#and i take the bottle and put it behind the teachers desk

[setsugekka]

❥business attire (m)

↳ You have no qualms with doing what it takes to get ahead professionally: a white lie here, a bit of cheating there—sleeping with your boss? Simple.

Until a business trip with a rival colleague puts quite a wrench into all of that.

bang chan x fem!reader — colleagues/rivals to lovers, romcom, porn with plot, explicit sexual content. [12k wc] cws: alcohol drinking, themes of sexism in the work place!!, penetrative sex, body cum shot, oral sex (m+f), dirty talking (very mild condescension/humiliation), teasing, chan has a big dick of course because i wrote this.

Everything has led up to this moment.

Years of studying, internships, exams; grueling schedules and lost hours of sleep, not even accounting for the people stepped over and lost along the way. You had made the decision long ago that you were willing to do whatever it would take to make it to the top, to achieve the kind of success that you knew was waiting for you somewhere out and into the future.

You're no stranger to the CEO's office, all shining and glittering gold with accents and glossed, white marble, though you do have to admit, you're not used to being here with a third, as far as company is concerned.

No, typically you find yourself here in the later hours of the evening, partaking in a particular set of extra curricular activities that you know will bargain your way up the professional ladder. Ethical? Questionable. Do you care? Not even a little bit.

Granted, you can't imagine the other guy—Chris—to feel similarly about your leg-up on him, as it were.

Your colleague in question stands beside you with hands behind his back like he's a child waiting to hear his grades called out by the teacher. It's a little charming, you've got to admit, though nothing if not sad given the fact that he's awaiting something that was never really going to be offered to him to begin with.

And you don't know anything about this guy because you don't tend to bother learning much of anything about the people surrounding you in your workplace, outside of the smallest inkling of weaknesses that can be used to your advantage. Susan in accounting, for example, one to have something of an issue with getting to work on time in the mornings; no problem, the time clocks can be easily forged to make up for the discrepancy.

Except, of course, for the fact that it's against company policy to do so, and an offense that can find one terminated in an instant—it certainly was a shame the evening that the CEO had come to find out about that, after a bottle of wine and a particularly enthusiastic blowjob from you.

But Chris keeps to himself, and if not for this meeting here, you'd not even know his name. He works on business contact profiles not unlike yourself, which makes him someone that sits directly in your crosshair. You glance over his features for a brief second—his high nose bridge and his full lips, and acknowledge that he's sort of handsome for someone that you have to destroy the will of today. Well, it's not you destroying it, though you've more than put in the work to ensure it to happen.

The CEO of the company brings his attention up from the paper work laid out in front of him and finally grants it to the both of you. Your eyes meet with his in an instant and you try to bite back the knowing grin of victory that threatens to pull at the corners of your lips. Be mature about this, you think to yourself. Humility not a strong suit of yours, sure, but no need to rub it all into the wound.

"There's a massive account that needs an exquisite set of eyes and ears on it this coming weekend, this kind of business trip is the type that makes or breaks a company, a supervisor of the company." The man pauses, eyes falling back down to the papers as he shuffles them about lightly across the desk. "So, you understand that the utmost sensitivity and attention to detail is necessary when deciding who it is to send out on these sorts of things, but in the event of a net gain, then it's easy to understand that the trickle down effect is one that can be felt by everyone involved."

You smile, this time unable to hold it back.

He continues. "The success of this means the immediate success of the supervisor involved."

Then, he looks up to the both of you.

"Which is why I have decided to send the both of you out, and based on the return, I will make a decision in relation to who will be the benefactor."

Your eyes widen, smile falling, and in the moment you find yourself incapable of holding your feelings of unjust back.

"What? What do you mean you're sending both of us? What benefit could me or the company see in having this guy tag along?"

"Hey?" Chris cuts in, a little wounded. You ignore him for the most part.

"Chris does good work, has proven himself on numerous occasions. I think the two of you will work just fine together, and if that's not the case, then consider it a friendly workplace competition to get the fires really burning for results."

Jaw clenched and teeth gritted tightly, you take a step towards the man happily seated in his position of taking, and dare to point a finger out towards him.

"I've earned this."

But to that, a knowing, shit-eating grin pulls at a single corner of his mouth. An understanding of this, of the anger you're feeling and where it's coming from and how absolutely fruitless it will be.

"Have you?" he questions lightly, a disgusting chime in his tone that makes your stomach turn. His eyes drop back down to the desk, not bothering to even look at you for the following question. "And how is it that you've done that, exactly?"

Freezing in place, even just the question mortifies you. Chris' being there feels far too illuminating now in comparison to the emptiness that he carried before, and you know that this man knows that you are incapable of answering that as diligently as you may like to.

But still, the both of you know.

You close your eyes slowly, exhale steadily and try to center yourself into something more professional once more. "I've worked incredibly hard for this kind of opportunity, sir."

"And so has Chan! Sorry, I mean Chris. I'm afraid we spend so much time together leisurely that I often forget to address you properly in a professional setting nowadays!"

What's worse than the initial blow of this knowledge dawning upon you is the way that the man beside you laughs, like it's the funniest thing in the world that you're being made a fool of in front of these men. Granted, he doesn't know—does he know?—regardless, the humiliation toiling in your gut twists unrelentingly whether your colleague is privy or not.

You don't get a chance to respond before the man who has wronged you continues on with the thought, however.

"You are still getting the opportunity, it's just that you're sharing it with someone else. If your work continues to shine above and beyond your peers, then you have nothing to worry about, now do you?"

It takes everything you have inside of you not to snarl out a reply. "Yes, sir. I'll see to it getting done."

"Excellent news! You and Chan are set to leave tomorrow, a red-eye to Los Angeles for three days. I trust that the two of you can have it settled in that time?"

"Yes, sir," the both of you reply in unison, and even just that twists like a dagger in your back.

The airport terminal is busy, too much, for your liking.

There are perks to being in such places, though, and you choose to revel in those small things. No one is interested in you or what you're doing. No one around you cares about your immaculately pressed garment or the fact that your luggage is slightly scuffed. They pay you no mind as you look up from your phone and towards the screen sitting atop the gate entrance as you await your boarding signal.

"Hey."

You sigh aloud at the simple word, easily recognizing the voice that carries it through the crowds. Glancing to your other side, your colleague stands with phone and luggage in hand; a suit jacket just ill-fitting enough that it perturbs you that much more.

So, you don't reply. Chris sits next to you and settles his belongings in such a haphazard way that it grates on your nerves—much like everything that he seems to do, does—and you silently await for him to make his presence unknown to you for what you hope to be the rest of the near week that the two of you are forced to spend together.

Not so lucky, however.

"I think it's going to be good that we're working on this together," he says cheerfully. Annoyingly. "By the way, you can call me Chan. Chris is so formal and professional."

"Well, Chris, we are workplace colleagues, so it only makes sense that we remain professional," you respond.

He leans in towards you, "Our work place isn't that professional, I'm sure you've noticed."

You don't like the sound of that, though it could very well be more of your hurt feelings and humiliation taking the driver's seat. Thus, you temper the anger that threatens to burst out at what you think could be certain implications and simply meet his eyes with a glare.

"So I have."

Chris, Chan, whatever—leans back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest before continuing on with the thought that you don't care to hear more of but know you're going to be prisoned with, regardless.

"I think we can learn a lot from one another during this."

"And what is it that I can learn from you that I've not yet gathered from years of study, internships, and work in the field? Do you think it's an accident that I've landed myself so far up the corporate ladder?"

His head cocks to the side, and for a moment, you think it to be daringly condescending.

"No, but it's no accident that I've landed myself here, either."

You roll your eyes and focus down on the phone in hand.

"The truth of the matter is that in a lot of cases, the best way to get ahead is to take everyone else down around you," he carries on, voice dropping down to something more akin to a whisper. "Playing nice only gets you so far."

The snort of a laugh that escapes you is so quick you don't have a chance in fighting it back.

"If you think you're going to be conniving enough to wrestle this out of my hands, then I'm afraid you've been paired up against the wrong adversary," you reply. "Better, stronger, smarter men than you have tried, and failed."

Chan's eyebrows perk at that, like he's amused by the comeback. There's a part of you that appreciates the fact that he doesn't immediately wither in the shadow of your toughness, though you're far from desiring a fight for this trip as it carries on, either. Withering, in some cases, might be best.

"You don't know anything about me, yet you're so willing to assume I'm unworthy of the challenge of taking you on. Unfortunately for you, I love a good, friendly competition."

To that, you huff out yet another mildly amused laugh.

"It will be anything but friendly."

The flight to Los Angeles gives you plenty of time to conjure up a game plan, not that you think you're going to need anything all that involved to conquer your adversary.

Chan enjoys the in-flight entertainment alongside of you as you do—laughs along to the film that he's watching and orders himself a drink to truly settle in. You do neither. Instead, you crack open your laptop and mull over the numerous documents and spreadsheets of information that you'll want to know like the back of your hand by the time that you land.

As well as how best to handle him.

Thankfully, your colleague seems whimsically dim despite your earlier conversation in the airport. He talks a big game as far as a competition and winning is to be concerned, but you rack your brain trying to recall a time in which his name has ever come up at work previously; no accolades, no parties thrown, no cheers for a job well done. In fact, the majority of those moments have been granted to you, and incredibly hard-earned, at that.

But, you have to give it to him: he doesn't appear frightened by you. Chalk that up to naivete, sexism, or stupidity—you couldn't care less which pin it is that he lands on, because either way, the outcome will be the same.

So sure of himself, and yet nothing to show for it besides a bizarrely personal relationship with the CEO. Well, you have that, too.

With the way that things have played out, you want to call things off, however. This man back at the office has humiliated you and taken from you but not held up his end of the bargain. Is it worth it to continue carrying on? Will it harm your career if you don't? Probably best to maintain the status quo as far as sexual endeavors go. Besides, the sex isn't half bad, either.

When you and Chan land in Los Angeles it's far too early for your liking and with how little sleep you are now on, but the thrum of the bustling, awaiting city excites you. This opportunity is going to be everything—is going to grant you everything—and in all likelihood, you wouldn't be able to sleep if you were to try.

Chan attempts to take your bags from you once you're both walking the busy halls of LAX and you fight him off with every try. He smiles and laughs and rolls his eyes at your unwillingness to cooperate, but this is no comical matter to you. Little does he know how close to danger he sits at every passing moment.

One taxi down and making your way to the hotel, Chan rushes his way out of the car and around to the back so that you have no hope in fighting him this time. He is so insufferable, you think to yourself, though you can't deny yourself the joy of having him hauling your luggage about. Good, perhaps you will be useful to me, after all. 

The hotel is a lavish one; all white marble, silver accenting and lush green foliage at every turn. You're thankful for that much, because in so many ways there is nowhere else that you wish to be less than here.

You spot a bar down the corridor just a bit and make a mental note of it, as you may be spending ample time there when not constructing the professional downfall of your idiot colleague. In that moment, Chan forces himself into your line of vision with a wide grin and nods his head over towards the elevator.

"Floor seven," he says, handing you one of the room keys.

You look at it, sitting thoughtfully placed inside of its red paper envelope with a number written on in gold ink. Then, you glance at his, still remaining in his hand.

The same number.

"We don't have separate rooms?" you question, though you're capable enough to already know the answer to such an asinine question. Thus, you move onto the next most obvious one. "Why don't we have separate rooms?"

"There's two beds, it's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," you all but shout, forcing the tail end of your anger back as to maintain a semblance of professionality. "We need to go back down and get this sorted out. I'll handle it."

Chan laughs under his breath, watching the number on the LED change as the elevator rises.

"You won't be sorting anything out. There's about five major conferences in the area this weekend and this place is heavily booked, as is everywhere else decent in the region. You're just going to have to put your big girl pants on and deal with it."

You don't know Los Angeles well enough to hide a body. Unfortunate.

Though your fingers tingle and your head throbs, you don't bother fighting the fact any further. You are a logical woman, and you're perfectly capable of understanding the concept of there being no further vacancy in a hotel. Thus, you sigh, clench your jaw, and drop it altogether.

When the elevator stops with a ding, you couldn't feel more relieved. You rush out from between the metal doors so quickly that you nearly shoulder it as it continues its momentum. Down the hall and pausing in front of your shared, temporary residence, you press the key to the reader and push inside without even so much as a thought about where Chan is or how he is fairing with the baggage load that he has taken upon himself to deal with.

The door nearly shuts him out, a leg craned in through the crack as he fights it without a word to you for help.

It is spacious. Bright and clean and smells of new linens like no one prior to the two of you has ever actually stayed in here before. The bathroom is large and pristine in the way that it glitters. A wide enough working space with two chairs and not nearly enough coffee offered straight away—though that's a simple enough fix as far as you are concerned.

"Pretty nice!"

Ah. You had nearly forgotten about him, but Chan always has a way of making his presence known. He hands you your bag and you pull it over towards the side of the bed that faces the large window, blinds drawn. Reaching towards them, Chan offers up his expertise once again.

"They said there's a balcony."

"Surely I could have gathered as much for myself."

He rolls his eyes and sits on the edge of his bed, intent on unpacking. You continue on towards the balcony, pulling the fabric away and gazing out through the massive, glass panes. 

It's Los Angeles. Not a whole lot to offer as far as views go in the major city areas, but suppose it will have to do.

"We should get dinner tonight. Look over our plan of action for the next couple of days with these clients and get to know one another a little bit better." Chan isn't looking at you while he says it, but you can hear the hopefulness in the sound of his voice without necessarily seeing it on his face. "Besides, it's on company dime, might as well go all-out!"

While the idea of spending somewhat intimate, one-on-one time with this man is not something that excites you, suppose what does excite you is the possibility of putting your devilish little plan of hostile take-over into action. Unfortunately, what this also means for your future, is something that will be much, much more difficult than simply defeating him.

Being nice.

"Yeah, that sounds good, actually." You hope the sudden change in your demeanor doesn't raise any red flags in his mind, but you don't think him to be smart enough to consider the fact. "There was a nice looking place downstairs in the lobby, maybe we should go there."

"Perfect!"

He's so happy that it almost makes you feel guilty about the whole thing.

Chan continues on. "It's early and I've got a few things I want to get ahead on. I'll get out of here so that you can sleep, just in case that's what you'd like to do, but feel free to send me a message if you need me for anything. I'll just be downstairs."

He's so kind. How unfortunate.

"I will, thank you."

Chan grabs his work bag and scurries out of the shared room. How disastrous this whole thing is for him, a monumental case of wrong place, wrong time. 

Dinner is good, but your trickery is far more delicious.

There's a stack of envelopes with paperwork inside of them sitting on the edge of the relatively small table, barely enough room for it now that entrees and glasses of wine have been poured, but now that the business portion of the evening has come to a close, the two of you are able to enjoy the perks that going on these sorts of trips often has to offer.

Chan sits ahead of you with a glass full of white wine and a nicer tie than the one he arrived with. He looks handsome–that, you can't deny—though it's something that will have to sit ignored in the back of your mind with far more important matters to consider. 

"Are you seeing anyone?"

You're lost in your thoughts when he asks the question suddenly, and it jars you back into the present moment with what you imagine to be an incredibly evident startle.

"I'm not sure that's any of your business," you reply quickly, but on second thought, you remember that your plan is to reel him in. Thus, you amend the response. "No, I'm not. I'm much too wrapped up with my career for that."

Chan pouts, like he's sad about it for you. "Still, it gets lonely, yeah?"

He looks and sounds sincere in a way that you're not expecting, and suppose a little honesty won't completely hinder your end goal.

"It does, sometimes, but that's what I've chosen. Once I'm comfortable with where I am professionally, then I'll carve out time for dating." You look up at him, pointing your fork straight at him, "this isn't some thinly veiled commentary about how I'm getting too old to find someone, is it?"

And though you're somewhat joking in saying it, horror strikes through each and every one of Chan's facial features upon hearing the words.

"What? Oh, no! God, no! I was just thinking that working long hours like we do can be isolating, so it might be nice to have someone to go home to at the end of it all, you know?"

You do know.

"It's not that I don't get out and meet people, do things," you say, taking a sip from your glass to wash away the humiliation of honesty that lingers in your throat. "They're just not…long term acquaintances, if you will."

Chan grins knowingly, and you don't particularly like that look on him. As if you've not been the one giving up the information freely to get him to this point.

"Ah, I see," he says in an exhale and an accompanying nod, "just enough to keep the bed warm next to you sometimes, huh? I'm no stranger to that arrangement, myself."

This is far more information than you find you ever need to know about any of your colleagues, though the same could be said about anything at all regarding their personal lives. Spouses, kids, pets, what kind of car they drive; it's all more information than you care to know about any of them, though you can't help but feel the sizzle of intrigue inside of your chest at his willingness to offer up such particularly intimate knowledge in regards to his late night activities.

Perhaps playing with this guy will be more fun than originally considered.

And thus, you take something of a gamble in relation.

"To be honest with you, I've been seeing someone casually for a while, though I'm not sure if that arrangement is working out for me any longer."

Both of you take another sip from your glasses, but Chan's gaze lingers on you for an especially lengthy amount of time. He sets his glass down calmly on the table, sighs aloud, and then settles himself casually against the back of the chair.

"I know you've been sleeping with the CEO."

You are thankful to no longer be in the middle of your drink, because you'd certainly be choking on the swallow right about now.

There's an attempt to maintain your composure—something that you're quite adept at—though in situations like this you have far less experience in doing so. You're not quite sure whether or not the shock is obvious across your face, but it certainly feels like it is.

No point in lying, the both of you are already here, after all.

"Is that so." Not a question, a statement.

Chan shrugs, all nonchalant in a way that you don't really appreciate, either.

"Yeah, he let it slip one of the nights we were out late playing darts with the guys from the office. Sounded a bit like he was boasting, like I was supposed to be impressed with him for it, or something."

"I take it you're not the only one who knows then?"

"Nah, I don't think he told everyone. It was a moment where we were alone, I don't really know why he told me. I was just like, that's great, man, and then we started talking about the game."

Slumping into your chair, it's the first time you've felt well and truly defeated, and especially when it comes to any and all matters such as these. While you're not ashamed of the lengths gone through in order to attain what it is that you intend to attain, it is far from ideal for the entire office to be aware of it.

"Amazing, you didn't even have to sleep with him to get put on this assignment," you sigh, arms crossing over your chest. "Suppose I look foolish now."

"I don't really care about that, about you doing whatever you think you need to do to get ahead in life. If you want to sleep with our boss to do that then that's your prerogative," Chan says, tone simplistic and plain. "Where I do care is that you seem to be under the impression that you're the only person in the office who is worthy of anything, and that no one else is working hard in order to achieve anything. I am, we are, just most of us aren't going to the same lengths that you are."

A beat of silence passes between you, and in perfect timing, the waiter comes with the check and disappears just as swiftly. Once he disappears from the table side, Chan leans forward, dropping his volume even more in a way that expresses so wholly that the next words spoken are truly only meant for you.

"I've seen your work, I know you have what it takes to be a top executive in this company, and that's without all of the extra shit like fucking some rich scumbag who's just going to turn around and throw the fact back in your face." He leans back again, signs the receipt, and then begins reaching for the stack of papers. "But you're not the only one who works hard and puts in crazy hours to earn a place here. Let's work this case like the team we're meant to be, get it done like I know that we can, and shove it in that asshole's face once we get back."

It's a plan that seems so pleasant on the surface: working together with a colleague who you now have nothing to hide from, who knows all of your dirty little professional secrets and still appears to respect you in spite of it. 

You watch Chan pack all of the belongings into a briefcase and can't help but wonder, why don't you care? Why would someone in direct competition with you not seem to be bothered by the fact that you're extending yourself well beyond a professional setting in order to no longer have to compete with him on equal footing?

Rather, you can't help but feel as though the tone of the conversation has taken a turn, almost as though Chan respects you and your work ethic more after the discussion of it all. With everything laid out onto the table, this man knows and understands you in a way that no one else really does, and beyond all of it—he still sees you. He sees how important all of this is, how you're capable of doing just about anything to achieve your purpose no matter how looked down upon it often is, and no matter how humiliating it has thus turned out to be.

Chan just sees you.

"We have an early morning tomorrow, I know these guys are going to want us there at least twenty minutes before the time, so we should plan to have our coffee and look over the documents well before we're meant to arrive."

You glance up at him as he stands, baggage in hand and a smile that says all of the very same things you've just come to realize about him. It's back to normal, like nothing has happened, no conversation about any ethically questionable goings on has even taken place.

Back to regularly scheduled programming.

And you kind of like that.

Twenty minutes early becomes thirty minutes, due to your insistence. With a coffee in hand and perfectly manicured nails, you step out from one of the back doors of the taxi and leave the dealing with briefcases and paperwork to the guy who insists on going above and beyond to make himself useful to you. Good.

It's an early morning, but you find some comfort in that. Los Angeles never really turns off, but at least for now the sidewalks and streets are just a bit quieter than they will be at any other hour of the day. The weather is beautiful—perfectly breezy in just the right amount, with the sun coyly peeking through the clouds edges up above—and you can't help but think to yourself, no way that this day could possibly go wrong for me.

The office building that the two of you stand in front of is nothing special, as far as appearances go. Most in the surrounding area look much the same; worn down from the elements and barely seeing any architectural upkeep, but the spinning, glass front doors standing just a few paces ahead tell a different story of the interior. In ways, it brings a sort of feeling of the illuminated beauty of your professional future, standing between you, and there.

You're in your best set of dress. Black and white with a long skirt fitted just right. Chan is much of the same beside you in his immaculately tailored jacket, accentuating the wide slope of his shoulders and sleeves cutting off perfectly at his wrists.

He turns to look at you, and then smiles with a cute cock of his head.

"Ready to smash it?"

And not that you needed the added boost, but hearing the words vocalized from him adds just that much more fuel to your fire.

