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ghost-ghost-baby · 3 years

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Narcissist (alpha!readerxOmega!Bakugo soulmate au)

An: this is heavily inspired by the song narcissist by younger hunger definitely recommend listening to it!

An: BIG TY TO MY BETA FOR EDITING THIS ABSOLUTE MONSTER OF A FIC WE STAN!

Word count: 3.2k (ur welcome)

Summary: Bakugo being a little shit basically- Mina and Denki r sick of him- reader runs out of scent blockers-

Warnings: omegaverse, swearing, Bakugo being a dick, reader just thinks he’s hot, gets a bit spicy but nothing graphic, non traditional dynamics (subby alphas) drug use (weed)

You were in a familiar room, one you’d come to love since you’d started dreaming of it, and you sat on the bed and waited… any moment now.

“Oi, are you here, shithead?” The voice of your omega was dreamier than it was in real life; his harsh words unable to punctuate the tranquility of your dream.

“I always am, Katsuki!” You chirped, grinning as he slowly faded into existence. The black tank top and jeans he wears make him look far too good, and your brain short-circuited for a few seconds.

“I told you not to fucking call me that!” He growled, but you only laughed. Reaching out to grab his hands before he could stop you, you pull him down so you could kiss him. Any anger he had quickly melted away, and Katsuki had pulled one hand away to rest on your shoulder and pushed back. You got the point, you pulled away for air and leaned back on your elbows as you did. Katsuki followed and straddled you without a moment of hesitation. His mouth latched onto your neck and you let out a hum. With one hand gravitating to tangle in his hair, he gave you another push that had you lying flat on your back.

“Hey-”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t ruin this.” Katsuki bit down on your throat and you squeaked, although he licked over the mark seconds later to soothe it, and only pulled away to kiss you when you tried to talk again. You melted, let your hands wander down to his thighs, and had your thumbs rubbing absent-minded circles. Then, Katsuki was unbuttoning the shirt you had on, hands quickly trailing lower to-

“Y/N! Did you hear what Mr. Aizawa said?” Mina’s voice brought you back from the dream you had the night before, and you blinked at her as you blanked.

“No way I'm working with their dumbass!” Katsuki snarled as Kiri forced him into a seat at your table, and you turned your head to Sero with a questioning look. He usually knew what was going on in class.

“We have a group project for a presentation, Mr. Aizawa picked the groups-”

“Oh hell yeah, all my best bro’s working together? Sounds like fun to me!” Denki leaned over to hug you and Mina, and the pieces started to click together. You were working on an art project, with your mate, who hate-

“How could anything be fun with Y/n around, they fucking ruin everything.” Katsuki grumbled to himself, refusing to meet your eyes despite sitting opposite you. Kiri mouthed an apology to you from his seat next to Katsuki. Honestly, you had no idea why he’d decided to act like… such a brat really, but it was just an act, however annoying it was. The two of you were soulmates, he’d come around, eventually.

“Oh hush, Bakugo, Y/n’s a riot and we all know it! You’re the one who goes to sleep at like, 8pm” Denki came to your aid. The electric blonde then pressed a kiss to your cheek that had Katsuki gritting his teeth.

“So, what's the project, guys?” You flipped through your book to a fresh page, resting your chin on your hand as you waited for the others to speak.

“We have to show the versatility of styles and composition under a singular theme!” Kiri was the one that answered you, and the group immediately started throwing around ideas.

“I think we could do horror, a lot of horror artists have different composition styles and still manage to convey the-”

“Tch, that’s the best you could come up with? I’m not surprised, an alpha as shitty as you can’t be capable of any decent ideas.” Katsuki sneered, but you only smiled at him as the group agreed with your idea. Your omega merely grumbled and hunched over in his seat as the group discussed the different artists you could use as examples.

You’d stayed late to double-check something with a professor, and you were still flipping through your notebook as you walked through the unusually empty halls. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, and before you knew it you ran into someone, the same someone who shoved you against a wall seconds later, but your fear subsided when you realised it was just Katsuki.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, dipshit.” Katsuki wasn’t even sure why he’d pushed you up against the wall, but being this close to you, touching you… it was..nice…

“Tch, god your scent is so weak, you smell like a fucking beta, how’d I get stuck with such a runt, huh? Some sick kind of joke.” Katsuki’s tone didn't match what he was saying. The way he leaned forward to rub his cheek over your scent gland definitely said otherwise, but you stayed quiet, he always found some excuse to scent you, but he’d usually get embarrassed and storm off if you dared to say anything.

“You’re pathetic, you know? Being this submissive for an omega, are you sure you’re not a beta? It’d make more sense.” You bit your lip when Bakugo pressed a kiss to your neck, only hesitating a moment before he started sucking a mark onto your skin. His words bounced right off of you because all you could focus on was how hot he was and how he’d subconsciously put his thigh between your legs and thank fuck you were on scent blockers, or you’d never hear the end of it.

“Really, you aren’t even going to try and defend yourself? You’re even weaker than I thought.” A growl next to your ear made you shiver, and Katsuki pushed away with a snarl when he was satisfied. He cursed at you again and warned you ‘not to tell anyone or he’d kick your ass’ (he wouldn’t) before he walked away, leaving you to walk home with your head completely in the clouds.

“What took you so fucking long, huh idiot?” Katsuki was on you the second you appeared in the dream, pulling you down into a rather ferocious kiss before you could say anything. He bit your lip when you didn’t open your mouth fast enough, swallowing any protests you would have made, and continued to kiss you until you were dizzy. “I’ve been waiting two hours…” He pulled away to kiss under your jaw, and if you didn’t know him so well you’d miss the insecure tone in his voice.

“Sorry, Midoriya wanted-” You stopped when Katsuki growled, biting down so hard you were surprised he didn't draw blood.

“Why the fuck are you saying his name here, huh? Are you tryna piss me off?” He pulled away to sneer at you. You opened your mouth to explain, but the words died in your throat when he unzipped your hoodie, and any coherent thought you had went out the window when he started to kiss your neck.

Everything was ready. The lounge room was set up, complete with snacks, drinks, and stationery for you and your friends to work on the project. They were meant to be here any second, and you couldn’t help but hover near the door to your apartment. You weren’t used to having people over and it still put you on edge having others in your space. But that thought left your head when a knock sounded on your door. You quickly opened it and were almost knocked over by Denki and Mina engulfing you in a hug.

“Thanks so much for hosting bro!”

“Awww you laid out all these snacks and stuff too! An omega’s gonna be really lucky to have you one day Y/n!” They pushed inside. Denki closed the door as Mina oohed and aahed over the setup, their praise had a slight blush rising to your face as you sheepishly rubbed your neck. Sero was next, quickly hugging you before he joined Denki and Mina, then Katsuki and Kirishima last. The blonde pushed past you without saying hello, but Kiri pulled you into a hug so tight you couldn’t breathe for a second, and was complimenting the setup as you took a seat. You tried to sit next to Mina, but Denki let out a whine and the pair was pulling you down between them before you had time to protest. Denki immediately leaned on you once you were settled. Katsuki couldn’t focus on the project, how could he, when his two dipshit friends were all over his mate. And you weren’t even doing anything to stop them! In fact, you were leaning into their hugs and giggling at every stupid joke they made! It had Katsuki fuming. Kirishima was the only one close enough to smell the angry shift in his scent, and he glanced between his friend and you, slowly putting the pieces together. You really had no idea what was happening, but Denki’s head was on your shoulder, and Mina’s arm around your waist as she asked questions about the project, giggling and pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever you got confused, which happened more than you’d like to admit. The blonde gritted his teeth when Mina’s hand went to your thigh, you were his! Nobody else should ever be touching you like that! You should know better! So when you excused yourself to grab something from your room, of course he made up some excuse about needing the bathroom so he could follow you.

The door to your room closed with a click, and you quickly spun around, expecting to see Mina or Denki, anyone except Katsuki to be honest.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He was seeing red at this point. He cornered you and made you stumble back until your waist hit your desk.

“Uh- getting more pens-?” You held out the pack of pens with a confused look on your face that only made Katsuki angrier. How were you so stupid? And so fucking cute when you were- he cut off that thought, he needed to focus on yelling at you. Not the way your brows furrowed and how you nervously bite your lip as you waited for him to say something. Wait- were you blushing? Fuck, maybe he should-

“Katsuki? Are you oka-“

“Shut the fuck up, dipshit.” He snarled. Then, catching you both off guard, he leaned forward and kissed you. Your eyes fluttered closed immediately. He’d only kissed you in your dreams, which was nothing compared to this, and you hesitantly placed your hands on his waist. His hands went to your hair to pull you closer, tugging it until you got the message and parted your lips for him. Katsuki let out a hum of approval as he deepened the kiss, why hadn’t he done this sooner? You couldn’t focus on anything other than how much Katsuki tasted like caramel, he didn’t taste like caramel in the dreams. You couldn’t help but whine when he pulled back. Another insistent tug on your hair had you tilting your head back, and Katsuki didn’t waste any time kissing over your neck. You were so lost in the feeling you almost missed the words he growled against your skin.

“You should know better, you’re mine. Other people shouldn’t be fucking touching you like that.”

“Do you think they’re like…. Finally-” Mina made a hand gesture that had Denki cackling, even Kiri cracked a smile.

“I hope so, it’s getting hard to watch all the back and forth.” Sero sighed, dropped his pen, and stretched.

“Yeah, have you seen how mad Bakubro gets though? It’s pretty fun to push his buttons like this!” Denki grinned as he leaned his head on Mina’s shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around his waist.

“I don’t know… Bakugo’s uh… stubborn, to put it nicely.”

“Your scent is weird… are you wearing a different perfume?” Mina leaned her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist as you glanced at Katsuki. After whatever the fuck had happened in your room, he’d gone back to acting like he hated you, so, you’d kept letting Denki and Mina do whatever they wanted. He had his eyes fixated on the work, and you turned back to Mina with a smile.

“Oh, sorry about that! I forgot to refill my scent blockers and my doctor’s not available until next week.”

“Don’t be sorry, bro! It’s nice, like really, really nice!” Denki came up behind you, throwing a quick glance at Katsuki before he leaned forward, crooning and rubbing his cheek over your scent gland, Mina doing the same a moment later. The pen Katsuki was holding snapped, his angry scent pumping out in waves as he glared daggers into the book in front of him, all too aware of you laughing.

You were hyper-aware of how strong your scent was, this was the longest you’d gone without scent blockers since you’d presented, and you’d lit a scented candle to try and cover it up. It hadn’t really worked, maybe you should light some incense-

“Y/n! Sorry we’re early!” Mina’s hand on your shoulder broke you from your thoughts, and you shook your head before you smiled. Denki cut you off before you could apologize about your scent.

“Damn Y/n! It smells like you baked cookies- oh my god did you bake-”

“Don’t be stupid, babe, it’s just their scent.” Mina shoved him inside, shaking her head as she followed and closed the door behind her.

“Oh! Of course!” Denki nodded, and he and Mina linked arms with you. They walked you over to the couch and sat you all down with grins on their faces.

“Uh… guys-?” You didn’t trust that look, it never leads to anything good.

“Well, since the project is like, 99.5% done-” Mina started, hand coming up to play with your hair.

“We thought we deserved a reward!” Denki interrupted, reaching into his bag and producing a blunt. You felt your own grin forming.

“Oh my god- is that from-”

“Shinso! You know he sells the best stuff on campus, I decided to splurge for my bros!” Denki looked incredibly pleased with himself, and you couldn’t help but tackle the blonde in a hug.

“Oh my god Denki, you’re the best!”

The three of you were blazed by the time the others got there. Sero happily bounced over to share the blunt, while Katsuki and Kiri just sighed and sat down with you. Katsuki’s eyes instantly zoned in on where you were lying on Mina and Denki on the couch. He was oddly silent as he tried to keep his cool, the nagging thoughts that had always been there slowly got stronger. He’d always had to be strong, people perceived him as weak just because of his dynamic, so he’d rejected the thought of being with an alpha, hoping for a beta or omega. Or you. You never made a big deal out of your dynamic, and always treated him as an equal. Then the dreams started. He loved you, he really did! But his whole reputation would go down the drain if he was claimed by an alpha, especially one with such a weak scent and mild presence. So…. he pretended to hate you in public because the two of you had your dreams, where nobody could judge him! Even if they did pale in comparison to real life. But lately… he couldn’t stop wondering… were you getting tired of waiting? With the way you were acting… the thought made his stomach turn and his canines come out. Especially since you had run out of blockers. Your scent getting stronger and stronger as the days went by. You were his alpha! You shouldn’t be scenting other people! Especially omegas! And you certainly shouldn’t be laying on them while you were ignoring him! You hadn’t even said hello to him! You were too busy getting high with those assholes like you didn't belong to him! You were his, it wasn’t fair!

Mina was the last out of the apartment. She kissed your cheek and winked at you as the door closed. The exhaustion set in as you leaned against the door.

“What the fuck was that?” Katsuki growled and made you startled when you saw him by the table. You only shrugged as you went to pack up the stuff on the couch.

“Denki got us some weed because the project was done-”

“Not that, dickhead! They were all over you!” He marched over to you, trying to ignore how good you smelled up close.

“And? We’re not-” You responded, and Katsuki was shoving you before he realized, ignoring the way you yelped as you fell on the couch. You sprawled on your back and glaring up at him.

“Katsuki! What the fuck!” Katsuki didn’t reply, eyes traveling over your vulnerable form. Flush rose to his face as he realized how provocative the position was, causing warmth to pool in his tummy. If kissing was so much better in reality, what would it be like to be inside you? Feel you clench around him and pull his hair when he hit your sweet spot? Would your thighs shake the same in real life when he just kept going? The omega didn’t even realize his scent had changed, he just licked his lips and stared at you with hooded eyes, fuck he wanted-

“Are you okay? You zoned out.” Fuck, when had you gotten up? You were so close now, your scent overwhelming. He never wanted you to go on blockers again.

“Fuck, Katsuki! Katsuki! Are you in heat?” It finally dawned on you. Katsuki’s scent had taken on a sweeter tone it didn’t usually have, and with the way he kept zoning out, it was obvious. Plus thoughts of him on top of you that wouldn’t leave your brain alone. Your question snapped him out of his daze, and the omega snarled at you, stepping back and stumbling when a jolt of pain went through him.

“Fuck off, like you could trigger-” His voice cut off as another wave of pain went through him, causing you to reached out to steady him without thinking. The omega was going to let out a growl but it quickly changed to a whine as it escaped his mouth. You pulled your hand back like it had burned, although your mate’s temperature was so high it wasn’t out of the question. You took two steps back and froze when a feral snarl ripped through the room, dark red eyes pinning you in your place.

“He-hey Katsuki…” Your voice stopped his growling, and it took every ounce of self-control you had to stay coherent as he advanced, your rut already trying to cloud your judgment. Your eyes darted around the room, maybe you could make it to the bathroom? Then Katsuki could ride out his heat and you could talk about it? yeah. Katsuki was only a foot away from you now, the grin he had on was somehow more unsettling than the snarl, and you shook your head to get some of your resolve back. Okay, three, two, one-

You made it maybe ten centimeters before Katuski caught you, and pushed you back down on the couch. He wasted no time sitting on your lap and tilting your face up to look into his eyes.

“You’re not getting away from me, Alpha. I know you want this. I should have done this months ago.” Sincerity shone through your omega’s lidded eyes, and you felt your small shred of resolve shrink away even more. Your hands flew to his chest to push him away.

“Ka-Katsuki it’s just- just your heat, you don’t mean-“

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean, alpha.” Katsuki was back to growling at you. His hands grabbed your wrists, pinned them down, and used his knees to keep them in place. He went back to cupping your face, red eyes boring into yours as he thought of what to say and a growl leaving him whenever you dared to look away. You were so, so obnoxiously pretty, it made it even harder to focus. Katsuki kept getting distracted by little details, like how your eyes shone and you kept biting your lip.

“You’re so fuckin stupid, ya know that? Of course, I fuckin want you, you’re my alpha- I don’t… I don’t care what other people think anymore, I just want you.” Katsuki’s tone was softer than you expected, and you could only gape at him as a blush quickly rose to your face. You knew he didn’t hate you, but hearing him say that lifted a weight off your shoulders you’d been carrying for who knows how long. The moment passed, all the softness went away as Katsuki leaned down to kiss you, and this time you kissed him back without any reservations.

