unspeakables, you just used that as an excuse.”

Traitorous tears drip down her cheeks. She brushes them away to defend herself. “I was already interested in joining up before that,” Ginny insists, her voice warbling. “You weren’t there that year, Harry. You didn’t see what it was like at Hogwarts. The Unspeakables were putting out all this… this rubbish misinformation about you and about muggleborns, and—”

“—All of that is well and good,” Harry interrupts, “but the fact is that you became a different person after Percy died, and after nearly a year of living with that, I’d had enough.” He shrugs. “And even five years later, you’ve never sought help, as far as I know. Professional help, from someone who knows what they’re talking about. Not the type of help you find at the bottom of a pint.”

He’s right, of course. It’s like a stinging slap in the face, but he’s bloody right.

“So!” Harry clears his throat again. “As much as I… enjoyed last night, that can’t happen again if we don’t fix what split us up before. You’re still convinced you killed Percy. Until you’re not? This”— he gestures between them— “can’t work. Full stop.”

Ginny swallows and stares into her lap. “I’m not responsible for my brother’s death,” she whispers, emotionless. It’s a mantra, an oath, one she’s so accustomed to repeating that it’s turned foreign and unfamiliar on her tongue.

“Oh, I’m aware,” Harry says, spreading his palms. “The whole bloody world is aware, Jenny.” He sucks his teeth. “But you aren’t.”

There’s a pause. Ginny bites her lip, tempted to launch the spring-loaded denial she’s learned through years of counseling. But this time, it doesn’t come.

Because Harry knows better.

Shit.

That fact settles in the pit of her stomach; what are the chances, really, that she found herself trapped and playing house with the only person on earth who knows better.

“I was the last to see him,” she mutters, eyes downcast. “I told him he’d never replace Fred. I was drunk. Stupid. Stupidly drunk.” She grips her head in her hands, but the words don’t stop. They’re shooting from her, spurred by years of grief and regret and bursting forth like a steam engine.

“My stupid fucking temper,” she continues, every syllable dripping with self-loathing. “Ruining everything. And then he goes and—” She makes a flailing gesture. “Offs himself. Right on my mother’s fucking birthday! The day before your parents—”

“I know,” Harry whispers, his voice pleading. “Ginny, I know. But please, love, it’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault.”

She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. It’s too much to say it aloud, to admit it, to let the waves of regret wash over her. There’s a scuttling of movement as she blinks ahead, gaping like a fish out of water. She’s not even surprised to feel Harry wrapping his arms around her and bringing her back to the bed. To feel his lips pressing to her temple as her body wracks with sobs. And she can’t do anything but lean into him. She can’t do anything but surrender, completely. To indulge in feeling raw and vulnerable and alive.

She doesn’t know how long it takes to come to. It’s not until she’s clinging to his chest that she draws a deep breath.

“You never told me any of this,” Harry says softly, mournfully, his hand playing with her hair. He loves her hair. He’s always loved her hair. With a final sob, she admits— if only to herself— that she misses letting him love it. She misses how he’d bury his face in the crook of her neck. How he’d inhale deeply, right at the crown of her head, and blink down at her with a dreamy smile.

She misses him.

Fuck. She misses him. And not just shagging him… but the whole bit. The late-night snacks and discussions on quidditch plays and heated debates about the best brand of toilet roll.

“What… what if I agree to work on it?” she finally whispers, eyelashes thick with half-dried tears.

Harry sighs; his hands still haven’t left her hair. “If we both agree to work on it… because trust me, I’m not doing fantastic either.” He lets out a chuckle. “Do you know how weird that was, being the stable one for once? Anyway.” He waves this off and continues. “If we both work on it, with proper mind-healers…” He swallows. “I don’t see why we couldn't be physical. Eventually.”

She pulls back to give him a watery grin. “I love you,” she murmurs. For the first time in years, her chest feels full. Her heart warm. Like there’s a chance at something in the future that doesn’t involve work and sadness and takeaways.

But speaking of work.

“I’d erm. Like to keep things with us private,” she says, playing with a piece of lint on the duvet. “Especially from work. And my family. Because…”

The thought of Attica’s face, pinched in disappointment, is nearly enough to replace the progress they’ve made over the past day.

“No,” Harry agrees quickly. “That’s. Yeah. Especially from Ron.” He shudders. “Can you imagine how well that would go over?”

“Huh! That’s ridiculous, Harry.” She bats her eyes at him, her expression the picture of innocence. “You mean you don’t want my brother to know that you went down on me and promptly spunked your—”

He cuts her off with a laugh, tossing a pillow on her face. She pulls it off with a giggle before settling beside him.

“Didn’t think you noticed that,” he admits, trailing a finger down the side of her face. “I really hoped you were asleep.”

She stifles a yawn. “Mmm. Don’t have to be Hermione to put that one together. Clue one: you were down there, which you’ve always… enjoyed.” She sleepily raises her eyebrows. “Clue two, I’ve seen you do that before — more than once— and you always have this weird… sort of duck-walk to take your trousers off.”

Harry groans, his entire face the color of her hair. “Please, please, don’t stop on account of me.” He somehow manages a sarcastic drawl as he removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table. “Let’s continue to detail all the times I’ve finished too quickly.”

“Not just too quickly,” she corrects, kissing him on the nose. “I’m only talking about coming in your trousers, which you’ve also managed to do several ti—”

Harry snorts. “And how many times have you done it, then?” His green eyes dance with mischief. “Also more than once. As memory serves, our time at Hogwarts got a lot more interesting once you discovered the combination of my thigh and snogging. You just don’t have the equipment to make things particularly messy when—”

“Clue three!” she loudly calls over him. He has the grace to laugh as she turns so they're spooning, her bum pressed against his crotch.

“I… said I loved you,” she finishes, interlacing their fingers. “And that’s always… you know.”

Harry shudders; there’s a sudden rise of fabric against her bum. “Ok, speaking of embarrassing,” he admits, adjusting himself. “You’re actually going to have to erm. Stop saying that? For now? Because…”

“Trust me, Auror Potter,” she murmurs, dropping her voice to her best impression of Kingsley. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Unfair,” he complains, toying with a piece of her hair. “As you can see, I’m a bit of a mess. It still turns me on when you say you love me.”

“Yeah, well, it still turns me on when you breathe,” she mutters, her eyes growing heavy. “Reckon we can just be messes together.”

Harry chuckles before burying his face into her hair. “I’ll always be your mess. Jenny.”

#harry x ginny #harry and ginny #harry potter fanfic #au fanfiction #arcadia chapter 4

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abusedandromeda · 3 years

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Being “Selfish”

One of my egg donor’s favorite word to use for me ever since I was a child was selfish. It matter what age I was, I was always called “selfish” every time she blew up. Not only that, she would make my young ass into this sinister asshole who only looked out for themself. The problem with that was that I always tried my best to center my entire life around her. I tried so hard to please her, finds ways to fix myself only to be told time and time again that I didn’t care about anyone but myself.

I tried a lot of things. When I told her I was miserable after moving to Colorado, she said that I was being selfish and told me to think about how she felt. So I shut up about that. So I wouldn’t be a burden to her. I tried so hard to act happy day in and day out but when it came to my schoolwork, she would once again call me selfish for wasting the teacher’s time since I was falling behind.

I spent hours doing homework under that bright fucking light. Couldn’t ask for help because only God knew what she was gonna beat out of me. But that’s another story for a different day. Anyway, despite that, homework didn’t mean shit compared to tests. And everyone knows how teachers warp the tests to the point where the difficulty is so fucking leagues above the homework. So, when I bombed tests, I once again was called selfish for the same reason: Wasting the teachers’ time while being forced to ask for a retake.

Suddenly, it was my “attitude” when I hit puberty. I didn’t talk to them enough. I stayed in my room for the most part. I was just a normal teenager who wanted their alone time. But, of course, it was attitude. Wanting to be left alone, showing a different emotion other than happiness was attitude to them. So I was once again called selfish for showing emotions other than happiness.

My alters tried fixing me through self harm. Every time I messed up, they’d make me cut myself so I’d learn for next time. And honestly? I complied because I wanted to make my abusers happy. I cut myself so I could make her happy. But when she found out, I couldn’t tell her that I was fixing myself for her when she once again called me selfish and attention seeking.

Around the same time, I had recently cut off a friend group who framed me as a bully. I stupidly told egg donor weeks after the incident, and didn’t get to tell my side of the story. I ended up starting that evening because of her words. I knew she wouldn’t believe a fucking word I said if I told her it was a fellow friend’s fault (we’ll call her J this time). Honestly, to sum up since this is also another story, egg donor may as well have adopted J because after I had cut her off, egg donor would get so fucking angry over that to the point where, you guessed it, she called me selfish and literally told my grandparents that “I was so prideful (unfortunately not that kind of positive gay prideful) that thought I was better than everyone”. The most shocking part? SHE got angry when I showed that I clearly fucking pissed with her suddenly turning the conversation into another fucking bash on me.