You nod. "Absolutely."

Hands are shaken and pleasantries exchanged once you and Chan are invited upstairs and into a large, white conference room that feels far too sterline and uninhabited for your liking. The place feels open, yet uninviting in a way that grates on your nerves and incites the kind of anxiety that you've not felt in these situations for many, many years.

One positive, is that the three men that you're meant to be working with today seem relatively uninterested in you, particularly. From one head of the table, you set your coffee down and begin unpacking a briefcase full of paperwork, envelopes, and a laptop crammed full of numbers and offerings and statistics meant to make this a home run. You know that it will be, you believe wholly that it will, but as you glance up and across what feels to be an impossibly long table towards the grouping of men chuckling and laughing amongst themselves, you can't help but feel something else that you've not felt in such a long time.

The all-encompassing suffocation of male cliquiness. 

The Boys Club. They exist in so many spaces, and far from unheard of in your particular line of work. You watch on—particularly at Chan—as he smiles and laughs along with men that take absolutely no interest in you, your work, or what you bring to the table. They all playfully slap each other's arms and nod along to their stupid jokes like they've been best friends since the playground, and you are left out of it entirely.

Once you're settled, you stare at them and their childishness for what feels like an eternity, until finally you decide upon being the bad guy and taking matters into your own hands.

You clear your throat, "mind if we get started?"

The laughter stops dead in its tracks, all joy seemingly sucked out of the room at a lightning quick pace, and the men slowly turn to grant you their obvious looks of abject disapproval.

Though, you can't help but wonder which part they are disapproving of, exactly; be it the fact that it is time to begin the meeting, or the fact that a woman has the audacity to tell them as much.

Still, they follow suit without a disgruntled word. Chan makes his way around the table to meet you where you stand, but as the two of you meet eyes, he nods at you. The quiet insistence for you to take the lead. Not that you had any plans otherwise.

So, you do. With the laptop hooked up and the projection upon the wall, you begin going over statistics for the men to look over, take in, eventually discuss amongst themselves. It's easy work for you, knowing all of this information and all of the inner workings of your profession like the back of your hand.

One man raises a hand slightly into the air, a pen perched between his fingers as he nods towards the projector.

"What was the annual turnover for 2019 and how did that impact the immediate years going forward?"

He is looking at Chan when he asks the question, though your colleague has not said a word the entire time. You want to be better than the urge to present yourself in a way unbecoming of women in your position, because you know that anything you do can be interpreted as such, but the anger and desire for hostility gets the better of you when you reply back to him.

"2.3%, and the impact was minimal, easily dealt with internally with very little felt as a result of it throughout other sectors of the company."

The man asking raises his eyebrows, as if surprised by the fact that you have spoken. You've swallowed down your pride that would come out as far more aggressive than simply answering the question, so if he has an issue with you doing so now, you know precisely what to chalk it up as.

He turns to look at his colleagues first, then his attention falls back to you with a foul curl to the corner of his lips.

"I asked him," he says, pointing his pen at Chan. "Not you."

To this, Chan reels physically. You're not looking at him, not paying him any mind in particular, but you can see as much out of the corner of your eye from where he stands beside you. Now, your eyebrows perk up at the insidiousness of what's so outwardly and openly taking place here, but not so willing to take it on as a defeat just yet.

"With all due respect," you reply, calm and unshaken as you can be. Practiced, throughout the years. "I've been working at this company for six years, been through the lowest of the lows and had a personal hand in ensuring that it reached its highest of highs. While my colleague is knowledgeable and well-respected, this meeting is being led by me, so I would appreciate it if any questions be directed as such."

This feels good. Far from the first time you've had to stick up for yourself in such a way, you exhale the nerves through a semi-shaken breath and settle yourself where you stand. You're still not looking at him, but you do notice the fought back creeping of a smile across his lips.

The joys of victory end quickly, however.

Another man speaks up, this one seated across the way from the first indignant fellow.

"With all due respect," he begins, mocking you. "I believe I speak for all of the men in the room when I say that the only questions we're particularly interested in asking you relate to the snugness of your skirt around your hips and ass, and if there are ever questions relating back to the professional aspect of this engagement, we will be addressing your colleague."

The mixture of emotions that course through you is electric, impossible to parse through and pick just one out to focus on. Anxiety, anger, humiliation, regret, terror, sadness; they all rage through your nerves. Your skin feels hot, a sort of dizziness coming in on you quickly that you don't appreciate, because now is not the time to be experiencing weakness. Your lips part to speak, still unsure of what to even say. Flabbergasted, you attempt to find the words—some words—to fire back at these horrible men, but your mind feels simultaneously full and empty. How can that be. 

A woman who prides herself on being the best and brightest in the room, dwindled down to nothing at the hands of useless, pathetic men who bring nothing to the table besides those already aforementioned.

"Alright, let's not get out of hand," Chan says, cutting in through the awkward silence. This appears to appease the men, which you dislike even more though you understand his reasoning for doing it. "My colleague is very well-respected in her profession and incredibly knowledgeable. Perhaps it would be best if we make quick work of wrapping this up and heading off on our separate ways."

For the rest of the meeting, Chan takes the lead. The men down the way open up splendidly, laugh and have a wonderful time with another man in charge, saying all of the same things you had said, reading off of all of the sheets of information that you compiled, that you slaved away at for weeks, for months at a time. Countless late nights with nothing more than the television for company in the background and a frozen pizza in the oven in order to make sure that you will never, ever be the recipient of the kinds of unreasonable lashings that you have taken on today.

All for nothing.

You don't dare speak another word, and sit in the shadow cast by your colleague. When the meeting concludes, the business men are happy; smiling and laughing along with any and everything Chan says. They love him. They love him not because he is knowledgeable, or good at his job in a way that is particularly extraordinary, but simply because he is not a woman. Simply because he is not you.

This sort of dichotomy has always existed, and in every facet of life, too. When buried into your work and the insular walls of your typical professional environment, suppose that it's easy to forget what it's like out here, in the real world. Where men do not respect you whether you're better than them or not, all in all, the result is the same, anyway.

Suppose the CEO has prepared you for this moment, a smaller humiliation only to set you up for one much larger and harder to swallow down the pain of.

Chan handles these men—the situation as a whole—as well as he can, you suppose. There is a kind of pain that settles in your chest at his unwillingness to turn it into a fight, though logically, you understand how pointless this might be for everyone involved. How short-lived the joy of bombing this meeting might be, only so that the suffering of your ego-death be even shorter-lived.

Just get in, and then get out, as relatively unscathed as you can manage. Chan has picked up the pieces left scattered around to the best of his ability and really, with flying colors. 

It does not change, however, the deeply nestled pain of being on the receiving end of such corrupt wrongdoings.

The taxi ride back to the hotel is silent, and you're thankful for the fact that Chan does not make so much as an attempt to say a word.

On the small table just beside you, there sits a tall, green bottle of wine with no glass to accompany it. You've decided against it, and that drinking straight from the source will suit you just fine as a consolation prize on the balcony tonight.

One of the charms of Los Angeles, you find, is the weather in the evenings. A cool breeze that gently carries over your features and through your hair as you stand against the railing and gaze out at the still-busy streets down below. There's a part of you that wishes to have the will to go out and enjoy the city on the last night here, and with your work responsibilities settled, but the mood of previous encounters still sits heavy on your chest, dampening any hope of enjoying yourself before your flight tomorrow morning.

Though many, long hours have passed since the morning, conversation between you and Chan have been few and far between. You understand it well enough as him, knowing the time and place to engage with a person after being so horrifically wronged, so when the glass door slowly slides open and he brings himself outside to join you, your heavy heart welcomes the intrusion, rather than resents it.

"Hey," he says, barely above a whisper. "Mind if I come out?"

Your smile is thin and straight, hardly able to be called such. "Sure, take a seat."

There's only one wobbly  wooden chair next to the table. A ridiculous design from all angles of consideration, but Chan doesn't bother arguing with you and slowly slinks himself down into what it has to offer him.

His hair is damp and freshly toweled off after a shower—loose curls sticking up every which way as if looking for a means to escape from his head. You smile at the sight, appreciate how approachable and kind he appears when he isn't done up in a professional setting like you're used to seeing. There's a realization that has dawned on you at some point during the day, though you have difficulty in pinpointing the precise time, where you come to accept your softening heart towards your colleague. 

Perhaps on account of your forced togetherness, perhaps aided by his willingness to diffuse a situation in what might have been the best way that he knew how in the moment. No, he didn't enact violence upon those men in that office space, and yes, it would have been nice to see, but solve something, it wouldn't have, and suppose all you had really hoped to do was escape further escalation as quietly as the situation would allow for, anyway.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier." Chan is the first to speak up since seated, the first to bring up the whole thing since its having taken place. "It's so fucked. Simple, pathetic men with a chip on their shoulder who can't handle acknowledging that a woman is capable of doing their job, and more."

"Yeah," you sigh, turning towards him in an effort to grab the wine bottle once more. "Guess it's not anything I'm not used to, though it's been a long time since it's so blatantly been shoved in front of my face."

You take a large sip, and then laugh to yourself before continuing on with a similar thought.

"Actually, I guess that's not true, considering our boss pretty much did the same thing right before sending us out on this mission."

Turned to face him now, you watch Chan's features scrunch like he's fighting back the urge to speak his mind plainly, though evidently, it is a fight meant to be lost.

"Look, it's really none of my business what you do," he says, a seemingly rattled hand rushing to run fingers through his hair, "but do you really think it serves you to keep seeing that guy? God, he's such a fucking asshole, airing out your personal business to other colleagues and then waving it around in the office right before sending us on this trip—I wouldn't be surprised if those guys were friends of his, too. Birds of a feather, and all that, you know?"

Another sip, though now you're looking down at Chan with a kind of surprised gratitude. 

"No, I don't think it does, though it'll be mighty interesting finding out how navigating those professional waters will work out for me. Suppose that's the position I've put myself in, though."

It's then that Chan stands, all white bathrobe and silly hair that warms your heart as he closes much of the small amount of distance that previously would sit before the two of you. With this new, closer proximity, it's easier to take in the charming slope of his nose and the plump, pretty fullness of his lips.

"The only people in this equation who are wrong for what they've done is him, and those pieces of shit from this morning." He pauses—the both of you do—and for a moment you think each of your breaths to be held in suspension as to what it is that's going to happen next. Chan's eyes remain fixed on yours for so long, and as you feel your temperature rise across your skin and the beat of your heart pick up in some unfamiliar sort of anticipation, you're able to see his gaze flicker down to your lips for just a second before once again settling on maintaining eye contact. "Yeah, you've been kind of an asshole to me, to other people in the office, but that doesn't mean you're deserving of this. No woman is deserving of being subjected to this, regardless of who it is that you decide to sleep with, and for what reason."

If not for his soft demeanor standing right before you, you might believe him to be angry with how he sounds. He must be, though he carries himself well enough as to not let it come out in ugly and unpleasant ways; and as a result, the quick and hard beating of your heart within your chest only picks up that much more. Since when does this guy have such an absurd effect on you?

"I've seen the work you put in, so I'm in a pretty good position to make the call," Chan says, inching himself just ever so slightly closer to you. His voice drops lower now, and accompanying it, the less subtle eyeing of your mouth in relation to his. "You're better than this, you're better than probably all of these blokes here."

"Is that so?" you whisper in response, and though the sentiment is appreciated, you must acknowledge within yourself that the topic of conversation has fallen quite a bit to the wayside in favor of something far more intriguing, something far newer, and more enticing. 

"It is." He inches closer yet, only suspected millimeters of distance still held between your mouths. "I'm a pretty good judge of character, you know."

"Says the guy who used to hang out with our boss to get ahead."

Chan grins at your playful combativeness before replying, "Just doing what it takes, I'd have slept with him too if the opportunity were to arise."

Free hand coming up to feather over the softness of his robe, your palm smoothes across his chest and the definition that lies beneath before speaking.

"You know, I'm technically your superior, too."

"Oh?" he chimes, eyebrows perked. "Is that so?"

"Technically," you answer with a small shrug. "I've got you on length of employment, by a couple of years."

Caged in against the railing of the balcony, Chan's lips reside so close to your own that they nearly ghost over the flesh. He smells of mint and rosemary from having been freshly washed—all the more damning for you and your budding curiosity about him.

"Should I give up on trying to sleep with him, then?" Chan asks, a seductive playfulness laced throughout each and every word. "Move on to different, more promising prospects?"

"Only one way to find out."

When Chan finally closes the distance fully and kisses you, it's not as hard, not as rushed as you previously had anticipated it to be. The kiss is careful, a want that resides deeply nestled beneath it but far from the thing that grants unbridled haste and need. His lips are soft, the tug of his teeth at your bottom lip experimental as he tests the waters in regard to what he should or should not be doing, but it's a kind of trepidation that only has you eager for more from him. Your fingers grip tightly into the robe, a light pull in order to have his body more firmly and intentionally against your own, and it must be precisely the sort of green light he had been looking for, because the delicate slide of his tongue to find yours enters into the mix, and now you have no other choice but to accept that your original plan in hostile takeover has ultimately ended up in yet another failure.

Though this one is far more appreciated, and you've got to admit, you're happy to go home tomorrow with this sort of loss sitting on your scorecard.

The day of your return home is long and full of travel, though this does little to stave off all of the thoughts of what could, and might be.

Falling hard and fast has never been you. Through the years you've dedicated to your professional development, you've met people, shared bed and intimacies with people that never were to develop beyond the simple gratification that the two of you granted each other in those moments. You try to think back to the last time you really wanted someone; not physically, not sexually, but as a larger and more intrinsic part of your life.

But you can't, not until now.

Chan offers you a ride back to your home from the airport once the both of you land. The taxi is long and expensive, and while money is of no consequence to you, there is a much firmer inkling within that wishes to have just a little bit more time together that isn't set between the walls of a stuffy office that you now have come to have great disdain for.

Driving on the highway, you roll your window down slightly and enjoy the breeze as it's offered to you. The horizon paints itself with colors of pink, purple, and orange as the sun begins to set; normally something of no interest to you, but now? Now, a newfound beauty in all of it.

You barely know Chan, but what you've learned in a short amount of time has you eager to find out more. You can't help but wonder if he feels the same.

"Hey, uh."

As if reading your mind, Chan pipes up from the driver's side, a nervousness in his voice that you aren't quite familiar with but has you eager to hear more.

"Look, no pressure, yeah? But…think you might be interested in coming back to mine and having a drink, or just to talk?"

Thank all of the powers that be, you think to yourself.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," you say, trying to temper your interest. "Let's do that."

Chan's place is nice. Comfortable, cared for, but cozy. 

As you step inside and remove your shoes, you look around to take in your surroundings. The furniture is nice, but not lavishly so. Pretty vases with flowers and hanging picture frames showing memories of friends and family adorning his walls that come off as inviting, and not showy. In juxtaposition, you find yourself thinking back to so many other places that you've visited in the past—homes that feel far less like them, and more like museums. Do not touch. The empty atmosphere of being unlived in.

A cork pops off from a bottle just a bit inside and around a corner, thus, you follow the invitation of it. Chan stands in his kitchen pouring two glasses of wine, and you take a seat at the small, glass, dining room table in wait.

"Workplace romances are forbidden, you know."

Well, that is certainly one way for you to broach the topic.

And while you've been mulling it over the whole day, you had decided upon this as the best route. It's simplistic enough to get the point across, but also light-hearted in a way that it doesn't need to be taken too seriously in consideration by Chan. The concept of an office romance being so broad that there is difficulty in necessarily pinpointing what does, or does not, fit within the definition.

But the two of you have kissed, and there is clearly some degree of interest. So, it applies well enough to be used as the shoe horn.

However, Chan only smiles as he finishes up the task of pouring the drinks. He glances up at you briefly, then carries on with what it is that he is doing before replying.

"Okay," he says. Not giving you much to work with until he comes around the table and sits beside you, wine glasses set onto the tabletop. "Then I'll quit."

"Wait, what?"

You don't expect this answer, and it certainly doesn't make any sense to you, either. Yes, things have been moving relatively quickly in your own mind, and as far as your own feelings are concerned, but has the same been true for him? To this degree, at that?

He shrugs. "I'll quit. It's not a big deal, I don't even like that place, and I sure as hell don't like our boss, so I'll just find another job if it means we can keep doing this comfortably."

Chan punctuates the thought with a sip of his drink, so nonchalant. Like the most absurd thing hasn't just come out of his mouth with incredible conviction.

"I…but…" you stutter out, trying to gather your thoughts. "You barely even know me, and if I'm being honest, it sounds a little crazy to be willing to give up such a huge position at a company just to date a colleague that wasn't even that nice to you only a couple of days ago."

"Yeah, I suppose when you put it like that, it does sound a little crazy." Chan takes another bored sip of wine. "I did tell you I'm a pretty good judge of character, though."

A beat of silence passes between the two of you, and you take it as an opportunity to bring your own glass up and to your lips before speaking into the rim. "Going to give up your job so you can sleep with me."

"Well, not just sleep with you, though I guess that depends on how good it is."

You choke on the sip.

"I'm a big boy, I can make career decisions for myself, even if that decision is to effectively and temporarily blow mine up." Chan's hand finds your thigh beneath the table then, fingertips gently digging into the flesh of the inside. "The rest is up to you, though. We can call all of this off right here, right now, and go to work tomorrow like nothing ever happened."

With the back of your neck heating up and the light prickling of goosebumps across your skin, you set your glass down, inhale deeply, and then look Chan square in the eyes.

"Maybe it's about time you earn that next promotion."

"You know—"

Chan whispers the words out and against your lips, through fervent kisses so quick and needy that he's barely able to say anything, at all. Hands are busy at work to slip the both of you out of your business attire from the day; button down shirts, belts, slacks, and skirts strewn hastily about the hardwood flooring of his bedroom while stumbling desperately towards the bed.

"I never thought my next promotion would be getting myself fired."

"Life is just full of surprises," you say, pushing him to the edge of the bed and gently down on top of it. "Isn't it?"

He doesn't bother responding, however, instead fixated on the way you drop to your knees between his legs and lightly graze a palm over the tenting at the front of his undergarments.

Fingers hooking into the elastic sides, you drop them down his thighs, freeing what it is that you really wish to see of him. You wrap a hand around the thick base of his length, gently stroking him to a fullness that was already so close to being reached. Chan sighs into the touch first, then a light groan that catches in his throat at the feeling of your tongue traversing up the underside of him, only to curve around the tip and then sink down whole to take him in.

One hand comes up to find the back of your head, though there's no force behind the gesture as you work him with your mouth. The wide stretch is enough to already have you feeling the fatigue of such an offering, but the heavenly sound of Chan quickly unraveling beneath you is enough to have you ignoring the ache that comes along with the wonder of such a large cock.

"Fuck, you feel good," he exhales, hips ever so slightly canting up to meet your mouth as you take him deeper in.

You pull off slowly, looking up the length of his perfect, toned body to meet his heavily lidded eyes. Hand still stroking him as you do. "You know what feels better?"

"I can guess."

With that, Chan leans forward and grasps you by the wrist—pulls you up and onto the bed with the kind of strength you couldn't dare fight against if you wanted to. Swapping your positions, you find yourself splayed out against the mattress and with hands already busy prying your thighs apart to accommodate him before you're even able to gather your senses.

A lone finger slides up your wet crease, stilling at the most sensitive part of you. Your body jolts at the feeling, looking down as Chan grins only inches away from the place where you want him the most.

"Would you hold it against me if I told you I wanted to fuck you the moment we landed in LA?" he admits, and punctuates the thought with a languid stroke of his tongue following where his finger has just traveled. "Never would have said anything in a million years but—God, the way you look dressed for work like that? So professional and serious, couldn't stop thinking about what you'd sound like if I just—"

Chan pauses the thought, digs his tongue and the plush of his lips more firmly against your clit and gently offers the sensation of being filled by two fingers simultaneously. You can't help the whine that falls from your mouth, though you make a half-hearted attempt to catch it before it does. One hand of fingers curling into the bedding below, the other finding Chan's hair to wrap the curls up and between; he wastes no further time showing precisely the kind of want that he has quietly carried for you. Dizzying and electric beneath your skin, hips bucking up ever so slightly and without conscious thought to find more of him as he grants it to you.

"I was so mean to you, though," you manage to say through heavy breaths and moans, "would you hold it against me if I told you I considered fucking you to try to ruin you? Professionally, of course."

The sounds that this information musters up and out of Chan can only be described as the most animalistic, primal groan of hedonistic want that you've ever heard.

"Yeah? You're going to ruin me?" he replies, fingers still pressed inside of you and a thumb firmly sitting at your clit. "Might have to revisit who's going to be ruining who."

Disappearing off and to the side, Chan makes such quick work of dealing with the necessities that you almost don't even notice his having done so. He stands afterwards—all but hauls you further up the length of the bed to accommodate his being there as well, and then positions himself between your legs once more as he drags the thickness of his cock through the wetness that awaits him.

"Maybe I sort of like it when you're mean to me, ever consider that?" Chan asks, coy in tone. One hand gripping into the soft flesh of your thigh as to hold you open for him while the other sits firm at the base of his cock, blunt head only slightly pressing at your opening. "Maybe it was all just a plot by me to get you to talk to me like a piece of shit so that I could then, in turn, fuck you stupid like we both want."

And while you would love to fight the point, the steady drive of Chan's hips forward makes for that to be an impossibility. The stretch of him carving out space inside of you for his cock is dizzying, slow and careful as he does so. You whine and sigh out as he pulls your body onto him until he rests fully inside.

"You talk a big game," Chan says then, gently fucking into you as his hands slide down and settle around your hips for leverage. "But at least you can take a big dick too, can't you?"