#bnha #Bakugo x reader #omegaverse #bnha omegaverse #bnha x reader #omega Bakugo #alpha reader #reader insert #omegaverse imagine #bnha imagine

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nsfsprince · 3 years

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Okay but like,,

That short Roman/dragon Logan u made on ur main account,,

Yessss? 👀 u have any curiousities to ask about them?

I was gonna answer this w/ its own doodle bc it kind of felt like a request but i hadnt been able to scrounge up enough inspiration to settle on an idea to draw

But considering the inital inspo was on 'short roman' i'll let it be known that Roman(who is literally 5'1 in this au bc hes trans & cuz i say so) absolutely delights in being manhandled by Logan. Mostly bc Logan isnt really rough about it and infact is just impossible to break free from if Logan doesnt want him to. Logan could grip Roman's hips and be able to pin them to the wall while supporting them with ease.

Roman is an insatiable sub, and thats the only thing that keeps him from being a complete pillow princess.

Logan could pin Roman's hands above his head on a bed with one hand and pin his hips with the other and proceed to thoroughly rearrange Ro's guts till he's full of cum and trembling and Roman would still beg for more.

Logan is a dom who likes to be in control but also makes sure to thoroughly satiate his needy sub when necessary. Roman's got a short refractory period and sometimes hes just needs to go until his body can't take any more. You could probably shove a vibe in him up against his g-spot on high and he'd probably sit there and squirm and cum again and again and lose his fucking mind but it'd have to be Logan stepping in for it to come to a stop at all.

Lo really likes using his mouth. Biting, sucking, licking, dirty talk, eating Roman out, he's very mouthy. And v possessive. As dragons usually are. Dragons also have alot of stamina, meaning Logan is also very capable of taking his time thoroughly pulling his love apart, one orgasm after the next.

Perhaps one of Roman's favorite things they try out is Roman seated in Logan's lap impaled on his massive cock, chest to chest with Ro's head tucked into Lo's neck, and Logan just grasping Roman's hips and manually fucking Roman back down onto his cock with ease. If they have the right position he will also buck his hips up as he tugs Roman down to really tug out those gorgeous little cries of 'Yes! Fuck! So deep! Dont stop! Oh!'

That's some of my thoughts abt them right here to make up for the lack of art skdjfhd

#not safe for sanders #minors dni #ageless blogs dni #nsfs logince #nsfs logan #nsfs roman #dragon!logan #prince!roman #for reference i did a little doodle on my main blog abt a short pince roman getring rescued by a dragon logan & then they fell in love #prince answers #prince writes #ask to tag #trans!roman

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annabethy · 4 years

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i see that u are looking for a prompt and as we know, i’m ur number one fan so i’ll do anything for more of your fics hehe so perhaps “you look so pretty right now” pls pls pls

In which annabeth is distracted, and Percy thinks she’s beautiful,, percabeth

Percy quickly learns not to bother Annabeth while she’s busy. He’s aware of how thin her patience can be and how frustrated she’s been recently, trying to survive senior year. Because of that, he’s resigned himself to sitting quietly in the background, laying on her bed under the fluffy comforter until she finishes the task on mind.

Percy doesn’t particularly mind it. He’s just happy when he gets to spend time with her, even if it’s just enjoying her company in silence. It’s not a bad view either; in his biased opinion, there’s nothing as beautiful as Annabeth when she’s focused. He notices the way that she hunches over the desk as she writes, and the way her fingers play with the tip of her pencil while she thinks of what to write next.

And, god, he’s fallen in love with the way she bites at her lower lip, something he’s told her to stop doing because she does it until she bleeds, but it’s turned into a habit anyways. And there’s the way she ties her hair into a messy bun on the base of her neck so that the top of her spine is exposed to his vision. He wants to press his lips to her skin, carrying down notch by notch and peppering the lightest kisses down her back.

Percy’s eyes catch on a strand of hair that’s fallen from its confines. It looks incredibly soft and forms the perfect curl that gleams in the light that pours through the window during golden hour. His fingers twitch as he resists tugging on the curl, watching it spring back to its perfect form.

She’s a work of art – a complete masterpiece, carefully constructed from the gods above. Annabeth is the definition of perfection, a cinematic view, and it’s hardly his fault when he can’t help the words tumbling from his mouth.

“You look so pretty right now,” he whispers. He’s quiet, and he thinks a part of him doesn’t want to disturb this perfect scene, but he desperately needs to let her know just how beautiful she is.

Annabeth’s back straightens, and he catches the way her writing falters for a moment. He smiles fondly, sure that she’s going to resume writing in a second, but she surprises him as she sets the pencil down and turns to look over her shoulder. Her cheeks are a light blush that looks adorable on her, and Percy wants to kiss it away.

“Do I?” she asks, shy and sweet.

“You have no idea just how gorgeous you are,” he tells her.

He sees the way her eyes light up, and it prompts him to stand slowly from the bed. He walks towards her, stomach fluttering at the grin she shoots him. He comes up behind her so her back rests against his body, and she looks up at him like that.

Percy can’t help bending down to press a kiss to her lips. She smiles into it, and Percy’s heart just about melts.

“I love you so much,” Percy says.

She hums happily. “So much that you’re distracting me from my homework.”

Percy laughs, only slightly guilty. He can hardly be blamed for distracting her when she looks so focused and like the Annabeth he fell in love with.

“It can wait,” he says, ducking down to press a kiss behind her ear before trailing down her neck, savoring each notch of her spine with a soft kiss. “It’s Friday, anyways. You have all weekend.”

Annabeth closes her eyes when he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I have to do it now or else you’ll just distract me all weekend because you’re so cute.”

“Oh?”

“You say things like you look so pretty right now, and then I’m expected to be able to keep working?”

“You are, though,” he says, swirling a strand of hair around his finger. “So so pretty.”

Annabeth breathes out softly, staring at her work in front of her. Percy’s hand rests on her back, thumb caressing smoothly, as she contemplates something.

“I can leave you alone,” he offers kindly, kissing her on the cheek once before stepping back. “I just wanted to let you know.”

She waits a moment, and he thinks she’s going to continue with her work once again, but instead she closes the laptop in front of her and lifts herself from her seat.

“You’re a terrible impact on my grades, you know.”

Percy grins when she shoves him towards the bed until he falls on his back so she can climb over him. She settles on top of him, leaning forwards so she can rest her head against his chest while his arms wrap around her.

“You love it,” he says. “And you’ll be fine, anyways. You’re the smartest person I know.”

“I won’t be if you keep distracting me with your cute compliments. You should stop, actually. It’s not good for my ego.”

Percy snorts. “I love inflating your ego.”

“You’re so mean,” she tells him playfully, “telling me pretty things so you can get me to yourself. It’s so selfish.”

“I offered to leave you alone!” he defends, pinching her side lightly until she squirms under his touch. “Besides, I’m much more entertaining than homework.” “Eh.”

“That’s so mean, Annabeth.” Annabeth kisses his jaw. “I’m just messing with you. You’re a much needed break from what I’d say is the most stressful year of my life.”

“I’m glad to be of assistance,” he says.

Annabeth sighs, nuzzling his neck. “I love you.” “I love you more.”

“I also hate you because you always get me behind in class.”

“You can go back to work then,” he says. “I promise I don’t mind. I like watching you work when you’re all cute and have your thinking face on.”

“I don’t have a thinking face.”

“You so do.”

She rolls her eyes fondly and sits back up over him. Her palms rest against his stomach, holding herself up, and she locks eyes with him, a devious gleam in her eyes. Percy thinks she somehow looks even more perfect, the way she glows, outshining the sunset.

Annabeth bends to kiss him slowly, and he matches her pace, hands roaming up and down her sides. It’s slow and sweet, but they have all the time in the world.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do your homework?” he teases when she tugs on his shirt, signaling for him to take it off. He obliges before pulling her hair out of the bun. His fingers thread through her curls, massaging her scalp as she leans into the touch.

Annabeth catches his lips with hers once more. “Now why would I want to do that when I have you?”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond before she’s kissing him senseless. He’s wrapped around her finger, in love with the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth, and so he kisses her like he has all the time in the world.

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #my writing

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orobaxi · 4 years

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YES I EXACTLY MEAN THAT !!!! i honestly feel like, hes nearly twice his mortal size? i feel like he enjoys shoving his cock down your throat and using your mouth as his personal pleasure hole!!!! or when he’s eating/licking you, he lets out the loudest groans when you pull on his horns!! he LOVES marking his territory and clawing at your back, biting deep into your neck, and making your body like an art piece! i feel like zhongli is way more feral in his dragon/human form and all he can think about is how much pleasure u can give him!!!! hes a god, so, there shouldnt be a problem with him putting his needs before yours right? - 🧁

YES !!! OH MY GOSH & since he’s twice your size ... that obv means his dick has to be bigger ... imagine him biting your neck, not caring about the blood that’s filling his mouth & trickling down your collarbone ... all while he’s usin one of his hands to rub the lil bulge in ur tummy from his cock & tellin you that you’re takin him so well & that you’re such a pretty lil slut for him & ur brain jst short circuts because he never uses such language w you even durin sex normally ... & if ur cryin from overstim he won’t stop !! in fact, he’d fuckin . wipe the tears away but he’d prolly accidentally leave a scratch on ur face bc ,,, sharp nails ,,,

#🧁 ; anon #💗.n$fw #seth.ans

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frankfukers · 3 years

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I wanna have a calling card so u know it’s me so my anon name will be scab

Imagine! Ur laying in bed cuddling with frank and kissing and it slowly heats up with his hands moving down your side to your waist. He would be so needy, kissing so frantically it almost felt desperate. And he would be whimpering while he rubbed his hard dick against your thigh. You would start to trace your fingers over him through his boxers asking “you want me to touch you??” And he would get so red and flustered “yes yes please please touch me” and you would start to rub him through his boxers and your fingers would teasingly snake under his waistband, making him buck up into you. He would whine and start to complain “come on princess please youre killing me” “but what if I don’t want to yet” his dom would come out a little bit and he would grab you by your hair and pull you closer “touch me now” and you would get so excited and your hands would go under his boxers and his dick would already have precum dripping from the tip and you start to just gently rub over his head, and that would be enough for his eyes to roll back and his mouth to open and all those slutty little noises to come out. He would be pressing his body into you and moaning and whining and whimpering, just such a desperate little mess. You would put your hand over his mouth “I bet I could make you cum just by doing this” he would nod frantically “yes yes you could please don’t stop” the precum would start to mix with your spit “you want me to touch you more??” And he’d look at you like a little puppy with those big pretty eyes and his wet pink lips “oh please please” and you would position him so you were hovering slightly over him and begin to pump him, slow at first and then picking up speed. He would buck up into your hand and you would shove your fingers in his mouth. He would shove his fingers in your mouth and then you would both switch, sucking the spit off each other’s fingers. His cock would get more and more swollen as his orgasm gets closer and closer and you would be whispering in his ear “such a good boy. Such a good little boy, being so dirty for me. You like me touching you like this, huh?” He would start to suck and bite at your chest, which would only get him more praise “such a good boy for me! You must really want me to make you cum” and you would feel his cock all swollen and pulsing, knowing he was close. Then you would shift and lay your head on his tummy, facing his dick. You would keep pumping him with your hand, letting the tip occasionally brush against your soft wet lips “oh baby can I please cum in your throat??” He would beg, already squirming and twitching. “Of course since you’ve been such a good boy for me” and then he would take control and grab your hair roughly, shoving your throat down on his cock and pulling you by your hair up, then repeating the motion, pulling you up and down up and down, until you feel him twitch and buck into your mouth, him moaning and cursing while his cum flows down the back of your throat

This is so detailed honestly your welcome everybody this is art! Hope u all jerk off to this

HERE WE GO

Ty for ur service

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ashes-and-ashes · 5 years

Text

Have a Drarry Muggle AU. I may decide to write more and make this a longer, multi chaptered fic - let me know!

Beach House

When Harry pulls up in the driveway, Draco is ready. He sprints towards the car, wrenching open the door and flinging himself inside, his bag awkwardly crammed up against his knees. “Go go go go,” he pants, jamming his feet into his shoes. “Drive!”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t question him, merely guns the engine and speeds off, Draco’s house fading into the distance. With a grunt, Draco shoves his bag underneath his seat, managing to get his feet up so he could tie his shoelaces. He knows he probably looks horrendous, like he’s just walked through a cyclone, but he really doesn’t care.

Beside him, Harry raises an eyebrow. “You’re in a hurry.”

Draco grunts. “Parents.”

“Oh.” Harry looks over, one hand finding Draco’s. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Draco shrugs. “Assholes as usual. The usual shit. ‘You can’t be an artist! Why don’t you try football?’ Blah blah blah blah.”

Harry frowns. “You sure you’re okay - “

“I’m fine.” Draco gives him a small smile. “It’s summer. They can’t stop me. Besides, I’ve been looking forwards to this for weeks.”

Harry looks like he’s about to press the point, but Draco hastily changes the subject. “Who are we picking up first? Pansy?”

“Nah.” Harry takes a sharp left, trees and houses wizzing by the windows. “Blaise. Cause Pansy takes forever to get ready. We’ll grab him, then pick her up on the way to the beach.” He pauses. “Actually, you should probably text her now. Tell her I’ll be over in ten.”

Draco nods, digging his phone out of his pocket. Picking u up. Be at ur house in 10.

K, came Pansy’s reply, and Draco grins. “No way she’ll be out in 10.”

“When is she ever?” Harry rolls his eyes. “I swear, how long does it take her to put on her fucking eyeshadow for God’s sakes?”

Draco laughs, leaning back in his chair. It was late afternoon, sunlight streaming through the windows, making everything seem golden. The air was warm, smelling like leaves and plants and growing things, the sky clear above him. It was the perfect day, and Draco feels himself itch for his sketch pad.

“What are you thinking about?”

Draco looks over, his brows raised. “Sorry?”

Harry laughs. “You have your ‘I’m thinking’ face on.”

“I do not have an ‘I’m thinking’ face - “

Harry nods. “Yep. Your eyes go all dreamy and glassy and you bite your lip like this - “

Draco flips him off, and Harry smirks. “Fine tosser. I’m thinking about how bloody hot your car is.”

Harry frowns. “Yeah, I can’t get the bloody roof to open for some reason.” He bangs the console with his fist. “Damn thing is stuck.”

“Your car is a piece of junk.” Draco pokes at the buttons, grimacing at the cracking noise they made as he pressed them. “I’m surprised it’s gotten you this far.”

“Asshole,” Harry says. “I happen to be the only one of us who can drive - “

“Gays can’t drive.” Draco gives him a wink. “And you’re bi, so don’t even.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but remains silent as they pull up at Blaise’s house. “Call him will you?”

Draco sighs, raising his phone. He dials Blaise, fiddling with the handle of the door as he did. “Oi - “

“Yes yes, I see the car. Calm your tits, Malfoy.”

“Screw off,” Draco says, hanging up. He shrugs. “Should be out soon.”

The door opens, Blaise strutting down the driveway. He was dressed perfectly as usual, and Draco sighs as he rolls down the window. “Hey Zabini. Going to a fashion show?”

“Fuck off,” Blaise mumbles. He throws himself in the backseat, kicking his legs up behind the chair. “Least I don’t look like I crawled out of the dumpster.”

“Hey!” Draco says. “That’s not nice to say Harry looks like he’s crawled out of the dumpster!”

Harry swats him, and he laughs. “We can’t all be models like you, Blaise.”

“True,” Blaise mutters as Harry pulls out of the driveway. “I’m one of a kind.”

Harry snorts. “Why, so humble today Blaise.”

“I’m always humble.” Blaise kicks Draco’s seat. “We getting Pansy?”

Draco nods. “I told her we were coming in 10.”

“No fucking way she’s going to be out in 10.” Blaise scoffs. “This is Pansy we’re talking about.”

“I texted her 30 minutes ago so...” Draco trails off. “Hopefully she’s out.”

“It’s so fucking hot in here.” Blaise bangs his head on the window. “Where’s the air con?”

Harry jabs at the controls again. “Useless thing is broken. I can’t roll the roof down.”

“Fuck.” Blaise kicks the back of Draco’s seat again. “It’s too hot.”

“That’s because I’m in the car,” mutters Draco, and Harry laughs.

They pull up at Pansy’s house after 10 minutes, Draco texting her again. We’re here.

Blaise snorts. Get ur fat ass out here pans.

10 minutes, she writes back, and Harry groans. “10 minutes. It’s always 10 minutes. Last time she said that - “

“Waiting in the car for 1 fucking hour.” Blaise scowls at his phone. “Can we leave without her?”