Sometimes she’d guilt trip me by asking “Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think you’re better than me?” And again, my dumb ass IDOLIZED HER in my mind so I’d always say no. I should’ve just stfu. Another toxic thing she’d do is she’d twist my words and say “Yeah you do. Yeah you think so. You think you’re better than everyone!” (Might be gaslighting? Idk). It’s fucking weird because?? I highly doubt a middle schooler whose constantly suicidal would think they’re better than everyone. She’d make me believe I was a complete selfish bitch when in reality my fucking self esteem WAS THROUGH THE GROUND.

All throughout my teenage years, I believed that I was just this fucking piece of shit kid. It didn’t matter what I did, it didn’t even matter that my fellow classmates said I was actually the most selfless person they met. SHE WOULD ALWAYS CALL US SELFISH. And I just didn’t know what to fucking do to fix that. Like what more could I do? Eventually, I decided to accept that all her false words about me were true. And not in a bad way. She had a ton of false words she loved to use, and selfish was one of them.

Yeah, I am fucking selfish. I’m the most selfish human being to walk this planet. I make sure my mental health is ALWAYS first before anyone else. I cut out toxic people instead of dealing with their bullshit. MY HEALTH MATTERS! I ALWAYS COME FIRST. Because if I’m not mentally healthy, then how can I start being selfless and helping others in life? I wanna help people and I can’t do that if my mental health and coping mechanisms are shit.

But at the end of the day? No, I don’t believe I’m better than everyone. I can confirm though, egg donor, that yes, I am better than you. Because every single decent fucking human being is better than you.

#toxic parents #toxic family #mental health #toxic mother #unsupportive parents #dysfunctional family #toxic household #emotional abuse #child abuse #self harm

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harrysweasleys · 4 years

Text

a lesson in chemistry // r.l

summary: hey! i was wondering if you could do one where the reader does really bad in a test and remus comforts her? thank u!!

warnings: none

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i am close to 1k and was thinking of doing an event but i know i’m gonna forget and it’s just not going to go well so i just wanna say THANK YOU to all you sweet sweet beings for following my mess of a blog! :)

——

Moonstone. Powdered porcupine quills. Powdered unicorn horn.

The three ingredients repeated themselves over and over in your head as you sat by yourself in the common room nearing two o’clock in the morning, the messy notebook spread open in front of you as your eyes tried to droop shut.

It was nearly impossible for you to focus on the fuzzy words, but you forced yourself to stay as awake as you possibly could so that tomorrow’s quiz would be a breeze. That’s why you were studying, wasn’t it?

Remus and Sirius had promised to help you out, but the two had trudged off to bed nearly an hour ago, practically already asleep. For two people who seemed so adamant on ‘all nighters’ they had gone to bed rather early, in your opinion. You quite missed their company — Remus more than Sirius — and wished you could at least have someone here to help keep your mind sharp.

But, here you were, all by your lonesome and wrapped in a scarlet and gold knitted blanket that your parents had made you, the crackling fireplace heating you up, and the words in front of you making you sleepy.

You couldn’t comprehend why no one else seemed stressed or even worked up about this quiz — exam, actually — which made studying it just that much more frustrating. You figured people would care about their marks and scores, right?

“The potion should result in a cool blue colour,” you mumbled to no one in particular, the words trying their best to etch into your brain, “A cool blue colour. Not to be mistaken with Draught of Peace which is a warm blue colour.”

You let out a quiet groan and rested your head against the back of the couch cushion. Potions class was never your strong suit, but you had found it fascinating. And, of course, hou didn’t want to seem like you were lost, so studying hours on end seemed to be the only passing solution here.

The large ticking clock on the wall told you it was five minutes past two o’clock, and the exam was at ten o’clock the next day. Only eight hours left for you to memorize every last word.

Eight hours.

As you glanced back down at the book, your eyes felt heavier than they were not a minute ago, and your head felt as if it were on a cloud. The room around you seemed to vanish down a long, long tunnel...

——

“D’you think if we poke her she’ll jump?”

“Sirius, that’s just rude.”

“C’mon, it’d be funny though. What if we poured pumpkin juice on her?”

“No, let’s just calmly wake her up.”

“You’re boring, Remus.”

Your eyes fluttered open to two overly familiar faces crouched in front of you. Remus, his hair messy and his eyes watching you cautiously, and Sirius with his signature smirk.

“Get out of my face,” you sat up, throwing the blanket off of and trying to figure out where you were. The Gryffindor common room felt very different when you were waking up in it.

The fire embers were burning low and the morning sunlight blazed through the windows, the room brighter than it had ever seemed before. The blanket was still comfortable draped over your body, warm and comforting, and the heavy textbook was still open on your lap with the page slightly crumpled as your hand rested upon it.

Suddenly, as if hit by a train once you noticed the book, you remembered, “Bloody hell, it’s the Potions quiz today.”

Remus chuckled, “Relax. It’s in, like, an hour.”

You threw the blanket off of your body and grabbed the book, shaking your head, “You don’t get it, Remus. I don’t know anything.”

“That can’t be true,” Remus furrowed his eyebrows at you.

Sirius pat you on the shoulder, sitting next to you on the couch and closing the book with a loud thump, “You’ll be fine. You just need to eat.”

So you let the two boys lead you down to the Great Hall, where the loud hustle and bustle of the early morning made it nearly impossible to focus on the jumble of words on the worn out pages in front of you. The book, although informative, was clearly written for someone who actually understood what the hell everything meant. And it was harder to understand anything when the ruckus around you made it difficult to even read said things.

It bothered you greatly that Remus — the person you considered your best friend — didn’t seem to care about the exam. Were you overreacting?

It wasn’t your fault, really. You took schoolwork very seriously and sometimes that meant overreacting. Over-studying. Over-planning. All of the above.

But, better to be safe than sorry — isn’t that the saying?

When the Great Hall crowd became dispersed, you knew that meant classes were beginning and you felt your nerves kick in at the thought. You shut the book rather loudly and followed Remus to the Potions classroom, no words being exchanged between the two of you — which you were thankful for, to be honest.

“You got this,” Remus flashed you a grin as you slowly walked into the class together, taking your usual seats in the middle. You didn’t like being too close, nor too far from the teacher. These seats were perfect.

“I don’t need false hope,” you groaned, resting your head on the table, “I need answers.”

He chuckled, “Sorry, you know me. I can’t cheat. But if this test goes wrong, I can tutor you.”

You lifted your head quickly, a bright red spot on your forehead from where it was previously pressed up against the wooden desk, “Wait, really? You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he smirked, running his hand through his hair in a stupidly attractive manner, “What are friends for?”

You flashed him a bright grin, “Oh, you’re the best, Remus.”

His cheeks turned slightly pink as he smiled back, lowering his head slightly as he flushed at the compliment. You felt your heart leap at his flustered state, unsure why the strange feeling decided to make its home in your chest.

You brushed it aside as the professor entered the class and handed out the quiz papers, making sure every student was silent and that no cheating would occur.

Within the first glance at the page, your heart sunk, all previous fluttery feelings gone. You had been so focused on remembering ingredients and potion colours that you forgot to study their purposes. The entire first page was asking about what each potion did and who they helped best. And you hadn’t even brushed on that subject during your late night study session.

Long story short, you were screwed.

You closed your eyes, thinking long and hard about each answer, writing down whatever felt right. It was always good to trust your gut instinct right?

In this case, it didn’t feel so right, but you went with it anyways.

What felt like two hours was only really thirty minutes, and the quiz was officially out of your hands. You felt ashamed handing it back — you knew your Professor would think you were a fool, a student who found excuses not to study. And that feeling was nagging you throughout the remainder of class.

“You don’t look so good,” Remus nudged your shoulder once you packed up your books, your entire body slouched and your lips curved downwards into a frown.

“I botched that so bad,” you groaned, tossing your head back and closing your book bag, throwing it over your shoulder, “I was too tired last night and didn’t study everything I wanted to.”

Empathetically, Remus wrapped his arm around your shoulder, guiding you out of the crowded class. You were too busy sulking to pay attention to the fact that Sirius, James and Peter weren’t even with you guys.

“I’ll help you,” Remus said, voice laced with confidence, “I don’t want you doubting your intelligence so I, Remus Lupin, appoint myself as your own personal tutor.”

“Can people self-appoint themselves that?” your face broke into a grin, his humorous antics thankfully distracting you from your disappointment, “You’re too much.”

“But you love me,” he ruffled your hair, removing his arm from around you and slipping his hand into his pocket.

You chuckled, shaking your head as your heart leapt in your chest, “I really do.”

——

“I failed.”

Your voice was weak and quiet as you sat down on the Gryffindor table bench during lunch the week after, your mood rather sour. You had been incredibly worked up that morning, knowing you’d be getting your test results. But now that you’d gotten them, you wanted nothing more than to go back in time where you didn’t have to deal with the reality of the failure.

Remus’ face fell and he placed his hand on your knee, “Ah, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t do so well either. I think this test was marked more strictly than they usually are.”

Though you appreciated the effort, it didn’t lift your spirits.