It's so much happening all at once, your senses in overdrive at the way that he's speaking to you almost condescendingly, paired with how pulled apart from the seams your body feels in order to accommodate his thickness. Once settled into more of a steady, offering drive into you, the friction is mind-numbing—feeling so full that not one single nerve ending finding reprieve from the hug of your body around his cock.

You reach forward with one hand, grasping at a strong, tensed arm that shows beneath the flesh each and every muscle he has worked so hard for. Your nails dig in, and as a result, he fucks you harder, faster; hips snapping roughly against the undersides of your thighs.

"Fuck, Chan, don't—don't stop."

"Yeah? Like it that much, huh?" His grip on your hips gets harder, and the strength in his upper body now fully used to pull your body down and against his cock with every drive. "You're taking it so good, maybe one of these days we'll see how good your pretty body can take it when I fill you up with my cum, yeah?"

And you want to be better than this, stronger than this. Stronger than the way that the words go straight into your already pained and needing arousal—tightening around him, an orgasm now threatening on the horizon much faster than originally anticipated.

You gasp out his name, repeating expletives in droves like a hopeless chant that you have no control of as a knowing smirk paints across his lips and he continues on with the work he is putting into your body.

"Want that," he says, breath shaky. "Want me to come in you. Now who's the one of us earning something?"

Grip into his skin tightening just that much more, your back arches up and off of the bed; thighs shaking and muscles tightening as you grit your teeth through the way that your orgasm shakes you. Chan never stops, the glide of his cock so smooth and easy between your walls that even through the stiffness of your body as you come, the strength that he holds makes it easy to use your form to fuck himself with as he watches you release around him with enamored appreciation.

It doesn't take much more from him, and you feel the way he fucks into you becoming more erratic, more needy and without plan as he aims to find his release. Though you've just finished, and need and want for him still courses through your veins at a lightning quick pace, and thus, when you beg for him in a whine to come on your body, it's a kind of humiliation that you'll have to deal with only after the fact. 

But not now.

Chan groans, deep and nestled into his chest as he pulls himself from the warmth of you and pulls the condom off—you watch him stroke over his wet, thick cock by hand quickly—taking in the sight of how the definition of his abdomen and chest flex as he reaches closer and closer to his end.

"Anything for you," he says, though the words are barely audible and totally destroyed in the dryness of his throat. "Little cock-drunk, are you? Don't worry baby, I'll give you what you want."

While his tone is just ever so slightly condescending, there's a sort of sexiness in the confidence of it that does, indeed, drive you even crazier with each and every utterance of it. Chan strokes himself to completion shortly after; free hand coming up to find your clit and carefully rubbing you along with him as he comes. The both of you moan in unison, watching the way his cum paints your chest and stomach in such a lewd fashion before the momentum naturally slows, as does his hand.

Chests heaving, Chan is the first to cough out a laugh in the aftermath of it all.

"Did I get carried away?"

"No," you say through a heavy, exhausted exhale. "No, not at all. Fuck."

"Good?"

You give him a tired look in response, not wanting to give him the pleasure of acknowledging it with words.

Chan appears to accept this with a smile, leaning down and capturing your lips with his own. It's not needy, not full of lust as before. Now, laced within it is something completely different, and not unlike the first time that the two of you shared a kiss together.

You opt out of spending the night together, on account of having work early in the morning and wanting to be proper fresh for the occasion. None of your belongings are here, none of your work clothes—only items hours traveled in and then lightly carrying the musk of two people far too hasty in going at one another. 

Still, you can't help but consider what the aftermath of this truly looks like for the both of you in the workplace. Of course, Chan admits a willingness in the moment to quit his job for the opportunity of the two of you exploring this—but how much truth could really be lying within those words? 

A man who barely knows you, who has no real reason to be willing to do such a thing for you. What makes you so special, anyway?

Suppose the next morning in the office will tell.

Stepping into the office, you aren't so sure what you expect to find, only that what you have found is most definitely not it.

People are running all about, through the corridors, in and out of cubicle spaces, phones ringing and ringing for what sounds like forever with the sound of shouting into receivers coming from every single direction.

You walk in further, down the hallway towards your own personal office—but just before you make it there, your boss cranes his head out from his own just a bit further down the way and shouts at you for the world to hear.

"You! Get in here, now! What have you done?"

Eyes wide and eyebrows pressed up towards the ceiling, you can't help but wonder to yourself; what have I done?

Once you make it inside, you don't even bother closing the door behind you. Privacy isn't needed now, in part because a new side of you has been unlocked since this trip—a part of you that doesn't care. A part of you that has long since resigned yourself to simply not giving a shit about any of this. Not like you used to, not in the same way that once allowed for it to take, and take, and take from you without ever truly giving back.

You're free now.

"Did you know that Chris quit?" the man shouts, hair tousled and random papers lying thoughtlessly around his desk. "What did you do on that trip? What did you do to him you little—you little…bitch."

These words, once upon a time that is not even all that long ago, might have hurt you in such an inexplicable way, but now, the concept of such a thing seems so unfathomable, so far away from you. The cutting edge of a knife meant to maim, only now it slides off of you effortlessly—this man can no longer hurt you, and soon, you have decided, he can no longer take from you, either.

"I didn't do anything to him, sir." You smile, accompanying the words. "Though I don't think the same can be said for me. I think he's done a lot to me in a very short time, and for that, I am incredibly thankful."

The man pauses, looks at you with an empty stare before his eyebrows firmly knit together in a grimace. He intends to speak, but you are no longer interested in hearing anything from him.

"I quit, too."

Turning back towards the door, you hear the man stumbling over his words in an attempt to get something of use out. For once, it would seem, he is left speechless. The ideal version of him, you can't help but think.

"You can pay out my severance as intended under typical circumstances, and if you don't, I'll send everything to HR and contact a lawyer to take you for everything that you're worth," you add in, glancing back over your shoulder. "And I will win."

"Oh, and thanks for fucking me over so exquisitely on this work trip, I actually think it worked out in everyone's best interest."

Halfway out of the door, you hum, then turn back towards him for the last time with a smug, gratified smirk.

"Well, except maybe for you."

Your hectic surroundings as you leave the office for the very last time feel like nothing but static noise. Inconsequential and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. You don't know what the future holds for you, or for Chan, or for whatever it is that the two of you might have budding and blossoming together. It sort of doesn't matter, which you find to be the beauty of a new beginning.

When the elevator sounds off upon reaching the bottom floor, the metal doors part, and standing in the marble lobby is a familiar face that you're certainly not expecting to see.

Chan stands there before you; all fitted jeans and comfortable black hoodie. A casual side of him that you've not seen before, but are so delighted to be able to that it ignites a fluttering in your chest that perhaps you've not felt since grade school.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

He tries to fight back the smile, but to no avail. "I knew you were going to quit, so I figured I'd be here to get you when you did."

"I didn't come here this morning with the intention of doing that."

"I'm sure you didn't." Chan swings the loop of his keys around on a finger nonchalantly. "But I still knew you would. Breakfast?"

Three days isn't long enough to say I love you, but there's a previously locked away, fairytale side of you that's certainly thinking it right about now.

"We're both unemployed, should we be going out and getting breakfast?"

Chan tsks at that, "we're top executives in our field, we'll both be head-hunted before we even start looking. Besides—"

Reaching down, Chan takes the hand not holding a briefcase into his own, pointedly fitting fingers in between your own and looking straight into your eyes.

"Can't a guy take his girlfriend out for a waffle?"

Yes, yes he most certainly can.

♡ hope you enjoyed.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

[milla984]

With Neighbors Like These

Summary: Jack goes away for the weekend and Aaron and Reader can finally have some alone time (inspired by this concept)

Pairing: post season 12 Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: kissing, mutual masturbation, moderate dirty talk, penetrative sex, protected sex, established relationship, unspecified age gap, Hotch dealing with parenting issues, Jack is mentioned but not present

Word Count: 2k

The house was unusually quiet as you walked in, leaving your shoes at the entrance to proceed barefoot towards the small office Aaron had arranged for himself with a few retouches to the spare room in the back.

Despite having a key in case of emergencies and whatnot, like a very good neighbor, it was a common decision you’d only use it on specific occasions and mostly when Jack wasn’t around. A single soccer cleat lay abandoned in a corner in the living room; were it to happen on a regular day you knew the mere sight of it would have sparked a fierce argument, but this morning was different. 

The evening before a very concerned father had driven his fourteen-year-old son to the arranged meeting point, camping gear in tow, and Jack was now enjoying a two nights excursion somewhere in the local woods. You had a feeling that, conversely, Aaron wasn’t getting a kick out of the child-free weekend - confirmed by his rapid typing on the keyboard when you knocked on the wooden frame of the French door to catch his attention.

He looked at you and cracked a smile, still too focused on what he was doing. “It won’t take too long. I promise.”  

You dropped your purse under his chair and hugged him from behind, the scent of his aftershave filling your nose with pure delight.

“Feeling lonely, already?” 

“Why?!” he enquired. “I didn’t have to shout five times to turn off that damn videogame, last night… and nobody guzzled down half a gallon of milk directly from the bottle, at breakfast!”

“You’re also worried, I can tell,” you added and he shrugged, defeated, then went back to focusing on the screen.

He’d been working part-time as an FBI consultant for a law firm for about a year and you had never seen him putting his job before his kid: he was an active member of the PTA and even volunteered to chaperone whenever he could (something that many moms and other dads found incredibly hot, without a doubt). If he was working on a Saturday he was a hundred percent desperate for a distraction.

Your palms brushed over his shoulders and a delicate touch soon turned into a proper massage, kneading his muscles through the polo shirt he was wearing. 

“Relax. You’re too tense,” you mumbled. He had only shared a few unpleasant details about his life as a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in D.C. before he and Jack moved into the neighborhood; nevertheless, it didn’t take a genius to figure out his former employment as an FBI agent had taken a huge toll on both of them.

“I’m not sure I should have signed that consent form,” he confessed. 

“His entire class is with him and his teachers all have cell phones, nothing��s going to happen. Save for a few mosquito bites,” you replied. “And don’t get me wrong... but aren’t you being just a bit overprotective?!”

“Jack told me the same thing when I said I wanted to think about it. Except, he didn’t phrase it so nicely,” Aaron grinned and shook his head while he rose to his feet. “Sorry, enough with the family issues,” he apologized, “it’s a lovely Saturday morning. Have you got any interesting plans?” 

“I have. And they don’t involve homework,” you declared, and as you pushed his laptop to the opposite side of the desk he locked an arm around your waist, his expression reverting to a serious one.

“... so you’re a bad influence.”

The intimidating attitude he could pull off with a single stare never failed to make your legs turn into jelly. 

You lowered your voice to a purr. “You don’t even kn—”

His soft lips pressed onto yours stopped you mid-sentence. The fact he had a teenage son registered in your mind only as a foggy thought and the power he’d had on you since the instant you saw him jogging around the block was almost inexplicable.

“You’re right, no more homework. How about I take you out for lunch?” he proposed and the warmth of his breath on your skin ignited a fire you weren’t at all convinced you could control. Or would.

You hugged him tight, your bodies finally making contact. “How about we take care of something else, first?”

Aaron’s attitude towards romantic relationships exuded manners and consideration, the portrait of a gentleman from a different era, so the response to your suggestion came as a surprise: he’d always shown a preference for the intimacy of his bedroom, even though his palms stroking over your breasts to make your nipples grow stiff and visible through the fabric was the perfect sign he had no intention of wasting any time to move the action upstairs. 

Your tongues lustfully met in a second kiss, prompting you to let out an excited sigh as you blindly undid and removed his belt before letting it fall on the floor with a loud clunk. You reached for his zipper and he sighed in return but gasped a second later when you gave him a light push that forced him to sit down again. 

“Show me how you do it when we’re not together.”

Aaron’s eyes widened - confusion and stupor at the beginning, then the sheer thrill of the idea lit up his gaze. And made him hard entirely.

He sank into the cushion behind his back to finish unzipping his pants and pulling them down his hips so that his swollen erection was only contained by a thin layer of underwear. 

“You’re just going to watch?” he asked, locking eyes with you. You could have sworn that look alone increased the temperature in the room by a couple of degrees. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

You reached under the flowy dress to roll your panties along your thighs, letting them crumple around your ankles; you sat on the desk and lifted the skirt up to your waist, your feet resting on Aaron’s parted knees. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He swallowed nervously but didn’t miss a movement of your fingers starting to draw circles around your most sensitive spot, guided by the aching tension in your belly; your mouth watered at the sight of his cock whipping free and he noticed, so he took his time to wrap his right hand around it.

You knew how to work his length, moving up and down in slow and long strokes as foreplay, nevertheless witnessing such a handsome man masturbating for you proved to be one of the most lascivious experiences of your life.

“I always think about you when I touch myself…” you confessed, and he held on to your ankle with his free hand while you rubbed your clit. 

“Are you trying to make me lose control?”

You nodded in confirmation and he growled. 

He was now coating his shaft and palm with the leaking precum, using only his index and middle finger to collect some of the slickness and spread it over the bulging head, the exposed glans glistening in the process. That was when he usually begged you to move faster, since his delicate skin was lubricated enough and increased friction meant pleasure - not pain.

“I’m really wet for you,” you teased him, your own desire pooling at your core, but his reaction threw you off balance. 

“Stop, please… stop,” he whimpered, “this is not…”    

His ragged breath made it difficult for him to articulate his words. “I need you.”

You gestured at the purse that was still under his chair and he handed it to you; sharing the house with a teenager meant Aaron had grown accustomed to some of his clean t-shirts randomly disappearing from his drawers and wardrobe, so you both knew nothing out of the ordinary could be hidden among his personal stuff. 

He stared at you, entranced, as you retrieved the small box you’d carried with you and tore one of the foil packages open. 

“A little closer, maybe…?” you joked, and when he stood up you bit your lower lip in anticipation. He kissed you lightly on your forehead as you unrolled the latex down his hardness, then you pinched his chin and smiled at him.

“Better?!”   

He whined again. “Not exactly.”

You grabbed him by the nape of his neck, speaking softly to his ear. “Make me come. I can’t wait anymore.”

The uninhibited request seemed to have flipped a switch in him: the sound of a pencil holder spilling its content made you laugh as Aaron enthusiastically raised your legs in the air and held them to his chest, so he could start rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your folds.

It was torture but he was damn good at it.

When he managed to get himself covered in your arousal he slipped the bulbous head past your entrance. “It’s so big…” you muttered.

Truth be told he wasn’t that well-endowed and you had nothing against it, since you’d never been keen on painful sex, still you welcomed him with a loud moan once he buried himself inside of you. Even a gentleman from another era didn’t mind a bit of flattering and appreciation of his manhood. 

He wasn’t as vocal, though, but his deep groans reverberated in his throat in a manifestation of primal, untamed passion; he looked so solemn it drove you insane, his brows furrowed and tiny droplets of sweat trapped between his short hair, almost as if he was directing all of his energies into screwing your brains out.

When his thrusts grew slower but more intense you wriggled your legs free and locked them around his waist: with a last, fierce grunt he twitched several times and you closed your eyes to enjoy the moment, which was always the biggest turn-on for you.

With your eyes still closed you welcomed the pressure on your lips, a not-so-subtle invitation to take his index and middle finger in your mouth; you sucked on them alternately, happy to oblige, tasting traces of the salty precum. You clawed at his forearm when he brought the wet digits to your clit, rubbing and drawing circles just like you’d shown him before.

“Aaron… I’m…” you mewled, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you - indeed - came with his throbbing cock still inside you, lungs pleading for air and inner muscles clenching around him.

He collapsed on top of you, the additional weight making you realize how harsh the desk’s smooth surface was on your back, yet you cupped his face and stroked his flustered cheeks with your thumbs. 

“I missed you so much,” you breathed out as soon as you were able to.

He pulled out and started to fix his clothes, and before he got rid of the condom he planted the sweetest kiss on your lips. “I’m sorry about the other weekend. Jack wasn’t supposed to play, last minute change of plans—”

“Don’t be sorry, I know you love going to his games,” you said, propping up on one elbow to straighten yourself as he stood in front of you. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your biggest fans, would you?”

He was still heaving a little and looked at you with a pensive pout. “... what?!”

“I mean, you’ve seriously never noticed…?” you locked your hands behind his neck as you tried to come up with a good imitation of the cooing voice of the soccer moms who you knew swarmed the sidelines every time he was present.

“Aaron, can you help us move the coolers? Aaron, we need to rearrange those chairs! Aaron, come here and have some cake! We made it for you ‘cause you’re such a good dad and it’s soooooo hot!”

He laughed, the vibrations in his ribcage making your breasts jiggle, then he gave you his best smile to date. “You’re jealous?!”

You shrugged, holding him closer. “No. To be honest I don’t even blame them, you are a good dad. Which is very hot, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he laughed again as he wrapped you in his arms to kiss you one more time, forcing you to close your eyes and get lost in his tender embrace. You muffled a surprised gasp when he playfully nipped at your earlobe with another heart-stopping smile. 

“But just to be clear…” he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “it’s usually cookies, not cake!”

@hornyhornyhimbos

NB: I don't really have an Aaron Hotchner fic taglist 'cause I usually write about Spencer Reid but if you wish to be tagged in future Hotch-centric works (SFW or not, who knows?) you can either send me an ask or leave a comment below.

[lipglossanon]

The Subject of Schoolgirl Fantasy

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Professor!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

for @ohbvnny and the many anons who asked for professor leon; hope ya like it! 💜 and thank you for your patience 😘

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, teacher/student relations, kissing, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✍️

Title from Don’t Stand Too Close to Me by The Police

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“Class dismissed.”

Professor Kennedy waves everyone to the door, wristwatch catching the light drawing your attention to his forearms, (on mouth watering display since he rolled the sleeves of his button up shirt to his elbows). 

You loiter at your desk, slowly gathering your things and reorganizing your bag as the last stragglers bolt out the door, glad to be finished for the week. It’s pure luck that Professor Kennedy is your last class on Friday’s, something you’re thankful for every weekend. 

“Do you have some questions for me?” a low amused tone reaches your ears, drawing you out of your thoughts. 

You meet Professor Kennedy’s warm, blue eyes, a ghost of a smile hovering at his lips.

“Sorry,” you bite your lip in embarrassment, “I kinda zoned out.”

“No worries,” he’s leaning back against his desk, one leg crossed over the other making his black slacks cling to his thick thighs. 

He crosses his arms, making your mouth go dry at the strain it puts on his shirt; his biceps and chest are pressed right against the fabric making your knees feel weak. 

“Actually I did want to mention something to you,” his eyes watch as you finally look back into his face.

“Sir?”

He grins at you, “That last test I gave, it seems you struggled pretty badly.”

You wince and duck your head down bashfully, “Yeah, I had a hard time learning the material.”

He tsks, “Now that just won’t do.”

You look back up at him and he tilts his head, sandy hair falling into one eye. 

“I usually don’t offer, but would you like to earn some extra credit?”

You smile excitedly, “Yes, actually that would be great. Thank you, Professor.”

He chuckles, “Follow me to my office then.”

You fall behind him as he leaves the classroom and walks down to the end of the hall; he pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. 

Opening it, he gestures for you to go inside first. 

“It’s pretty quiet on Fridays,” he states as he shuts the door behind you, and twists the bolt to lock it when you’re not looking. 

“I’m sure, most people are ready to go home,” you smile, feeling shy in his presence alone. 

“I’ll bet. You have any raging parties to get to this weekend?”

You laugh at that, following him further into his office and taking a seat on the sofa. 

“No, just headed home to study and get a head start on some things.”

As he moves over to his desk, dropping his keys on the mahogany surface, you get a chance to really take in the room. Spacious is the first thing that comes to mind followed by cozy. His desk is facing the entryway with bookcases all around. Against one wall is the sofa you’re sitting on and on the opposite wall just really run of the mill office art. 

The sofa dips as he sits next to you, his thigh a hot brand against your leg. Internally, you’re squealing, so thankful you decided on wearing a cute skirt today. Leon pulls you from your thoughts again by handing you a bottle of water. 

“Would offer a glass of scotch,” he tilts his glass at you, “but don’t know if you’re driving, sweetheart,” he winks at you as you take the bottle from him with a shaky hand. 

“Oh thank you and I’m not—not driving that is,” you clear your throat, “I’ve never really had any scotch, so don’t know if I’d like it.”

“Really?” his blue eyes seem darker in his office, especially as they drag down then back up your body. 

“Would you like to try some?”

He practically purrs as he leans forward into your personal space. You’re overtaken by his smoky cologne and sandalwood aftershave. 

“Please.”

Your eyes droop as he tilts his glass against your bottom lip, mouth parting to take in the amber liquid he’s offering. He groans softly when he sees your throat swallow, tilting the glass higher for more scotch to pour out. You choke a little, liquid spilling out the sides of the glass all down your chin to drip down your neck. 

Leon drops the empty glass on the carpeted floor and hungrily licks the trail of scotch. He starts at the base of your neck and follows the sticky tracks up to your mouth. With a sigh, you’re opening up for his thick tongue. He groans and licks messily into your mouth. 

Pulling away, a silvery string of saliva bridges your mouths before you break it by licking your lips. 

His eyes are hot and heavy as he moves to kneel on the carpet, in between your legs. You moan softly as he kneads your calves with warm hands.  

“I enjoy the taste of scotch, but there’s another flavor that I’d like to try now,” he smirks at you, hands drifting up to your thighs. 

You let out a shaky breath and part your legs further under his hungry gaze as he massages the fat of your thighs. 

“Professor,” a mewling whimper escapes your lips as he rucks your skirt up to expose your dainty panties. 

“Fucking criminal,” he groans, thumb rubbing over the little lace bow at the top of your underwear. 

“Going to be a good student for me, sweetheart? Let me taste this hot little pussy?”

You nod and he grins, “Hold up your skirt for me then. There ya go, such a good girl.”