“I wish,” mutters Draco, and Harry sighs. “Okay. We give her 15 minutes.”

25 minutes later, Pansy breezed out, carrying a huge bag in her hands. “Hey guys,” she chirps, sliding into the car next to Blaise. “Ready for our 5 days of epic fun?”

Harry groans. “Don’t call it that.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Pansy snaps. “I was going to call it out 4-way orgy, but I decided not to.”

“Thank God,” Blaise mutters, and Pansy flips him off. She rolls her eyes. “Why is it so bloody hot in here?”

“Roof won’t roll down,” Harry says. “The button won’t press.”

Pansy leans over, jamming her finger into the controls. “That won’t work - “ Draco starts, then stops as she slams her fist against the dashboard. “Pans, you’ll break the fucking car...”

“Zip it Malfoy,” Pansy replies, slamming her hand against it again. With a self-satisfied smirk, she sits back down, raising her eyebrows as the roof slowly buzzed open. “Kiss my ass.”

“Already tried that. Turned me off girls permanently,” Blaise mutters. Pansy huffs. “My ass is extraordinary. There’s this one girl named Granger who I’ve been getting on with, and I swear she can suck me off - “

Harry bangs the steering wheel, the horn going off with a loud honk. “I actually know Hermione and I’d prefer if we don’t talk about her sucking you off Pans?”

Pansy winks, sticking her bottom lip out. “Fine. Be like that.”

Draco just sighs, placing his feet on the dashboard. The wind was fierce, now that the roof of the car was down, whipping his hair around his face. He glances over at Harry, his dark hair and green eyes, the lines of his jaw and his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. The familiar itch takes over, charcoal and ink on paper, and Draco’s remainder of 1 year ago.

Sitting on the roof, hiding from his parents, sketchbooks filled with drawings of the boy with green eyes. Hundreds of them, sketches and paintings and watercolors, because even then Draco couldn’t stop himself.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by Harry again. “Thinking about me?”

Draco turns away, hoping Harry couldn’t see his blush. “Thinking about art school, actually. Or applying for it.”

“Parents still won’t let you?” Blaise asks, and Draco lets out a bitter laugh. “As if they would ever let me. Manipulative bastards, both of them.”

“Assholes,” Harry mutters, and Draco shrugs. “Whatever. That’s not the issue.” He takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky, willing the tears not to flow, for his eyes to stay dry. “They want me gone. They say I’m hanging out with the wrong people, that they are corrupting me into thinking I want to be an artist. They want....” He falters. “They want to send me to some bloody school in Norway.”

He senses Harry stiffening in the seat next to his fingers going white on the steering wheel. He winces, looking down, anywhere but Harry’s face. Behind him, Pansy swears. “Shit. Fucking Norway?”

“Fucking Norway,” Draco replied, and Pansy swears again. “What the hell?”

“Bastards.” Blaise shakes his head. “What a load of goddamn bastards.”

“When?” Harry’s voice is quiet, and it makes Draco want to cry. He swallows, hard. “Start of next year. This is supposed to be my last summer.”

“Do you want to go to Norway?” Harry’s deadly serious, fingers white-knuckled on the wheel. His biting his lip, peeling away at the flesh with his teeth, blood starting to well at the cracks and Draco shakes his head. “No. God no, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you guys.”

“I can kill them.” Pansy locks eyes with him. “I could kill them. You could come and live with me.”

Draco laughs, his eyes filling up with tears. He blinks them away rapidly, coughing to clear his throat. “Thanks for the offer, Pans. I... I don’t really want to talk about it any more.”

Blaise nods. “Yeah. We’ll enjoy these 5 days. Figure the rest out later.”

Harry gives a tiny nod, one hand reaching out to grasp Draco’s. “Right. Let’s enjoy the beach first.”

“The beach,” Pansy grumbles. “All this sand up your crevices.”

“Lovely, Pans,” Blaise mutters, and despite himself, Draco laughs.

They finally pull in to a small cottage, on a cliff overlooking the waves. Harry parks the car, climbs out. “We’re here!”

“Finally,” Pansy chirps. She stands, stretches her arms above her head, then winks. “Okay. I’ll unpack?”

“Nah.” Harry shakes his head. “I’ll bring everything in. You two make food or something.”

“Sounds fair,” Blaise says, grabbing the bag with all the groceries. He stalks up to the door, yelling over his shoulder, “Where are the goddamn keys?”

Draco finds them in Harry’s bag, tossing them to Blaise, who winks as he unlocks the door. He and Pansy skip inside, kicking it shut behind them.

Draco takes a deep breath. He can hear the waves, crashing over each other, rolling and tumbling and mixing into the sand. The wind pulls at his skin, soft tendrils on his face and he grimaces. “Harry - “

Harry just shakes his head, grabbing him and shoving him against the door of the car, presses his mouth to Draco’s.

They stay like that for ages, Draco’s hands on Harry’s waist, the edge of the handle digging into his hip. The sound of the ocean fills his head, deep and distant, his lips moving against Harry’s.

They’ve done this so many times that they knew each other perfectly, knew every line and fold, every movement before they started. Draco lets his head fall back, his mouth open, drowning in the emerald sea of Harry’s eyes.

When they pull apart, they are both panting, Draco licking his swollen lips. He raises an eyebrow at Harry. “What was that for?”

Harry looks down. “I - “

“You tell me what you’re thinking, and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.” The words fall out of Draco’s mouth in a clumsy heap. He winces. “I mean. If you want to...”

Harry just sighs. “I’m thinking that I don’t want you to go. To Norway, I mean. I’m thinking that it’s far and cold and I’ll be so fucking lonely and I know you will too. I’m thinking that 10 months is a goddamn long time to be away from you, and that I don’t know how I’ll survive not being able to see your face. I’m thinking that I’ll miss you, from your smart ass comments to your drawings.” He runs his hands through his hair. “What about you?”

He wishes he could draw it, show what he meant on a piece of paper. Eyes and embraces and falling stars, chocolate and marshmallows, the fizz of soda on your tongue. Wind and hands and lips on your hair, a hundreds kisses to hide the bruises, all the trappings of a simple summer together. Ink, two boys together, so close their shadows merged into one, blood dripping from hands onto a concrete floor.

He looks up. “I wish I could draw it. What I’m thinking, I mean.”

“What are you thinking,” Harry asks. “What are you thinking?”

“I...” Draco trails off. He glances, over Harry’s shoulder, to the ocean and the sand and the cottage. When he looks back, his voice is firm. “I’m thinking that I love you.”

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savvyqueen18 · 4 years

Text

SilveeLocke|Let’s Go Eevee ZombieLocke|Pt. 1

This is currently being posted on an Amino, but I am posting it here in hopes of it reaching a bigger audience. I'm trying to make this story very appealing to the reader more than anything else, and as this is my first NuzLocke that I am doing AND making a story of I wanted to put in rules that would test fate and change the game. Like any other NuzLocke I suppose. Thank you, enjoy!

Here are my rules:

➺ No Duplicates Clause, so I cannot catch the same pokémon in a different area or it's evolution

➺ If I end up going further beyond a Route and I have not caught a pokémon I cannot go back and catch one

➺ Catches besides the first are to be counted as Exp Fodder since battles only occur with people

➺ Starter pokémon is Starter Locked for plot purposes (besides the fact that the Eevee/Pikachu in these games is SUPER OP so it's probs not gonna die anyway... but ur here for the story...)

➺ This is a ZombieLocke so these additional rules apply:

➻ Fainted Pokemon/Death: Any pokemon that faints is considered dead, and must be released or put in the Pokemon Storage System permanently (Exception: The New Life Rule, and The Sacrifice Rule)

➻ Nicknaming Pokémon: You must nickname all pokémon. This encourages bonds.

➻ The New Life: You are allowed 3 Revives during the whole run. This revive can be used at any point during the run. You are allowed to revive a fainted pokémon only immediately following their death. The penalty of reviving the pokémon is from that point you are only allowed to use 2 of its moves from its moveset. If the New Life pokémon wants to learn a new move you can only pick one of the two moves you picked as its usable moves to swap for the new one, and once a pokémon has been revived once it may not be revived again. You may not use 2 revives on the same pokémon.

➻ The Sacrifice: If a pokémon dies that you can't bear to part with you may use a randomized sacrifice to attempt to save it. Each pokémon in your party will be assigned a number between 1-6 (or however many pokes) in descending order from how they are organized. From there you must roll a die and whatever number it lands on is who will die in their stead. This cannot be undone! Whatever pokémon is chosen by the dice is gone even if it happens to be the same pokémon you tried to save. The sacrifice may only be attempted once.

♡♡♡

Part 1: Coincidence? I think not!

♡♡♡

> Next Part

>Meet Silviana

>Meet Xander

>Part 1 Cover Art

The morning sun beamed through the curtain striking the girl square in the face. With a groan, she pulled her fluffy covers over her.

Once again trying to drift off to sleep she thought about flying. Flying high over her home town of Pallet Town. She approached a cloud to land on it when the cloud burst with a loud BANG! She groaned again, the thumping sound of someone running upstairs filled her room and she peeked out of the blanket with one eye. A blurry dark shape came striding into her room.

"Oh come on Sil! You're STILL in bed?!"

She reached for her glasses to see her friend and neighbor, Xander, walking up to her bed. With one swift movement, he ripped the sheets off of her.

"Hey!" She grabbed the sheets once again and pulled herself into a ball of fluffy blanket mess.

"I don't want to be late getting my pokémon! Get up!"

She flung off the covers and rose from her bed, glaring daggers at the boy she said, "The only reason that I'm joining you is because you practically BEGGED me to join you!"

The voice of her mother came from down the hall, "Silviana Esperanza Ruiz! I hope you aren't fighting with Xander again. Xander why don't you come out of her room and both of you come down to enjoy breakfast?"

As soon as Silviana heard that, she turned and pushed Xander out of her bedroom.

"I can walk you know!" He said as he stumbled from her room.

"Not fast enough," and with a final shove she pushed him out and closed the door behind him. She slid down her door with a big sigh. After taking a moment to clear her thoughts, she went over to her closet. She had packed her bag about a week before when Xander first told her. Rechecking the leather bag she made sure she had all the necessities, then picked out a pair of shorts and a graphic tee.

She looked at her closet mirror as she did her hair up in a high ponytail. Double and even triple checking that she looked nice enough to meet a pokémon professor she hauled her bag onto her back and headed down to get breakfast.

As she rounded the corner to the kitchen, the first sight she saw was Xander shoveling pancakes into his mouth. Gasp! Mom made pancakes!... Sigh... Mom made pancakes... She quickly wiped the tears that were starting to form in her eyes and proceeded to make herself a plate.

She stopped when her mother gave her a big side hug, "Ooohh, I can't believe you are grown enough to go on your pokémon journey! Your brave enough to go younger than I did that's for sure," she finished with a smile and flipped the pancake in the pan.

"Thanks mom, but I could really do without the'I'm so happy for you, good luck' mushy stuff. I'm really just doing this for him," she pointed her fork at Xander and stabbed a piece of pancake.

"Okay, okay, I'll tone it down," she chuckled. She flopped another pancake onto the pile she was creating on the island. As Silviana took another bite of pancake her mother plopped a small box next to her as she sat down.

Silviana looked at the box, then at her mother, and back at the box. With one last look at her mother, her mother nudged her head towards the little box. Silviana took the little box carefully, she popped it open and inside of it rested a little black locket.

"It's got your dad and I's pictures in it," her mother carefully picked up the little locket, "and I made it into a bracelet, I know you don't like much jewellery." Mrs. Ruiz went to put it around Silviana's wrist and Silviana immediately pulled away.

"I'm not wearing that," Silviana said calmly.

Her mother sighed, "Of course, I'll just put it on your bag so it's safe," she gently clicked the bracelet around one of the straps on Silviana's backpack.

Silviana went back to eating her pancakes, they didn't taste as good now. After she finished three quarters of her pancake, she stood up and walked to the door.

"Hey where ya goin'?" Xander said with a mouthfull of pancake.

"You wanted to get a head start on this thing right?" Silviana said with sarcasm and a spin. She opened the door and waltzed right out.

"Hey! Wait for me!" Xander jumped from his seat, grabbing his bag from the ground and turned around to wave to Silviana's mom, "Bye Mrs. Ruiz! I'll be sure to make sure she doesn't get into trouble!"

Mrs. Ruiz chuckled, "Be safe!" She called out.

◇◇◇

Silviana let Xander run off ahead of her to the professor's lab. She would rather enjoy the peace that this morning brought before she got into whatever craziness Xander was going to put her through.

"Hey! No no! Give that back!"

A strange voice called to her left. From where she stood, she saw a small man with graying hair frantically grabbing at the tall grass. He had a white jacket on and was blocking the road that lead out of her small town.

"Woah!" A brown case came flying at him and and he was thrown backward.

With a gasp Silviana rushed over. She helped the old man up by the arm, she glanced over him again and realized the jacket was actually a lab coat. This is the professor?!

"I am probably getting too old for this, haha," he stood up and gave a greatful smile to Silviana, "Hello my dear, thank you for coming to help me. I was just on my way back from the pokémart when I got attacked by this eevee."

An eevee? What's that?

"Well then I suppose by the way you're dressed, you're probably one of the two new young trainers I'm supposed to give starters to!"

Silviana gave a silent nod and something caught her attention in the tall grass behind the professor. A brown blur shot out from the grass.

"Professor!" Silviana pushed the professor away and was hit by the brown blur. Closing her eyes and clutching her hands around the blur she tumbled back out of the tall grass. She landed on her backpack, still holding on tight, she peeked her eyes open and looked aghast when she saw that in her arms she held the little pokémon the professor told her about.

The pokémon shook its head ruffling its fur. It looked around then at Silviana with narrowed eyes.

"Uh... Hi there little fella? Oof!" The Eevee pushed off of her to propel itself over Silviana. Landing, and turning gracefully on the ground, it latched onto the golden chain of the locket Silviana's mom gave her.

"HEY! That's not yours!" Silviana turned to grab at it, but the little pokémon was too lithe for her bumbling movements. It dodged every attempt she tried to grab at it.

"My dear," she looked up to the professor stood next to her, "might I suggest another option?" Something clicked in his hand and it opened to reveal a pokéball.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" She took the ball from his hand.

He laughed, "Why throw it of course!" He gestured to the Eevee that was sitting on the ground now.

Silviana could have swore it had a smug look on its face. She scowled at it and underhandedly tossed the ball. It completely missed going right over the pokémon's head. The little pokémon in return flicked its ear in amusement.

Silviana growled, "Gimme another!" She turned to the professor holding one hand open.

Professor Oak smiled and graciously put two more pokéballs in her hands. Immediately Silviana threw them. One flew off to the right while the other flew over the head of the Eevee again. The little pokémon simply watched the pokéballs fly around and looked back at Silviana almost... smiling.

With more growls of frustration, she took two more of the pokéballs from Professor Oak. She wound up to throw the pokéballs simultaneously at the Eevee. They took a path straight toward it, but the little pokémon dodged them.

"UGH!" She threw two more, "Just get in the pokéball!" The Eevee jumped up toward one of the balls that flew toward it, with a flip, it pushed off the pokéball sending it flying back to Silviana. With a smack, it hit her straight in the face. Grunting she covered her face with both hands.

"VEE!"

Silviana peeked through her fingers just in time to see the second pokéball hit the little brown pokémon in the tail. In a red flash the creature was sucked into the little red ball. She slowly pulled her hands down.

The ball moved three separate times, but Silviana stayed where she was. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You can breathe now my dear, that means you caught it." The professor kindly said.

Silviana let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Walking over to the pokéball she carefully picked it up.

"Are you going to name it?" The professor asked after he had grabbed his belongings. He stopped in the grass where she had caught the Eevee and picked up the little trinket the pokémon had snagged, "I believe this is yours as well." He clipped it back onto her bag while Silviana continued to stare at the ball.

"What do I name it?" She looked confusedly at the professor.

The professor gave a chuckle, "Whatever you want to! It's your first pokémon, yes? Take your time," he patted her shoulder, "a name will come to you." He walked off toward the center of town, "But for now, we should head to the lab! I think your friend will be waiting for a special pokémon himself."