“I didn’t think I’d do bad enough to actually fail,” you sighed, slouching your shoulders and resting your elbows lazily on the table, “I’m mad at myself.”

“Hey,” Remus lifted his hand off of your knee and poked you in the shoulder, “Stop that. Seriously. Don’t put yourself down so much.”

“Hard not to,” you leaned forwards and rested your head on your hand, eyeing the food with a frown. Your appetite wasn’t present at the moment.

Remus snapped his fingers in front of your face, “I’m serious, Y/N. I’m here to help you, yeah? We’ll get through this. We’ll improve together. The next quiz won’t even stand a chance against us.”

You wanted to keep sulking, but his words brought a smile to your face. Remus had a way of cheering you up — him and his ways. Something about him.. you just couldn’t stay upset around him.

“Thanks,” you grinned, lifting your arm and poking him in the shoulder as he had done to you previously, “I do feel a little better.”

“Good!” he flashed you a toothy grin, his eyes brightening, “That’s always the intention.”

You stared at him for a good moment, the smile not leaving your face. His freckles seemed more visible than usual, his hair lighter and his eyelashes long against his cheeks each time he blinked. Though his hair was thin and brown, his eyelashes were thicker and darker — it was rather cute. His eyes had specks of green in them and, you had never really noticed before, they had some grey in them too.

You had to snap yourself out of the trance he left you in, unaware and unsure as to what caused it.

Had you just checked Remus out? No. Couldn’t be. He was your friend. Friend. Best friend.

You took a deep breath and began filling your plate, appetite suddenly back. You filled your stomach with chicken pot pie and potatoes, hoping that the faster you ate, the better you’d feel.

But nope.

Though your mind was off of your test, you somehow felt even worse. Remus was all you could focus on. His closeness, his kindness, his warmth, his smell.

“Ready for the afternoon?” Remus stuck his hand out to you as he stood up, shaking you from your weirdly romantic thoughts.

“What?” you blinked, “Oh — yeah, sorry.”

You shook your head and stood up, linking your hand with his as the two of you left the hall and took off towards your next class.

——

“No, no,” Remus shook his head, “You need to add this.”

You stared blankly down at the messy piece of parchment, nodding your head slowly, trying to remember which potion you guys had been talking about in the first place.

“Uh — which one again?” you asked sheepishly, your ears burning at the obvious fact that you weren’t paying attention, “Sorry.”

He let out a small laugh, placing his finger on the page in front of you, “This.”

You were glad that the library was quiet at this time of day, the cloudy weekend morning meaning most students would be choosing to start their day relaxing around in their pyjamas and drinking pumpkin juice.

You, however, while others students got to relax and spend the morning doing nothing, you had the great misfortune of being dragged out of the common room by an equally tired Remus.

“The library is empty in the morning,” he had said at your repeated groaning.

And he was right. The library was empty. The only sound you could hear was your quill scratching against your parchment and Remus’ whispered voice trying to teach you while respecting the library noise rules.

“What potion uses porcupine quills and peppermint sprigs?” he asked, resting his head on his hands and staring at you intently, his eyes focused on you and only you.

“Uh—,” you fought the urge to look down at your parchment notes, “Elixor to Induce Euphoria.”

He grinned, raising his hand to high five you, which you gladly accepted, “See! You got this!” You felt your face warm up at the contact and compliment.

“Next question,” he smirked, leaning even closer to you, “What would you say if I asked you to come to Hogsmeade for a drink?”

“I — what?”

As if the wind was knocked out of you, you couldn’t utter a single sound. Had you heard him right? There was no way.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” he chuckled.

But you still couldn’t find the words.

Yes, you had recently looked at Remus differently, but had it been a crush? It didn’t seem like it at first — but as you looked at him now, his face illuminated by the light outside and the way his hair stuck up in odd places, you realized you did like him.

You liked him. Him and his boisterous laugh, his nervous nail-biting habits, his love for poetry and snow. You loved how he’d always be there for you, ready to crack a corny joke when you were feeling down in the dumps. You loved how he’d always have a book recommendation and a long list of reasons why it would be worth the read. You loved how he always had the neatest handwriting, his notes providing you with bits of information you’d miss in class. How he’d always look forward to dessert because of how delicious he found the pumpkin pasties.

And all it took was him asking you out for you to realize you were falling for your best friend.

“I’d actually like that,” you nodded, aware that your cheeks were probably glowing but you were too giddy to care at the moment. Somehow, you felt as if this was right. There was no strangeness about him asking you — it somehow felt as if you had been waiting ages for him to do so.

“Thank Merlin,” he sighed, relaxing his entire body as his face lit up, “Next weekend?”

“Hm, can’t think of anything I’m doing,” you tapped your finger against your chin, eyebrows raised and your cheeks beginning to hurt from the bright smile you were sending his way. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this giddy.

He leaned across the table and linked his hands in yours. You melted into the contact, using your elbow to push your parchment and quill out of the way so you could lean forwards without fear of ruining your notes or your sweater.

Safe to say, studying was now long forgotten.

—

taglist:

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@diary-of-an-onliner

@theweirdsideofstuff

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(message me to be added!)

#remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin one shots #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin reader insert #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fics

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imaginejamesandsirius · 3 years

Note

Hi! Could you do a fic where James is this tall, muscular, qudditch captain and has a pile of girls after him and Sirius is a little on the chubby side, not as popular etc and thinks he has no chance with James, James disagrees of course. (maybe a smut scene)??

James Potter was the most gorgeous bloke in Hogwarts. It was a fact, like that he was the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and that there were scouts from various teams at the matches specifically to watch him. It was a fact that there were girls enamored with the idea of dating the James Potter-- or that his best mate was Sirius.

Sirius appreciated that last point. He appreciated most of it, actually, because James was quite the specimen, not to mention that he'd worked really hard to hone his Quidditch skills. James deserved to have as many girls as he wanted, because he was that stupidly attractive. James could have anyone he wanted. As a friend, as a romantic partner or even for a quick little tryst. So far, all he'd done was claim Sirius as his best mate in first year and never look back; James had kissed Alice Thompson, a year above them, once after they went on a date in Hogsmeade, but that was the extent of his experience with girls.

To be honest, Sirius didn't understand why James hadn't gotten a new best friend. Not that he wanted to be traded out or anything, but James was... well, popular. And Sirius wasn't. Sirius had been popular when he was younger, but when puberty hit and he started to get chubby instead of staying thin or gaining muscle like a lot of his year-mates had done, that popularity faded. It's not like he was an outcast or summat, but where James's popularity exploded, Sirius's own had faded. He didn't really give a rat's arse about it since he was perfectly happy with his body. He was even happy with his social status at Hogwarts because it meant that people didn't bother him over stupid shite anymore. Besides, he always had James's attention, and that meant a hell of a lot more to him than everybody else at the school combined.

That being said, he didn't know why James still stuck with him. At this point, it would've made more sense for him to be best friends with Benjy, who was the Keeper on the team and had a lot more in common with him. Mostly Quidditch. Not really anything else, actually. Benjy was sodding nice, but a bit of an idiot. James had made an Arithmancy joke the other day and it had gone right over Benjy's head. Sirius, of course, had thought it was hilarious.

Maybe that's why they were still best friends; Sirius laughed at his jokes. A great sense of humour would only get Sirius so far, though. It made him best friend material. It didn't make him boyfriend material.

Sirius sighed, wishing that he didn't always get so morose when he heard girls in the common room talk about how cute James was and whether or not they should ask him out. If Sirius were a nice bloke, he'd give them a warning not to bother. James always turned girls down, claiming that he was too focused on Quidditch and his schoolwork to have time to date anyone. Sirius knew, that while that was partially true, it was just an excuse. He wondered what excuse James would give him if he asked him out. Probably that he didn't want to ruin their friendship. What would be great about that excuse is that it's exactly the reason Sirius hadn't asked him yet. Why make James uncomfortable about how close they were when everything was fine?

With his brain twirling in useless circles, he figured he might as well go up to the dormitory. If he was going to be miserable about fancying his best mate, he might as well do it in private.

He trudged all the way up the stairs only to find that James was there. "I thought you had detention tonight?" he asked, because he really had thought that.

"Nah, Minnie's got to see to her duties as Head of the House, so we rescheduled for tomorrow night," James explained. He glanced up, then frowned a little. "You alright?"

"'Course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno, you just look... off."

Sirius snorted. "Thanks."

"You know what I mean," James said, rolling his eyes.

Yeah, he did, but he didn't want to admit that because then he'd have to say what was wrong with him. Just fancying the pants off of you, nothing to see here. That'd go great. Not.

Except then James said, all seriously, "Hey, can I talk to you about something?"

"Sure," Sirius said, sitting on his bed, facing James who was sat on his own. Sirius pulled off his shoes and dropped them on the floor. "What's up?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"What? No, of course not. Why'd you even think that?"

"I dunno, it just feels like you've been avoiding me recently. Is it because I didn't wait for you to go to Three Broomsticks last Hogsmeade weekend?"