Your hands reach down and grab the hem of your skirt, pulling it up til it’s above your hips all while he watches you. His strong jawline seems more pronounced when his brow furrows in concentration as he teases the band of your panties. 

“You okay with this?” he murmurs up at you, finally dragging his eyes up to meet your gaze. 

“Uh huh,” you nod so fast it makes his lips quirk up in a half smile. 

In place of a reply, he places a soft kiss right on the damp spot of your panties. With a soft groan, he places more kisses on your clothed cunt. Both of his hands come up to the band of your panties and pulls it up until it’s tight against the lips of your pussy. He lathes his tongue across your slit, leaving a wet kiss on the outline of your clit. 

Your legs twitch and spasm as he continues to slowly lick and kiss your pussy through your underwear.

“Please, sir,” you moan as he sucks your clit a little harder, eyes glinting wickedly up at you, “can I take them off?”

He pulls back with a low laugh, “No, gonna get these cute panties soaked before anything else happens.”

You watch as his hand reaches down to readjust his bulge in his slacks, making your mouth water and head dizzy. 

“Save it for later,” he grins at you, hand coming down suddenly to spank across your wet underwear making you buck up with a whine. 

“So responsive,” he muses, mouth going back to his slow torment on your needy cunt. 

He keeps you there, legs spread before finally putting them over his shoulders, face buried against your panties as he licks and sucks your pussy through the cloth. It feels like forever when he finally pulls away, hands going to the band of your underwear and tugging them off. He watches greedily as your cunt is bared, clear strings of slick clinging to the gusset of your panties as he pulls them away from your pussy lips. 

At seeing how wet you are, he wastes no time in slipping the soaked clothing off your legs and tucks them in his pocket. With a growl, he shoves his face against your pussy making you both moan. 

“Taste so good,” he pulls away to spit on your pulsing clit, “been wanting to taste your pretty little cunt since the beginning of the semester.”

“Oh god,” you gasp, hands letting go of your skirt to tangle in his hair, “could’ve had it then.”

“Slut,” he rumbles with delight, “don’t worry, gonna give you what we both want.”

He presses suckling kisses to your pussy lips before fluttering his tongue against your drippy hole. With a sigh, he pushes his thick tongue into your soaked cunt, eagerly fucking his tongue in and out until you’re squirming against his mouth. 

His hands grip your thighs harshly, bruises forming under his fingertips as he keep you in place. 

“O-oh, so good,” you keen, hands tugging on his hair making him groan and nuzzle deeper into your folds, nose bumping and grinding against your swollen clit. 

You hump his mouth, feeling your orgasm ramp higher and higher as that coil tightens in your belly. 

“I’m close, Professor.”

Your moan ends on a pathetic whine as he pulls completely away from eating you out. 

“That won’t do,” his mouth and chin are shiny with your slick making you go hot all over, “got to work for that extra credit, honey.”

He stands up, unbuckling his belt and sliding his slacks down until he can pull his hard cock out. He strokes the shaft, pulling back the foreskin so you can see the precum drip from his fat tip down his knuckles. He manhandles you to lay down on the sofa, one leg thrown over the back with the other dangling off the edge of the cushions. 

He slaps your clit with his cock, rocking back and forth so the tip drags through your slick folds getting him wet. You reach down to spread open your cunt, making it easier for Leon to rut against your pussy lips and the hood of your clit. 

“Please,” your hips arch up into his frotting, “want it so much.”

“Let me go find a condom, sweet thing,” he goes to get up but your nails sink into his chest through his dress shirt. 

“I’m on the pill,” you bite your lip out of nervousness, “I mean you can if you want, but I’m—“

“I’m not going to argue,” he chuckles, slapping your cunt with his dick, “not everyday I get to raw a hot little pussy.”

You whine, spine bowing as you try to press your sopping wet cunt against his dick, “Please, I’m so empty.”

He groans and finally quits teasing, pressing the head of his dick into your clenching hole. Your eyes roll back as he keeps rocking his dick deeper and deeper into your fluttering walls. 

He laughs down at you, “Mmm yeah, this pretty pussy is sucking me in so good. Such a snug fit for me.”

You feel like your cunt is being split in half; he’s so thick and long, it has you whining constantly as he bottoms out. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he presses himself down on you, body weight heavy and comforting.

You moan needily, hands gripping his shoulders, “S’deep.”

“I know,” his mocking voice is warm in your ear, “tiny pussy’s stretched out isn’t she?”

“Uh huh,” you mumble, drooling as he pulls halfway out to thrust back in, grinding and rubbing all along your g-spot as his pelvis catches your pudgy clit. 

“Taking me so well,” he praises making goosebumps trail down your arms, “this fat pussy’s gonna get a nice thick load, now isn’t that nice of me?”

“So nice,” you slur out, brain going fuzzy from how good Professor Kennedy’s making you feel. 

He laughs again, picking up the pace to fuck into you hard and deep. One hand goes to grip the meat of your hip while the other slips down to circle and press against your sensitive clit. Your legs wrap around his waist, bare legs rubbing against his shirt sending little pulses of pleasure to your brain. 

Your thighs twitch where they’re pressed against Professor Kennedy’s waist, toes starting to curl as he pounds against that spongy spot in your cunt, creating a mourning wave of pleasure. That band of arousal that has been winding tighter and tighter finally snaps.

Rough fingers pinch your clit as your pussy clamps down on his cock so tight it makes him hiss in pleasure. Your blood rushes to your head so fast it makes you dizzy, spine arching as your body tries to thrash under his; a high, keening cry slips from your mouth as he keeps teasing your swollen clit, extending your orgasm til tears bead your eyes.

“Good girl, so fucking good,” he groans, “gonna make me cum.”

“Yes, please, inside Professor Kennedy, want your cum,” you plead, eyes hazy as you give him a dopey smile, “feel’s nice.”

“Yeah? God, so good. Gonna fill you up,” he growls low in his throat as he pumps his cock into your cunt half a dozen times before burying himself deep in your spasming hole, walls still milking him. 

You whine up at him as he bucks his hips into you, hot spurts of jizz painting your pussy walls white. He pants to catch his breath before pulling out of you with a low sigh. His cum oozes from your hole and he pushes it back in with dark eyes. He lifts his gaze and smirks at you. 

“We’ll have to meet up more often, don’t think this was enough extra credit to help out with your poor grade.”

[mochinomnoms]

Hiii! For the Hanahaki event can I request Vil (romantic) with prompt #7? A gender neutral reader would be appreciated, thanks!!

Also if youre up for it maybe prompt #12 with Ace (Platonic) with the reader’s object of affection still being Vil? This prompt with Ace is too funny for me to ignore I just HAVE to sneak him in 😭😭

vil schoenheit, platonic!ace trappola x gn!reader [tags] – fluff, humor, semi enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, sickenly sweet [wc} – 3,458 prompt 7: “I've heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but wearing petals in your hair is a whole new level of fashion statement.” prompt 12: "No, I haven't been growing marigolds out of my ass. Why would you even ask that?!” note - writing this was surprisingly hard. but i got it and i think it's very cute, i just hope Vil is mostly in character :skull: also i don't know german so idk if the nickname is an accurate translation! comments loved and appreciated! a floral inconvenience

Marigold: often used during festivals like Diwali and Navratri, marigolds symbolize purity, auspiciousness, and the divine.

You were going to murder him. 

“Heyyyyyy Prefect!” Ace gave you a cheeky grin as he held your glass bottle of very expensive salicylic acid serum, balancing it precariously between his fingers. “What about this? Can I take this—whoops!”

“ACE!”

You shrieked as the bottle slipped from his fingers, only to be caught by his other hand, an infuriating grin still on his hand. 

“Hehe, relax! I’m just messing around—oh shit!” The bottle slipped again from his fingers as a now panicked Ace scrambled to capture it. “Oop. Got it. It’s fine.”

“Oh my gooooooooood, Ace, I’m going to fucking kill you, give that back!” You snatched the bottle from his hands, giving him a good kick behind the knees as you walked past him. 

“Owwwww, Prefect, why are you so mean to me?” Ace pouted as you put your serum back on your desk with the rest of the skincare Vil had gifted everyone at the start of the SDC training. Ace continued whining as he packed his bags to go back to Heartslabyul, being left behind by Deuce who went to get snacks from Sam’s with Epel. 

He felt bad that all the food you had was cursed by Vil at the beginning. 

“It’s almost like you want me out of your dorm, kinda rude, you know.”

“You know what’s rude?” You smacked down the pillow Ace threw your way as you huffed, “Your face. Ugly ass, you know you had a room next door, how’d all your stuff end up in my room?”

Ace shrugged as he shoved his wrapped up sweater into the now bulky backpack he’d brought over, throwing himself onto your bed and grunting as he bounced on the squeaky frame. 

“I don’t know, how’d you burn the Queen of Hearts’s statue—”

“That was you—”

“—the world will never know.” 

You rolled you eyes as you laid on your stomach next to him, hugging a spare pillow to your face. Closing your eyes, you sighed as the events of the last few weeks replayed in your head. Between acting as manager for the SDC group, to barely keeping up with classes, to Vil’s overblot, you were utterly exhausted. Speaking of Vil…

“Ah, that’s right, I should check on Vil before he leaves. I wonder if he’s doing okay?”

“With you at his beck and call? Perfectly fine, I guarantee you.” Ace yelped as you smacked his side, giving him a red-faced glare. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ace turned on his side with a teasing smirk. The kind of smirk he gave you whenever he wanted to fluster and embarrass you in front of your friends and teachers. 

“It means whatever you want it to mean. Maybe someone should consider not acting like a little kid with a crush whenever they’re around Vil—owowowowowow—stop hitting me!”

You pounded your fists onto Ace’s sides and back as he tried to roll away from your reach, arms cradling his head in meek protection. He managed to roll off the bed, turning over to look at you briefly to stick his tongue out and politely flip you off. Ace let out a small shriek as you launched off the bed after him, running out of the room into the hall and turning into a goosechase. You could practically hear the yakety sax song playing in your head as the two of you pushed past Jamil and Kalim, the former crying out at you in annoyance. 

“Watch it!”

Ace practically threw himself down the stairs, jumping past four whole steps, using the banister to whip him around into the main hallway where he ran into the living room. Finally catching up to him, Ace positioned the coffee table between you two as he continued egging you on. 

“Ayeeeeeee, embarrassed Prefect? Gonna throw a fit?” Ace let out a low cackle as you both shifted around the table. 

“Gonna throw your ass into the fucking sun, little bitch ass! You got something to say then fucking say it!” 

Ace snorted as he pointed behind you. “You’re one to talk, you wanna talk about the marigolds coming from behind you? It’s like you’re growing a garden out of your ass, wanna talk about that?”

“The fuck? I haven't been growing marigolds out of my ass. The hell you’re talking about,” You turned your head to look behind you, still growling at him now with confusion. “Why would you even ask that—WHAT THE FUCK!?”

You hissed as you jumped backwards into the table, the edges jamming into your skin. Behind you had been a long trail of beautiful, shimmering orange flowers. Upon closer inspection, you were pretty sure they were marigolds. 

“...Ace, this is your fault.” 

“What! Nuh-uh, I’m not the only with flower sickness—”

“The fuck is flower sickness?”

“You know, hanahaki? The love disease? How do you not know what flower sickness is, it’s like basic 8th grade bio—”

“I didn’t go to school here, dumbass!”

Ace’s mouth formed an ‘oh’ shape as he remembered. “Oooooh yeah, I forgot.”

“Forgot what? You little potatoes are acting awfully rowdy so early in the morning.”

You looked up to see Vil standing in the hallway, a bemused Rook behind him inspecting the flowers on the ground. Vil briefly made eye contact with you, both of your sharing a small smile before an irritating, itchy feeling made its way in your throat. 

You felt a hand pack your back as you started roughly coughing up several bunches of marigolds into your hands as Ace grimaced. 

“I forgot that they’re not from here, so they got no clue about hanahaki…or any other illness…huh it’s kinda a miracle they haven’t gotten sick from something else yet.” Ace hummed, as he leaned down to look at your face. 

You made eye contact with your peripheral vision, motioning Ace to lean closer into you and horasely whispered, “Come… closer…”

Confused, Ace obliged, ear up to your lips, giving you the perfect opportunity to sock him straight in the gut. Your dear, beloved friend gagged from the pressure, hands cradling his stomach as he fell to his knees, groaning in pain. 

“Y/N…” Vil sighed in exasperation, walking over to give you a gentle flick in your forehead as he chastised you. 

“It’s unbecoming of a friend of mine to be so belligerent, do you really have to be so crass with all your friends?”

You clicked your tongue, licking the spit from your lips. “I’m not with you, besides Ace deserves it, you know how he is.”

“Mm-hmm, and how long have you been coughing out the flowers, meine Süße?”

A pleasant warmth flooded your cheeks at the nickname. You choose to ignore the tickling sensation of marigolds growing from the tops of your head, which instead formed into sneezing fits. 

“I've heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but wearing petals in your hair is a whole new level of fashion statement.” He remarked, leaning down to observe the blooms. “Now, answer my question, meine Süße.”

“Achooo! Ugh,” You sniffled as you replied, “Um, not that long—achoo!—ago, ugh. Just today—”

“Ah! The little trickster started expelling the belles fleurs approximately a month and a half ago!” Rook chirped, a little too happily for your tastes. “Two weeks after we began training for the SDC.” 

Vil let out another sigh as you whipped your head to glare at Rook, hissing out, “What. The. Fuck.”

“Excuse me?! Language Y/N!” Vil barked at you, making you flinch and burst into another coughing fit. Noticing this, he softened his voice, though the blonde still sounded angry.

“That’s nearly two months with the flower sickness, have you been taking potions to help with the symptoms?” 

You shook your head, clearing your throat. “Ahem, no, uh. I didn’t know that there was medicine for this kinda thing, haaaaa I just figured I was being pranked by someone.”

You heard a snort behind you as Ace stood back up, grumbling, “Of course you would, dumbass.” 

“I will actually kill you—”

“You will actually not.” Vil placed a gentle hand on your upper back, guiding you to the front door. “Rook, ensure everyone packs up and cleans their mess by the time we get back, I believe Kalim may still need help packing up.”

“Oui! How kind of you Vil to escort our lovely Trickster to get them a remedy for their affliction!” 

Rolling your eyes, you let Vil guide you out of the dorm, calling out to Ace, “Don’t forget to grab the rest of your stuff, it’s still in my room!” 

“Okayyy!” 

With that, the door shut behind you two as you began a pleasant walk over to what you assumed would be Sam’s shop. A pregnant silence fell over you two as you walked down the pathway leading to main street, having to maneuver past the alchemy building and botanical gardens. You were hyper conscious about his hand that remained on your back, which is when you started another coughing fit. 

“Oh you poor dear, did you really have no clue what was going on all this time?” Vil spoke to you in that soft tone that he’d been reserving for you since you first became friends, a few months ago. You’d gone into the Film Research Club interested in working as a stagehand, plus you had a good working knowledge costume design and general clothes repair, which was sorely needed. 

It’d been an incredibly rocky acquaintanceship at first, as Vil made subtle, snide remarks on your disheveled appearance, while you shot back with loud, brass comments on his ‘Regina George wannabe’ act. Now, he didn’t know who Regina George was back then, but took offense that a ‘dirty, lumpy potato would have the audacity to insult him’. 

He only kept you on in the club because no one ever willingly signed up for backstage work, and you only requested free access to spare cloth and sewing materials to fix your clothes. Vil was also more than happy to point out how scruffy the patches all over your uniforms made you look: 

“You certainly fix the part of the ramshackle Prefect, now don’t you?”

Though, looking back on it now, you’re pretty sure he wasn’t aware that everything of yours was either found in Ramshackle’s attic or bought with the meager allowance Crowley gave you. Shortly before finals, Vil found you crying in an isolated part of backstage because another first-year permanently bleached your only jacket during a botched potions class.

“What’s going on back here, practice your scenes upfront with the rest of us, I don’t care how ugly you look crying—Prefect?”

You jumped, scrambling to get back up from the dusty corner you’d shoved yourself into. You awkwardly wiped the tears from your face, wrapping your arms around yourself as you gave Vil a feeble glare.

“What do you want Vil, I already told the others that their costumes wouldn’t be ready yet, if you want me to get stuff done, you gotta stop annoying me—”

“You’ve been crying.” His simple statement shut you up, as he approached you with a firm look on his face.

“…Yeah, stating the obvious much?” you muttered back, finding the scuff marks on the ground very interesting. Vil let out a sigh, reaching into his jacket to take out an off-white, embroidered handkerchief.

“I’m trying to be sympathetic. Ugh, you’re all red and puffy, let me see.” Vil tipped your chin up with his fingertips, gently patting at the tear streaks on your cheeks. “You look worse than normal…is the red bleach stain on your uniform meant to be a fashion statement?”

Pausing at the stuttering breath you took, sniffling, you answered, “No, some dumba—”

“Language”

“—Some jerk,” you drawled, “from my last class messed up his potion, and it got all over me. Stained my only jacket, right when it starts snowing, too.”

Vil raised a brow at you, leaning back once he was satisfied with your dried cheek.

“Only one? Even Ruggie has a few spare uniform jackets from Leona, did you seriously not think ahead to purchase a spare?”

You half-laughed, half-scoffed at his statement.

“You think Crowley gives me enough money to buy another jacket for his bougie ass—I mean, fancy, school? I barely have enough to feed myself and Grim between the roof caving in and the water pipes breaking. The bathroom flooded again last week.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you felt a migraine coming in, unaware of Vil’s growing horror.

“I was lucky enough to find my uniform in the attic, it waaay too big and makes me look homeless, but at least it keeps me warm…now it just looks even more like shit.”

You finally looked up at the blonde, expecting him to lecture you on your foul language. Instead, you were surprised to see Vil’s horrified expression.

“What do you mean, you barely have enough for food?”

It was then that you discovered that no one outside your group of friends were really aware that you were stuck on campus, victim to Crowley’s whims and needs. You know the others in Heartslabyul were faintly aware of your predicament, being from another world and stuck until Crowley found you a way home. Ace and Deuce did their best to help repair things around the dorm, but could only do so much. Savanaclaw and Octavinelle knew of the disarray of your dorm, but based on comments from Leona and Floyd, weren’t aware of just how much you were struggling just to eat and sleep. 

Ruggie definitely was, seeing as he occasionally slipped you a spare meat bun or snack that he happened to buy extra of when running errands for Leona. Ruggie was a real one, as long as you didn’t point it out. 

Since that day, Vil had sort of taken you under his wing, along with Epel who you hadn’t met yet at the time. You had to give him credit, he wasn’t the villain you’d made him out to be in your head. And Vil admitted, he enjoyed that you were quick on your feet and enjoyed your banter, as long as it was unique to him. 

He spared you his previous uniforms that he’d grown out of his freshman and sophomore year, minus the band and vest, watching as you mended the waist and ends to fix your stature. More often than not, especially after hearing that you’d be stuck by yourself during winter break, Vil was sending you care packages with personal hygiene products from brand deals he never took. He’d send fabrics and sewing supplies with sewing patterns. Vil even started buying you breakfast and lunch once back to school, though you refrained from joining him for dinner in Pomefiore. 

In exchange, you managed to replicate, with his help, some of the scripts for the more famous musicals from your world. You even told him who Regina George was! He still wasn't fond of the comparison, but did find the musical intriguing. Vil was fascinated by the works of art your world produced, and just slightly enamored in the way you described them with glee and fondness. Still, the exchanges still felt a bit uneven.

You’d once made the joke that he was practically a sugar daddy, just without the sugar. He snapped back, “Well, I’m not stopping you, now am I? I’ve never had a sweet tooth, but you’re more than welcome to give me thanks, meine Süße.” 

(You spent that night screaming into your pillow with a red-hot blush while Grim looked on with concern.)

Truly, you two had developed an unlikely friendship, one where you both spoke your minds to the other with no hesitation or fear. Which is why the lack of conversation at the moment was slowly driving you insane. 

You sneaked a peek at Vil, taking a sharp breath as your eyes met his own. It seemed that he was watching you with his very lovely, sharp purple eyes. The thought sent a hot flash through you as you sneezed a flurry of petals and pollen. 

“Ooof, ugh, this is gonna make my allergies go haywire.”

“Sam will have some potions that will help with the symptoms, though you will have to confront the root of the cause.” Vil slid his hand down to rest in your mid-back, rubbing his thumb against you in a soothing motion, though it cause you to shiver and flush. 

“Yeah, okay.” you managed to squeak out, groaning as you felt the tickle of glowing marigolds pop up on your skin and in your hair. “Ummmm, so how do you get rid of, uh, Ace called it hanahaki?”

Vil nodded and opened his mouth to speak before being interrupted by the faint screaming of your name. Both of you looked down the path, where you saw Deuce running over to you two, followed by a confused Epel chasing after him. 

“PREFECT! PREFECTPREFECTPREFECTPREFECT—” 

Yelping as Deuce skidded to a half and grabbed you by your arms, shaking you with intense concern, you managed to reply a stuttered, “W-w-what?” 

Deuce paused his shaking to give you a concerned lecture, “You didn’t tell us you had the flower sickness!? Why didn’t you say something, you’ve been running around for SDC all this time—”

“You too—”

“But I’m not sick!” Deuce dug through the paperbag you’d just notice he was holding and shoved a pale pink potion in your hands. “Here! Take this!”

Before you could even touch the bottle, Vil plucked it from a confused Deuce’s hands, studying it with scrutiny. 

“Hmm…This is an average allergy relief potion for hay fever, did you actually ask Sam for a hanahaki symptom relief potion, or did you just grab the first thing you saw off the shelf?”

Deuce visibly deflated, opening his mouth to sheepishly reply before Epel interrupted him with a harsh, “I told him to ask, but he got all riled up and started yammerin’—I mean, uh, talking about getting the Prefect help immediately.”