#zombielocke #silveelocke #pokemon #pokemonnuzlocke #pokemon nuzlocke #nuzlocke #let's go eevee #let's go pikachu #my writing

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aflower-exe · 5 years

Text

[ 6:20 pm ] “Um... I’m like eighty percent sure this is not how math is supposed to work” Ara groaned. She was lying on the floor near your bed with her face buried in her Calc textbook. “Ara, math stopped making sense when letters weaseled their way into equations.” You respond drearily, your head hanging in your hands. “I wanna do something fun” Ara whines tossing her book aside. “I don’t think school is supposed to be fun” “No one likes a buzzkill” She mumbles. You scoff and place a hand over your mouth dramatically. You were preparing a snarky response when someone knocked on the door. “I got it” you sigh, climbing off your bed.

You open the door to see Taehyung, a classmate and best friend of yours, leaning against the wall. His hair was a disheveled brow mess and his eyes were glistening with mischief. “No,” You state, almost instinctively “What? I didn’t even say anything” Taehyung whines “You don’t have to. That smirk of yours always means trouble” “That is so not true” “Remember when you dared me to go down that hill on a grocery cart?” You recall, raising an eyebrow. “Okay that wasn’t—” “Or the time you and I drank half a bottle of tequila before our final?” “Well, that time you participated willingly,” He replies, pouting slightly. “Then what about—” “Okay! I get it. I’m a terrible influence. But, this time it’s not so extreme.” You cross your arms across your chest, clearly not amused. “There’s a party at my dorm today” You roll your eyes and leave Tae at the door. You sigh deeply and make your way to your kitchen “You know I don’t do parties,” You say, taking a bite out of an apple “Party? Did I say party? I meant a small get together” Tae starts, his eyes searching yours for any sign of disbelief “Yes!” Ara yelled, running into the kitchen “Yes, we’re going,” She responds to Tae before turning to you and tightly grabbing hold of your shoulders “you’re going” “Wait, I—” “Cool. come by around 7pm” “Why don’t I get a say in this” You question. Ara sighs and shoves your apple in your mouth “We’ll be there” She confirms. “Great! See you later ____” He waves bye to you and Ara then walks out of your dorm room, shutting the door loudly behind him. “You’re supposed to be on my side” You moan. “No one likes a stick in the mud,” Ara quips “Now get ready. We’ve got a party to attend” and with a light smack on the ass she sends you off to get ready.

[ 7:03 pm ] You tug on the dress that stopped about an inch too high on your leg. “Hey, stop that you look hot” Ara insisted, swatting at your hands. You just couldn't help but feel self-conscious seeing all the people that had crowded into the dorm “I agree” Chimes a familiar deep voice. You turn to see Taehyung holding a red cup and a beer. He hands you the cup, a smile tugging at his lips “I can’t believe i let you two drag me into this. This is certainly not a small get together” You mumbled, snatching the cup from his hand and immediately taking a swig. It tasted like normal fruit punch but by the burn of your throat you knew it was definitely spiked with something. “Where’s my cup?” Ara complains “Go get your own” Tae snaps

“HEY EVERYONE NAMJOON IS STARTING A ROUND OF TRUTH OR DARE" Shouts a voice amidst the crowd “C'mon let’s go” Tae says, grabbing your hand “Tae no” you say, pulling your arm away “ ____,” Tae whines, pulling another one of his pouts. No matter how much you tried something in your just wouldn't let you resist his doughy eyes and pouty lips, “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to but can we at least watch??” You sigh, finally giving in. You look at Tae's still pouting face and the large crowd hearding around Namjoon then down the rest of your spiked punch. "Fine. But i'm gonna need another one of these before we start" Taehyung's lips curl up into a boxy smile as he giddly pulls you into the crowd.

"Truth or dare?" Asks Namjoon "Truth" replies a blonde haired boy. He was sitting directly across from Namjoon with a girl clinging to his left arm. "Is it true that you hooked up with Naeun... while you were dating Jisoo?" The color drains from the boys face "I uh... No comment" The girl on his arm gasps and storms away from the scene with tears in her eyes"Baby wait no it wasn't like that" Says the boys, quickly chasing after the girl. You chuckle slightly, eyes following the troubled couple. "See I told you this would be fun" Tae whispers, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Without responding, you turn back towards the game where Namjoon was now questioning Jungkook, one of Taehyung's roommates "Truth or dare" "Dare" Kook replies, completely straight-faced "I dare you to steal a shopping cart and ride it down the hill by the art building" you gasped, knowing this dare all too well. Hell, you still had battle scars from your attempt at the dare "Do you want me to die?" Jungkook squeaks. Everyone laughs at the frightened expression on the younger boys face. "This is the first time i've seen him scared" Taehyung mumbles to you, his brow cocked in surprise. "Hey, you asked for a dare" Namjoon protests. The crowd starts to chant, their words starting soft and growing increasingly louder with every syllable "Do it, do it, do it, do it" "Aw what the hell." Kook says. He rises slowly and is carried out the door by a cheering mob.

"Truth or dare?" Asks Jimin, Taehyung's other roommate, his eyes locked with Ara's "Dare" She asserts, a brave smirk on her face. "I dare you to take body shots off of Bora" Ara rolled her eyes "Easy. Grab the vodka boys! And don't forget to take pictures, it'll last longer" Ara cries, raising her fists and marching to the kitchen as if leading a revolution. Most of what was left of the party guests followed her, eager to see the girl perform the sensual task.

"And then, there were 5," Namjoon said, laughing incredulously. “____. Truth or dare,” Taehyung asked, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Truth?” You reply. The alcohol in your veins made you daring but you weren’t drunk enough to put up with whatever wild dared Tae might’ve had in mind. “Do you want to kiss me?” Taehyung enunciated every word while staring at you with a straight face “... dare. I choose dare.” Taehyung glances at your lips and smirks. “I dare you to kiss me” Your breath hitches in your throat, was he being serious? “never have I ever” You say skeptically “That’s not the game!!” He cries “C’mon ____ a dare is a dare” Called Namjoon. Oh what the hell, you thought. You took a deep breath and leaned in, your lips colliding with Tae’s. You snake your arms around his neck as the kiss deepens. You could still taste the beer on his breath as you pulled away, slightly out of breath "Holy shit" You sighed. Taehyung smiles and pulls you onto of him, his lips colliding with yours again.

[a/n: hey there. This was made from a prompt for a friend so shiut out to her ig. If you guys ever have a promot that you wanted a blurb or fic for you can submit it as a post or msg it to me and I’ll try my best to fulfill ur request

also i typed this all on my phone so now my thumbs hurt and there’s probably infinite typos. Anyways enjoy (even though it’s kinda gross)]

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blame-canada · 7 years

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Kiss Marks - Crybe (polyship)

I wrote this for my dear friend @mlmaries because he made me gorgeous art and I wanted to repay him for his efforts <3 This is his rarepair polyship Crybe, aka Craig x Clyde x Bebe! I hope you like it friend. The working title for this fic was ‘i hate ur clothes but i helped u buy them.’

She’s sitting on the risers, her jaw shifting slightly while she chews on something, most likely gum, before first period study hall ends. Her friends surround her in a halo, because even when she doesn’t try she commands a room. She’s chatting with someone, maybe Wendy judging by the way she’s leaning, and smirking the way she does when she’s talking shit, which is most of the time. He’s a little jealous that she gets her study hall in the music room- it’s utter chaos here, while the dictator that usually presides over Craig’s first fifty minutes of the day keeps military silence and forces their hand to study, taking the title literally. Thankfully, he doesn’t protest much when Craig asks to be excused and disappears for the remainder of the period most mornings, and so he stumbles down the halls on tired feet and drooping knees.

His soles slap the ground in outward defiance of his efforts to relocate, taxed by how much energy it takes to move his tall, lanky body from point A to point B. He’s wearing one of his six pairs of converse to match the dreary Thursday mood he’s trying to convey with his lazy jacket and eyes. It takes Bebe a moment to notice him, but when she does, the shit-talking grin only grows, and Craig knows he’s in for a treat of a morning exchange. He rubs under the lower lashes of his eye to clean up the liner, and strolls up slowly, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“I still can’t believe you bought that,” she sneers, her voice piercing over the rest of the girls that titter separately around her, but they pause to giggle at her words.

“You pulled it off the rack,” he bites back, but it’s less of a bite and more of a tired nip, and he looks down to study the print of cigarettes that travels evenly across the fabric.

“Not to wear with that stupid jacket, I didn’t,” she says, and her eyes sparkle too beautifully to really fight back.

“Coming from the bitch who wears cropped sweaters. How does that make sense?”

“You borrowed this from me two weeks ago, babe.”

“Yeah, two weeks ago. It’s two weeks too old, babe.”

Bebe scoffs and Craig knows he’s won that miniature battle, because she doesn’t say anything back. She pulls her legs off the riser and to the right, patting at her side for his bony ass to sit down next to her. He obliges, glad he doesn’t have to worry about their classmates seeing up a skirt today while he stretches his gigantic skinny legs over bodies to make it to the center. His knees bunch up awkwardly after he sits, not quite fitting even on the ground, which he’s used to. Bebe snaps at what is decidedly gum in her mouth. Her black mary janes shine, touching heels for Kansas and tapping toes together to the beat of whatever she’s listening to in one earbud. He takes the other hanging one without asking and wraps it around his ear so that it doesn’t deafen him but still gives him the inkling of a beat, something with heavy bass.

“I thought you’d be too scared to wear it to school,” she says, surprisingly cordial, and Craig hums as he shrugs.

“I don’t care if they kick me out.”

“Bullshit!” Bebe shoves at his shoulder, hard enough that he disconnects from her music but so does she, and her smile is gentler, the nice one that Craig loves a lot. “I know you totally care in there, fucking nerd.”

She isn’t wrong, so he silently concedes, and realizes that now they are even. He absently reaches over to play with the frayed edges of her shorts, rolling the white threads between his manicured fingers. She smacks at his hand to bat it away but takes it in hers before he can pull away, and he lets her shorter, softer fingers fill in the cracks of his own. She sighs. “I wish baby didn’t have actual class now.”

Craig grunts. “You don’t have to rub in that I’m the shittier version,” he grumbles, mostly putting on theatrics, and Bebe huffs, tugging their conjoined hands to her lips and putting a big kiss mark on the back of his. She lets it go with a loud smack that she punctuates with loud chewing of her gum and Craig traces the red lip lines still wet and cold on his speckled skin with his eyes.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, but even though it’s a sickly saccharine tone, he knows she means it. He leans over slightly and brushes their shoulders together and decides he’s done talking, and Bebe thankfully understands without words. She turns her head to talk to her friends and Craig stares off into the vast ocean of the music room, the center of it barren with all their bodies hugging the walls like they’re waiting for the floor to collapse beneath them. He lets the uncomfortable dissociation customary of the early morning carry him away from his body and into the invisible depths fallen out from under them. Bebe laughs enough to jostle him from her shoulder, and her quiet “Sorry, babe,” uttered between conversations breathes enough life into his lungs to carry him to next period.

When the bell rings they stand together, their hands still clasped, and head to Clyde’s locker, where they will hug and kiss good morning, and Craig will let himself smile the way he does only with them both in his radius. He has no choice, really, when they shine light on both sides of his lonely moon’s surface. Clyde kisses his cheek that morning, and though it doesn’t leave a lipstick mark that he can deliberately keep on his skin unmarred, it imprints into his flesh so that he feels its warmth all day long.

#uwu i luv u #my fanfiction #my fanfic #craig tucker #bebe stevens #clyde donovan #crybe #cryde #craig x bebe #clybe #polyship #drabble

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dragonasheswrites-blog · 7 years

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The Heaven We Didn’t Choose, Chapter 7: In Which Skeletons are Explained

...From a scientific and magical point of view, of course.

First: Chapter 1: In Which a Child Makes a Friend

Previous: Chapter 6: In Which Everybody Threatens Sans

Next: Chapter 8: In Which The Internet is Invoked

Click here for the story overview.

By the time Sans tracked down Attie (who had somehow crawled into the dryer and was rocking herself back and forth) it was after 1:00.

This was a problem, he realized as he consulted the schedule Undyne had pinned to a cupboard with a paring knife. Lunch was supposed to end at 1:00, and he had no idea what to even start cooking.

“Can I have a hot dog?” Attie asked. “You make hot dogs, right?”

“Uh...sure, but…”

“Okay! Where are they?”

“I don’t think I…” He checked the fridge, just in case. The shelves, to his surprise, had actual groceries on them. Huh. Someone must’ve stocked up. Half of this stuff he didn’t even recognize. Weird.

To his everlasting shock, one drawer held a six-pack of ‘dogs. On the package was a pink sticky note covered with Boss’s handwriting:

YOU CAN HAVE HOT DOGS FOR NO MORE THAN ONE MEAL PER DAY, SANS. BUNS ARE IN THE CUPBOARD. ~THE G&T PAPYRUS

Ooooookay.

Sure enough, a quick survey of the cupboards (also stocked with more food than Sans was used to seeing) turned up a package of buns - the good kind, not the cheap tasteless things he threw on the ‘dogs at his stand.

Cooking them properly was...more work than he really wanted. He didn’t have a rolling warmer in the apartment, and he didn’t want to wait for the ‘dogs to slow cook anyways. He slipped both ‘dogs into their buns and stuck them in the microwave for half a minute.

Amazingly, the ‘dogs didn’t explode (unlike most things he microwaved). He sent out a tentative thread of magic to feel for temperature, not trusting his bones to give him an accurate read. It felt...less than boiling hot, but beyond that he wasn’t sure.

“Uh, here, kid. Bone appetite, heh. Careful; not sure if it’s hot.”

“Okay!” Attie grabbed the ‘dog with both hands, took a big bite, and winced. “Iff a liffle hoff,” she said, mouth full. She swallowed anyways, so he wasn’t too worried.

“Hey, kid; if that’s too hot for ya, wanna see somethin’ cool?”

“Sure,” she said, before taking another huge bite.

Sans opened his mouth, tilted his head back, and shoved the entire hot dog, bun and all, into his mouth. He felt his magic protesting - he wasn’t really made to do this - but he ignored the discomfort and resisted the urge to cough.

Attie was staring at him with huge eyes, a half-chewed bite of hot dog visible in her mouth. He waited a moment for his magic to dissolve the ‘dog enough to talk, then laughed at her. “What, you can’t do that?”

“No,” she said around her masticated food. She closed her mouth, realizing her error, then chewed and swallowed with a thoughtful look on her face.

Sans knew that look.

The girl held the remaining half of her ‘dog out to him. “Teach me,” she demanded.

“Yeah, no, kid.”

“Why not?”

“Humans aren’t built like us. You’ll choke yourself, then Undyne’ll kill me, then Boss’ll kill me, then your mom and her mom’ll kill me. I’ll be super dead.”

“You’re silly, Mr. Sans.”

“Yep. That’s me, regular comedian.”

“Teach me!”

"No, kid!”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” She blinked rapidly, her lower lip extended.

“What, is that supposed to make me more willing to teach you how to suffocate on ‘dogs? Hell no, kid! And stop making that face; the lip shit is super creepy!”

“Awww,” Attie muttered, dejected, to her ‘dog.

“Tell ya what. You finish your ‘dog, and when it’s science time I’ll tell you all about how a skeleton can eat a whole ‘dog at once. Okay?”

“Okaaaaay.” She finished her meal in the largest bites possible, sending herself into more than one coughing fit.

Science wasn’t next on the list, though. Next was something called Grammar, which Attie tried her best to wiggle out of. She wouldn’t capitulate until Sans reminded her that she couldn’t see her mom until her schoolwork was done.

Schoolwork went by very quickly after that.

He wasn’t sure how much of it was actually correct - according to the note Undyne had left, the worksheets would be delivered to Tori for grading - but he was impressed by her speed.

True to his word, he spent the entire 45-minute “Science” time slot sitting at the dining room table explaining what he knew about a skeleton’s magical digestive system. He even let Attie drop things into his mouth - jelly beans, mostly, after they found some in the cupboard and he accidentally revealed that he’d never eaten them before - so she could see that they vanished instead of dropping out the bottom of his skull.

“You don’t look like a real skeleton,” Attie said, peering intently at the juncture where his skull met his spine. “You’re shaped really different.”

“I promise you, I am 100% a real skeleton. I just don’t look like a human skeleton.” And if he had a buck for every time he’d had to explain that to a human he’d have a whole herd.

“That’s what I meant, sorry.” She narrowed her eyes, then leaned over and slapped both hands to Sans’s cheeks.

He flinched, hard, but the impact - despite its force - did no actual damage. He stifled the urge to slap her hands away. “What’chu up to, huh?”