Sirius squinted at him, hoping that it was a joke but only finding sincerity. "You really think that would piss me off enough to avoid you?"

James shrugged helplessly.

"Merlin, I'm not avoiding you. And I'm not mad at you either. I don't know if you've noticed it mate, but there's a lot of people that want to talk to you that aren't interested in talking to me too. I don't force myself into the conversation. That's it." And a lot of people had been wanting to talk to James in the past couple weeks. He hadn't thought of it as being a pattern until just now, but that's what had been happening.

"Okay, well next time someone does that, just don't move."

"Easy for you to say," Sirius said, without really meaning to.

"What are you talking about?"

"People like you a hell of a lot more than they like me," Sirius said.

"What? That's stupid. You're like, objectively the best person on the planet. Maybe you only think they don't like you."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Are we good now?"

"No. You can't just say that people like me more than you and expect me to be fine with it. We're a package deal; they're supposed to like both of us or neither of us. What are you talking about?"

This wasn't really something that Sirius wanted to get into, but James was a really stubborn person and the expression on his face was rather familiar. He gave a small sigh, leaning back onto his hands. "You're popular. You're the bloody star student. Captain of the Quidditch team, and some of the best test scores in the school."

"This coming from the bloke that has the actual best test scores."

"It's not just that. You're attractive. Everyone either wants to be you or date you. They don't want to deal with your best friend, that they'd rather ignore than talk to when all they want is to talk to you."

James blinked. "That's not true. People like you."

"For fuck's sake, I'm not trying to elicit your sympathies or summat. I'm telling you why people that are obsessed with you don't want to have anything to do with me. Yeah, some people like me, but when people come up to you, they're not thinking about how to make nice with me."

"I- well that's stupid."

"Couldn't agree more." Sirius could appreciate that people wanted to know James-- he was amazing, after all-- but it wasn't the same as when they were twelve. Now that they were seventeen-- eighteen, in Sirius's case-- it felt more creepy than anything else. Maybe it was equal parts creepy and flattering. For James, at least. For Sirius, it was just creepy. And maybe a little jealousy inducing. Well okay, a lot jealousy inducing, but it was adding to what Sirius already felt, knowing that James was never going to look at him that way.

"No, I mean the whole thing's stupid."

"I'm still agreeing with you."

"You said that everyone either wants to be me or date me. That's not true."

"I might've been exaggerating a little bit," Sirius admitted. "I guess there are some people that don't really like you. But they're like, Slytherins that don't like Quidditch, so I don't think they count."

"I meant you. You don't want to be me or date me."

"...Yeah."

"Right?" James asked.

Sirius glared at him. "Is there a point to this? You were worried that I was upset with you, and I'm not. Problem solved."

"So you want to date me," James said.

"Why're you being so weird?"

"I'm not being weird," James denied. Then he paused and said, "Okay maybe a little bit, but when I pictured this happening, I always thought it would be more romantic. I didn't think I'd have to pull it out of you."

"Why were you picturing this happening at all?"

"What, you're saying that you've never dreamed about it either?"

"Well sure I have, but I'm the one that fancies you."

"Yeah, so what does that tell you about me?" James asked leadingly.

It seemed like a really obvious direction that James was guiding him towards, but he didn't want to be wrong. It would be so embarrassing if he was wrong. He wasn't about to risk that. "That you have weird dreams?"

"Yeah that, or that I fancy you too," James said, getting to his feet and taking the few steps over to Sirius's bed, then sitting next to him.

Sirius blinked. It felt too open to be comfortable with James that close to him given what they were talking about, so he leaned back up to normal and looked over at him. "Nah, that's too unrealistic."

"Can't you just accept it and be happy?"

"Also too unrealistic," Sirius said, but he was joking so James laughed.

James reached over and toyed with the bottom of Sirius's shirt, rubbing the material between his fingers. "Can I kiss you?"

"Not entirely sure why you'd want to," Sirius muttered.

"You're kidding, right? Do you want a love declaration of all your good qualities or summat?"

"No," Sirius said. "It's just... strange. I never thought you'd feel that way about me. Or look at me that way. And now you're sitting next to me and- it's a change, you know? How long have you even felt this way?"

James didn't answer for a moment as colour rose in his cheeks. "I'll tell you if you tell me how long it's been for you."

"Deal," Sirius said immediately. Even if James had picked this feeling up in the last month, it wouldn't be as embarrassing anymore to admit that Sirius had fancied him for almost two years. Pretty much from the moment he moved in with the Potter's, to be honest.

"Okay, so erm, it's- like, third year, I think?"

Sirius blinked. "Really? That long?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

James shrugged, still playing with Sirius's shirt. "How long was it for you?"

"When I moved in with you and your parents. After fifth year."

"So it hasn't been as long for you," James said, but he didn't sound like he was upset about it.

"It felt bloody long enough," Sirius said. He turned his head and kissed James on the cheek. He lingered, and James turned his head to catch him on the lips. His hand slipped under Sirius's shirt, and his palm molded against the bulge of fat on Sirius's hip above his trousers. Sirius couldn't help but snicker.

"What?" James asked.

"First kiss, and you're already getting handsy."

"Considering how long I've wanted to get handsy with you, I think you should admire my restraint."

#marauders #james potter #sirius black #fanfic #filled #hogwarts time #no voldemort au #getting together #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous #prongsfoot

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atinykidult · 4 years

Text

TMW #1—SVT Performance Unit

[angst] [3122 words] — 500-1000 word scenarios, Trainee!au, specific tags with each part, x reader

[a/n] — To supplement my growth as a writer, and to hopefully post more often, I’m going to start this TMW series. In it, I just want to explore different aus/emotions/styles in very short but hopefully still impactful blurbs. Thank you for reading!

[taglist] — @yunwoo @woozisnoots @multifanhere (Thank you for supporting me! It means the world!)

— K W O N S O O N Y O U N G

[established relationship] [trainee!reader] [tw for trainee contracts being horrible]

Heartache is saying goodbye for a very long time, even though I’ll see you tomorrow.

He lets out a watery okay.

You bite your lip and nod.

“We’ll give you a few minutes, then please return to your training rooms.”

“I understand,” he says.

“Yes.”

The door clicks shut, and you both look at each other.

His eyes are bright with tears; yours are, too.

You let out a tired yet almost humored snort. Watery eyes, tired hearts. It’s ironic. This is how you and Soonyoung got together in the first place.

You were a good thing, and you were incredibly good for each other.

After all, trainee life is hard. And the closer to debut, the further away you get from any non-idol humans.

And to be at a company with two groups nearing that fabled debut?

Your shared manager’s exhausted admission sums it up: “This is my fault. The company’s, really. We should have expected two overworked trainees to find comfort in each other.”

Soonyoung wetly clears his throat. “I—I am so, so sorry. I…”

You shake your head. “Don’t be.”

He meets your eyes, expression fiercely argumentative.

“We both knew what we were doing.”

His shoulders, usually shaking in laughter or holding themselves strong for choreography, are hunched over. For being the cause for that, you hate yourself.

“‘We both knew what we were doing,’” he murmurs. “I… I guess we did.”

More than viciously heartbroken, you just feel bone tired. Even now, you wish you could lean against Soonyoung and feel him lean against you in return. You’d spent many hours that way, silent in your mutual understanding.

Now there’s a table between you.

A contract laying between you.

No comfort, no soft touches—only two pens.

“We should sign.” You don’t raise your hand, despite your words. “Get it over with.”

You can’t feel your face.

Soonyoung’s lips are pressed so tightly together you wonder if they’ll bruise. Distantly, your insides curl when you recall the color they turn when they do.

“Right,” he agrees, not reaching for a pen either.

He tearfully stares at you, memorizing the way you stare back at him.

The thing that had attracted you to each other so powerfully?

Your sheer determination, mirrored in the other.

And also...

Your shared dream to debut.

A tear falls down his cheeks, and you can’t help yourself when you reach over and wipe them away with the pads of your thumbs.

Instead of whispered words of, we’ll get there, together, you can only offer him this:

“Keep working on that fluidity.” Your voice shakes a little. “You’ve been getting so much better.”

Your way of saying: I’ll miss you. I’ll watch your growth and be proud of you.

“You, too—with your locks.” He sounds like someone’s strangling him. “Even Jihoon was saying how much you’ve improved.”

His way of saying: I love you. I’ll watch you, too.

You both reach for your pens.

“See you after five thousand,” he says, hand hovering over the paper.

There’s a meteor in your throat, moving down and down. You shake your head wordlessly.

With your inability to reply, he signs his name.

You sign yours.

With the sound of your pen dropped to the table, the meteor meets your heart and pushes it down and down and down....

Trainees Kwon Soonyoung and Y/L/N Y/N shall not interact again until either of two conditions.

Condition A) The latter of the two reaches their group’s third anniversary.

Condition B) The event of both eventual groups acquiring 500k sales on a single album.

— W E N J U N H U I

[angst with lighthearted aspects] [could be “canon” setting] [childhood friends]

Heartache is saying goodbye and leaving things unsaid.