Vil sighed, handing Deuce the potion back and shooed the two away with a wave of his hand. 

“Just go back, I’ll handle it, just make sure your messes are all cleaned up before we get back.”

The two replied, “Yes sir!” and continued on their path, waving goodbye to you. Though you could hear Epel mumble to Deuce, “Those are marigolds, right? I think Vil’s favorite flowers are those, you don’t think…”

You slowed down to ponder Epel’s words, remembering what Ace initially called the illness. 

“Vil…Ace called it a love sickness…would these flowers related toooo, I don’t know, a hypothetical crush somehow?” 

Vil briefly opened his mouth, closing it as he hesitated to speak. You think you could make out a soft blush on his cheeks. 

“Yes. Your hypothetical crush must favor marigolds. Can’t say I blame him, I’m fond of them myself…” 

The two of you made eye contact, a knowing look in his eye and tone making your heart skip a beat and you look down in embarrassment. 

“Oh…I see…” You coughed awkwardly, a few petals flying from your mouth. “So you said there was a way to get to the root cause?”

Vil hummed, stopping at the entrance of Sam’s shop to turn to you with an unreadable expression. 

“Yes, as an illness based on love, appropriately the cure is to confess your feelings to the one you’ve found yourself fancying.”

A cold flash went through your body as your stomach dropped. Again. “Oh.” The thought of confessing to Vil made you sick, like you could puke at a drop of a coin at any moment.

“I wish you’d mentioned something sooner, I could’ve helped you…ease into it.” Vil murmured,  his hand moving to cradle your cheek. He squished your cheek with a fond look in his eye. 

“I know it’s a daunting task…I won’t rush you into it.” Vil moved his hand to brush your hair away, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “When you’re ready to say something, just let me know.”

Leaning back, VIl covered his mouth to hide his amused smirk. Your face was a blazing red as the marigolds grew a trail down your neck and chest. He motioned for you to follow him into the shop, holding the door open as he held a hand out to you. At the moment, you’re having a hard time imagining why he’d only ever been typecast in villain roles, he looked more like an enchanting love interest catered for you specifically. 

“For now, I’ll be by your side. I will wait for you, meine Süße.”

[ghost-girl277]

How they ask you out

Charcters- Itadori, Fushiguro, Kugisaki, Gojo, Nanami

Trigger warnings ⚠️-non

Note-I took a big ass break but I'm back now😊

Itadori:

He flashes his normal captivating smile and if you didn't know any better you wouldn't have noticed his faster breath or how he tried not to fidget with his hands and the way he studdard over some of his words. He cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets, focusing on the wall beside you he finally got the words he wanted to say out

"Do you wanna go out with me?...on a date"

Fushiguro:

he walked side by side with you, thinking of all the ways you could react

"Fushiguro... Fushiguro?" "Huh?" "you alright? You seem a little-" "I'm fine" "...ok, if you say so" "actually" you turned to face him and he looked away "if you want we could...eat? Something..." He mentally groaned as he waited for you to say something.

Kugisaki:

she handed you another pink bedazzled bag with thin yellow ribbons as she passed you, you groaned as she bent down to look at a cute shirt similar to the one she just bought, she gave you a glare which made you quickly straighten up and pretend to look at some shades. Not long after the two of you were walking home, or so you thought untill Narbara started looking for places to eat, you were about to protest untill she spook first "Thanks. This was a nice date" your feet hurt and your arms were getting tired but you ignored as you smiled, untill it dropped and her words sunk in "wait huh!?"

Gojo:

Your eye twitched as you typed away at your computer in the teachers lounge, the repetitive sound of a rubber ball hitting the wall right beside your head before bouncing back and into the hands of the man who threw, the motion started again filling the silence of the room "could you!... could you stop that?" The distracting noise stopped, then started "Gojo" you groaned, once more the ball hit the wall, before it could come back you turned in your chair and caught it, with cursed energy surrounding it you chucked it at him. As expected his infinity was on so the ball just reflected. Gojo put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, giving you his stupidity playful smile "I hope you fall" you say turning your eyes back to your screen "your so pent up, bet a date with me would fix that" "yeah no" "you don't like sushi?" "I don't like you" "well, you never know untill you taste"

Nanami:

He looked at you as you closed your computer and put it in your bag, he's debating wether or not to come up to you and ask you out to dinner, before he could decide your walking out the door, he signed rubbing his eyes annoyed with himself until he looks up and see's your forgotten bottle still on your desk. Barely thinking about it before he gets up and grabs your bottle, walking faster than normal to get to you before you leave "y/n" he called out, looking around for the source, noticing Nanami, now walking at his regular pace. "You forgot this" he handed it to you and gave you a nod once you thanked him "are you" he started gaining your attention "are you free this Saturday?...if you don't mind I'd like to take you out"

And that's exactly what happened, no incident in Shibuya, your honeymoons ganna be in Malaysia congratulations 🎉

---------

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day night and all💙

ghostgirl👻~~

[twistedwonderlandfantasies]

(Repost)

Azul Ashengrotto as Your Boyfriend💜🪸🐚🐙💜

fluffy, fem/neutral!reader

(Sorry it ended up so long I could just talk about this smexy man all day) Remember to drink water <3

Azul had heard a lot about the human world, but only ever experienced it when he enrolled at Night Raven College. That being said, he's totally enthralled with human objects. He loves collectables, novelty items, knick-knacks and anything of the sort. His love and fascination with our material goods shows when he gives you the most random things. "Look at this vintage set I found at an auction." "I saw a what's it called? Ah, snow globe. Look, there's a cat inside that looks like Grim, do you like? It's for you." It's a very endearing trait he has which is exclusive only to you. When he goes shopping you're also on his mind and just adores sharing his finds with his love.

Similarly, your own fascination with his world has led Azul to gift you things from the sea. Beautiful pearl necklaces of whatever color you like, conch shells of different sizes and types, endless seashells, rare gemstones found near the waters, magical items, and if you're into antiques, he'll go retrieve lost items from the sea buried within shipwrecks or dropped by people.

Besides the miscellaneous gifts Azul loves buying you clothes. At first it caught you by surprise, but you realized it was apart of his attraction to our things. "In the sea we don't have a need for clothing, but up here you humans can express yourselves in so many ways. So I thought this dress might look rather nice on you, hm?"

He's the same with perfumes. He just loves spoiling you in all the material things he can find that don't exist in the deep blue.

His office literally has all of the gifts you got him spread out in it on shelves and his desk. He constantly thinks of you, even at work, and treasures everything you make/get him, wanting to keep it forever where he can always see and remember you.

One of his favorite activities with you is reading messages in bottles he finds from the ocean. You're always surprised at how many there are, but you both realize it's actually a pretty big hobby among people even today. Old bottles are especially interesting, its contents mostly containing stories of love and tragedies. You help explain to Azul how people up here think and behave when something doesn't make sense to him (which is pretty often considering how contradicting people are). You collect them to avoid polluting the waters but keep them somewhere safe and respectfully.

He absolutely loves taking you into the waters with him. Whether in human or mer-form. If you love to swim then it isn't much of a surprise to have him as your boyfriend, but if you can't swim or are afraid to Azul will teach you how and be the absolute best, sweetest teacher. Bonus if you watch the sunset together while leisurely swimming or sitting on the sand, it's quite romantic, really. Expect the occasional water tag and playing around as Azul just can't help but tease you when he feels so confident in his natural environment. this may or may not end in some more intimate actions.

Ironically, Azul finds your voice mesmerizing. If he catches you singing while you think no one is around, he WILL stay hidden just to continue listening. "You sing like a siren my dear." "Are you sure you aren't the one who's put me under your spell?" He may come up behind you quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist gently in an embrace while taking in the soft smell of your hair. "Please, don't stop now, I do so enjoy listening to you."

While transformation magic from mer-person to human is more commonly done, transforming a person into the latter is more difficult, but not impossible. The first time you decide to transform into a mermaid , it catches Azul by surprise. You really want to immerse yourself into his world and live in the sea for however long. After much consideration you decide to do it. Who would have thought your tail would be so beautiful. The way your hair flows, you glide effortlessly across the waters, the iridescent scales of your tail reflecting in colorful arrays. Maybe you are a siren. Azul can't decide if he loves you more like this or as a human. You're just too beautiful no matter what.

You two swimming across Atlantica is like a dream; so deeply in love. You get to explore so many amazing things and bond with him in ways you never could have imagined. He shows you all of the different kind of fish, corals, you get to swim with dolphins and sharks, visit different mer-cities. Expect Azul to blow you bubble hearts and kisses because he really can be that cute sometimes.

extra fun if the twins tag along.

His skin, like the twins, is also perfectly soft and radiant. Your hands love to be on him. You caress his cheeks, massage him, rub your thumb over his palm while holding hands. You're almost jealous at how good his skin is! Of course Azul is more than willing to return the favors of touch. You two enjoy long cuddles and hugs.

Honestly, Azul is a 100/10 boyfriend and when he isn't destroying unsuspecting people with his contracts he's just infatuated with you beyond description and if he could he would love on you constantly all day everyday. His soft side is ONLY for you, his gentle touches and kisses, his thoughtful words, the teasing, sweet nothings. Sometimes the dichotomy of this man shocks you, but maybe that's one of the reasons you love him so much.

"The sea witch was defeated by the mermaid and human in the end. Some say it was true love which was strong enough to end her, I used to laugh at that thought, now, I'm beginning to understand its true power."

💙💜💚💜💙💚💜💙💚💜💙💚

[infini-tree]

episodic - part 3

< back | next >

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Summary: It's business as usual. At least it looks like it, and that has to count for something. The boys do a bit of arts and crafts. Krupp takes a step back.

A/N: literally the worst part of writing fic for CU is trying to think of pranks. they’re up there with choreographing fight scenes. also these next chapters were brought to you by: me referencing the movie’s art book i got as a gift. Locations And Fascinating Objects section my beloved…

this chapter's scene went through a lot of shuffling-- melvin was supposed to be in this one. but alas, once this was finalized he was pushed back into the next chapter. ideally. at the earliest. its been almost 4 years, i swear he actually has a part to play in this AU, he's technically part of the core secondary cast--

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Back in the present day, the boys snuck into the art room. Even now, there wasn’t a proper class for it in Jerome Horwitz, despite The Prank For Good. But because of it, Krupp never had the thought to put it under lock and key again. The doors still remained unlocked for any kid that needed it. And George and Harold had a big need. In fact, they had been caching away supplies when no one was looking.

Captain Underpants trailed behind them; he looked at the room and gave a small nod, murmuring something about being “back at the start”.

“What will we be doing this time, sidekicks?” He clapped his hands together. “Oh! I could try and ask for a carnival again–”

“NO!” both of them shouted. The hero jumped up in surprise and stayed in a low hover.

George was the quicker of the two to regain composure. “No, no– we’re doing something different.”

“Oh.”

Harold unpacked the contents of his bag. There was a ridiculous amount of flour and bottles around them, along with other plastic pails and shovels.

“Ooh, are we making a cake? Can I decorate it?” Captain asked.

George sighed. “It’s not for a cake.”

“Well, what is it for?” 

Harold dumped a bunch of flour and oil into the largest bucket with the glee reserved for children about to make a huge mixture of stuff. “Sand!”

When the hero continued to look baffled, George cut in. “With Krupp instating the grade-wide assignment gauntlet, we have to retaliate with the exact opposite of that.”

“…Recess?”

“Close!” Harold began to mix the concoction with a plastic shovel. “Summer vacation!”

“And we need to make a lot to really sell the beach vibe.”

“Oh…” Captain nodded with the confidence of someone who had no idea what that meant. He knelt down and gave a curious sniff at the flour sand, catching the faint whiff of some sort of cooking oil.  mix his own bucket the other boy handed to him.

To make a long story short, they managed to create enough of it to create a sizable layer in at least two classrooms. They hauled the first half of it to Guided’s classroom–or rather, Captain flew it over in record time. He began to push all the desks back and started to stack them high up against the edges of the wall. It reminded Harold of that one time he showed George a boardwalk on a faded postcard, tall buildings looming over sandy beaches.

“Why only two?” Captain asked as he stacked some of the desks on the teacher’s desk. “Why not make the whole school a beach?”

The boys perked up from their efforts to place the sand evenly across the classroom floor.

“‘Cause the first big tests are in Ms. Guided and Ribble’s classrooms,” Harold said.

“We’d have loved to do something big," George explained as he scattered the beach toys. "Really put the last big prank that happened here to shame–”

“But we had to improvise. Go for lots of smaller ones for the first part of this plan, you know?”

“First part?” Captain echoed. 

“Yeah!” Harold continued, ushering them all out of the room. Captain followed in a low hover, and George swept over the remaining footprints with a hand. Looking back at their work, it looked like no one was ever in the room.

“The first bit is to wear all the teachers and Krupp down. And then–”

“Bam.” he punched into his own open palm. “That’s where you come in!”

Captain tilted his head. “I thought this was where I came in?”

“What? No– I mean, we appreciate your help, but you have a bigger part to play here.”

“I do?” he asked.

“We figured you’d want to get back at Krupp, right?” George said. 

Captain was silent, his expression dumbfounded. 

“With enough pressure, he’ll back off from you and he’ll back off with all the sudden assignments!” Harold clarified. “It’ll be great.”

“We’re not sure how long he’s planning on making everyone miserable, but we’re planning for the long game.”

That seemed to make things more murky for him but the curiosity still remained. He tilted his head with furrowed brows, as if trying to figure out the connection between the two facts. “…How long, exactly?” 

“As long as it takes.” Harold gave him a good natured punch to the side. “Now come on, let’s get the other classroom set up.”

The boys grabbed his hands and led him back to the art room, chatting about what else they could do.

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

The school didn’t know what hit them. 

Later that day, the fourth graders enjoyed the slices of beaches in the pair of classrooms. They made their sandcastles and moats as the teachers tried– and failed– to get their papers from their desks buried under their own students’ desks. 

And on the day after that, there was the petting zoo in the math classrooms on the same day a calculator-less test on long division was meant to happen. It was no tiger, but the kids enjoyed petting the sheep. For extra salt in the wound, there were numbers drawn in bright colors on their wool. 

Corralling the animals out was one thing. Finding out they were only Sheeps #1-6 and 8 was another, leaving all the teachers to scramble to find the last sheep of the set for the past few hours.

Apparently, the third time wasn’t the charm as George and Harold were called into the principal’s office. When they walked in, he had never bothered to close one of the desk drawers, clearly embroiled in whatever work principals do. Krupp was faced away from them, yelling into the phone.

“How many times do I have to explain it to you, there probably isn’t a Sheep #7– are you falling asleep counting them?” He turned to face them and grimaced. “I’ll get back to you.” 

He hung up the phone, glaring at them as they took their respective seats. 

“Care to explain the last few days?”

Harold shifted in his seat as he gave a glance to the other boy. “We have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We were a bit too busy dealing with the sudden wave of assignments and tests to try anything,” George added with a shrug.

“Don’t play innocent with me. The gaps in my memory are extremely obvious.” He waggled an accusatory finger at them.

“Like we said, we were busy–”

“What– watching him get bit by sheep yesterday?!” He held up his other arm filled with band aids of various sizes.

George leaned over to the other boy and whispered, “Man, they can be really vicious, huh?” 

Krupp slammed his fists onto his desk. He opened his hands. Closed them. Before pushing himself off his seat to look down at them. “Whether you’ll actually admit it, I’ll cut to the chase. Stop whatever you’re trying to do.”

“If it was us, why would we? You started it.”

“Oh, hah–” He let out an incredulous, breathless laugh at that. “I started it? You’re one to talk after all you’ve done to me. You should be grateful I don’t just hold you back right now for that comment!”

Harold was unmoved. “Man, you got so much worse– I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Oh, I can do so much worse after your little breaking and entering stunt,” he shot back. “Invading my privacy, looking into things you shouldn’t–”

“So you admit you were talking to him.”

“Now I never said anything about talking, have I?”

George and Harold leveled a glare at him, refusing to give him any confirmation or satisfaction that he was right. “So that is why you cracked down on the entire fourth grade, huh?”

“Or maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m losing sleep over mysterious injuries!” The boys wanted to speak up, but he refused to give them that. “And– and, seeing the school be nearly destroyed multiple times a week.”

“Not like you really cared about the school before,” George grumbled.

Krupp spluttered furiously, turning a new shade of red in the process. “Says the children who keep on endangering it and wasting its resources!"

“We’re saving the school!”

“From problems you made up.” He slowly made his way around his desk to them. “Is that why you made me your little stooge? Were you just tired and wanted to feel important in your little superhero fantasy? Or was getting rid of me the main motivation here?”

George stood up from his chair. “Oh, if we could have, we would have!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, it suddenly felt like the office had turned somewhat askew. Gone was the red in Krupp’s face and gone was the anger– if anything, he looked like he had been slapped in the face. His mouth opened. Closed. Nothing.

The boys were suddenly aware of the clock ticking, now that it was completely silent. George couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he said something that crossed some unseen line with his mom.

And just as quickly as the conversation was fishtailing out of what any of them were used to, the principal clambered for any sense of control.

“I’ll deal with the both of you later.” He put up a hand to rub his temples– and conveniently hid his eyes. “Get out.”

Harold blinked. “What–”

“NOW!” He whipped his arm to point at the door.

They stumbled out of their seats and ran without a second thought.

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

For the rest of the last class of the school day, Harold was sitting on pins and needles as he looked at the clock. While most kids looked at it expectantly for the final bell to ring, right now he was dreading it.  He figured George was doing the same.

Krupp getting the jump on them was a matter of when today , not if, especially when he was as mad as he was earlier.

Five minutes. He glanced to the front of the class. Even Rected was struggling with the new mandate to increase kids’ work. Which, he guessed, made sense– more work for them meant more stuff the teachers had to look at.

Two minutes.

Speaking of work, he was quickly scribbling out some ideas for the next issues. Though he couldn’t help but let his mind wander off to the other prank plans they had– he figured by the way Rected was pulling at his hair, they can bring Captain in for the cherry on top by the end of next week–

The speakers screeched to life. There was a beat of silence long enough for someone to ask if Krupp called an announcement on accident, until–

“Pop science fair, end of this week,” he said tersely. “Hope you can wow the teachers, since this is now a good chunk of your mark. How much? That’s the ‘pop’ part of that.”

The kids began to groan and slam their heads on their desks. Even more heads fell on their desks as another screech echoed through the school.

“You have George Beard and Harold Hutchins to thank for that. That will be all.”

The bell rang. One by one, everyone turned his direction, some shocked, others confused, many furious. Even Mr. Rected gave a baffled look.

After dodging the onslaught of kids ready to hound him or worse due to the announcement, he found George running down the hallway for similar reasons. At some point along the way, the other boy got their skateboards and helmets. With a frantic throw, they skateboarded out of the front yard and down the quickest route to their house.

“George?” Harold said, once they turned to their street. He had been eerily silent the whole time.

The other boy jumped off his own board and pulled his helmet off. He could see how much sweat was on his forehead now.

“Change of plans–” He stomped the end of the skateboard to make it stand before quickly grabbing it. “We’re taking stock of everything tonight.”

Harold stared at him. He knew why– he could still feel a flare of indignation from that announcement.

It was like George read his mind. “What Krupp said– those were fighting words. We’re going to move the Captain Plan up next.”

He gave a curt nod.

[perigilpin]

3.06 'Willard R. Abbott’ Post Ep Fic

Ava x Janine

"They’re for you - to say thank you or somethin like that." Ava made a big deal of rolling her eyes, but Janine was almost certain she could feel some fondness behind the overacting.

Ava didn’t knock before letting herself into Janie’s office at the district, bottle of red wine in one hand, bouquet of dark purple tulips in the other.

Before Janine could say anything Ava was shoving the flowers into her hands.

"They’re for you - to say thank you or somethin like that." Ava made a big deal of rolling her eyes, but Janine was almost certain she could feel some fondness behind the overacting, "I know how hard you worked on all that landmark shit today."

"Ava…"

Setting the bottle of wine down other woman’s desk, Ava threw her hands up in the air, "I went and bought a scratcher with that ten you gave me and won sixty bucks, so this makes us even.”

Despite Ava’s deflection, Janine felt warmth spread across her face and her stomach flip, suddenly nervous in a way that only Ava made her these days. ( She’d never admit to chasing this particular high to anyone else, but it was certainly getting harder to deny to herself.)

"Well are you gonna invite me to sit for a drink or?"

Janine swallowed hard, "Yeah, I uh have some mugs we could use."

She fumbled nervously in her drawers looking for the nicest mugs she had, "I’ve never actually drank in my office before.”

"Amateur.” Ava remarked, as a small smile played on her lips.

Janine set the mugs down in between them as Ava pulled a corkscrew out of her purse, making quick work of the bottle and filling both mugs. "You like it here?"

Janine couldn't quite parse the intent behind Ava's question, (she found that lately, she couldn't really put a finger on Ava’s intentions in general) so she took a sip of the red wine, tannins hitting her squarely in the back of her cheeks and reminding her that she'd been so busy that she hadn't eaten anything today.

"Yeah, I mean it's a really awesome opportunity. Everyone has been great and I feel like i've actually been able to accomplish some important stuff." She avoided Ava’s eyes, looking down as she swirled the red liquid around in her mug before taking another sip, "But …I do miss Abbott."

“Abbott isn't going anywhere.” Ava paused for a moment, as if debating whether she should vocalize the rest of her thoughts, “But I hope you’re not either. You are coming back right?”

Janine watched the other woman's face for a moment. There was something different there, the normal self confidence and bravado washed away for a rare moment in the warm light of her office. (Was it the same electrifying nervousness that was running through her own body? No, couldn't be.)

"Yeah." Janine chewed on her lower lip, "I've learned a lot here but if i'm being truthful i'm really looking forward to getting back in my clasroom."