“Your face feels funny.” She tapped her fingertips against his cheekbones. “You feel kinda soft.”

He growled. He wasn’t used to being touched, and having someone - even someone so small - put her hands on his face was really uncomfortable. “You can stop that now, kid. Don’t make me remove you.”

She paused, then looked him in the eye sockets. She must have been able to read some part of his expression because she snatched her hands away and sat back into her chair. “Sorry, Mr. Sans.”

“‘Tsokay. Just...don’t do that again, yeah? You wouldn’t want me to put my hands all over your face, would’ja? No? Then don’t do it to other people.”

“But you’re so cool!"

He coughed. “That’s no excuse, kid. You gotta ask before you do that to someone.”

“Why?”

“It’s...polite?”

She tilted her head to the side. “But you don’t care about being polite. You’re a asshole.”

“Just...it’s...yer mom’d kill me if I taught you bad habits, okay? And it makes people uncomfortable, and I know you’re too young to really understand yourself in relation to others but you don’t do things like that, okay? You’ll learn as you get older.”

“Okay.”

“And it’s kinda rude to call people assholes. Just...while we’re on the topic.”

She giggled. “Okay. But you still are one.”

“You got that right.”

Silence.

He rubbed the back of his vertebrae. “Ooookay, then. Uh, what’s left on the list?”

Attie ran into the kitchen and consulted the note. “Art!” she called back.

“Huh? Art? What kind of pansy school bullshit is that?”

The girl stomped back into the dining room. “My favorite."

“...Oh.” He pondered this. “So...what do you do for ‘art?’ I don’t know a damn thing, but isn’t art pictures and stuff?” Hadn’t Boss called his spaghetti ‘art’ at some point? Did that count?

“I mean...I guess I can color,” she said. “I have my coloring pencils in my bag!”

“Okay, but...aaaand she’s gone.” Sans pondered chasing after the kid, but decided it would be too much effort. He was tired. Between keeping up with Attie and texting Frisk periodically throughout the day, he really just wanted a nap.

She returned a few minutes later with a box of pencils and a pad of paper. She didn’t say anything or ask questions - a miracle, given how the rest of her schoolwork had gone - but instead hummed to herself as she emptied the box of pencils across the table and began to draw.

The scratching of the paper and the off-key humming was...strangely calming, actually…

“Mr. Sans!”

“Hrk-wha?” He sat up quickly and looked around. When had he put his head on the table?

Attie was leaning towards him. Her pencils were packed up and sitting neatly atop a small pile of loose papers. “You were asleep,” she said.

“Oh. Uh, sorry, kid.”

“‘Tsokay. Mommy takes naps sometimes too. I don’t usually take naps anymore ‘cause I’m a big girl now, but Mommy says that sometimes grown-ups work too hard and have to take naps.”

“Yeah, sometimes.” He was feeling pretty groggy.

“Also, your phone was ringing.”

“Shit!” He dug around in his pocket until he found the offending hunk of metal.

“Bad word!” Attie howled.

Frisky Dreamer 3:25 PM Sans, you’re late for your check-in. Just because I’m drugged into unconsciousness does not excuse you not sending an update and stuff. I am so high right now Ignore that last one

Frisky Dreamer 4:03 PM Sans, I haven’t heard from you in two horse. Hours.

Frisky Dreamer 4:22 PM SNAS, ANSER UR DAM PHONE!

“Uh, kid? Don’t you have a phone too?”

“No...oh! Wait!” She pushed herself back from the table and tottered off down the hallway. Sans sighed and tapped out a message.

You 4:26 PM Were doing art Kid really drew me into it

The response was immediate.

Frisky Dreamer 4:26 PM You fell asleep again, didn’t you.

You 4:27 PM Hey do u wanna have us come visit u or not

Frisky Dreamer 4:27 PM Whatever.

He grinned. Apparently, that worked on both mother and daughter. Speaking of which… “Kid? You find that phone? We need to head out if we’re gonna go see your mom.”

“I found it!” She returned with the phone in all its pink and blue glory. “I have a message from Mommy, see?”

There was, indeed, a message from Frisk asking (in a much nicer tone) how her day was going.

“Hey, what’s that less-than-three thing mean?”

“Oh. It’s a soul! See?” She held the phone on its side.

“That’s...weird. And isn’t that upside down?” Sans flipped the phone on its other side.

“But I’m a human! Our souls go the other way.”

“Oh. Right. Anyways, are you ready to go see yer mom? I’d better let her see for herself that you’re in one piece. I don’t think she believes that I haven’t eaten you yet.”

Attie giggled, but awkwardly bundled into her coat and shoes anyways. She seemed to be struggling with her shoelaces. It was funny to watch.

“You, uh, got that, kid?”

“Maybe. These aren’t my favorite shoes. My favorite shoes are pink and they have flowers on them and they light up when I walk, which is why they’re my favorite. Those ones have velcro on them so I don’t have to tie them, but these ones just have shoelaces.”

Sans nodded noncommittally. He briefly considered helping her but…

...Nah.

She eventually knotted them into submission and tucked the ends of the laces inside the top of her shoes. Shrugging, she grabbed the stack of papers and tucked them under her arm. “Okay! I’m ready!”

“Uh...what’s with that stuff, kid? I thought that was your art.”

“It is! I drew pictures for Mommy. I’m gonna show her and see if she can hang them up in her hospital room. She usually hangs them up on the ‘frigerator, but there isn’t a ‘frigerator in her room I don’t think.”

“Fair enough. Okay, you ready?”

“Yep!”

He put both hands on her shoulders. “One, two,” and... teleport.

Attie grabbed onto his arms for support when they reappeared in a protected nook across the street from Ebott Medical Pavilion. “Oh! That time it wasn’t so bad!”

“Yeah. You should get used to it soon enough.”

“That’s pretty cool! Can you teach me how to do that...that…”

“‘Ts called ‘teleporting,’ kid. Disappearing and reappearing in a different place, kinda like the world’s best shortcut. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but...it can get pretty sciencey. And no, I’m pretty sure I can’t teach you how to do that, either.”

She pouted all the way up to her mom’s room.

He opened the door first, not wanting to interrupt anything, but Frisk was awake. And waiting, of course. “Sans,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument, “Why don’t you come on in.”

He came right the heck on in, one hand guiding Attie in front of him. “Say ‘hi’ to yer mom, kid.”

The girl paused for a moment, staring at her mother. Frisk did look pretty bad still. Sans hoped Attie wasn’t going to scream or cry or cause a fit; he knew he’d be blamed if she did.

“Hi,” she said in a very quiet voice.

Frisk smiled. It was the same smile she’d worn earlier when he sent her the picture of Attie and Undyne, and he fought the urge to look away. “Hey, baby girl. Won’t you come up and give me a hug?”

“I-I don’t wanna hurt you when you’re sick.”

“I’ll be okay. Just make it a gentle hug. No jumping.”

The little girl tiptoed up to the bed, leaned up, and gently put her arms around her mother. They both sighed at the same time.

“Now what did you bring me? Oh-Sans, chair.” She gestured towards the aforementioned furniture, which had been moved against a wall.

Sans sat.

“I brought you pictures!” Attie said. She laid out each page individually on the bed, covering the blanket almost entirely. “This is the room where I slept last night. See? It’s full of skeleton stuff! It belongs to a guy called Mr. Boss, but Undie said that wasn’t his real name.”

“It isn’t,” Frisk said. “His real name is Papyrus. But go ahead.”

“Oh, right. This is Mr. Pa-py-rus’s room. He let me sleep on his bed, ‘cause he said Mr. Sans’s room was pretty messy. It is, y’know.”

“Oh? When were you in Sans’s room?”

“I hid in there before lunch. Mr. Boss - I mean, Mr. Pa-py-rus - came in and was beating up Mr. Sans because of paperwork. Then Mr. Pa-pyrus tried to fight me until Mr. Sans finished the paperwork.” She held up another picture. From his vantage point, Sans could barely see three blobby figures: two black and red, one blue and pink and black. “See? Mr. Pa-pyrus is trying to fight me ‘cause I told him not to beat up Mr. Sans. Mr. Sans finished the paperwork before he stopped talking. He talked a whole lot, more than Granny Ree does sometimes.”

“Papyrus...tried to fight you.”

“Yeah. I was kinda mad that Mr. Sans did paperwork instead of saving me, but it’s all better now.”

“What?”

“He said ‘I’m sorry, kid’ and I said ‘I forgive you.’ And he said that he would’ve stopped Mr. Papyrus if he’d really started fighting, so it’s okay.”

Frisk pulled her daughter in for another hug. Over the child’s head, she gave Sans a long, intense look. He squirmed in his chair a little.

“Fine. I guess...it’s okay, if you aren’t hurt. I’ll have to have a long talk with Undyne about this, though; I don’t want you in a house where someone’s going to attack you at random.”

“It wasn’t an ‘at random!’ He tried to fight me because I told him not to beat up Mr. Sans. Remember? I told you.”

“That’s right. Hey, Attie, could you do something for me?”

“Yyyep!”

“Can you get me a drink of water? There’s a water fountain at the end of the hallway, out and to your left. Here’s my cup. Go out, fill the cup with water, and come right back so you can show me the rest of the pictures. Don’t spill.”

“Okay, Mommy!” She wiggled off the bed, careful not to wrinkle any of her drawings, and left the two adults alone.

Sans glanced at the side table. “You already have a cup of water,” he muttered.

“That’s not the point. You know that.”

He did. “Look. You know that the best way to get Boss to stand down is to give him what he wants. He wanted paperwork; I finished the damn paperwork. It’s not my fault Undyne changed her schedule without telling me.”

“If you hadn’t fallen asleep in here earlier, you wouldn’t have had to rush.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly running on a whole lotta sleep. You know, after carting you and Attie all over town last night.”

Frisk’s hand clenched the blanket over her knee, then relaxed. “I...that isn’t what I wanted to talk with you about. Sans...does that happen on a regular basis?”

“The naps? Well sure. I’m-”

“Not the naps. Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m asking about.”

The look on her face said that she was not in the mood to be messed with; she wanted answers, and she knew he could give them. Strange, that this human was the only one to realize that his stupidity was an act. “...Yeah, I know. And…”

What could he say?

“Sans?”

“Yeah. Just...I don’t know how to answer that. Boss...he gets aggressive when he’s angry, you know? And I’m one of the things that makes him angry the most. It’s my fault, really. You get it, right?” He winked.

Frisk’s expression didn’t change.

“A-anyways, I’ll watch the kid closer. She can...I dunno, hide out in my room when he’s around. I’ll clean up and everything. That way she won’t have to see it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. I didn’t ask why it happened, or whose fault it was, or how you plan to cover it up. I asked how often it happens."

“...Not as much as you’re thinking, but more than you’d like.”

“How typically vague. Are we talking once a day? A week? A month?”

“Couple times a week? I dunno. I’ve never charted it out.”

“Alright. Alright." Frisk took a deep breath. “That stops now. Whatever you and your brother do when there aren’t kids in the house, that’s your...ah...business-”

“Hey!”

“-but I won’t have the pair of you scarring my daughter. Both of you will be on your best behavior, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Mommy!” Attie shuffled in with a glass full of water, her tongue peeking out from between her lips and a look of concentration on her face. “I...almost...have...the...water...OOPS!”

She tripped over her own feet and the water spilled.

“Attie!” Frisk was halfway out of bed before she was stopped short by the plastic tubes the doctors had stabbed into her arms.

It didn’t matter much; Attie was floating gently in mid-air, faintly glowing. “Blue!” she cooed.

“Sans,” her mother said, “Put her down. Gently.”

He did.

No one spoke for a long moment.

“I’ll excuse it just this once, because it looked like you were keeping Attie from getting hurt. But if you ever - ever - use blue magic on my daughter again, I will hunt you down. Is that clear?”

“Yeah, Boss.”

Frisk slammed her hand onto the bedside table, causing both Attie and Sans to jump. “I am NOT your BOSS, Sans!”

“Yeah, uh, sure.”

A nurse popped her head into the doorway. “Everything alright in here, sweetie?”

“Yes,” Frisk said. “We’re fine. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Anytime a loved one is sick tempers run high, y’know? Y’all just take a deep breath; no worries. Oh, and visiting time is almost up, unless your honey there wants to stay the night.” The nurse wiggled her eyebrows.

It took Sans a beat to realize that the nurse meant him, not Attie, and he wanted to crawl into his own hood in embarrassment. “Nah, gotta get this kid into bed. Early mornin’ and all that.”

“Alright, then, sweet thang. Y’all take it easy and let me know if you need anything.” She closed the door gently behind her.

Sans carefully avoided looking at the humans.

“Alright, Attie; time for you to go now. Come give Mommy a kiss and head home with Sans, alright?”

There was a shuffle as Attie did as requested. “Can I come see you tomorrow? I didn’t get to show you the rest of the pictures.”

“Maybe. Mommy’s pretty tired. If everything goes well, then yeah.”

“Okay. G’night! Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

“You too, Attie.”

“I won’t. I bet the bedbugs are scared of Mr. Papyrus.”

“I’m sure they are.”

A small hand in his interrupted Sans’s studied ignorance of the proceedings. He glanced down to find Attie grinning up at him. “Ready to go, kid?”

“Yup!”

“‘Kay, then.” He gently started to tug her out of the room.

She resisted. “Wait! You didn’t say goodbye to Mommy!”

“Uh...bye, kiddo.”

“Her name isn’t kiddo, Mr. Sans.”

“Bye...Frisk?”

The woman on the bed breathed deeply, but didn’t look at him. “Text me when you get home. You owe me a few check-ins.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They left.

#Dragonashes writes #Undertale #Underfell #The Heaven We Didn't Choose #Sans #Attie #Frisk #Homeschooling #Frisk is on pain meds #Vague discussions of abuse #Fixing problems fills Frisk with DETERMINATION #Even when they're Sans's problems #Those bed bugs are terrified of Papyrus by the way #The skeleton brothers have 0 problems with bedbugs #The lack of anything that would attract bedbugs has nothing to do with it

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julietcapulct · 8 years

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breathe, my love, get high hp au, marcus flint/oliver wood 8131 words Marcus counts the days in the hours he can manage to get through, the hours he can spend avoiding floppy-haired, Scottish Gryffindors who try to follow him with their eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about something that will only leave them both burning and rotting in the end. Something that can never be kept safe. A flame that will only die out in the cold. He spends his nights in bed, whispering the name over and over to himself, the name he has kept hidden in his heart for so long and wants to etch all over his skin–– Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.

notes: this may or may not be the most self-indulgent fic you will ever read in your life, and it’s probably completely ooc and unbelievable and wow i’m not selling this to anyone but yay for flintwood??? yes??? this is dedicated to yenna @owvlery, erin @mxrcusflint and everyone else who makes the beautiful flintwood art/fics/everything that has dragged me into this 6ft hole of cute angsty quidditch boyfriends. (also i stole a line from lolita and managed to reference little mix’s ‘touch’ so u never know what ur going to get with me)(also sufjan stevens was my soundtrack writing this enjoy)

If he were pushed, Marcus could tell himself that it was simply a pride thing.

Because of course, there was an element of it there, quivering in every shove of shoulder against sharp elbow, in the snarls and hisses thrown at one another. From the moment he had looked across the Quidditch pitch, seeing a flash of red and gold as their sprite little second year Keeper blocked the Quaffle again and again and again, his accent clouding over his words as the boy couldn’t help but yell and holler at his teammates with each success, his voice carrying out like a signal, Marcus had felt a rush of something in his veins, and before he knew it his broom was propelling him closer and closer, the Quaffle barely touching his fingertips before he was shoving it towards the hoops, his gaze almost blinded by the boy’s answering grin. A dare, almost. A dance.

He’s thirteen years old and his blood is thrumming in that way that only Quidditch can do to him, and his head is swimming with theories and fleeting thoughts, his legs gripped tightly either side of his broom and God, this is the only thing he knows how to do, only thing that makes him feel real−−

And then two minutes in, the new Gryffindor Keeper gets his head knocked in by a Bludger and the whole thing is called off.

The rest of the team moan and whine as they make their way to the changing rooms, their boots trampling in the mud of the October leaves, red and dirty yellow bleeding into one another and reminding him far too much of the Gryffindor colours.

Wood, someone had called him. The kid who got knocked out, only a year younger than him.