You and Junhui—childhood friends to best friends to something a little too tender to be platonic—well.

There’s the whole story, really.

No verb needs to be added.

As you stare at your phone, you huff out a chuckle.

You blame PMS when your eyes well up a little, scrolling through the many selcas Junhui has sent you. It warms your heart whenever he sends you them. Even though, or rather because, he has little phone time, it means the world that he sends you a quick selca every so often.

It also makes your pathetic heart scream a little.

Not from a stabbing pain, not a scream saying I’m on a 9/10 on the pain scale, SOS!

A scream more like I feel a little helpless to my pain, and it aches dammit, and I should have just told him I loved him.

As one of your alarms goes off, you scream into your elbow.

Back to the books.

Heartache masks itself under warm memories and whispers of comfort.

Junhui, for all his loudness and talking much too fast, knows his heart. He understands what he feels, most of the time, and he knows what he wants.

He wants to debut with the other trainees in the Seventeen Project.

Right now, he wants to eat a delicious supper. Then he wants to sleep until he wakes up naturally.

Then, he wants a three day vacation so he can go home and reminisce childhood schoolyard games with a certain best friend. And maybe say those particular words...

Well, that’s not a want.

It’s a wish.

And while his stomach flutters at the thought of it, the reality of the ache in his muscles pulls his attention away from the pleasant fantasy of those wishes.

For now, it’s time to focus on wants and learning new choreography.

But maybe, in ten years, maybe….

Maybe then, it’ll be time to think about wishes.

The day Junhui left your hometown, you saw him off. Although you couldn’t see him to the plane itself, you shared breakfast with him and spent every minute together until his family left in their car.

At one point, he and you were sitting on his bed, staring at an unnaturally clean room.

“You know… I bet you’d pass the audition if you tried,” he joked, not for the first time.

“Haha. And I would enjoy trainee life just as much as you enjoy schoolwork.”

Both of you smiled with your eyes.

“But you’d enjoy it because you’d see me every day!”

“And you could enjoy my schoolwork just as much seeing me everyday!”

A pause, then a much too honest: “That would make the school work worth it.”

If you were brave, you would have asked him something like: Are you trying to say something? Please tell me you’re trying to say something.

You weren’t brave.

“Then why are you leaving me all alone?! Huh?! To suffer all by myself?! Do you know how many credits I’m taking?”

“And you’re leaving me to a bunch of foreigners!! So what about that?!”

“I’m not the one leaving!”

Insert spluttering.

And laughter.

So much obnoxious laughter.

It was a good last day together.

It was a warm goodbye.

But, want to know something that sometimes makes your heart scream a little?

Wondering if you could have made that last day even better if you had been brave.

— X U M I N G H A O

[one-sided pining] [TW for slight age difference/feelings for an authority figure][favorite of this set]

Heartache is falling for someone untouchable.

First of all, don’t point any fingers at him.

Having the vocal instructor be a beautiful, attractive, and young person? Who compliments trainees in their native tongue? And sits with them at lunch?

It’s like the higher ups are trying to weed out the trainees via dating clause.

Second of all, and corollary of the first point: Minghao’s not the only one.

“Our teacher’s the best!” Junhui crows in his ear, Mandarin a little too breathless.

Minghao lets out a little grunt in response.

“I didn’t know our teacher could dance, too!”

“Seonsaengnim is very talented,” one of the Korean trainees says to Minghao, ignorant to Jun’s words.

Minghao wills his cheeks to not show anything.

“Really!” someone else says.

He groans at his thumping heart.

Third of all, it’s not like the feelings will last.

Shortly after the dancing display, Seonsaengnim sits with Minghao, Junhui, and a few other trainees at lunch. Here, Minghao learns something very important about their young instructor.

“Yeah, I was a trainee just like you three!” you say, hoping this conversation doesn’t take a poor turn. “Honestly, I think it was only a little over a year ago.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up a teacher here?” Jihoon doesn’t mention any of the trainees’ popular assumptions in his question.

Seonsaengnim must not have been as good as everyone else.

Maybe all the other trainees were more beautiful.

Honestly, I bet that’s it.

Minghao doesn’t quite know it for sure, but he knows that Jihoon, like himself, worries that he won’t debut because of his visuals. Korean entertainment… just isn’t fair.

“Korean entertainment goes through its phases.” It’s like you read his thoughts. Minghao can tell you’re sifting through your thoughts very carefully, choosing your words not unlike the way he often does. Trying to find the words. The right way to articulate best intentions. “For me, I was good enough that even though I couldn’t debut, the company thought I was worth keeping around. That was honestly very…” He's fascinated by the way your tongue peaks out to wet your lips. “Very complimentary. Of them, to me. I’m thankful.”

“Do you think you could debut in the future?” someone asks, stupidly.

“No.” Minghao is surprised to see your lips begin to smile so sincerely. “But I’m looking forward to helping you all debut.”

There’s no bitterness in your tone.

Something in him stirs fiercely. He wishes he could have that surety.

When you smile warmly at him, tilting your head as you study his expression, the buzz that courses through him is surely the way Soonyoung would feel if he ever met Taemin. Surely.

It’s admiration, that’s all it is.

Fourth of all, it was inevitable, really.

“Minghao, can we talk for a minute?”

He nearly jumps at the Mandarin.

There’s rage sitting in his stomach right now—at the company, at the guest instructor, at the mistakes he made today, at his own pathetic face.

Minghao just wants to disappear for a while.

But he can’t say no. Doesn’t want to, to this one staff member.

“Of course.”

You sit next to him, back to the studio’s mirror.

“I know today was hard, but you’ve been doing better the last four practices in a row. That’s incredible. Remember… Every time you’re not going to improve visibly. That would be impossible.”

“Thanks.”

“And that instructor is a piss poor excuse for a—oh, sorry. I shouldn’t be teaching you those kinds of words—”

“Seonsaengnim, I won’t be telling anyone on you.” He can feel the corners of his lips twitching up, despite himself.

“Just… Know you’re already working hard enough. You don’t need to be… ‘working double because you don’t have the visuals.’” You run an aggressive hand through your hair and let out a righteously indignant noise. “Just… You’re so talented, and I honestly think you look perfectly attractive. So… Just… Ugh. Know that you’re unofficially my favorite. And I hope today doesn’t stick with you. Damn, that was a horrible instructor...”

Minghao can’t help but flush at the praise, and how intimate it feels for you to be here. Sitting with him. Rambling to him so that he’ll feel better.

This talk will stick with him.

But only for the best reasons.

You take his hand; squeeze it once reassuringly.

“You’re going really far. Remember that.”

He meets your eyes, heartbeat galloping.

It was inevitable.

Fifth of all, it’s not like he’ll ever say anything.

“Today’s my last day with you! I’m so proud of you all for making it this far.”

It’s not like he’ll ever have the chance.

“Thank you for everything, Seongsaengnim!”

“Yes, thank you!”

“You were our best teacher!”

Minghao freezes.

It feels like someone took all the warmth he had felt from that talk, and drained it from him. And decided that, you know what? For the hell of it, let’s just dump some ice cubes in there. Like rubbing salt in a wound, but emotionally.

The practice passes as quickly as clouds on a windy day.

Then, suddenly, you’re hugging everyone goodbye.

Then, suddenly, you’re fondly ushering the last of the trainees through the door.

Then, suddenly, you’re brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Minghao, you’ve made it to the debut lineup. I’m so proud of you.”

You say more, but his mind is empty except for the panic settling in.

He’ll never get to say anything.

He grabs your wrist.

“Seonsaengnim, you can’t be leaving.”

A surprised frown. “I can’t?”

I need you to stay with me throughout my career.

I need you to keep watching me improve, with that proud look in your eye.

I need—

Minghao can’t find any Korean to answer with, leaving him nearly in tears.

He feels hysterical.

And you hug him.

And the tears fall.

“I’ll miss you too, Minghao.”

I love you.

So I need you to stay.

“I’ll be watching the headlines for your name, and when I see it, I’ll be telling my new trainees, ‘He was my favorite!’” A pure, bright grin against his sweaty hair. “You’ve made it, Hao! You don’t need to be crying over me.”

That’s not the words that will make me feel better.

“I—I—”

Minghao knows the three Korean syllables.

But it’s not like he’ll ever say them.

— L E E C H A N

[angst] [exes]

Heartache is pouring out my regrets out on stage, knowing you’ll never see it.

Chan doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way, this minute, this song.

But he is.

It’s trainee evaluation day; his focus should be unwavering.

Yet, as he takes his spot with the other three trainees, he feels that familiar wave of regret bowl his heart over.

His memories of you flash through his head as he lowers it, waiting for the music to play.

Those memories are bowling pins in his mind, one toppling into another and that pin into another—

And Chan, being who he is, aims for a strike every single time.

“It’s alright you cancelled today—I know being a trainee leaves you no time.”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The first one always falls, and then the next.

“I understand. It’ll be worth it when you make it to the big stage.”

“Only if you’re in the front row.”

“Talk soon.”