"Well good. I didn’t want to go through the process of hiring a new teacher.” Ava idly ran her finger around the lip of the mug, "We should proabbly be taking advantage of your home strech here at the district then. As my mole we should be syncing up a little more often, debriefing on some of that valuable info.” She paused, “Maybe weekly over a drink."

"I'm not-" Janine stopped herself, still unable to shake the look on Ava's face from moments before, "you know what, that sounds good."

In the warmth of the office, guards down, they talked until Janine went to fill up her mug and the bottle was empty.

Spell broken, Ava cleared her throat, "Well wine's gone, time to get outta here."

"Uh, I think I need to call an uber. But you should get home." Janine picked up the bouquet of tulips with one hand, holding them close to her chest, and opened up the uber app on her phone with the other hand.

"Damn you really are a lightweight huh?" Ava stood in the doorway, "Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, but the offer is not gonna last long so don't push it."

As they left the district office building a few minutes later, walking down the street to where Ava had parked, Janine could swear she felt Ava’s fingers ghost over hers where their hands swung between them.

( Yes, she was very much looking forward to getting back to Abbott.)

[cookies-over-yonder]

cutting class

During class Riz's teacher sends him to see Jawbone, and he doesn't know why.

ao3

“Jawbone?”

A most unexpected head pokes its way in the doorway, and Jawbone looks up from his desk to see Riz Gukgak finally paying a visit.

“Riz! Come on in, you can just shut the door behind you,” Jawbone says, getting up from his desk to sit in his chair across the couch.

“My teacher sent me here,” Riz says, following Jawbone’s instructions. “I’m not too sure why, I mean, it’s not like my grades will drop if I miss a few minutes of one class, but you never know, right? Maybe it was so you could help me work on my plans for the Bad Kids to all get into the same college, but I—I didn’t tell her about that, so no, that doesn’t make any sense. Did—did you know anything? Do you—did you…”

Riz takes a sip from his rather large water bottle, hand trembling as he drinks from it.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Riz?” Jawbone gestures to the couch across from him.

Riz puts his bottle back in his backpack and sits, hands balled into fists and pressed against his knees, and he’s wound so tight he’s shaking all over.

“You look a little tense, is everything alright?”

“Everything’s—” Riz swipes at the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, “Everything’s fine. Maybe I was sent here so you could help me work on Kristen’s campaign? I think I’ve got it handled though, so I’m not really sure why—”

“Riz.”

“Yeah?”

“Take a breath.”

“What?” Riz asks, eyes no longer darting around the room, locked with Jawbone’s.

“Take a deep breath in right now for me.”

Riz does as followed, shutting his eyes.

“Now let it out nice and slow.”

He sighs, fingers uncurling a bit against his knees.

He opens his eyes.

“Do you know why I was sent here? Because whatever it is, I really need to get back to class.”

He pulls the bottle out again and takes another swig of whatever’s inside.

“Is that water?” Jawbone asks.

“It’s coffee.”

“Kid, you should not be drinking that much coffee,” Jawbone says, opening up a little cooler under his desk and tossing Riz a plastic bottle of water.

“Wha—how else am I gonna stay awake?” he asks, just barely catching it.

“How many hours of sleep do you usually get?”

“Mm..” Riz tilts his head in thought. “I’d say, usually somewhere between zero and three. I think two is my sweet spot, though.”

“I think your teacher might’a sent you here ‘cause they were worried ‘bout you.”

“What? I—I’ve got perfect scores on all of my tests, and I’ve never missed an assignment—I would never—”

“Not worried ‘bout your grades. Worried ‘bout you .”

“ Why? ” he asks, and Jawbone notices him squeezing the water bottle so hard he fears it might burst.

“Simple. You seem stressed, and I know what you’re about to say, like you said last time, some stress can be good, sure.”

“It is.”

“Too much stress isn’t.”

Riz hisses, baring his fangs and glaring daggers.

“I know you don’t like hearing it, but it’s true, alright? I’ve seen how many clubs you’ve signed up for in addition to your campaign managing and your regular coursework and it’s a lot, and it’s clearly weighing on you.”

“I’m staying on top of everything just fine, Jawbone.”

“What’d your teacher say when they sent you to see me?”

“Uh… ‘Riz, you don’t look so good,’ and then I told her I was, and then she asked if everything was okay, and I said it was, and then she said, ‘how about you go and see Jawbone,’ and I said, ‘I’m fine,’ and then she said, ‘don’t hiss at me, I’m your teacher, and I’m asking you to go see Jawbone for me,’ and then I apologized, and then I came here.”

“Mhm, okay.”

“Can I leave now?”

“How are things at home?”

“Fine.”

“Is there a reason why you signed up for all these clubs?”

Jawbone wouldn’t expect Riz to try and avoid staying home for any reason in particular, but it doesn’t hurt to check.

“Looks good on applications. I—I’m not just gonna look past scholarship opportunities ‘cause it’s too much work. I can do all the work.” Riz squeezes the waterbottle harder.

Riz’s trembling is worse now, and Jawbone feels a little guilty in pushing so far, but at the same time, he’s still being fairly receptive, so it’s worth it to keep going.

“Is everything okay money-wise at home?” he asks, careful to keep his voice low and gentle.

Riz hisses again. “Do you really need to know all of this!?” he snaps, eyes wide and wild. “You’re a guidance counsellor, not some—some fucking interrogator!”

His claws pierce the bottle, and water shoots out of it, spraying at both of them. He throws it to the ground, and sucks in a breath, clawing at his hair.

“Riz, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m asking questions because I wanna help you.”

“You can’t.” he says, glaring again, but when they lock eyes, Jawbone can see tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he deflates, “Just—just—sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. Sorry,” Riz stutters out between gasps.

“It’s okay, kid. I know you’re dealing with a lot, and I’m not judging you for it.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Riz whispers, shaking his hands out before burying his head in them, though his rapid breathing betrays him.

“It’s okay if you’re not, too,” Jawbone says softly.

Riz shakes his head. “It's not. I—I have to keep up with everything so all of us can get into college together—” he gasps, “—I don’t have time for anything else—” he gasps, “—I don’t have time for breakdowns—” he presses his palms against his eyes, and it’s clear he’s holding back a sob when he says, “—I’m used to being anxious anyway. It’s nothing new.”

“Riz, you’re allowed to cry in here if you need to. It might even make you feel better.”

Riz draws his knees to his chest and buries his face in them, pressing his hands against the back of his head.

And he breaks down crying. Giving in to his needs and letting it all out.

“It’s so stupid!” he sobs, “Why should my education be barred behind a paywall? I usually only sleep a couple hours, but I think I’ve been riding on half an hour for three days. And it’s only nightmares, but that’s fine! It’s fine! I—I—I wake up and I can’t breathe, but I always get over it eventually, so it’s fine!”

The sobs die down, and they’re replaced by the sound of pained hyperventilation.

“Riz, hey, I need you to breathe, okay?”

Riz whines, “I can’t—fuck— fuck ! ”

He lifts his head from his knees and swipes at the sweat on his face, eyes shut and breathing strained.

“Riz, can you hear me? You’re having a panic attack.”

“I know,” he forces out, flapping his hands and then pulling at his hair.

“Okay, Riz, listen here, I want you to follow along with me, okay?”

Riz nods.

“Can you look at me?”

Riz opens his eyes and stares back at Jawbone in a complete contrast to his glares from earlier. He sees fear.

“I want you to try and breathe in with me for four seconds. I’m gonna count, alright?”

Riz nods again.

Jawbone counts, and Riz tries his best to take in a breath.

“Now hold it.”

He does.

“And let it out. Good. Now we’re gonna do that again, alright?”

They do it a few more times, and when Jawbone sees Riz’s shoulders relax a little, he asks, “You feeling any better?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry,” he glances away. “Sorry. About that.”

“No need to apologize about your brain making things harder for you.”

“Right,” he mutters, scratching at his arms and staring at the floor.

“Now, you said you knew what was going on. Does that happen to you often?” Jawbone asks, grabbing another bottle of water and handing it to him. This time he actually takes a sip.

“What, panic attacks?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, I mean, yeah? But it’s only like, well, it used to be a few times a week, but now it’s more like twice a day, since, uh, since the school year started, I guess? It’s not, like, that bad, though. Like, I’m fine.”

Riz shrinks into himself a little as he’s talking, his discomfort obvious.

“That sounds pretty bad, kid. Does your mom know?”

He shakes his head. “She’s got enough on her plate. Especially now.”

“It sounds like you’ve got some severe anxiety, kiddo. I might have to talk to your mom about getting you some treatment.”

“ No! ” Riz shouts, throwing his hands out in defence, “I can handle it, it’s fine, I don’t want to cause her even more stress—”

“Riz, deep breaths.”

Riz slows down his breathing once more, setting down his hands.

“Riz, you are worth the worry, you know that? We worry about you because we care about you. We don’t want you to be suffering when we can find a way to help, you got me?”

“Um… okay. I—I got you.”

“You wanna stay here for the rest of class?”

Riz glances at the clock and bites his lip.

“I���ll talk to your teacher, and we can both help you catch up on whatever you missed.”

“Okay. okay,” Riz says, tears sliding down his cheeks again.

“You’re free to lie down on the couch if you’d like, you could even nap, unless you wanted to keep chatting, that is.”

Riz shakes his head.

Jawbone smiles at him, gets up and sits back down at his desk. Riz drinks some more water and then lies down, and Jawbone is pleased to see that he’s out like a light after ten minutes. He grabs a blanket hung over the arm of the couch and drapes it over him, and then he sits back down, dialing Sklonda on the phone.

[goldandgreenflakes]

Aizawa x Fem! Reader

THERE'S ONLY ONE BED?!

ENEMIES TO LOVERS?!?!??!?!

(Not quite enemies but close enough)

I LOVE CLICHÉSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Your hero name is Shockwave, btw)

As the stretch limos pulled up to the hotel, I felt my stomach twist.

This is one of the nicest hotel in the area, only top-notch celebrities and heros get to stay here. One night can cost upwards of 18,000 dollars.

And I get to stay here for a heroes conference, free, with full amenities.

We walked into the lobby and Nezu walked toward the front desk. He spoke to the lady behind the desk for a few minutes before returning with multiple keycards in his hand.

Paw? Hand?

Hand.

"Mic, you're with Midnight," the principal said as he handed Mic a key card. The two linked arms in a humorous display before heading down the hallway.

Nezu continued. "Cementor, you're sharing a room with Snipe."

I watched as more and more teachers were paired up, and then I noticed the mischievous glint in Nezu's eyes.

No, no, no, no, no, Nezu don't.

But by the time he noticed my glare, it was too late.

"Shockwave, you're with Eraserhead."

The man himself, standing on the other end of the lobby, turned, and I could see the annoyance on his face.

"Must you always find ways to bother me, Nezu?" He asked.

I rolled my eyes. Shota always felt the need to bitch about whatever situation he had found himself in.

The principal flashed a grin, looking between me and Eraserhead.

"I am not just trying to bother you, I'm simply trying to get you two to work together. Contempt between any two heroes can cause problems on the job."

I glanced at Aizawa, already knowing the next week was going to suck. Big-time. The man himself groaned, grabbing his bag and snatching our keycard from Nezu and disappearing down the hallway without so much as a second glance my way.

I looked down at my own card before sighing and making my way to the room.

By the time I got to the room, Shota had already made it there and settled. I opened the door, and what I saw made me want to scream.

"There's only one bed?!" I yelped, dropping my bag and turning to the hallway. I turned back to face the room and the king sized bed that sat in the middle. A bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne rested on the bedside table.

"It's mine, L/n, you can sleep in the window seat." I scowled at Shota as the words left his mouth.

"You got me fucked if you think you're taking this entire bed and leaving me with the window seat. Move over," I said as I dropped my bag on the other side of the bed from him.

An awkward silence settled over the two of us.

I pulled my phone out and texted Nemuri. She told me that the whole group was going down to the hotel bar for drinks, and asked me if I wanted to meet them down there.

I figured since the actual convention didn't start until the afternoon the next day, I could afford to have a couple drinks.

Maybe I'd meet someone.

So I agreed to at least show face down at the bar, then dug through my bag to find something less... hero costume-y.

Eventually, I found something agreeable. It was still pretty formal but slightly less so than the other convention clothes I had brought with me. I took the clothes into the bathroom along with my makeup bag while Shota browsed his phone grumpily.

Once I deemed myself presentable I exited the bathroom ans went to put my makeup bag back when I heard a huff come from the man sitting on the bed.

I turned to him. "What."

He barely looked up from his phone. "Nothing," he said simply. "You just cleaned up better than I thought you would. I've gotten so used to the leather."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. We're all going down to the bar. Maybe if you get a couple shots in you, you'll loosen up a bit."

Shota scoffed. I left.

"So, you're stuck with Eraser?" Nemuri asked as I slid into the bar stool next to her.

I nodded as she handed me a shot glass full of whatever and I downed it without thinking.

"It won't be so bad," Midnight said cheerfully as I grabbed another glass from in front of her.

Shrugging, I tipped my head back and threw the second shot down. "It won't be if he leaves me alone," I said once the glass was back down on the bar.

There was a momentary silence until she responded. "Or maybe you two will work it out."

I snickered. As if.

But I didn't want to say that so I just ordered a drink and sat silent as I sipped it.

After only a few minutes, I felt my muscles relax as my head began to swim ever-so-slightly. The undisclosed alcohol along with my ordered drink finally because to ease my inhibitions of the conference out of my subconscious.

That was until a figure slid into the stool next to me. He rested his hand on the small of my back.

"Why don't you let me get you a drink, sweetheart," the shady man snickered, calling the bartender over and calling for another four shots of tequila.

I shook my head, putting a hand up in front of myself and trying to think of a decent enough lie to tell.

"No thank you," was all I could think of as I took another sip from my own glass.

The man persisted. "Oh come on, you look miserable. At least let me help you loosen up." His hand slid down to my ass, tugging at the hem of my clothes.

Now listen. Most logical people would have gotten up and left, or at least told the man to bug off, but I am not most logical people.

I'm stupid.

So I took the shots. Free alcohol? At a bar where I'm already getting free alcohol? But where some sleazebag has to pay for it?

Absolutely I will.

So I pushed back both shots before turning away from the man, pushing his hand off my ass as I did.

"Oh come on, baby, I bought you something. The least you can do is pay me a little attention," he continued, moving his hand around to my thigh.

At this point, I wasn't in any position to be defending myself, so I nudged Nemuri and quietly asked her to deal with it.

She leaned back as I rested my head in my hands, my elbows on the bar.

"Thank you, sir, but my friend here isn't interested," she said, then whispered to me.

"Why would you let him buy you a drink?"

I shook my head. "I didn't mean to."

But the man was getting persistent, running his hand up my thigh.

"I believe she said she wasn't interested," a voice spoke up from behind me. I turned and groaned when I realized it was Shota.

The man sputtered for a moment, trying to think of something to say, before muttering about "ungrateful bitches" and stalking off.

I slumped against the bar, feeling my head swim. "You didn't have to do that." I snapped.

Shota scoffed. "Sure, stand there and watch you get groped. I don't care for you but even I'm better than that, stupid."

I felt something unfamiliar twist in my stomach ar the name.

Assuming it was nausea, I stood. "On that note I'm going back to the room."

Nemuri looked at me. "You sure?" She asked. I nodded.

"Do you need someone to walk you?" Hizashi offered as he rounded the corner with a glass in either hand. He handed one to Shota and they both took a sip. Hizashi sat in the stool I had just stood from.

I shook my head and started off.

"Hey!" Shota shouted from behind me. Stifling a groan, I turned towards him.

The man tossed my keycard at me. "You left this in the room."

I looked at him for a moment, only half taking note of the unrecognizable glint in his eye.

Then I turned and stumbled away from the hotel bar, into the hallway.

It took me a few minutes to actually find my room, and a few more to finally slide my key card in the door.

I looked around the room, letting out a tired sigh when I noticed Shota's stuff on his chosen side of the bed.

This week is gonna really suck.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I removed my makeup and stared myself down in the mirror.

"That was.. a mistake," I mumbled, pulling my hair out of its style. My head was still swimming and I was feeling nausea pull at the bottom of my stomach. I decided to drink some water and just try lying down.

I lay on my side for a while, half staring at the wall and half staring at the inside of my eyelids.

That was, until I heard the door unlock, and Shota walked in.

"Hey stupid," the man called into the room. I didn't move.

"I know you're awake because you snore like a fucking dump truck, Y/n. I got you a Gatorade. Here." The hero said, and less than a second later a bottle hit me in the ribs.

I looked at him, and once again noticed the unfamiliar.. something glint in his eyes.

"...thank you," I murmured.

Aizawa pulled his sweater up and over his head, rummaging through his bags for his pajamas. "Don't mention it," he grunted.

Then he walked into the bathroom to finish changing.

Part two and three!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

daisy, chapter nine

A/N: aaahhh! this is the second to last chapter of the series! I can't believe it's nearly over! also, this is the last smutty chapter, so enjoy! (omg why am I getting a little sad writing this authors note? THIS IS NOT EVEN THE LAST ONE YET!)

summary: “come on ace, don’t you wanna feel the prom king stretch you out?” 

warnings: private school!reader, perv!steve, smut, prom, prom king!steve, kissing, crying, size kink, dirty talk, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, public sex, exhibitionism, alcohol consumption, piggyback rides

word count: 2942

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

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Palms stinging from just how hard you were clapping them together, you watched as a cheap plastic crown was placed atop your best friend's head, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Suddenly, just before he and the prom queen were asked to take the floor, his feet started to move, leaping off the rigidity stage and before you could even blink, there he was, grabbing onto your hand and dragging you out of the bustling crowd. 

Pushing the doors open and bolting down the long hall, you yelped, finding it virtually impossible to keep up with his long strides in your dainty heels, “what are you doing? Where are we going?”

Rounding the corner, he replied with a big grin, “no time for questions, ace. Let’s go!” ripping a classroom door open and yanking you inside, he swiftly slammed it shut behind you. 

Watching him peak out the small window, dramatically, as if he was a kid pretending to be a spy, seeing if anyone had followed, “well…” you giggled at the all-clear sign he flashed you, “what now, your majesty?”

“Now the real party beings,” he announced with a smirk, dipping his hand into the inner pocket of his black blazer and conjuring a small metallic flask. 

Your eyes grew wide, watching as he unscrewed and top and took a big swig, “you smuggled alcohol in here?”

“Nah, I didn’t do it, bought it off of Munson like an hour ago.”

Passing it to you, you gave it a small whiff before taking a small sip. “Do you remember the first time we got drunk together?” you asked, chuckling lightly as you remembered the two bottles of champagne, he had stolen at his cousin’s wedding two years back. 

“Yeah…” he recalled dreamily, the most adoring of smiles blooming on his lips. 

“You broke your arm!” you questioned his grin, taking another sip before passing the flask back to him.

“And you went full-on doctor on me and refused to leave my side till long after I returned from the hospital.”

“Yeah, well,” you leaned back against the teacher's desk, “you’re my best friend…”

“Really?” he said sarcastically, taking a step closer to you, “well now all of the kissing makes a lot more sense.”

“Oh, shut up!” you stole the flask back from him. 

“And you letting me put it in your butt? Yeah, it all makes so much more sense now,” he teased, basking in the crimson your cheeks were turning, “it’s just what best friends do.”

Giving him a gentle shove, you sniggered, “stop it!”

Catching your arm as you pushed him, he pulled you in for a peace treaty, pressing his lips against yours in a giggly kiss.  

Feeling his fists rapidly bunch up the skirt of your swanky dress, he breathed against your lips, “you wanna do some more best friend activities?” grabbing the flask from your fingers and setting it down beside you.

“What,” you pulled back, feeling your pulse pick up, “like right now?” 

Craning down to kiss along your neck, he nibbled at the soft skin, “do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about just bending you over mid-class? Please, ace, make my dream come true…”

“We can’t, what if someone walks in?” you couldn’t help the way you glanced around nervously.

“They won’t,” he promised calmly, leaning back in to kiss you once more, but your counterargument halted his peck.

 “You don’t know that. Someone could ditch the party like we just did.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” he effortlessly lifted you up to sit on the table and slid in between your parting thighs, “come on ace, don’t you wanna feel the prom king stretch you out?” he begged, nuzzling his nose against yours. 

Taking a brief moment to truly consider it, you then nodded carefully, “alright, fine. But you have to be quick!” 

“Do you really want it to be fast?” he swiftly pushed your dress up enough for your panties to be on display for him, his fingers instantly being drawn to them like a magnet. 

“N-no,” you shivered as he teasingly ran his short nails over the quickly dampening fabric, “I just don’t want us to be caught.” 

“Why? Are you scared of getting detention?” his hand swiftly smacked your puffy folds causing your body to jerk at the jolt of pleasure that bolted throughout it, “ace, you don’t go here anymore.”

“I know I don’t,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, already predicting that you’d need the support, “but I don’t want the people I grew up with seeing us, or even hearing us do it!”

“What, you’re scared of them finding out what a little slut you’ve become?” you felt him tug your underwear rudely, pulling the gusset even further into your wetness and saturating them completely, “you don’t want them to hear the filthy sounds you produce when I make you cream all over my cock?” he tugged even harder, “how you lose your breath every time I stick it in you?” he let go of the cotton, just before you feared it would snap in two, merely to send a few extra blows with his palm down upon your mess, “bet if they pressed their ear up against the door, they’d be able to hear just how fucking wet you are,” with another hard smack, he then raised his hand up and slid all four of his fingers into your mouth, your lips already agape in a silent moan, granting him easy entrance, “see? I haven’t even breached your pretty little panties yet and you’ve already soaked my hand.”

You let out a muffled moan as you tasted yourself on his digits, feeling his other fingers begin to peel your soaked underwear off, shifting slightly in your seat in order to make the job easier for him. 