“Guess for someone called Wood, his broom didn’t help him stay off the ground much, did it?” He mutters, his words low and tumbling out with the air of someone of less eloquence; he’s never been witty, never had a way with words, but he tries. His teammates chuckle heartily at the joke, as it stands.

The next time he sees the Wood boy, it’s more than a week later and Marcus raises an eyebrow at the spectacle that seems to be going on at the Gryffindor table, the kid surrounded by his teammates and friends, his robes adorned with pins and medals as if he were a hero of sorts. Ridiculous.

He tries to forget about the fact that his feet scrape on the floor as he makes his way over to the table, seeing each face turn to his, their expressions of laughter and joy quickly souring into something filled with disgust and shock. Only Wood, seated in the middle of his ragtag group, seems to puff out his chest and look up at him with wide eyes, trying to appear confident and bold. Marcus resists the urge to roll his eyes.

He could just walk away, leave them scratching their heads, wondering. But if Wood is a cliché of sorts, so is he.

“Pity you didn’t manage to see more than a minute of the game before you bowed out, Wood,” he says, his words accentuated by his crossed arms and smirk. He plays his part well, as ever. “Although it gives whoever replaces you a nice low standard to beat for the next one, I suppose.”

Wood’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare in indignation, and he immediately stands up, a couple of Gryffindors coming with him. Even at his full height, Marcus still has a good few inches on him, and it just makes it easier for him to look down with a twisted smile, watching the boy rage internally. One of the girls, her hair in a long braid as she clings to his arm, juts out her chin and replies, “We’re not replacing Oliver, for your information, and we won’t be anytime soon. So you can run and tell your snakes that.”

Whistling low, Marcus doesn’t miss a beat. “Perhaps some food for thought, though, yeah?”

He’s about to walk away with a chuckle, having had his fun and wanting to head to Potions so he can tell Avery about the easy way the Gryffindors can get riled up just by insulting their newly-crowned ‘Golden Boy,’ when the boy in question calls out to him, his voice certain and sure despite the cracks in it.

“I’ll see you on the field, Flint.”

He doesn’t reply, simply keeps on walking out of the Great Hall.

If his fingers clench and unclench several times against his robes on the way to class, knuckles white and calloused, he doesn’t let himself feel it.

And so a dance of sorts begins between them, both participants riling up to the challenge. Each time they see one another, whether it be behind their respective captains on the pitch before a game, or across a staircase, they end up running toe to toe, insults flying from their mouths so fast Marcus barely thinks about what he’s saying. All he focuses on is making Wood’s lip curl in distaste, to see him spluttering as he tries to sling a comeback in return, lost for words.

There’s a certain sort of addictive quality to leaving Oliver Wood speechless.

He figures it’s innocent enough in the beginning; quips about him being so much younger than him (a full year means a lot to Marcus, okay?) and not as experienced, and perhaps that was why he missed that Quaffle again and again in the last game? Or he takes another direction, and tells Wood he’s possibly taken one too many Bludgers to the head when he stumbles to get off his broom after one match. Sometimes the younger boy only glares at him in return, being pushed along by his teammates, but before long he’s striding towards him to shout comebacks in return, and the game plays on.

“Maybe you should worry about your own team, Flint. Your seeker flies like a newborn deer trying to walk.”

Marcus snickers, showing his teeth as he does. He hopes it terrifies. “Better than your Beaters, I’d say. They couldn’t tell a Bludger from a Bertie Botts Bean. Wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to eat one.”

“Well, unlike you, Flint, they don’t have any troll blood in their family, to do something so idiotic.”

For a moment, he’s left seeing red in the corners of the eyes, and he doesn’t have much of a response other than to snarl back at Wood, who’s still breathing heavily and holding his broom by his side, eyebrows raised as he awaits a response.

And it’s not that he’s insulted, because God, being a Slytherin means having a thick skin and letting everything roll off of your back, and it’s not like he’s fucking insecure. He’s not a Malfoy, prissy and obsessed with appearances and slicked back blonde hair. He’s always been something more in line with rough edges and scabbed lips and dark hair with tugs through it, never really being brushed. Yet, there’s something stinging under his skin that he can’t place.

Before he can bite back something quick and snarky, Charlie Weasley, tall and lanky and redheaded with that stupid grin on his face, sidles up beside them and throws his arm around Wood.

“Wow, Ol, guess you managed to get one over on Flint, here,” a pause, and then with a smirk, “Left him speechless!”

Wood laughs in return, looking away for a moment to meet Weasley’s eyes in a gaze filled with admiration and awe, and Marcus would vomit right there if he felt the need to waste any acid reflux on Gryffindors.

The redhead isn’t finished yet, though. “Tell me, how does it feel to be beaten by a second year?”

Weasley’s leaning over him with a glint in his eyes, like he knows something he shouldn’t, and Wood doesn’t seem to catch it. He’s too busy frowning back at Marcus, his gaze troubled. As if he didn’t want Weasley to say that. That infuriates him even more, because of course Oliver Wood would regret the one time he actually had the guts to not hold back like every other Gyffindor obsessed with being the ‘better’ person.

He doesn’t need the pity, and he certainly doesn’t need Wood to look at him like he wants to say something else.

And so Marcus doesn’t offer him a reply, only moving forward to push his shoulder against Wood’s in a threatening stance, muttering, “You’re mine on that pitch, Wood,” into his ear as he moves past.

(He can still feel the boy’s breath on his skin hours later.)

For a year or two, things are a mundane routine of classes and Hogsmeade and friends and Quidditch and Oliver Wood, all piled into one, rotating and meshing together, smashing into one another faster than a Snitch at high speed to form the fabric of his everyday life.

He seems to see this kid wherever he goes, whether it’s on the way to class, capturing his gaze in a steadfast glare that’s returned in kind, or as he makes his way out of the castle with his classmates, eyes catching sight of tawny-brown hair leading his group to the pitch for more practising. Even as the youngest member of the Gryffindor team, Wood seems to have already decided he’s going to lead, even when he can’t reach the shoulders of his teammates; it’s no surprise when he makes Captain in his fourth year, Marcus thinks, before killing that thought immediately. And there’s his voice too, which seems to find him from wherever Marcus tries to flee, his accent soaking into his mind. He mimics it easily, soon becoming a running joke in the Slytherin Common Room when he wants cheap laughs, but it’s only because he’s heard it enough times to have committed the way he pronounces each syllable, the letters he drags on and the ones he skips over skittishly, the way he speaks a million miles per minute when it’s anything to do with Quidditch.

It’s important to know your enemy, though, and that is why Marcus commits everything about Oliver Wood to memory.

The mishmash of his days, of classes he sleeps through and assignments he leaves until the last minute because he hates the frustration of looking at an empty piece of parchment and not knowing a thing to put on it, to the roar of the crowd as he shoots Quaffle after Quaffle into the hoops all while feeling his eyes fixated on him from the stands, feeling the warmth of their chants wash over him when Slytherin win.

(The relief that comes from knowing, I still have this. I can do this. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.)

And if he’s suddenly hurtling towards OWLs he hasn’t studied for in fifth year because he’s noted that Wood has grown more than should be allowed in two years – still not as tall as Marcus, but enough that their gazes can find one another easily over crowds of kids – and if he once finds himself nearly missing a catch from Pursilla because the sun had hit Wood’s skin at just the right moment as his eyes lit up over a goal, and holy Merlin he’s not breathing right now, but it’s not—he can’t even choke the words out of the recesses of his mind, instead waving a hand to silence the blonde as she yells at him, not letting himself even look at Wood when he throws the Quaffle in the direction of his face, which has managed to chisel out slightly over the summer.

It’s not until he scores, ten minutes later, that he lets himself stop gripping his broom so tightly.

He thought he was safe—okay, he had a close call earlier, but he could blame it on the sunlight. He could mutter away about bad positioning and they probably got Trelawney or some shit to help pick a day for them, so they could pull this, any stupid excuse he can spurt out to keep the rest of them moving, ignoring their raised eyebrows. He doesn’t need this.

Marcus is alone in the changing room, picking at the laces of his boots (sometimes he just enjoys the feeling of the dirt on his skin and the roughness of the clothes against his skin, and he feels a little more grounded, and that’s not weird, okay) when he hears footsteps, stomping, really, and looks up to see a flushed and panting Oliver Wood before him.

He would’ve thought he’d have dreamed him there, if he were the type for sappy shit.

“You’re not allowed in here, Wood,” he drawls, and it comes out more monotonous than he thought, which pleases him. No need to let him know his heavy breathing was making Marcus think of dangerous things.

“I don’t care.”

“I think you will when I call Snape and tell him you’ve snuck in here to try and attack me.”

“Wh—” Wood’s face scrunches up in confusion, before his eyes narrow, still catching his breath. Marcus notes he probably ran straight over here, the idiot. “Shut up, Flint. I’m not here to fight, as tempting as that is.”

Marcus can’t help himself, his fingers dig in a little on his leg, and he can feel his nails through the Quidditch robes. Wood seems to notice, too, his eyes flickering down to his calf for a minute, and he could swear the boy’s face reddens a tinge.

“I, erm, I had to ask you something.” It takes a full minute for him to look up again, and when he does, Wood is standing with his hand scratching the back of his head, his eyes unreadable. Oliver Wood, who is the most predictable and readable person Marcus knows, is standing with an almost frightened gaze at him and it makes him want to shiver.

He takes a deep breath. Play the part, Marcus. “I haven’t got all day,” he replies, and he’s barely finishing the sentence when the boy is speaking again in rushed words—

“Why were you staring at me during the game?”

Fuck.

“No, I wasn’t,” he immediately throws back, and it’s stupid and ridiculous because he was, of course he was, he nearly missed a goal because of it, and he can’t lie right to Wood’s face about it. Not when he looks at him in that open, vulnerable way that twists Marcus up inside in ways he didn’t know was possible.

“Yes, you…you did. I felt you staring.”

They’re staring at one another in that very moment, too, eyes heavy on one another and Marcus knows he should look away, should roll his eyes and murmur, Are you gay now, then, Wood? Fancy me, do you? and walk away. Leave it as a gloating remark and pretend it was nothing. Let him pretend he was just trying to freak him out so they could win. Go on with his life and let himself lock this feeling away, left to rot as memories of this boy and his smile and the curve of his neck haunt him.

And then the moment passes, and he’s snarling out, “I don’t know what you thought you felt, you idiot, but I don’t want it. Leave me alone.”

He’s breathing heavily, and it takes a moment to register that he’s on his feet and a few short steps away from Wood now, and he can see the gold flecks in his eyes now, see the way his pale skin patches in pink where he’s blushed, from the center of his cheeks to around the side of his neck stretching down to his collarbone and Marcus is consumed with the need to just touch, just for a minute.

The patch of skin he’s fixated on gets closer, and his eyes flicker up to see Wood has made the step towards him, his own gaze moving from Marcus’s mouth to his eyes to his hairline, oddly enough, a certain kind of worn yet fond kindness tainting his smile; he’s being so soft, even without touching him, and it makes Marcus want to scream.

“This is okay, you know. This…whatever this is between us.” Wood’s words are barely over a whisper, but he hears. He would hear it from an ocean away. “This isn’t wrong, Marcus.”

It’s him saying his name, his real name, that has him marching out of the door still in his Quidditch robes, leaving one half of his heart behind with flushed cheeks and soft gazes.

After that, it becomes so much easier to pretend. If he were a different type of person, Marcus ponders one night when he’s had too many smuggled Firewhiskeys in the dungeons and he’s lying alone with his thoughts, he could’ve been an actor. When he has a role – his in question being that of the antagonist, the evil Slytherin who makes children quiver with intimidation when he walks down hallways, the perfect foil to the floppy-haired, charming Gryffindor hero – he can stick to it well enough that there’s no room for anything else.

Wood, on the other hand, seems to want to turn the tables. He doesn’t understand the rules of the game, it seems.

Although fair play to him, Marcus later thinks, he did try. After their moment in the changing rooms, Wood seemed to have committed himself to hating everything about Slytherin, particularly anything to do with him. He doesn’t even call him Flint now, simply glaring at him when they spar verbally on the pitch or through hallways. During games, they play faster and more aggressive now than ever, almost as if they were in their own duel, the others melting away by the sidelines.

He’s complimented for it by his Captain, after one particularly trying game where he managed to help Hyun score not one or two, but three goals in a row by having Wood focus all his attention on him, their eyes never wavering from one another as he fouled again and again. He’s told he ‘has the potential to take Captain’ once Lucinda leaves, and he only grunts in response while his heart hums in something close to contentment.

When it does happen, he throws himself fully into the role, relishing his moment in the sunshine. He’s never particularly been singled out for anything like this before, and not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but there is something calming about the hole Quidditch is starting to fill inside him, the hole that’s been there for as long as he can remember, that being on a broom and orbiting around Oliver Wood seems to soothe and leave trembling as it collapses.

While his game strategies become more efficient and he makes more and more goals, swerving through players without a care for grace and roughly shoving Quaffles at Wood’s face (ignoring the poorly-concealed grin the boy hits him with when he manages to hit him in the nose during one move, his mind whirring between Merlin he’s bad at acting and why the fuck is he grinning at me hitting him like he likes it?) his work in class begins to suffer more and more, not that he cares.

Nothing seems to really matter in the end, when it comes down to it.

Honestly, he’s not even surprised when he doesn’t pass N.E.W.T.s, considering he barely made it to class all year and can’t find much beyond his games to focus on. That still doesn’t seem to stop that ever-sinking feeling in his stomach, of knowing this is all he will be; of knowing he is nothing that can be salvaged or saved or to be acclaimed. In the end, he’ll be but one of a sea of faces who have walked these halls, who have spoken the same words he has and believed they could conquer the world in a sea of glory before hitting the fall.

And so he buries it all, miles and miles below the ground where nobody can find his pain, and he walks onto the Hogwarts Express with his head held high and his wand twitching in his palm, ready to be used on any kid who thinks they can bring him down for this.

He could tear Wood apart when he catches sight of him, because this is not what he needs.

(It’s enough to have to walk through the entire school, them knowing he’s still here, but Wood? There’s shame and fury and heartbreak all bubbling under his skin at the thought of his pity, of his taunting, and he wants to set himself alight than walk through these flames.)

Wood only stares at him from through the glass doors of the train carriage, and his face crumples into something void of pity or triumph, only…warmth. Something so foreign, enough to leave him slack-jawed in the middle of this train, staring back at him and being struck with the desire to barrel into this boy’s arms and never leave. The sensation hits him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, and he has to close his eyes before he can grip his wand tighter and force his legs to move away, far away from Wood’s gaze and his inviting arms beneath that stupid Gryffindor jumper.

He can’t take another year of this, he already knows.

To his credit, Wood manages to wait two whole days before tracking him down in the library, where Marcus is burying himself in Charms textbooks; he’s never actually taken the time to look at the assigned reading, but he figures if he doesn’t want to go through seventh year for the third time, he better start. He’s pointedly ignoring the looks he’s receiving from third year Hufflepuffs who are muttering about him, because he can’t get himself banned from the library this early in term, when someone budges the side of his table, spilling his ink slightly.

He looks up to glare at the back of Wood’s head, who doesn’t look back once as he makes his way past another aisle of books and disappearing, his arms swinging as if he doesn’t have a care in the word. Git.

Marcus waits a full six minutes and twenty-four seconds before he looks down and sees the scrap of ripped parchment, a detailed list of the most efficient books and their chapters for passing his subjects.

He has to stop himself from turning the damn table over, because clearly he’s in Hell.

When he passes his Transfiguration exam after spending three hours in the section of the library Wood’s noted down for him, with McGonagall looking at him suspiciously as she hands him back his parchment as if she doesn’t believe he could do it, well fuck her, Marcus feels something fluttering in the pit of his stomach. His immediate thought is to flatten it.

It’s been building for so long, though, and he thinks to himself, he could allow himself one moment.

He doesn’t allow himself much time to ponder what he’s doing when the thought first comes to mind, because even thinking the words makes him want to slap himself, because it’s so stupid.

He just focuses on the sound of his shoes hitting the floor, left, right, left, right, as he makes his way out of the dungeons.

Marcus has never once thought that he would ever, in a million years, be the one sneaking into the Gryffindor common room. It’s much easier than he would think, considering the lions tend to value too much on stupid things like bravery and standing up for others, things that can have you bleeding out on the ground in an instant. Things Oliver Wood has in abundance, and then some, but he won’t let himself consider that. The Fat Lady is asleep and he’s picked up enough underground spells, things only taught in cold stone walls with green and silver tapestries, that he can sneak in and survey the warm fire.