The second pin rushes into the third.

“I have to go in a minute. But you were trying to tell me?”

“It’s… no, it’s nothing, babe. Dance good. And… maybe—call me soon?”

“I promise I’ll call right after.”

And the next ones always fall much faster.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call last night. We were all so exhausted, and I just couldn’t deal with y—”

He stops himself in time, but the damage is done.

“You just couldn’t deal with me? Well, you know what, Lee Chan. Maybe right now I can’t deal with you.”

And then they all fall indiscriminately, until the last few are teetering, wobbling...

The music plays, and muscle memory sweeps Chan’s body away into the choreography.

“No, Chan, you don’t need to apologize. I understand exactly how we stand. I really do believe you, don’t worry about that. You like me, but not as much as yourself! And your ‘dreams.’ I understand completely.” Your voice is a both a cry and a hiss by now. “You’re really selfish sometimes, you know that?”

...And the last one falls.

“Chan, your lyrics are really... “

“Are they that bad?”

“No—not bad… Just, well… Heavy. For someone your age.”

“It’s a heavy topic, hyung.”

“True.”

“So, can we use them for the evaluation?”

“No. They’ll be wanting something lighthearted for that. But…”

“But.”

“I’ll hold onto these, if you don’t mind. We can use them on an album someday.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, really! They’re good lyrics.”

“No, uh… That wasn’t what I meant! It’s just…”

“Are they too personal? You don’t want them in the world?”

“Sort of.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s decided then. We won’t use them.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

“What, you’re leaving? Don’t you at least want these back, if they’re so personal?”

“...No, that’s alright. I… I—just, can you keep them for me? I don’t want them again. Ever.”

“Hey, I—”

“Please.”

“You wrote ‘I’m sorry,’ nineteen times. Not to pull the responsible hyung card on you, but I feel like this isn’t something you can… keep away from yourself. For forever.”

“I know. I’m working on it.”

“Okay then.”

“Thanks for everything, hyung.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll just go now.”

“Okay…. Uh… Actually, Chan?”

“What?”

“Just remember that, even if… Even because you’ve messed up before... Just know that doesn’t mean you’re that person for forever. I don’t know if you can make up for whatever happened. But you’re not… ‘stuck on this tear-stained road, for ever. You’re a good kid.”

“Are you going after sappy hyung role, now?”

“You can talk to us if you’re not feeling okay.”

“Thank you, hyung. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Chan!”

The song ends. The dance resolves with a final swoop of the arm. And Chan’s heart hurts a little.

“That was really good,” someone whispers.

“For real, I got chills.”

“Chan-ie, are you crying?” one of his hyungs asks. He touches his face; he is. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” he feels himself reply.

Hey, Y/N. I’m sorry if this is the last thing you want to see. Hell, you might have me blocked, and honestly, a better me would hope you do. Anyways, I needed to get off my chest how sorry I am. I’m not going to try to explain myself. But I needed to try to let you know that I understand what I did was selfish. And that I shouldn’t have let us continue like that for so long….

Five years later, Chan will perform a solo at a concert.

Thematically, there’s a lot going on. And the lyrics say sorry a lot of times.

The fandom wonders what inspired the lyrics.

Chan doesn’t cry when he performs it.

The ending of the song isn’t happy, but it does resolve. The sad chord makes any listener feel a little bittersweet, though.

And, from the front row, one ticket remains unclaimed.

—T H A N K Y O U F O R R E A D I N G!

If any of these touched you in particular, please leave me an ask or rb! I really appreciate any feedback. Have a great day!!

#caratwritersclub #seventeen #svt #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #the8 #minghao #svt jun #wen junhui #hoshi #kwon soonyoung #dino #lee chan #minghao imagines #jun imagines #hoshi imagines

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cheeriecherry · 4 years

Text

The Dogma Of Childhood Friends [3/4]

Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Part 3/4

You glance around the classroom, but most of the other students have turned back to their own work of social groups. Anyone in 1A would have been in the best position to drop something like this on your desk, but no one was giving away any signs of stress.

You regard the box cautiously, turning it over in your hands a few times.

Uraraka peeks back at you. “It’s been on your desk all morning,” she says, “so I don’t think it’s from anyone in our class.”

Well, there goes that idea.

Steeling your nerves, you unwrap the meticulously tied ribbon and pull the lid off the box.

“Candy?” You’re surprised. Not just any candy, either; your favourite. Which, as you’ve discovered over the years, is stupidly hard to get in Japan. Whoever put the gift together must really know what you like, and on top of that, worked hard to get it.

You set the treats on your desk, and pull out the next thing. A note.

‘Every day I see you in the halls, I’m astounded by your resilience and beauty.’

Unsigned.

You can feel your face heating up at the kind words, not truly knowing how to react. So...this really was some kind of secret admirer situation?

You give one last look around the room, to see if anyone catches your eye, but everyone is focused on something else.

You’re distracted for the rest of the day.

----

The next morning, to no one’s surprise but your own, there’s another item on your desk.

It’s not wrapped this time, a tiny bean-filled kitten plush with the cutest face you’ve ever seen. It’s soft and squishy in your hands, its little calico face smiling up at you. Around its neck is a ribbon tied in a bow, to which another note is attached.

‘You inspire me to work hard and do my best every day, so that one day we might meet as equals.’

Again, unsigned.

You set the note down and then turn the little cat over in your hands, staring into its adorable tiny face. Something about the handwriting is familiar, the way the letters curl slightly, but you can’t quite place where you’ve seen it before. You definitely know who you’d want it to be, but the likelihood of that happening is practically nonexistent.

You gently put the cat into your backpack and pull out your books, when Mr. Aizawa walks in the door.

----

For the rest of the week, gifts and notes are on your desk every morning. The presents themselves remain small and personal, and not too over the top, but the notes? Your letters to Hitoshi were meant to be kind and uplifting, but these ones are romantic and filled with unabashed affection.

‘You always stand tall in the face of danger. Your love and unbreakable spirit give me the courage to stand up for what’s right. I hope one day we can face the world side by side.’

And,

‘You smile brings warmth to my days, and your laughter makes me believe everything will be okay. You are a light in the darkness, a beacon of hope, and I adore you.’

You appreciate the notes, which point out your qualities and praise you on your strengths, but a little piece of you has a hard time believing them. You didn’t know how someone you’ve never met could so clearly see your attributes.

Of course,there was still the chance that everything was from your best friend, but...no. There was no way. The Hitoshi you knew wasn’t a sappy romantic like that, so if he wanted to talk to you, he’d just come out and say it.

“Alright, Y/N,” a pink hand comes down on your desk, startling you out of your thoughts, “spill it. I would be over the moon if someone were to go through all this trouble for me, but every day you’ve looked progressively sadder. What’s the problem?”

You chew the inside of her cheek, deciding whether or not to tell her the truth. Mina was stubborn and resourceful, though, so any attempt to conceal your feelings would be met with doubt.

You sigh.

“It’s not that I don’t like this kind of attention,” you say, “I think it’s really sweet. I just...I guess I’m having a hard time believing it, is all. I’m not the kind of girl that boys usually fall for, and I’m definitely not the kind of girl the boy I want to fall for me, would fall for…”

Uraraka turns around in her chair, joining in on your conversation.

“So you already like someone, huh?” she asks, and you nod. “Man, it’ll be hard to reject the person who’s been giving you all those gifts.”

It’s as if someone has grabbed your stomach, and tied it into a big knot. You’d been so caught up in your own feelings, you hadn’t even considered the feelings of the person who was behind this.

“Now, wait a minute,” Mina interrupts, “the secret admirer and Y/N’s crush could be the same person.”

“But what’s the likeliness of that?”

“Well…”

“And it wouldn’t be fair to go out with someone when you like somebody else.”

“I guess not...but still! Until the secret admirer reveals himself, there’s still hope!”

“Do we even know if it’s a boy?”

You listen to the two girls chatter back and forth, sinking lower and lower into your seat with every word.

Mina eventually notices.

“Hey, don’t stress too much about it, okay?” she says gently, resting a hand on your shoulder, “I have a feeling it’ll all work out!”

You doubt her.

----

By the time friday rolls around, you’re downright exhausted. Schoolwork and training, couple with the ongoing pressure of having a secret admirer, is enough to send you reeling. You all but drag yourself into class, falling so tiredly into your seat that you almost miss the letter in front of you.

Almost.

You debate leaving it sealed until the end of class, and dealing with it over the weekend, but you know you’ll only be left wondering about it for the rest of the day. There’s no point in sabotaging your academic success when you could simply face the problem and deal with it now.

But the letter is not what you expect.

“I’m sorry if my gifts have made you uncomfortable. My intentions were to tell you what an amazing and capable person you are, in all your actions and thoughts, down to your very core. Y/N, you’re beautiful and kind, creative, and so smart. Seeing you find the other day against 1B made me realize what an incredible hero you’ll be...what an incredible hero you already are. From day one, you never hesitated to stand up for me, even when I wouldn’t stand up for myself.