“Since you're so concerned about people finding out,” he slid your panties all the way off and balled them up in his hand, “here,” he swiftly replaced his fingers with the sodden cotton, sufficiently stuffing your mouth full, “that should take the brunt of it.”

It didn’t silence your whimpers completely as you felt his fingers impatiently circle your clit before plunging them into your dripping hole. Gliding one of your hands down towards his belt, even though you’d felt it plenty of times before, the tent in his pants pressing up against your palm still sent goosebumps soaring all across your skin. 

Smirking down at your stuffed mouth, his lustful gaze egging you on as you one-handedly wrestled with his belt, eventually freeing his massive length. Giving it just a couple of pumps, you then wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him close enough for you to nudge the bulbous head against your fluttering clit. 

Arching your back and granting him even better access, you blinked up at him, brows knitted together, and let out a muffled plea. 

“What, ace?” he withdrew his wet fingers and wrapped them around his base, “you want my big dick inside of you?” he briefly raised up his hand to nonchalantly spit in his palm, before lowering it again to work the slick all over himself, eyes fluttering as he slowly jerked his cock before you, “you want me to fuck you right here on the teacher's desk?”

Feeling the empty classroom buzz behind you, your mind couldn’t help but wander to thoughts about it not being so empty, causing your body to shiver violently. 

Cutting your daydream short, he fiercely drove his length all the way into you till you felt his bushy base tickly your tiny button. Borderline letting out a scream as his tip rudely bullied your cervix, your legs trembled so much around him that they gave out and flailed wildly at either side of him to offset the sudden fullness.

“That’s it,” he groaned, determinedly pushing his fat cock in as deep as possible, almost making you feel him all the way up in your throat, “is that what you needed, ace? You just wanted me to stretch you out, huh? Make you all dumb on my cock?”

Clinging onto his broad shoulders like you were clutching on to life itself, he rapidly set a brutal pace, faithfully fulfilling your request of keeping the fun brief. 

You could still hear the faint music vibrating throughout the building, letting you know just how not alone the two of you were, though also making you concerned that maybe he had been the one in need of a gag with all the lewd noises he let flow freely. 

“I always knew that you loved biology, but this is another level of dedication, ace,” his fingers dug into your hips, as he moved your body for you, making you meet his rough thrusts halfway, “you’re such a bad little girl, helping me out with my anatomy knowledge right here on the teacher’s desk for anyone to see…”

Gradually, you let go of his frame, dropping down onto the desk and lying flat against it, blinking hazily up at Steve as he hammered into you. The plastic crown was askew atop his now less-than-perfect hair, a few strands tickled his vision as he stared down at your body, intensely watching as he repeatedly disappeared into your sloppy warmth, fucking you like a madman. 

Feeling his fingers find your clit, your hands instinctually came up to squeeze your tits through your formal dress, fighting to keep your eyes open as you saw the light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Fuck, that’s it, ace,” he moaned, “take it, just like that, you can do it,” a smile overtaking his contorted expression, “good girl.”

And just as the fireworks erupted and you lost the strenuous battle with your eyelids, squeezing them shut merely to comprehend the euphotic sensation, you abruptly felt him pull out, instantly making you prop yourself up onto your forearms and glare at him in both confusion and slight anger. But before you managed to remove your makeshift gag in order to scold him, he swiftly replaced his girth with a few of his fingers, violently rocking the curved digits inside of you. Crying out in pleasure, even in the low light, your eyes caught sight of the gush that drizzled out of your squelching pussy, dousing not only your pretty prom dress and the floor below, but even though he had stepped out of the way, Steve’s dress pants also darkened a bit, his thick thigh becoming a splotchy painting with your essence. 

“Oh, yes, yes!” he growled enthusiastically, completely overcome by your showery display. Withdrawing his fingers, he fiercely rubbed his broad flat hand over the whole of your puffy pussy, drawing out as much of your juices as he possibly could, making your body shake and jerk in the overwhelming process. 

Cunt still quivering tightly, he pried his way inside one last time, not needing many pumps before he too was coming undone, melting down atop of you and pumping you full of his cum. 

Sluggish eyes danced over the ceiling as you felt Steve’s fingers pull the crumbled panties out of your mouth, making it much easier for you to catch your breath. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out slowly, nuzzling his nose against your cheek before kissing it.

Peeling himself off of you, you winched as he pulled his softening dick out of you, the vice-like grip your pussy had on him made the job much more difficult for him. Kneeling down before you, he picked up one of your wobbly legs and rested it on his shoulder, admiring the mess between your thighs. 

“Uh, would you look at that,” he spread you apart, making your leaking hole gape slightly for him, clearly still remembering his girth, watching as your muscles still spasmed, slowly recuperating from what had just transpired, “so fucking pretty,” he leaned down to kiss you, causing your weak body to shot back up from the overstimulation. 

“Steve,” you gently nudged him off of you.

“Sorry,” he landed just a few more kisses on your inner thigh before untangling from your legs and standing back up, “you’re just so,” he let out a soft breath, seemingly needing a second to cut through all the adoration his mind was clouded with in order to find the right word, “perfect,” his lips caught yours in a tender kiss. 

Smiling against his lips, you sneaked a hand up between your bodies to snatch your underwear back from his fingers. Noticing your gentle tug, he let out a chuckle and lifted them up, out of your reach.

“I’ll just hold onto these for now,” he smirked and pocketed the sodden ball of cotton into his breast pocket, “call it a souvenir.”

“That’s not fair, you’ve already got a crown,” you pouted through your smile. 

Plucking the flimsy plastic off his head, he gently placed it atop yours and said, “there,” taking the time to also tug some of the loosened flyaways behind your ears, “I think that’s a fair trade, don’t you?”

Then, just as you were about to answer, a noise caught your ear, making you jump in his embrace. Quickly hopping off the table, you clasped your hand over Steve’s smile. Biting down on your lip, stifling the giggle that fought to escape, you glared up at your best friend in alarm. 

“What do we do?” you let out a bubbly whisper, slowly lowering your palm to let him answer.

Holding you close, he crept towards to the door and glanced out the small window in it, announcing quietly a second later, “let’s go,” ripping it open and sending you both running down the hallway, sniggering quietly from the rush. 

Stumbling slightly as the alcohol in your bloodstream made its presence known, your best friend quickly noticed, and with a smile, he wordlessly plucked you up and carried you on his back the rest of the way to safety. 

His long legs didn’t stop till they stepped onto the vast football field. Both still laughing breathlessly, he gently set you down on the grass. 

Hearing Steve’s laughter slowly fade out, you turned to see him staring back at you softly, quietly asking, “dance with me,” as if it had just been a thought he’d accidentally let slip. 

“Steve,” you chuckled, cocking your head a bit, “we’ve already danced a bunch of times tonight.”

“So?” he smiled, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you, “dance with me, ace.”

And so, with no music at all, you began to dance with your best friend at the edge of the empty field. It was playful at first, giggling and spinning each other around, at one point you even knocked the crown clean off, sending it flying from the extravagant twirl you’d attempted. But the bouncy nature soon died down and melted into something else, something intimate, simply a soft swaying hug. 

With your cheek pressed up against his chest, moving to the beat of his heart, you felt him rest his head atop yours and utter, “I’m gonna miss you so much…” 

His sombre tone made you pull back and blink up at him, “what are you talking about?”

Seeing his jaw clench in an attempt to swallow down his emotions, he asked straight out, “why didn’t you tell me you got into Harvard?”

“I…” the shock caused your hands to slide further down his body, “how do you-“

“I saw the letter,” swiftly escaped his lips.

“Oh…” you took a step back and averted your gaze, his weighty expression being too much to bear, “well, I just wanted to find the right time to tell you. I mean, Cambridge isn’t just a 30-minute bus ride away from here.”

“How long have you known?”

Crossing your arms, you stared down at your pinching heels, “…a couple of weeks.”

“You’ve known for a couple of weeks, and you didn’t tell me?” he exclaimed.

Peeking up at him, you saw him slowly turn and stare out blankly at the tall bleachers and the blushing clouds still peppering the dark skies above, “I’m sorry.”

“I just thought, I really thought, that when this letter came you would do the same as you did last time, come running to tell me,” his tone made your stomach feel like one big knot, “I thought this was the kind of thing you’d wanna celebrate it with me.”

“I do wanna celebrate it with you,” you rushed to catch his hand in yours, feeling wet hot tears begin to stream down your face and hearing as they clouded your voice, “I just also don’t wanna break your heart.”

Turning to look back at you, you watched as the brink of his disappointment gradually melted away. Exhaling slowly, his eyebrows crinkled up at the sight of your tears and he pulled you into a warm hug. 

“I love you, so much, you know that right?” he spoke clearly, burying his face in your hair. 

“Yeah, I know,” you sniffled, tightening your hold just a little more around him, “I love you too.”

After a little bit, once most of the waterworks had shut off, you heard his voice pipe up once more, “ace…,” and pulled back to look down at you, this time with a completely different look in his eye, “you got into Harvard pre-med,” he pointed out, gleaming of pride. 

“Yeah,” you mirrored his soft smile, “I did, didn’t I?” and tried to let the accomplishment sink in, a taxing task that became a lot more manageable once you felt the warmth of his lips press against your own. 

next chapter

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[good--merits-accumulated]

mini-oneshot; post Neil's death. the usual content warnings apply - depression + some pretty severely bad mental health + alcohol + injury + quite a bit of swearing.

For a long time afterwards he lay and did nothing. He lay until his bones fused with the sheets and Meeks started to look pale and then they came in and threatened him with suspension so he got up and went to class. But in his mind he was lying still, all the time. The others let him alone half out of pity and half out of fright, like a dog that should have been put down when it was a runt. He tried to care but could not care about caring. The new teacher set them an essay on iambic pentameter and instead of writing it he reproduced one of Rimbaud’s poems, the one that began Pitoyable frère! Que d'atroces veillées je lui dus… The essay came back unmarked with a hasty grade scribbled in the margin, and he thought, great. So I can’t even rebel right. Then what the hell did he do it for? At nights he would lie down and listen jealously to the sound of his own breathing, trying to breathe like someone else, and hating all the time the dark mound of blankets that was Cameron’s back in the corner of his vision. 

He lay down and he lay down and he lay down until one night he woke up and he was no longer lying down but climbing out of the window. It had stuck in the frame as he pulled it up but it was holding, and he shimmied his legs out over the narrow sill, avoiding the open bottle of schnapps on the desk, and thought perhaps there had been enough lying, perhaps he would try running. It must be nice to feel the ground beneath your feet, the steady jolt of your heart in your chest, no entrapment, no cage… his fingers spasmed on the sill and his legs kicked involuntarily, like the legs of men when they were sentenced to hang. He made himself stop thinking. And then after that all was an explosion; sound and noise and no light, no light still but the sharp clinical mortuary beam of the moon by the window. He could not touch it, he tried, and then it was gone again out of his sight and Cameron was kneeling over him on the floor of the room, looking furious. What the fuck did you do that for, he was saying, or maybe it was Why the fuck are you acting like this, or even, Why the fuck him and not you? He tried to say something pithy like I was hoping you’d tell me that, slick, but his mouth seemed to be missing somehow. The words came out of him but he kind of knew he had not said them. Cameron knelt there for a long time, his mouth twisting with a great and terrified fury. There was something shining on his face – tears, maybe… he looked closer and it was blood. He looked down at his hands and saw two deep gouges, running lengthways across his palms. Then the words came. Kind of like Jesus, huh? he said, holding his palms up in front of him. Behind Cameron the door opened and Pitts came in. Maybe he’ll come back.

Jesus Christ, said Cameron, you’re drunk. All around them the shards of the schnapps bottle lay like diamonds, glittering, like the water of the lake he could see from the window. He remembered now; he had been trying to get there. His arms ached to swim. Cameron got up and trembled and said, Could have killed yourself. The rest of it he forgot in the time that passed. 

It was some days later that Pitts slapped him round the face; he jolted, surprised, but with no pain. Pull yourself together, he said to him, do you think any of us like seeing you like this, you shit, don’t you dare go away like that. Pull yourself together. It was desperation and it was ugly desperation but even the ugly desperation was something and everything stopped blurring together if only for a second. The anger had drained away with the slap and Pitts said to him, Meeks is sleeping in your bed tonight. You can take his.

They had moved the stack of books on his desk to Meeks’ temporarily, only taking his favourites, and something very muffled inside him began to weep at the sight. Pitts sat him down on the bed which was newly made and shoved him not unkindly into a lying position and tucked the blanket under him on all sides so that he felt enfolded, and said, Sleep. I’m going to bed too.

Not even curfew, Todd said.

Who gives a shit about curfew, said Pitts, it’s some kind of social construct, it doesn’t mean anything. Sleep. You want me to read you a story?

When he woke up again the moon was stark bright and casting light in slabs through the window and the book in Pitts’ hands had slumped to the floor. He had gotten halfway through the Morte d’Arthur. There had been a lake in that, too… He got up and went soundlessly to the window, which did not squeak this time, and climbed out. 

His shoes he left neatly by the bank. When he came back to himself he was already in the water, and it was so lovingly cold he could have cried, and did. The reality of each of his senses came back to life. Cold and cold and cold. He stretched out an arm and the water held it, and a foot and the water held that too. Each spike of ice through his limbs felt sweet. He heard Neil’s voice and saw Neil’s face, saying, No, and he told him No too in return. He would have to take care of himself, now. But he twisted in the water and thought to himself that Pitts would be waiting for him, which was a beginning. 

He pulled himself out of the lake and gasped for long burning moments, heard by no-one, and understood with complete certainty that he was alone. He would always be alone now, in some sense, for the rest of his life. That space within him would be empty. He opened his mouth and said it loudly: “I do not think he is coming back.” There was a relief to the feel of the words in his mouth that made him retch and he started to cry as he retched, ungracefully, sprawled there by the cold and glittering water. 

He cried until the tears and the vomit stopped coming and then he put the heels of his palms on the ground and pushed himself up against them, ignoring the sting. There was a new great and hollow space inside him and a piercing cold clarity and he had left, it seemed, all of his confusion inside the water. He stood up feeling like he had just been born. Then he started walking.

[shiraishi-mai]

Strawberry Hairtie

(disclaimer: not proofread)

A few members of the Inarizaki volleyball team turn the corner to find a confession happening outside of school. It’s a classic shojou moment to witness and Atsumu, being the snoop he is, hurriedly shushes his twin and Suna.

“Please accept this!” A girl has her head bowed, pink letter thrust out and trembling.

The figure, they can’t see who it is from his back, hesitantly takes the letter and does a little awkward bow back. The girl runs off and the guy simply puts the letter in his bag and turns to the side path and walks away from them. 

A short wolfcut tied up in a ponytail and in track pants, bag carelessly slung over one shoulder is all they can make out from the distance.

Atsumu snickers and Aran materialises to hit him on the back for spying. 

“He’s kind of pretty, isn’t he?” Atsumu says. “I’m way hotter though. Where’s my confession??” 

This earns him a smack from his twin this time and a scolding about arrogance. 

Suna trails behind them, watching the sky and quickly forgetting about the whole affair. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the next day and new assigned seats are chosen for the second term of school. Papers for an assignment to do in class are to be passed down the rows and Suna turns to find a mop of hair lying on the desk behind him. The owner of said hair is fast asleep. 

He stares for a second, paper in hand, and pokes the figure. 

The student groans and lifts their head, only for Suna to realise it’s the guy from yesterday. He silently takes the paper and nods a thank you. 

The guy keeps catching his eye after that. It isn’t on purpose, Suna just realises that he happens to come across him a lot. He is hard to miss, considering there seems to be a few girls here and there that whisper and giggle in class and around the school wherever the figure goes around. 

During lunch, girls squeal as they peer out the window to watch those on the basketball court. Suna looks out to see the Atsumu is trying his hand at it and sure enough, ponytail is playing too. 

“y/n-kun is so handsome,” one sighs. 

“You have such a thing for basketball players,” another one teases.

“I dunno, volleyball players are cute too~” a third says, eyeing Atsumu and sneaking a glance at Suna. 

Suna watches as ponytail gulps greedily from a water bottle, sweat dripping down his neck. He runs his hand through his hair and stretches, eliciting more squeals from the spectators. 

After the bell rings, the teacher, much to the slight annoyance of Suna, asks him and a few classmates to bring boxes outside the school building. As he walks, he notes that he also needs a haircut as his bangs nearly plaster on his forehead from the heat and sweat gathers at the nape of his neck. 

Ponytail is part of the errand group and trails behind him. 

Suna huffs at his hair, trying to get his bangs out of his eyes.

“Want me to tie it up for you?” 

A pretty face comes up beside him. He notes that ponytail is fairly shorter than him and he peers down at his face.

“It’s alright.” 

“C’mon, you’ll fall that way if you can’t see.” 

Suna gives in and nods. Ponytail grins and pulls the hairtie from his own hair, roughly cut layers sliding down. Suna studies him as teeth lightly clamp around the tie, holding it in ponytail's mouth as he carefully bunches up Suna’s hair. 

Suna arches an eyebrow. “Cute hairtie.” It’s a red band with a small strawberry on it. 

“A friend gave it to me.”

Suna muses that perhaps a girl was finally successful with her confession.

“There.” A triumphant smile and then a chuckle. “Suits you.” 

“Thanks.” 

Ponytail's smile oddly sweet. He notes again that the guy really is pretty. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s gym class now.

There’s a whine and a girl trips on the track. Ponytail manages to rush to grab her and the girl blushes and thanks him profusely. 

“Are you alright?” His face is contorted in concern.

Suna snorts at the shojou scene but his eyebrows lift as the girl sheepishly mentions that her ankle throbs. Ponytail carefully wraps an arm around her waist and has her put her arms around his shoulder. They slowly walk to the nurse’s office.

“Tsk,” Atsumu looks at the scene. “What a gentleman.” 

“Don’t be jealous, Atsumu. You’d get more girls if you stop laughing when they trip. Take a leaf out of Ponytail’s book.” The nickname for the guy had stuck to their group. 

The class comes to an end and everyone goes to change and clean up. Suna groans, hating the fact that he has to exercise during school, knowing they’ll have to go do it again during practice. 

“Guys!” Atsumu yells. “Guess what?” 

Suna has his phone out and doesn’t bother looking up. 

“You guys won’t believe it. This is wild.” 

“Are you gonna tell us or keep us stupidly in suspense,” Aran says drily. 

“Ponytail is a girl!” 

There’s a pause before a chorus of “what??” erupts.

They whip around to see ponytail by the outdoor sinks outside beside the track, having come back from the nursing office. She’s splashing water onto her face and lifts up her shirt to wipe the water away. As she does, they see a hint of a sports bra underneath.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Osamu says. “Atsumu’s being outclassed by a girl.”

There’s an indignant noise from his twin while Suna continues to stare at her, thinking that explains the strawberry hairtie.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re a girl.”

She shows up in a skirt the next day and is walking past the middle-blocker when she hears that statement. 

“And you’re a boy?” 

“Huh?”

“Oh I thought we were just pointing out genders,” she grins. 

Suna feels his heart beat just a little faster and he can’t explain why. All he knows is that she’s cute. Awfully cute. 

“I’m joking,” she looks at his face. “I get that a lot, especially wearing the pants all the time. Class president finally scolded me into wearing the proper girls' uniform,” she scratched the back of her head sheepishly. “You’re Suna Rintaro right? On the volleyball team” 

He nods. “Have you seen us play?” For some reason, he faintly hopes she has. 

“Yeah I caught a game after I transferred here. You guys are really good. Teach me sometime?” 

“...sure?” 

Her face lights up. “Cool! I’ve always wanted to try it out. My toxic trait is thinking I could dig Atsumu’s serve.”

Suna has to chuckle at that and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh the way I want to record his face when you do.”

“Alright,” she tilts her chin up proudly, “Challenge accepted then.” 

He was pretty sure he was joking at the time, so he wonders why they’re in his yard, practising peppering a couple weeks later. 

Okay, to be fair, she was already at his house because they ended up working on an assignment together when they realised it might be easier to finish all their assignments for a project that happened to be right before an important tournament and she offered to help. He didn’t care THAT much about getting a good grade, but hey, she offered and he was discovering that she was hard for him to say no to.

Surprise surprise when they got immediately distracted from the papers spread all over the living room desk as his sister chattered away with his new friend and he glanced occasionally at them from his phone. 

They moved to the topic of sports and eventually ended up outside. He wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t bad, but he was surprised that she was fairly /good/. 

“I’m not too shabby right??” 

He snorted. “We’ll get that recording of Atsumu’s face in no time.” 

After an hour or so, she packed her bags, both ignoring that the assignments weren’t done and hoping that they’d get credit for trying. When she walks out the gate, he gives her a wave and turns around to see his sister standing at the door.

“I like her.” Her arms are crossed. 

“Good for you?” 

“She’s pretty. Should I get a wolf cut?”

He chuckles and pats her head once. “Whatever you want princess.”

His chest is warm and when he spots her strawberry hairtie on the table, his sister giggles.

“What?”

“You’re smiling like a crazy person.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Atsumu is decides ponytail is a gift given from the heavens to him when he spots her and Suna standing in the middle of the hall. They stand similarly, hands in their pockets and slightly leaning back. Suna looks casual but Atsumu likes to think he knows Suna well enough by now that he looks a bit awkward. 

“We’re going to the spring tournament next week.”

“Is this an invitation to come watch or are you just stating your schedule,” she teases.

He shifts to one foot. “If you have free time, you can come watch. You can see Atsumu’s serves again.”

“This is true. Though I’m way more interested in middle-blocking nowadays,” her eyes shine and Suna swallows a bit harshly. 

“At your height? In your dreams,” he retorts.

“Hey, you don’t know my vertical. I play basketball, I think I can jump high enough.” 