He doesn’t let himself think about Wood spending hours in front of that fire, what he would look like dozed off in his red and yellow jumper, because he doesn’t hate himself that much. Not yet.

He can’t let himself go any further, so he simply takes out the precious, fragile piece he’s kept in the pocket of his robes, and charms it to find Wood, wherever it is he sleeps. Marcus knows if he let himself get that close, to see him in such a state of undress, warm and consumed by sleep, he’d drive himself mad.

(And there’s another part of him, whispering all the time, telling him that he doesn’t want it to be like this. He wants to see Wood happy and content in sleep, but he wants to be offered it. To see Wood give himself up like that, all for Marcus.)

Before he can regret it, he’s running back through the entryway and doesn’t stop until he’s back in familiar territory, and for the first time since he was eleven years old, the dungeons feel too cold.

The next morning, Marcus is deliberately not looking over at the Gryffindor table, moodily moving his eggs around on his plate while beside him Thruston is droning on about another girl he’s been trying to woo that he’s already mentally checked out of listening to, and when he finally can’t stop himself from flickering up to look over, he has to bite down on his lip so hard he feels the skin break, warm blood on the bottom of his two front teeth.

Oliver Wood is sitting beside his friends, looking as if he doesn’t even see Marcus, laughing at some joke that’s being passed around— and on the table in front of him is the fluttering paper bird that Marcus had left for him, levitating just a centimetre or two above the wooden table above bowls and plates, gentle and delicate and everything that Marcus is not. He wouldn’t believe it had came from his hands himself if he didn’t have the sting of the paper cuts still on his fingers.

His heart is threatening to burst, and he has to close his eyes before his glass of pumpkin juice smashes on the concrete floor

They don’t speak about it, because there is nothing to speak about, he tells himself.

Wood just likes him around because he keeps him on his toes. Nothing more.

They still bite at one another in taunts, their hands gripping tighter and tighter each time they’re forced to shake before a game, trying to break one another’s fingers. He can easily memorise the feeling of every scrape and bump in the man’s hand, knows how it curves around his own, can close his eyes and feel the warmth flood over his palm once more.

He rarely allows himself to indulge in these moments, because that’s what it is –– a guilty, awful pleasure that he knows he shouldn’t want, that he shouldn’t slowly be growing addicted to. Oliver Wood is the most ridiculous, incredulous, bull headed, ill-tempered creature he’s ever laid eyes on, and he wants nothing more than to keep him all to himself, away from anything that could take that blinding, dazzling passion away for even a moment.

He could ruin this boy, and that’s exactly why he fights every spark in his fingertips threaded against his.

“Hey, Flint, want to remind your Chasers which direction their hoops are in? Not that I mind them giving us points, but I figure coaching your team for you as well as mine actually gives me a bit of competition, but I don’t want to have to do your dirty work for you,” Wood’s voice is bright and loud and entirely not what he needs at eight in the morning, but he still almost leans towards it, following its sound as he walks around Marcus, stopping directly before him.

He’s smirking, dressed in his colours and looking entirely too good in them, his chest puffed up and his gaze locked.

Marcus hears Bennett and Doe’s outcries behind him, but ignores it. He doesn’t seem to give a thought to much else other than shooting back, “Don’t worry, Wood, I’ll just tell them to look for your giant head and they’ll know where to go.”

And he’s expecting a comeback of sorts, but instead, the boy just laughs, a great big belly laugh that seems to light him up from within as he shows his teeth, eyes gleaming and it’s all directed towards Marcus, of all people, and he’s not sure how to react to that. Potter is looking at him with raised eyebrows, and he hears a Weasley twin mutter something about ‘Oliver finally going off the deep end,’ but he’s not concerned with much more than capturing every second of this state Wood has himself in, his own gaze flickering over every inch of him because he’s not sure he’ll ever see him like this again, and he’s a desperate man.

By the time Wood composes himself, Marcus already has his hand outstretched.

“Or maybe they’ll just hear your foghorn of a laugh, considering you never shut up during games.” He shouldn’t still be speaking, but he wants to keep him here as long as possible, to savour this.

Wood chuckles again, his nails scratching at the edges where the leather of Marcus’s gloves expose his fingers as they push against each other’s palms. “I have to keep you looking somehow, don’t I?”

He’s walking away in a second, and Marcus is left standing with shaking fingers and stares stamped onto his back. He doesn’t even look at them. He’s just as confused as they are, quite frankly.

Marcus wakes up on the day of the final Quidditch match of his Hogwarts career with something undefinable fluttering in his chest.

He doesn’t say a word as he marches down to breakfast with the rest of his team, huddled at one side of their table, and he doesn’t once lift his eyes to catch Wood’s gaze, although he can feel it burning on his skin, making him itch. Malfoy notices, his peroxide-blonde hair gelled back in a way that makes Marcus want to push him off the Astronomy Tower.

“You want me to say something, Flint? He’s trying to freak you out.”

Marcus snaps, “Shut up and eat your toast, if you want to beat Potter. You’ll need it.”

And then within a flash he’s got his hand in Wood’s, looking down to see green and silver encased in red and gold; he wants to cling on for dear life, can feel his fingers fluttering between Wood’s, wanting to twist and scratch and do something to mark that this is real. One look up, and he knows Oliver Wood feels the same. This is what it’s all come down to, from that first match as a lanky third year watching this boy bounce through the air, knocked out of flight with one snap.

The moment is over before he can breathe out, and he sees a glint of something in Wood’s eyes, like he wants to keep holding on, too. Like he knows how difficult this is for him.

Within fifteen minutes, Wood’s been hit by a Bludger, and Marcus would actually laugh out loud if he had the time to, because he’s always been a cliché, hasn’t he? Start with a Bludger, end with a Bludger.

There’s something else there, though, in his gut, something gnawing and thrashing and pushing him to fly over to where Wood is trying to regain his balance, hoping nobody notices just how much he’s leaning over to see if the man’s okay. By the time Wood is flying again and trying to look back at him, Marcus is gone, keeping himself on the other side of the pitch to pass.

It’s another four minutes before the second Bludger comes, and he can almost feel the jolt in his own stomach as he watches Wood go down again. He can’t even react in time to stop himself flying over, hovering too high above where his heart has dropped to the ground with the broken boy lying there in the grass, muddy and groaning and ripping at every edge of him. One Bludger is enough to keep him still up, but two? Marcus could kill him, if he weren’t too busy trying to stop himself from taking him into his arms every second of the day.

He keeps himself in the air, although half of him isn’t there on the pitch at all.

Gryffindor wins, and Marcus can’t force himself into feeling anything.

Everything he’s worked for has been for the Cup, for the title, for the one thing that he actually can do in this world. He’s not handsome, and he’s not sharp; he’s not smart in the slightest, and he’s not particularly good with a wand. All he can do is fly and pass and chase, and in the end? It meant nothing.

He tells himself that over and over, staring at Oliver Wood on the shoulders of the Weasley twins, shining in his uniform with his broad shoulders and his assured smile, his eyes wide as if he can’t believe it either, and he’s chanting along with his team and the stands. Marcus doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so beautiful, and then Wood looks over directly at him and beams at him, the sun beating down on him like he’s some sort of God, and Marcus could die right there and be happy with what he has been given in this miserable life, just to look up at that face.

He keeps his expression blank, however, and returns to the ground quickly, leaving the rest of his team to deal with a petulant Malfoy.

Once again, he’s back in the changing rooms when Wood comes to find him, although he’s fully dressed and is trying to re-do his tie in the small mirror levitating beside him at the correct angle. He doesn’t even look up, although he knows exactly who it is and that he’ll still be dressed in his Quidditch robes like last time, having spent the last hour or so running through the castle, shouting and dancing and shining like the goddamn sun that Oliver Wood is. Like he can stop himself.

(Like Marcus could stop himself from being burned.)

Wood clears his throat, and his voice is fond when he speaks. “You played a good game, Flint.”

He snorts. “You don’t need to gloat, or worse, give commiserations, idiot. This isn’t a kid’s league.”

There’s silence, and he looks up to find Wood gazing at him once more, although he’s frowning now. He’s chewing his bottom lip as if he’s in deep contemplation, and Marcus wants to both snap at him and drag him into his space. He has to stop himself from moving forward from doing either of the two, gritting his teeth and running a hand through his air, as if holding onto something else will stop him.

“You’re still here,” he notes, raising an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

Of all the things Marcus could have imagined, he would never have let himself even dare to think of Wood striding towards him and roughly grabbing his shoulders, smashing their lips together.

It’s like an untamed fire let out once they finally kiss, something within Marcus finally being set free that he had tried to restrain for so long, so long, and he lets out a cry of sorts as he snakes his fingers around Wood’s wrists, squeezing them and pushing their bodies flush together. The Gryffindor moves his own hands through Marcus’s hair, latching on as if he were to never let go, licking the inside of his mouth and biting into the skin of his bottom lip.

Within moments they’re pressed up against the wall, and Wood wastes no time in pushing up against him and moving his lips against his own once more. It’s rough and coarse, hands shaking as they brush against one another, and when Marcus pulls back to lean his head against the wall and try to regain his breathing, he swears he hears Wood whine against his lips, before he’s already moving across his jaw, biting and nipping and licking until he’s on his neck, and Fuck, this man will be the death of him––

“Merlin, Wood,” he murmurs. “Who knew you had a good use for that mouth of yours.”

There’s something that can only be described as a full-on growl against the skin of his neck, and Marcus can’t help the shiver that runs through his spine as Wood pulls back to lean his forehead against his, breath ghosting over him.

His voice is low when he replies, “Oliver. Call me Oliver.”

Marcus wants to scoff at first, because this isn’t a romance or anything, but then Wood is pulling away so he can look into his eyes, soft and begging beneath the fire. “Please,” he whispers. “I need to hear you say my name.”

Could he?

Looking into this boy’s glazed over eyes, shining with lust, feeling his mud-stained fingers scrabbling at his shirt and the fabric of their trousers pressed together, Marcus feels himself swallow, never looking away from Oliver Wood staring at him like he’d cross Neptune itself to hear him just speak his name. Just once.

He wants to say no more than ever, because he knows if he lets himself say that name, whisper it against Wood’s lips, he’ll be jumping headfirst into something that could rip his skin from him and leave him exposed, vulnerable to the world and to Wood himself, more than anything. He’d be dunking his head into freezing cold water, opening his mouth and screaming into the void; untamed, undefinable, all-consuming. He’d never be able to step back.

He decides to fling himself over the edge.

“Oliver,” he says, and it’s only because Wood is so close to him, so close his name is dragging along his jaw, that he can hear it on his tongue. Marcus immediately closes his eyes once he does so, not wanting to see whatever is on Wood’s face, but then the nose on his jawline is moving across his cheek to nuzzle against his own nose, urging him to open his eyes. When he does, he loses his breath at the sight of Oliver Wood, wide-eyed and looking at him with a devotion that could very well be the end of Marcus.

He doesn’t speak. He tells him everything he can’t say with his lips, instead.

Somehow, Wood becomes Oliver.

It’s only in his head, however. Marcus spends the last week of his time at Hogwarts before he has to leave glaring at him across doorways, stomping on his foot when they pass one another, making rude gestures during dinner. Oliver only responds with a smirk, nothing that would make anyone who didn’t know suspect a thing; he usually did so in retaliation, after Bell or some other Gryffindor Chaser had convinced him that they should ‘take the high road and not stoop to the Slytherin’s level.’

Only Marcus can see the softening in his brown eyes, can see the glint of his teeth when it catches his bottom lip as their gaze meets for a moment too long. It makes him want to hide, to run far from the Great Hall, preferably into the Forbidden Forest with the cool night air, to let himself melt into the darkness. Instead of slowly becoming undone right there in full view under Oliver Wood’s gaze, so warm and familiar when it shouldn’t be. When he has no right to make him feel like this.

They don’t speak of the kiss, in fact, they don’t even approach one another in the last days of their time at Hogwarts. Marcus counts the days in the hours he can manage to get through, the hours he can spend avoiding floppy-haired, Scottish Gryffindors who try to follow him with their eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about something that will only leave them both burning and rotting in the end. Something that can never be kept safe. A flame that will only die out in the cold.

He spends his nights in bed, whispering the name over and over to himself, the name he has kept hidden in his heart for so long and wants to etch all over his skin–– Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.

The thing is, he’s well aware, as everyone else in this place is, that Wood’s been offered a reserve spot on Puddlemere United, swooped up in the roar of the Cup victory and snatching him just as easily as if it were destined. Which, perhaps it was, Marcus thinks to himself; Oliver Wood is storybook hero, one even Beedle the Bard would be proud of have conjured up, perfect even in his folly. He’s well aware of who he is, too, and so he’s okay with the uncertainty of the future before him, the whispers of Dark Marks and Death Eaters possibly reforming and family businesses and engagements to nice young girls thrown at him, never even letting him blink before he’s been shunted into the life of his father and his father before him.

That is why Marcus doesn’t let himself burn over in jealousy when he sees Oliver walk through the halls with people clapping his back and congratulating him, professors ranting on about his bright future, his smile threatening to blind. No, he always knew it would end this way, and he’s…he’s not happy, because he’s not sure he’s ever felt truly happy the way he’s heard others speak of it, but seeing Oliver Wood like this is pretty damn close.

He doesn’t even look up when he feels Oliver move behind him, tap his fingers in three little dots, one, two, three, on the back of his jumper before taking off through the door and out of the Great Hall. Marcus leaves himself a good seventeen seconds before he gets up to follow, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve because he’s not a gentlemen at all, and he doesn’t want to be.

They keep walking, leaving enough space behind them that he lets Oliver out of his sight for a good few seconds before he catches up, all the way down to the dungeons, and he’s raising his eyebrows as they stop in a deserted classroom, the only light coming through from the high window above them and shedding down to highlight the gold in Oliver’s eyes, because if this isn’t the most beautiful torture, he’s not sure what is.

Oliver stops, and Marcus can see his fists clench before the boy’s turning around to face him, and his face is pale and entirely unlike the expressions warming them earlier. His own eyebrows furrow, trying to figure out what this is.

“Are…” He stutters, starts again. He’s not going to break down. “What do you want, Wood?”

Using his last name seems to flicker a switch in the man before him, and his eyes glaze over with something Marcus doesn’t want to spend time analysing. It would only break his heart into even sharper edges than it already has.

“Erm,” he begins, and his voice is husky and strained and fuck. “I guess, I just…you know about Puddlemere, don’t you?”

So he was just coming to boast?

Marcus rolls his eyes, because it’s a defence mechanism that hasn’t failed him yet. “Yes, Wood, we’ve all heard about your lovely little job set up for you. So you don’t have to rub it in my face, I get it.”

None of what he’s saying is true, because it was never a competition, not really. Maybe when they were younger, when he wanted to show his dominance over this burning piece of light that threatened to up-end him and leave him dangling by a thread, but not now. Not with the respect and the awe and the fondness that radiates between them.

He sees Oliver start to move, to take a hesitant step or two forward, so close he could reach out and touch, just one touch and Marcus is shaking as he stands, speaking again in a rough whisper that betrays too, too much.

“Don’t touch me. I’ll die if you touch me.”

Oliver stops directly in front of him, his face only centimetres away, so close Marcus can smell the cologne and the sweat and everything that makes him want to push himself over into the abyss and drown in this boy, lap up the waves and lose control. Instead, he simply closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath when he feels scabbed over hands cradle his jaw, a feather-light touch that could be the end of him.

A second of silence, and then everything bursts into colour when Oliver kisses him.

It’s the opposite of last time, in all the ways Marcus could never believe. He could never have thought that he and Oliver Wood would have anything resembling something so soft, but here they are, curling into one another against the wall as the boy before him continues stroking his face, his lips never demanding. As if they have all the time in the world.

As if he isn’t about to leave him.

It stops too soon, and Merlin, Marcus is embarrassing enough that he actually chases Oliver’s lips when he moves back a step, which elicits a small smile from the boy. They’re still close enough that their breath mingles, and he feels dizzy and light and entirely unlike himself.

(Or perhaps more like himself than he’s ever felt before.)

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” Oliver is whispering in his ear, his eyes frantically searching Marcus’s face as if he needs him to know this. “Everything…everything is because of you, because you made me better.”