There are so many things I want to say to you, I could go on for pages...but I’d rather say it in person. Tomorrow at noon, meet me in the campus gardens, under the gazebo. If you come, I’ll know you feel the same way I do. If not, I’ll come by your dorm later in the day to explain myself, hoping you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I love you, Y/N, now and forever.

-Shinsou Hitoshi”

You stare at the letter in shock for a few moments, jaw slack and wide eyed. You knew you’d recognized the handwriting, you’d been seeing it in school for years! But you’d never expected it to be his doing, he was never one for such theatrics.

A hand rests on your head, and you glance up at Mina with a dorky grin on your face.

“You seem happier today,” she says, relief clear in her voice, “and more sure of yourself. I’m glad.”

You stare at her suspiciously, an idea forming in your head. “Did you have something to do with all this?” you wonder.

She shrugs nonchalantly, a mischievous smile quirking the corners of her lips. “That’s not important~! What’s important is that you have a cute boy to meet tomorrow! Which means you have to work hard today so you don’t have any homework!”

You roll your eyes, but you know she’s right. And as meddlesome as she is, she only means the absolute best.

Tomorrow, you would meet Hitoshi in the gardens, tell him how you feel, and hope desperately that his apology is good enough.

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #reader insert #childhood friends au

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lyssismagical · 4 years

Text

just for a moment in love

Parkner {And minor Thompsborn} Febufluff Day 23-26 - Secret Admirer, Love Triangle, Confessions, and Forbidden

Read on AO3

It’s a month into the school year when all the drama of the summer finally catches up to him.

Peter sighs loudly like he’s purposefully trying to get May’s attention for his sullen behaviour. He even collapses onto the couch dramatically, arm tossed over his eyes, and sighs again.

May laughs, soft and gentle as she moves around the kitchen behind him. “Not that I’m laughing at you, honey, but what’s up with you? Something happen? Does it have anything to do with why I haven’t seen Harley around here for weeks?”

Sighing again, Peter tries his best not to let the heartache return. “Yeah… We broke up last month. Before I left.”

There’s a gasp in the kitchen followed by a crash as she drops a pan on the counter, and then she’s sitting down on the couch by his feet.

“You broke up? Oh, honey, what happened?”

“I told him I loved him,” Peter explains quietly, huffing out a third sigh. “And he said okay and then he left. And then I had to leave and I didn’t have Wi-Fi at the camp, so I couldn’t even try to figure out what happened.”

Peter had this fancy Nerd Camp over the summer, Tony signed him up for. It was incredible and Peter had a lot of fun, he learned a lot, but it was hard to focus with Harley weighing on his mind.

Not to mention Flash had been there.

“He just left?”

“Yeah. He didn’t even tell me why. If he didn’t love me or if something was up or if I did something… I don’t know. He just walked out, said it would be better if we called it quits before I left for three weeks.”

May offers a sympathetic smile, rubbing his ankle. “I’m guessing there’s more to this story?”

Sighing again, Peter finally lifts his arm from over his eyes, looking over at May. “Yes… I may or may not have started seeing somebody new.”

May’s head tips to the side, eyes hardening. “You’re seeing somebody new? One month after your three-year-relationship ended?”

“Flash was at camp with me and he was, you know, nice. He made sure I was doing alright, and he was being a good guy, so I kinda just jumped on new opportunities.”

“And, what? You’re regretting it? You still miss Harley? You realized it was impossible to throw a three-year relationship down the drain for a new guy who’s been kinda mean to you for years?”

Peter rolls his eyes, knowing she’s right. More right than he’d like to admit, but he doesn’t want to want Harley anymore. Harley broke his heart.

He laid everything out on the line with the big L-word and Harley broke up with him for it. Peter would’ve been fine had Harley just explained.

“I like him,” Peter argues. “Flash is a good guy.”

May doesn’t make the obvious statement of but not as good as Harley. Instead, she says, “Good for you, but don’t throw away a twelve-year friendship over this, alright? You were best friends before you ever started dating. Try to sort this out, okay?”

Peter reaches for his phone, prepared to text Harley already, see if he wants to talk, but his pockets are empty, phone missing.

He assumes he left it in his bedroom or maybe in his bag, and instead curls up against May’s side and letting her pick the movie.

In the morning, he’d have to try to put himself together for another day of school, being Flash’s boyfriend, ignoring Cassie’s glares, trying not to dwell on Harley’s red-rimmed eyes, and focusing on schoolwork.

For now, he could pretend like everything was fine and dandy, curled up with May on their old couch, and forget that Harley was missing from their family movie nights.

* Betty’s the one who clues him in at lunch the next day when he still can’t find his phone.

“Listen, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, Brad made me swear I’d keep it a secret for just one more day, and you know how much I hate going against stuff that he says, but I saw Flash with your phone,” she says when Peter complains that he can’t find it.

“What?”

“Yours is the one with the sparkly Iron Man case, right?” Betty asks, tapping her fork against her plate incessantly. “Yeah, I saw Flash with it in second period. He’s in the gym with Brad, if you wanna go talk to him.”

Peter gets up and heads to the gym, ignoring MJ and Ned asking if he wants them to go with him or to not do anything stupid.

“Hey, babe!” Flash calls out, jogging over. He leans to kiss Peter, but Peter ducks out of the way, glaring at Flash.

“No, not happening. You stole my phone?”

The reaction is instant, face falling and shoulders slumping. “You found out?”

“Yeah, I found out! What was so important that you had to steal my phone instead of talking to me about it?”

“Let’s not do this here,” Flash murmurs, glancing over his shoulder at Brad.

“No, I’m not going to let you pretend this all okay. What’s going on?”

Flash sighs and scrubs a hand harshly over his face. “I had to delete a voicemail.”

“Who was the voicemail from? Why was it so important that I didn’t see it?”

Flash sighs angrily and grabs Peter’s elbow. “It was from Harley, whining about how much he misses you or some bullshit. You didn’t need to hear it.”

“Are you really that insecure that you think I’m just going to up and leave you because Harley asks for me back?”

“No, I’m just upset that he thinks that it’s okay to try anything while you’re mine.”

“I’m not yours, you asshole!” Peter jerks his arm away from Flash. “I’m not anybody’s property! And definitely not yours after all this bullshit.”

Flash’s jaw clenches. “You’re seriously breaking up with me? Over a stupid voicemail?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re being an asshole, Flash!” Peter exclaims, glaring at his ex. “If you really cared, you would trust me enough not to take my fucking phone.”

Flash pulls the phone out of his pocket, Iron Man phone case sparkling insultingly. “Then take it. Go running back to Harley. See if I give a shit.”

Peter takes his phone back, doesn’t bother arguing any further, and turns out of the gym. He makes it all the way to his locker before he breaks down in tears, angrily wiping them away even as they continue to fall.

It’s just his luck, isn’t it?

* He’s at home, listening to May bustle about the apartment from his bed, trying to bring up the courage to call Harley or maybe Ned or even MJ, just to try to think things through, when there’s a knock on the door.

May opens it and he hears her talking quietly to somebody.

Peter listens as the door shuts again, and then there’s a knock on his bedroom door.

“It’s open!” he calls out, sitting up.

And then Harley walks in.

“Oh my god,” Peter says stupidly. Because holy shit Harley’s got the worst black eye Peter’s ever seen and he’s crying.

“I know- I know we’re not together anymore. I know I fucked this up and I’m sorry, but I just- I needed a place to stay and I- I didn’t know where else to go.”

Peter scrambles to his feet. “Are you okay? What happened? Cassie said you were going through a rough time, but I- I don’t know.”

“My dad’s back,” Harley breathes, sitting down on Peter’s bed, shoulders slumping miserably. “And my mom just wants to forgive him. After everything he did to us. How fast he just left, all those years ago.”

“Did he….” Peter doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask that kind of question, but Harley laughs coldly.

“Nah,” he says, fingers running over the bruise. “That was Flash. My fault, really. I went after him, calling him some nasty names after I saw you crying in the hallway. I provoked him and he snapped. Don’t really blame him.”

Peter’s eyes widen and he freezes in confusion, silent.

Harley shrugs. “Know I shouldn’t have. Know you’re not mine anymore, but you’re still my best friend and he hurt you.”

There’s obvious hesitation in his movements as he sits down on his bed beside Harley, but at the end of the day, they’re still best friends. And his best friend is hurting.

“Is there anything I can do?” Peter offers.

Harley’s face falls a bit, wiping at his eyes again. He sniffles and glances over at Peter, red-rimmed blue eyes filled with some sort of unexplainable emotion. “I could really go for some hot chocolate? Maybe a movie? I just- I know we’re not what we used to be, but if you could just… hold me?”

Something inside Peter cracks at the quiet question, irreparably broken. “Yeah, of course. You get comfy, and I’ll be right back.”

That night, tucked together in Peter’s bed, blankets pulled tight around their shoulders, they both think about what used to be. A three-year relationship ended. Peter regrets saying the L-word that day. Harley regrets not saying it. Neither of them says a word.

* They walk to school together when morning eventually rolls around, carefully making sure their hands don’t brush.