Suna thinks she could but has learned from the past couple months, she’s far more fun when she’s riled up. A competitive streak he’s never really had coupled with stubbornness he finds incredibly amusing.

“Keep trying shorty. You’ll get there someday,” he gives her a shit-eating grin. 

“Don’t get cocky! I can do it,” she jumps slightly and flungs her arm around his neck, dragging him down and effectively headlocking him. His eyes widen and he yelps. “I’ll make you eat your words Rin.” 

A classmate sticks their head out and calls for her. She gives him a wave and leaves him standing in the hall.

“Rin huh?” Atsumu teases and Suna stiffens. “I’ve never heard you make a yelping sound like that before.” 

Suna rolls his eyes, refusing to give in to Atsumu’s teasing, but a hint of embarassment does cross his face. 

“Invited her to our game huh? Want her to watch you huh? I’ll be sure to set lots of balls your way~” 

“Shut it.” The middle-blocker strides away from him and Atsumu catches up. 

“You guys are so cute~”

Suna narrows his eyes at him. “‘Tsumu I have so much blackmail on my phone,” he warns.

Atsumu holds his hand up, keeping an arrogant smile on his face.

“Oh but Suna, now I have something against /you/.”

[asmutwriter]

Are You Scared Yet? (Part 2)

DESCRIPTION: You're teacher asks you to paint a mural for Arkham University

WORD COUNT: 2320

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List

WARNINGS: Swearing, very brief mentions of sex (virtually non existant), brief mentions of drugs

DISCLAIMERS

This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

"So let me get this straight" you say as you sit at a picnic bench outside. Bag beside you, lunch in front of you. Hope sitting opposite you as she has her fingers interlocked with each other. Resting them near her face as she nods slightly. Picking up a chip as you use it to point at your friend. "You think that Yoda could defeat Iron Man in a one on one fight?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying"

"You realise that Iron Man is a full sized human with a metallic body suit. And Yoda is a 2 foot nothing creature with a stick right?"

"Yet he would still win"

"Absolutely not". She goes to justify her answer more as someone sits beside you. Lucky places her bag onto the table. Shutting her eyes.

"Do either of you have any drugs?" Lucky says as you delve into your bag.

"As in paracetamol or cocaine?"

"I'll take either at this point"

"You have a fun night then last night?" she nods. Opening her eyes as a mischievous grin comes over her face.

"Oh it was very good"

"Gross" you say. Taking out some paracetamol and placing it in front of her. Then grabbing out your water bottle and placing it down too. "Keep the bottle with you ok? I'll just take it later tonight. Assuming I can sleep in my bed tonight?" she chuckles slightly. Placing two tablets on her tongue before taking a few large gulps of water.

"Yeah I guess you can sleep in your own room tonight. Where did you sleep last night?" you point at Hope as she points to herself.

"Managed to find this one who let me stay over. Don't get me wrong, your desk chair is great comfort. But I'd love a bed tonight" the three of you laugh. Hearing a bell go off. You grab your bag, walking to the main building with your friends. Departing ways with Lucky as you and Hope head to art class.

The class goes by as normal. The end of lesson bell rings. "Luna, can I have a chat with you please?" your teacher says. You look at her. Nodding. Hope catches your gaze.

'Lucky bastard' she mouths at you. Causing you to laugh as the class packs up. You stay behind. "I'll see you in your dorm?" she says. You nod. Smiling at her as she walks off. The room empties and Destiny rests against her desk. Your bag sat on one shoulder as you pull it up by the strap.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Don't worry you're not in trouble or anything". She smiles, folding her arms over herself as she looks at you. "I've been studying your art. You have an extreme talent" she says. "I'd pay good money to own the pieces you make"

"Thank you" you say. A soft, cocky smile on your face as she continues.

"Arkham University wants a mural done. One to show students, teachers, and guests what this uni is all about. Being the art teacher they asked me to do it. However, I think it'd be done a lot better by you". Your mouth drops slightly as you realise what she's asking for you to do. Shock filling you.

"You want me... you want me to paint the mural?" she nods.

"I understand that you have your academics that I must encourage you put first before taking this on. And if you are unable to find the time then I get it. But I think it'll be a great learning experience for you. A great way to show this place and any future employers that you are a true artist".

"When would it need to be done by?"

"Before Halloween would be ideal. But due to your academic studies I would talk to my higher ups and see that it could be pushed to Christmas time". You nod. She clasps her hands in front of her face. Bringing them down as she looks at you. "I will give you until the end of the week to decide"

"No. No yes. I'll do it"

"Are you sure Luna? Don't you want to think about it for a bit longer then five minutes?"

"No. I want to do it. Its what you said - It'll look great on my portfolio" she chuckles slightly. Nodding in agreement.

"I'll let the big boss know" she smiles. Coming over to you as she places her hands either side of your arms. "Thank you"

You leave the classroom. Heading back to your dorm. Going into the room you see your friends there. "You lucky bastard" Hope says. Causing you to laugh as you slump off your bag. Throwing it onto your bed as you sit on the edge of it. Removing your shoes. "So what did she want?"

"She wants me to paint a mural for the university"

"You're shitting me?" Lucky says. You shake your head. Looking at her. "That's excellent news" she comes over. Hugging you close to her. "I'm so happy for you" she says. You hug her back.

"I've got a free day tomorrow so I was going to sketch it tonight and start working on it tomorrow"

"What about our assignment?" Hope speaks up.

"I can do that when it gets dark. I've already started it so I'll finish it tomorrow night" you move away from the hug. Smiling at your concerned friend.

"I've only got one lecture tomorrow so I can join you afterwards?". Lucky says. Causing you to look at her as a grin comes over your face.

"Oh yes!" you say. Grabbing out a sketch book as the three of you continue chatting, smiling, and laughing as the night goes on.

The next day comes about. You manage to sketch out a brief idea of the mural. When you wake up Lucky has gone to her lecture. So you get up, get dressed, and have something to eat. Heading to Hopes dorm room, thankfully its on the same floor as you. Knocking on it as she answers. Still in her pyjamas. She squints at you through tired eyes.

"Why are you up so early?"

"Its 9:30. You should be happy I didn't come round when I actually woke up" she turns. Going over to her coffee machine as you go into her room. "I woke up at 7"

"Jesus are you ill or something?"

"Nope. Just don't sleep much" you smile, looking around as she pours herself a drink. "I went to see Destiny this morning. Get her to check over my sketch before I painted it. She's given me the go ahead. Told me where to paint. So I'm here to grab you". She lets out an annoyed grumble. Rubbing her face dramatically with both her hands.

"Ok. Let me shower quickly and I'll come" she grabs a pile of clothes from the floor. Heading to the en-suite bathroom. Hearing the shower start to run a few seconds later. You sit on the chair, looking at the picture frame she has on her desk. Of her, you assume her mum, and a dog. Smiling as you look at it. It wasn't long before she comes out. Towel drying her hair as she sits on the bed. Putting on some heeled boots as she chucks her towel down.

"You ready?" she says. You nod. Standing as you both head out. Finding the wall in question. You stand and look at it. Hands on your hips as you figure out the first move. Getting out a white paint - it being an easy colour to paint over if needed. Starting to outline the image. Hope taking out a blanket. Lying it onto the floor as she lies onto it. Putting some sunglasses on. Her hands resting on her abdomen as you paint.

It's what you enjoyed about your friendship with her. You didn't need to chat with each other to enjoy the others presence. You could both do your own thing and be content with the silent company. So you painted and she sunbathed. Hours must've past. Hearing a voice behind you. Feeling thirsty you turn. Going and sitting cross legged next to your friend on the piece of area she'd claimed. Grabbing your bag and taking out a tin of coke. Opening it she seems to be drawn out of her sunbathing. Resting up on her arms as she looks at you.

"Shall I go get us some lunch?" she says. You take a sip of your drink. Bringing it down and nodding. She stands up. "Whatcha want?"

"I'll come with you"

"No. Stay here and rest". You roll your eyes at her before smiling. She moves her sunglasses to the top of her head.

"Chips. Cheesy chips" you say. She nods. Turning as she saunters away. She always walked with such purpose. You sip your drink. Shutting your eyes. Enjoying the sun on your face.

"Holy shit" you hear. Opening your eyes, seeing Lucky with Hope. "That's looking so good Luna" you smile. Hope handing you your food as they both sit down with their respective meals.

"Thanks. Just waiting for it to dry before starting to add colour"

You eat and chat throughout lunch. Getting up and going over to the picture. Continuing to paint as they chat. Involving you in their conversation. Time passes quickly. Hope says something. But you're to in the moment for you to register what she says. Jumping as she touches your shoulder. Turning you look at her.

"Hmm?"

"I'm getting cold now that the suns off of this patch. We're going back to the dorm. Are you gonna join?" you look back at the picture then at your friends.

"I've just got this one small bit left to do. Then I can leave it to dry. I'll be... an hour I reckon"

"Ok Miss Workaholic" you smile.

"I would hug you" Lucky says "but you are literally coated in paint". You laugh. Turning back to the picture.

"I'll have a shower when I get back. I'll be quick I promise"

"Yeah yeah" they both say "see you in a bit". Walking off as you continue.

You stand back. Admiring your work in the quickly fading sun. Checking your hand for any wet paint before wiping your brow with the back of your hand. Placing your hands on your hips as you nod in approval.

"You're out awfully late" a voice says. Making you jump. Again. Turning you see Professor Crane.

"Do you feel the need to make me jump every time you see me?" he smiles. Not denying or confirming your rhetorical question.

"Shouldn't you be back at your dorm?"

"Its not that late" your smiling face turns to one of more seriousness. "How late is it...?". He looks at his watch. Rolling the sleeve of his blazer slightly to check.

"Just gone 7:30"

"Shit" he raises a quizzical eyebrow. Amusement on his face at your obvious disheveled nature. "I told my roommate that I'd be back in an hour. 3 hours ago" he chuckles. "Art takes time. Time that I always miscalculate". He tilts his head. Looking at your work so far.

"Destiny asked you, correct?" you nod. "You must be very good for her to ask you. Shes very particular with her artists and art style"

"Really?" you look at him as he continues to look at the mural. Head titled upwards slightly. "She always seems so relaxed". He laughs softly. Shaking his head as he looks at you.

"All an act. Shes very anal about things". You chuckle.

"I can tell you do psychology" he tilts his head to the side at your comment. "Just casually dropping a psychological term into your everyday speak". He smiles

"Yes. Well... It comes naturally". You go over to your bag. Wrapping up the paint brushes in plastic and putting them into your rucksack. "I'm surprised you know that terminology"

"I studied psychology and sociology at school"

"Yet you study art here?" you nod. "What made you take that drastic change?"

"I enjoy being creative. Making art through shapes, patterns, colours. Can't do that in psychology. Psychology has no real expressive nature. Its a fascinating topic. I loved studying it. I still read books about different experiments and outcomes of events. But this-" you motion at the wall. "This is what I was meant to do". He nods. Watching you like you were an actor on a stage. You run a hand through your hair. Regretting it as dried paint flecks stain the strands. Causing him to laugh softly. You smile slightly at him. Picking up your rucksack.

"I really should be getting back to my roommate. She'll be worried about me otherwise"

"Can I just say-" speaking before you turn. You look at him. His glasses frame dulling the blueness of his eyes as he looks at you. "I have a lot of interesting books about psychology if you'd like to borrow them to read". You blink at him. Unsure of how to answer. "I have a lot of a higher level then what you would've read at school that you are welcome to"

"Seriously?" he nods. A soft smiling tugging at his lips as yours widens.

"They're in my classroom. I have lessons running quite late tomorrow so lets say... 6. Come round and I'll lend them to you. Assuming you don't have a class then?" you shake your head.

"No my class finishes at 4 so that's perfect timing" he smiles.

"I'll let you get off now. Can't have your friends worrying about you"

"Thank you professor Crane" you smile at him. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder before heading back to your dorm room. You're friend greeting you as you pop your bag down onto the bed. Heading into the shower to get rid of some of the paint from you.

Previous / Next

[janaknandini-singh999]

Modern day Lord Ram (girl version)

Part 1

Janeshvari smiled at what she held tightly in her palms and turned around to the person who'd given it to her.

Harini smiled back and mouthed "I'm sorry I had nothing more to give you. But it is with all my affection. I love you."

Janeshvari felt her heart burst and the red rushing to her cheeks so much she turned back around and looked at the tiny thing and put it in her finger happily. It was a paper ring with a smiley sun drawn on it. Harini had a matching one with the crescent on it.

"Class! Take your test papers back." Suddenly the teacher emerged in the class and raised her hand to demand attention. "As usual, Janeshvari has achieved the highest. A perfect 100, with Harini closely trailing behind with a 97. This has only been possible as they have been the most sincere students in class. You all need to learn something from them."

Everyone groaned and Janeshvari chuckled, turning again to look at Harini, suddenly inhaling sharply at what she saw. Harini had come to her desk and was bowing to her.

Janeshvari blushed and looked around uneasily "Not in front of everyone, Hari-"

Harini looked back up with a determined gaze which made Janeshvari laugh, despite herself. One thing about her was that she was a radiant girl, you would always find her smiling but she never laughed out loud much. So it was one of those rare times Janeshvari laughed heartily and it was the sweetest melody which made everyone around sigh and swoon. It was the sound of a peaceful river flowing and immersing itself into the sea.

Harini had once used the line "if I could've bottled the sound of your laughter and gotten drunk on it every night, I would've." on her.

Janeshvari had raised her eyebrows on that, mildly amused at the outright confession of feelings but more at the choice of words "But if you say so, I will laugh for you every time. You don't need to trap my voice, you know?"

Harini had frowned, pursing her lips "No, that's not what I-"

Janeshvari had tilted her head "Hmm?"

Harini then had shaken her head, sighing "Forget it."

Janeshvari had laughed louder on seeing her face like that and kissed her nose "I got it, honey! I was just messing with you."

Harini had raised her eyebrows this time, wrapping her arms around Janeshvari "Oh my, messing around? I forced trickery out of such a somber, honourable creature like YOU?! Dear God, what crime have I committed-" kissing her back.

Janeshvari just laughed slowly right now again in class, piquing Harini's curiosity.

"It's just that," Janeshvari articulated "I was wondering that if I were a man then this - whatever you're doing - would be called misogyny on my part."

Harini put her finger on her chin, thinking aloud "But all this is because I deeply respect and love you, and you do the same for me. What has that got to do anything with gender?"

Janeshvari merely shrugged "I'm not really sure abut that either." then smiling widely again, took Harini's hand and ran outside as the interval bell rang.

"JANI, DIDI!" a kid's voice echoed as he ran across to Janeshvari and hugged her tightly.

"Chiru! What are you doing here?!" Janeshvari spoke excitedly.

Chiranjeevi was a slum kid but surprisingly strong for a child. He had been the local saviour, protecting other kids from bullies after Janeshvari had saved him from some when he was younger. It had become his mission to save and serve now as he had experienced the unconditional warmth from her.

"I MADE something FOR YOU!" Chiranjeevi poked out something from his little hands "with the help of Hari di hehe." pointing at Harini, who quietly grinned and winked at him.

It was a handmade bracelet of beads with cute cartoon monkey figures dangling from them. "TA-DAA!" Chiranjeevi raised his own hand to reveal a matching bracelet but with tiny, golden bows dangling instead. It was supposed to represent Janeshvari as she was an exceptional archer.

"Is it my birthday or friendship day or something that I don't know about?!! This sudden shower of sweet gestures?"

"We don't need a special day to celebrate your blessed presence in our lives." Harini beamed, Chiranjeevi nodding aggressively at that.

"It's absolutely adorable." Janeshvari grazed her fingers across the bracelet "I love it!" and kissed Chiranjeevi's forehead who fell backwards with a blush and "AAAHH!"

A boy rushed just in time to catch him, chuckling "He so has a crush on you, didi!"

Chiranjeevi immediately shot up off the boy's arms, bursting forth with an angry expression "Crush is such an INHUMAN, DEGRADING term for the VAST DEVOTION I HAVE FOR JANESHVARI DIII!" then turning to her with moistening eyes, he whispered "Pinky promise.. GOD PROMISE that I will be yours forevaaa!" and offered his pinky finger very seriously. Janeshvari smiled and shook it with hers "I accept your love and so grateful for it. I shall love you always too!"

"Guys, hello? What about me??? I love my sister too!" The boy had popped up with plates. "I'm not that creative to make gifts so easily but I have brought the elixir of life! FOOD!"

Everyone laughed, Janeshvari beckoning him "Of course! Come here, Sheshu!" and Shesh, her younger brother ran towards them, giggling and joined in the group hug "My most favourite three people in the world! If I'm to be remembered ever in the future, I want you three to always be with me." whispered a teary Janeshvari, Chiranjeevi immediately started sobbing with her, hugging her more fiercely.

[watchmegetobsessed]

WELCOME TO CREATIVE WRITING (WF extra blurb)

⚫️A/N: i've been missing our fav duo, so here is a little blurb of their first time seeing each other!

⚫️PAIRING: Professor!Harry X Reader

⚫️WORD COUNT: 1.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

You overslept on the first week of the semester. How cliché was that? You would have sworn that you set an alarm the night before… or maybe not?

Kostas opened that massive bottle of ouzo he brought back from Greece and you had a little semester opening party of your own, just the three of you after spending summer separately. It got a little wilder than you expected and you went to bed at three am, so it was definitely possible that you fell into bed without setting your alarm.

So on that particular day you were already a mess, forgot your wallet at home so Ramona lent you some money for lunch, there was a mishap with your student ID at the library and it took you fifteen minutes to scan it so you could get inside, you spilled coffee on your shirt and your phone died before your last class.

Though thinking back at it now, you’re happy about that last one.

You walked into your first creative writing class already wishing it to be done and you completely forgot that Ramona sang you odes about Professor Styles last night and how hot he is. You’ve heard the rumors of the sexy, young professor on campus, but you never actually caught sight of him and you didn’t want to get your expectations too high.

You walked into the auditorium munching on some crackers and you took a seat that wasn’t too far behind, neither at the front. As more and more students showed up you realized that the class is mostly girls, which reminded you about what Ramona said about the professor.

“He is so hot, you might actually have an orgasm just listening to him,” she said laughing before taking another shot the other night.

Since your phone was dead, you were left people watching. Everyone seemed excited about the class, girls were chatting and giggling and you caught the name Professor Styles several times until the door opened again and instead of another student, the professor walked in.

It was as if the whole room sighed all at once. The man walked up to the teacher’s desk at the front and set his stack of books and notes down without looking up at first and you watched him like a hawk, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face finally. He fumbled a bit with his pencil case and set his phone to the desk with the screen down before eventually looking up to sweep his gaze through the room.

“Holy fucking shit,” you mumbled to yourself before gulping hard.

Professor Harry Styles was so handsome with his perfectly carved jawline, gorgeous green eyes and tousled, curly hair, you’ve never seen a man like this. The butterflies in your stomach were practically raging, threatening to burst it open. You couldn’t really tell what you felt in that moment exactly. It was like a deep, heavy crush, one you’ve never experienced before, but you also knew that you’ve only been looking at him for less than a moment, you shouldn’t react this extremely.

Yet, you couldn’t change the way he made you feel just by walking into the room.

He stood there for a while before his eyes landed on you and they stayed there. Those brilliant green irises connected with your gaze and you completely forgot how to breathe. He looked down at your hands laying on top of the desk before his look flickered away from you, just to return seconds later. The tiniest smile tugged on the corners of his lips

“Good afternoon,” he spoke up, confident and loud, demanding everyone’s attention instantly. “Welcome to creative writing, I’m Professor Harry Styles and I would like to ask everyone to put your phones aside for the next ninety minutes, because there’s nothing that kills creativity more than reading text messages and tweets or whatever you guys are doing right now.”

At his request, you tore your eyes away from him and looked around, just to see that practically everyone in the room was holding their phone, most likely sending messages to their friends about how hot the professor was.

“What’s your name?” you heard him talk again and you turned back just to find him looking at you.

“Me?” you asked dumbly.

“Yes, you,” he nodded.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Be like Miss Y/L/N, her phone is not even anywhere out,” he smiled, his eyes holding yours for another moment before he moved on and finally started the class.

That day, when you went home and Ramona asked how was your class with Professor Styles, you just sighed dreamily and told her: “I want to marry that man.”

Now it’s been almost five years. And you’re actually married to him. Living together in the city, happier than ever.

The mattress beside you dips and it rips you out of your little nostalgia and you smile at Harry as he joins you under the covers, but he caught you raving into the distance already.

“What were you thinking about?” he hums, kissing your forehead gently. You settle in his embrace, cuddled to his side before looking into his eyes, biting into your bottom lip.

“Do you remember the first class? When we first saw each other?”

That same, tiny smile appears on his lips you saw in the auditorium that day and your heart skips a beat.

“Of course I do.”

“Really?” you ask, genuinely surprised.

“Why are you so shocked?” he chuckles softly.

“I don’t know, there was a room full of girls drooling after you, why would you remember seeing me?” you shrug grinning.

“I asked for your name,” he says, proving that he remembers. “You looked at me with those doe-like eyes and I asked the class to be like you and put their phones away. But I just wanted to know your name, I didn’t want to wait until you turned in an assignment or something.”

“Are you telling me you were crushing on me?” you gape at him overdramatizing it.

“Kind of, but don’t tell the dean,” he smirks, stealing a quick kiss.

“My phone died that day, that’s why I didn’t have it. I would have been texting Ramona if it was still working, but I had to wait until I got home.”

“And what was so important you wanted to text her right away?” he asks, but his smile gives it away he already has some strong guesses.

“That I wanted to marry my professor,” you admit chuckling and it makes him laugh too.

“Well, it only took us a little over four years to tie the knot,” he smirks, before kissing you in the way his past self couldn’t that day.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!