“So, your dad’s back, huh?” Peter starts, needing to start somewhere. The silence had gotten tense. Awkward. Which hadn’t ever happened between them in their long friendship.

“Yeah. It’s been over ten years since we’ve seen the guy, fucking gas station line and all, but he showed up two weeks ago, totally out of the blue, wanting to fix things. And, I mean, I get it, I do. He realized he fucked up. He realized he left his two kids and wife out of the blue, no explanation, but ten fucking years, and he thinks he can just waltz back into our life?”

Peter purposefully lets their elbows brush on the next step. “How’s Abbie taking it?”

“Better than I am,” Harley admits, shrugging. “She doesn’t remember him. Doesn’t remember the hell he put Mom through. She just knows that he’s sorry and that Mom’s already forgiven him. It’s like Mom’s forgotten the years after he left where we could barely get a meal on the table every night.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says because he isn’t quite sure what else to say.

Harley shrugs again, holding his chin high. It makes the sun sparkle wonderfully through his hair and in his eyes. “Yeah, I know I should give the guy a chance, but I can’t let him hurt us again. I can’t let him ruin Mom again. I’m just- I’m really fucking angry, and I couldn’t stand another dinner at home where everybody pretends things are how they were when we were little.”

“You can always stay with me. Door’s always open.”

And Harley smiles, openly and genuine for the first time in a long time.

“Hey!” somebody calls out, jogging towards them, effectively cutting them off.

Harley takes a protective step in front of Peter like he’s the one with the superpowers.

“What do you want, Flash?” Harley demands, voice low and cold. “I think Peter made it clear yesterday to leave him alone.”

“I just want to talk,” Flash says, lifting his hands in surrender. “Listen, I know I made a mistake, and I’m not asking for you back, I think we’re both aware what we had was a rebound, at best, but I wanted to make things right. Give you an explanation.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, forever the forgiving, kind person. He moves to stand beside Harley, offering a reassuring smile. Flash’s lip is split, healing, knuckles bruised.

Flash nods, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “I’ve had this huge crush on a guy for as long as I can remember, but his parents know my parents, and there’s a lot of bad blood. I was being stupid, thinking I could ever be with him, but I would leave him letters in his locker every day.”

“Romeo and Juliet style bad blood?”

“Yeah, but hopefully it doesn’t end the same for us,” Flash says, laughing nervously. “I really like him, but our parents would kill us if anything ever happened between us, so I tried to pretend I was into dating you, even if I like somebody else.”

Peter goes to call him out, that it’s not fair, but it’s pretty obvious that Peter did the same if Harley, standing next to Peter, wearing Peter’s sweater, smelling like Peter’s home, says anything.

“So?” Harley asks.

“So, I’m sorry,” Flash says, frowning. “I’m sorry I hurt both of you because my head’s so messed up right now, but I want to be friends with you both. I want to make things right.”

Peter offers a smile. “Yeah, of course. I just wish there was something I could do to help with you and Harry.”

“Harry? How’d you know?” Flash’s eyes widen, jaw-dropping. “Is it that obvious?”

“I mean we all kinda thought you were already a thing for a while,” Harley admits, lifting an eyebrow. “You both stare at each other all day, and I heard Harry reading out a love letter sent to him by you.”

“I signed them anonymously.”

“And somehow, Harry still knew it was you,” Peter says. “I think, fuck what your parents think, fuck what his parents think, do what you want. It’s your happiness that matters.”

Flash nods, smiling at them. “Even if it’s cursed? Like tragic Romeo and Juliet, forbidden love story?”

Harley shrugs, pushing Flash’s shoulder encouragingly. “Of course. Go get your man, Thompson.”

Grinning, Flash takes off towards the school, obvious excitement in his steps. It’s the start of a friendship, a strange one at that, but a friendship nonetheless.

“You think they’ll get their happy ending?” Harley asks, leaning into Peter as they start walking again, it feels more right to walk shoulder-to-shoulder not awkwardly spaced out like they didn’t know how to walk together anymore.

Peter shrugs. “I think they deserve it, Mister Stark’s mentioned things about the Osborns and the Thompsons, if anything, they deserve each other.”

Nodding, Harley looks over at Peter, head tipping to the side. “Do you think we will ever get our happy ending?”

It brings unwanted feelings back. How Peter felt alone in his room after Harley disappeared on him, mumbling about taking a break and leaving Peter’s L-word unanswered.

Peter swallows thickly, not ready to let go of what they had, what he still wants, but not prepared to dive straight in like the past two months hasn’t happened.

“I hope so.” * Harley stays over again that night, saying that he’s not ready to see his family yet.

Peter missed Harley, missed the way Harley offers to cook for May and teases Peter relentlessly in the kitchen for inheriting May’s awful cooking, missed the way Harley slings his arm over the back of Peter’s chair in the dining room, making easy conversation with May. He missed the way Harley always finds an excuse to be close to Peter, missed how Harley looks right sitting on his couch, socked feet up on the old coffee table, grinning from ear to ear and making stupid teasing comments.

He missed Harley.

And it’s obvious May had been missing Harley’s presence around the apartment, something that had been a constant since Harley’s family moved in a few blocks away and they met at the park between their apartments, best friends since then.

Later that night, after May excuses herself to bed for an early shift the next morning, after the TV’s muted and conversation picks up just how it’s meant to after Peter gets a call from Flash shouting about how Harry said yes to a date, and after Peter gets a call from Harry reiterating the same thing, the conversation turns to the big question: Why.

“You know I didn’t want to break up with you,” Harley says like it’s meant to be obvious, but he catches Peter’s eyebrows creasing and his mouth dropping into a confused frown. “You didn’t know that?”

“No. I thought- I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t know why you left that night because you wouldn’t talk to me,” Peter says, sitting up properly on the couch.

Harley frowns, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t want to leave like that.”

“Then why? Why’d you leave like that?” Peter’s voice comes out wobbly and quiet, and Harley’s face falls, guilt immediately shining in his eyes.

“You have to understand that words like that don’t mean anything to me anymore,” Harley starts, hands fiddling with his shirt. “When my dad left, he said he loved my mom and that he’d be back in an hour, and only showed up now, ten years later. The kind of I Love You’s I know are the kind tossed around when you feel guilty or when you want something from someone, not because you love them.”

Peter freezes because that’s the opposite of how he grew up. He grew up with Richard and Mary keeping I Love You’s for the moments that mattered most like they had to keep the meaning there, so they saved it for moments of pure Love.

May and Ben were different. They shared I Love You’s like it was the only words in the dictionary. Good Morning, I Love You. Good Night, I Love You. Goodbye, I Love You. The words still meant everything, but they didn’t think that they’d ever run out of chances to say it.

“When you said that, I panicked.” Harley looks over at Peter like he’s desperate for him to understand. “Because I don’t know what that means. I don’t- I don’t get words. They don’t mean the same thing to me as they do to you.”

But it’s obvious that Harley does love Peter. Maybe not in spoken words, but in actions, in meaning. He walks three blocks out of his way just to walk Peter to and from school every day. He has protein bars under his bed and in his locker and in his backpack, just in case Peter needs an extra snack. He looks at Peter like he hung the stars. He remembers everything there is to know about Peter, his favourite colour, his favourite animals, all of his fears, every story Peter’s ever told.

“Oh,” Peter says because his brain is caught in a loop of big words and bigger actions.

“Oh,” Harley echoes, a smile touching his mouth in a way that crinkles the corners of his eyes and shows off the dimples in his freckled skin.

Peter nods and takes Harley’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “I think I get it.”

“You think?”

“Is it okay that I love you?”

And Harley’s smile widens, lifting Peter’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Yeah, it’s good, it’s nice. I like hearing it and I do love you, but I’m not good at saying it.”

“So you show it,” Peter finishes, leaning forward to press a kiss to Harley’s cheek. “That’s okay too, I don’t need to hear it to know it.”

“Does that mean we’re okay? We can go back to how we were? Because, I’ll admit, I missed you and I missed this.”

Peter nods, kissing the corner of Harley’s mouth. “We’re okay.”

* Tony hosts a dinner at the Tower a few weeks later, after Harley talks to him about the problems he’s having trusting his dad and after Peter mentions how bad he feels that Flash and Harry’s relationship has to be kept a secret, that all of their dates consist of sneaking out in the middle of the night.

May and Peter, the four Keener’s, Flash and Harry, Tony and Pepper, all gather for some sort of strange family dinner.

Flash and Harry are allowed to be affectionate without worrying about being caught, Harley’s allowed to express his concerns without fear of breaking up his newly reformed family, Harley’s dad is able to apologize properly.

“The important thing is,” Tony says, smiling around at them. “Family is more than just blood, it’s who you choose to surround yourselves with, and I’d say, we make a pretty happy family.”

#febufluff #lyss writes #ignore that i abandoned febufluff for three weeks lmao and am now back with a shitty chapter #also ignore that I literally based this off hsmtmts #parkner #parkner fic #thompsborn #peter parker/harley keener #parley

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