He has to close his eyes again because this can’t be real, these words are not real. He is not being held up by this shining, beautiful boy who has not been made for him to ruin and take, and he is not falling harder and faster with every word he says, with every look that leaves him scared and naked but never alone, never with Oliver. Marcus can’t say a thing in return, can only let out something that he doesn’t want to call a whimper because that would make him want to die on the spot, and clutches at Oliver’s robes as tight as he can, a sign of Please don’t leave me. Please don’t go. Please.

It’s not until he’s being held in Oliver’s strong arms and hears his voice again, “No, baby, no, I’ll never leave you,” that he realises he said it all out loud, and Marcus lets out a shuddering sob.

They stay like that for longer than he can count, and he doesn’t let himself try to. He only focuses on the strands of Oliver’s hair that curl at the back of his neck, twisting his fingers between them and pressing his lips to the curve where his neck ends and his shoulder begins in something that isn’t a kiss, trying to fit himself into him the way he wants to, as impossible as it is. Oliver doesn’t seem to mind, cooing and shushing him every time the tears begin again, and it’s almost not embarrassing simply because it’s him, who never seems to look at Marcus with anything other than admiration and awe and respect.

Even when they hated one another, he still looked at Marcus as something to be revered. To be taken with.

He’s finally being taken apart, piece by piece, and put back together by this boy with his rough hands and his sharp accent and his twinkling eyes, his pulse that he whispers beats only for Marcus as he takes him back to his dormitory, because it’s our last week and I’ve had the fantasy of having you up here for at least three years, Flint, and when he’s being bundled up in long limbs with red and gold stitched onto the arms of pyjamas, Marcus tries not to let himself sleep, even when his eyes weigh down and Oliver’s voice is telling him to dream, to dream of them and the future and the possibilities, can’t you see them, baby?

Nothing can compare to his reality right now, he knows.

(If Wood insists on being a cliché, he has to be, too.)

#owvlery #mxrcusflint #flintwood #flintwood fic #idk!!! what this is!!! help me!!#fics #there's a reason i dont generally write fics and certainly do not post them online #pls ignore this its awful and goes nowhere wow

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btsmutimagines · 8 years

Text

Fourth Lesson (M)

Teacher! Taehyung

Anon requested: OMG SINFUL SUNDAY!! Ur the best. ㅠ.ㅠ How about a Tae smut where you go to a concert together (he's just attending with you). Hmmmm, n then spontaneous car sex? ^___________^ Ur a champ~ ;*

Lowkey a smut series -> Lessons, First Lesson, Second Lesson, Third Lesson

Word Count: 3,385 words

god he’s so damn handsome

You woke up, looking at your alarm clock and sighing. It was time for school, the one place you wished to avoid. There was an error in your winter schedule, making you see Mr. Kim and Ms. Tight skirt at the beginning and end of your day.

Of course, your friends called it ‘destiny’ while you called ‘an error that is the school should take responsibility for’. As if the universe doesn't hate you enough, you couldn't pick an alternative. Even computer science was full and everyone knows Ms. Choi is a tyrant because of her divorce from her fourth husband. You were shocked that she still got dates.

You’ve seen her shamelessly flirt with the head janitor but you digress.

“Y/N, you’re going to be late.” Your brother’s voice ripped you from your thoughts, standing in your door frame as you still laid in bed. He was a year older but you refused to call him ‘oppa’, the last thing you needed to do was inflate his monstrous ego.

“Can't I stay home?”

“Y/N, you just had winter break. Two weeks where you holed up your room with snacks and your corny romance movies.”

“They're not corny, they're classic. Of course, you don't know the difference, you still play with dolls.”

“Action figures.”

“Hm, I wonder why my old Barbie was sitting with Batman.”

“They're working out their issues…”

“Whatever you say, Youngbae.” You shooed him, closing your door and getting dressed. Stupid school couldn't give you pants instead of this flimsy skirt. It was winter for fuck’s sake. You sucked it up, wearing tights under your knee highs and wore your long coat.

“Ready?” You went downstairs, seeing him lying down the couch and watching you going down the stairs. He drops you off now that it's winter but you were pretty sure he would leave you to walk to school if it wasn't for your dad. Your parents were out of town, making your brother stay home instead of living with his stupid friends.

Just thinking about those assholes made you feel dirty, you were sure they thought you were attainable. They obviously don't know that you have this little thing called standards. Their oblivion was taxing on you, making you overjoyed when your brother moved out.

“Take a guess.”

“For someone who's dependent on me, you’re pretty rude to me.”

“It's out of love.” You smiled at him, hearing him ‘some messed up kind of love, huh’ before grabbing his keys. He started his car, you skipping to the passenger side and enjoying your toasty seat.

“All I am to you is transportation.” He backed out of the driveway, taking his time to back into the mailbox. You could still remember when your parents bought him his first car. Your parents made you watch him drive it for the first time, annoying you at first until he backed right into the mailbox. Your mom got it on film and you play it once in a while to cheer yourself up.

“No, you’re more than that. You're excellent transportation. The bus can't replace you.”

“You’re a cruel little sister.”

“And your only sister.”

“To think I was excited to hear that I had a baby sister. Silly 1 year old me.”

“I am a blessing, oppa.” He snorted, you hitting his arm and he pulled into your school’s parking lot. You opened the door to get out, quickly walking off but your brother stopped you.

“Here,” he shoved some pocket change into your hands before slipping his hand into his pocket.

“Buy something to eat before class, Y/N.” He turned his heel before you could thank him, grinning as he left and entering the warm school. You immediately peeled off your coat, allowing the heating warm you up and going to your locker as usual. Your perky friends were nowhere to be found, not that it bugged you really. All they would do is take about college boys and your alleged crush on Mr. Kim.

He's been more experimental these days, making you give him blowjobs in the staff room, fucking you against the window. Your nipples pressed against the frosty glass as he whispered hotly in your ear how much he loved fucking your tight cunt. The thought of his vulgar language that came out of his pretty pink mouth was enough to get you wet. He would place a vibrator in your panties and watch you struggle to keep your legs closed. You would bite your lip, not wanting to give into his wicked pleasure but it would just feel too damn good to deny yourself of. From those experiences, you were pretty sure he had an exhibition kink.

“If it isn't my favorite student.”

“Kim.” He leaned against the lockers, standing in front of you with a cheesy grin on his face. Maybe he was just happy that he could relieve the two weeks break you two had. You really didn't want to explain to your brother why you could barely walk at the end of the day but having sex with him made it worth the embarrassment.

“Did you miss me, kitten?” He shut your locker, pulling you into his arms and you immediately squirm. Does he not realize that you're in public and anyone could see you two being friendly?

“What the hell are you doing?” You hissed and he smirked, his hand slipped between your thighs. His jade eyes met your eyes as he felt your wet cunt. This isn't exactly how you pictured greeting him.

“Already, kitten. Did you miss me that much, huh?” You placed your hand on his arm, wishing he would at least finger you to relieve the heat building in your core that started the minute you heard his voice.

“Please..”

“You haven't asked anything and you're begging?”

“I need you…” He pulled away from you, his finger glistening from the wetness of your folds and you almost cursed. Was he seriously going to tease you right now?

“Tsk tsk, you know better kitten. You know anyone could walk in and see you whimpering like you were.”

“And you still stuck your hand in my panties?”

“You looked fucked out and I barely touched you.”

“That's because…”

“Just admit you missed me, kitten.”

“I rather-” The sound of your stomach growling interrupted your thoughts, Taehyung stifling laughter and you wrapped your arms around your lower torso. After his little laughing fit, he took you to the cafeteria in your school. You got what you could afford with the pocket change your brother gave you but Taehyung pulled out his card with lightning reflexes.

“Mr. Kim, I was going to pay for that.”

“Consider it a treat for my favorite student.” He added with a wink before you grabbed the food from the kind lunch lady. You ate, Taehyung watching and stealing a few bites with you hitting him.

“So violent for such a little girl.”

“Keep talking like that and this little girl will fight you, sir.”

“It would be hard to fight with that soaking wet cunt of yours. I wouldn't mind if you wrap your legs around my shoulders, gives me a better taste of that cunt.”

“M-Mr. Kim.”

“Still haven't learned, kitten? It's Taehyung when we're alone.”

“We're not alone.”

“Practically alone. Nobody important is going to hear me talking about your pussy the way you want me to. Keep clenching your legs, kitten. You'll be spreading them soon enough.” He smirked as he placed a kiss behind your ear, leaving afterward and you glared at his retreating figure. Teasing jerk. You checked the time, seeing class was about to start and making your way to the classroom.

“How was your break?”

“It was amazing. A few of my girlfriends came up and we spent time going to clubs and having spa days.” You knew you weren't supposed to eavesdrop but the fact Ms. Lee is alone with Taehyung made your blood boil. Every conversation they had always had her trying to flirt with him.

“Clubbing? You still have time for that?”

“Maybe you should join me sometime.”

“Good morning.” You opened the sliding door, not wanting to hear his answer and taking a seat.

“Morning, Y/N.”

“Good morning, Y/N. How was your break?” As if her flirtatious behaviour didn't annoy you enough, she was always trying to be friendly with you. You’ve brushed her off on every attempt she made but she kept trying. Gotta admire her persistence.

“It was fine.” You looked at the clock, watching the seconds pass in silence and the class quickly starting to fill with students and your friend skipped to her seat next to you.

“It's freezing out there.” She said as she leaned against you.

“Did you walk?”

“Not all of us have an older brother that drops them off.”

“Maybe I can convince him to carpool with you.”

“What happened to you? Did you get abducted by aliens in the past two weeks?” You hit her side, making her wince while she laughed.

“I’m just being nice, maybe I should let you be an icicle this winter.”

“There's my Y/N.” You rolled your eyes, your friend smiling along with you. Taehyung cleared his throat, easily silencing the room with the simple sound.

“Morning, girls.”

“Good morning, Mr. Kim.” The class choruses and he smiled. He went on, asking a few girls how their break was and began assigning roles for Hamlet.

“Hello, Hamlet.” You glared at him while he playfully smiled. Hamlet was an arrogant maniac, obsessed with the idea of his uncle killing his father and drove himself mad thinking he was the one who could avenge his father’s angry spirit.

“Haha, very funny.” A few girls were giggling as he put the sash over your shoulders.

“Fine, I almost got you, didn't I?”

“Your friend here,” he gestured to your friend next to you and he gestured to you next, “will be Hamlet and you, my dear are my Ophelia.”

He sent you a quick wink before giving out other roles. Ms. Lee followed him around as he briefed everyone on their roles. You barely paid attention, just wanting to leave the classroom. The air was clouded with cheap perfume from Ms. Lee and your friend kept poking you with her foam sword.

“Now before you all go, the Arts department has decided to go to a winter concert from visiting art schools from Europe. Ms. Lee will give you all permission slips and I hope you all join this fun event.” He looked at you at the end, the sudden eye contact made you squirm in your seat. His eyes were so intense, it felt as if his eyes were undressing you and peering into your soul.

“Class dismissed.”

He sat in his chair as you packed your bag and sat on your desk.

“Come here, kitten. You can play with me now.”

“Why don't you come here and get me?” His eyes flickered to yours, his eyes burning you as if you touched an open flame. He walked over to you, his slender fingers pulling on his silk tie. His dress shirt came unbuttoned soon as after, his toned chest exposed to you. You missed his honey golden complexion, his skin radiating heat as his hand snake up your sides.

“I thought you were going to be a good girl for me?”

“I thought you knew better, Taehyung.” You said as his lips merely hovered over yours, his hand caressing your breast and the other resting on your cheek.

“Tsk. I was about to let you do whatever you want, kitten,” his finger ran over your bottom lip, pulling it out a little before he pulled off his tie.

“Follow my lead.” You could tell by the darkest of his eyes, he wasn't going to be easy on you anymore.

“Does it feel good? Tell me.”

“Y-Yes, so fucking good.” He tore up your tights, exposing your drenched underwear. He bent you over his table and began to spank you while he controlled a vibrator on your clit.

You had to keep your legs spread while he watched you try to control your orgasm. He smirked at your moans, you scratching the desk as you mindlessly try to grip anything.

“Do you want to cum, kitten?”

“Taehyung, please. Please let me cum, I need to-” He turned off the vibrator, you opening your mouth to curse him out before you felt his tongue press against you. He placed his hands on your ass, squeezing the flesh as he licked your cunt fervently.

“F-Fuck.” He ate you out until you came, your legs trembling and he hummed against your cunt.

He grabbed a cloth, cleaning you up before fixing your skirt. You dusted over it a little, fixing your sweater and he watched you. He moved away your hands, fixing the bow around your neck and helping you fix up your hair. Was he always this observant of you?

“Thank you.”

“Come to the music concert, Y/N.”

“It's not my type of thing.”

“Do you really want to leave me alone with Ms. Lee?”

“If you think you're just going to toy with me, I hope you know that our… interactions are purely sexual.”

“Our interactions, huh? Is that why you were jealous of Ms. Lee? Walking out the cafeteria when she put her hand on my chest?” He stepped closer to you as he spoke and you moved back with every step he took. “Tossing the script at me when we were reenacting that scene? I wrote those lines, they weren't part of the original script. And you fell into the trap.”

“I’m just a great actress, Mr. Kim. See you tomorrow.” You barely escaped, knowing he wasn't going to follow you when you saw the fox enter the classroom.

Am I really going leave him alone with her?

“I can't believe you dragged me here.” Your friend whined as you dragged her through the large hall. You tried to convince yourself you only showed up because it was free and you rather not stay home with your brother on Friday night.

“It’ll be fun. There could be cute band boys from France.”

“They're foreign? And cute? Count me in.” You were glad that rung her in and followed the theatre, a few girls already there and sure enough, Taehyung was talking to Ms. Lee. That bitch can't be away from him for more than 3 fucking seconds, can-

“Y/N, you made it. I’m really glad you decided to come.” Ms. Lee said to you but your eyes were on Taehyung. His smirk was evident, you fell for his trap on d again but this time you had a plan You sat down near a cute guy in the crowd and your friend finding her own. His face went blank, his eyes on you as you began to chat with the boy. Ms. Lee tried to distract him, you glancing at him trying to be immersed in whatever she was saying.

“You know you're really cute.” You would glad you decided to wear a dress to this event, teasing Taehyung and all the guys that were there. Maybe making him jealous would be an easy goal to accomplish.

“I could say the same about you.” He flirted with you, your comments just as flirtatious as the concert commenced. You touched the boy’s arm, smiling at him as he made a lame joke. He kept trying jokes of the same variety, eating up your fake laughs and you switched the topic.

“You know, you're the first girl that likes my jokes.” That's a shocker.

“I wonder what other things I could be your first for.”

“How about the first girl to make out with in public?”

“Lengthy but I like the idea.” He leaned in, you being yanked away from him and you looked at the one who dragged you.

“You two. You're in a ton of trouble young lady. Come on.” He pulled you by your arm and you read his body language. His jaw locked, his teeth slowly grinding and his tight grip on your wrist all meant one thing. He was jealous and angry.

“You think you're so smart, don't you kitten?”

“I do call myself a genius.” He pulled you outside, going to his car and pressed you against the hood of the car.

“Then try and talk yourself out of this one, genius.” He turned you around, his hand roughly caressing your ass with a few slaps in between.

“I wanted to make you jealous.” He pulled up the skirt of your dress, disregarding your panties and directly smacking your ass. You felt his fingers rubbed against your clit before burying them into the pool of wetness and heat your count was producing.

“F-Fuck, I-I guess it worked.”

“You like this, kitten? You think you could make me mad and get what you want?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“On your knees” You obliged, his hand forcefully pulling your head close to his cock. He watched your hand palm over his hardening erection and you tested him a bit. You could tell from the growl that he made he wasn’t going to be patient with you anymore. You pulled out his cock, stroking him immediately and he scoffed at you.

“That’s cute, kitten. Open your fucking mouth.” He made you do it anyways, his hand squeezing your cheeks to open your mouth and sticking his dick into your mouth. You couldn’t control the pace of his thrusts, his cock ramming inside your mouth and he made you swallow him a few times as well. He chased his own pleasure, his cock beginning to twitch inside your mouth before he pulled out.

“Is that all you got?”

“Get into the fucking car and take that piece of fabric off before I tear it off that body of yours.” You got into his car, the backseat folded in and a space large enough for two bodies was made. Did he have a feeling that he would be doing this? You slipped out of your dress and looked out the windows. For a moment, you hadn’t realized how rough Taehyung could be with you. Especially a jealous version of himself.

“What? Are you looking for the fucking no name that touched your thigh, kitten?” He pulled you back into his chest, his hand roughly kneading your breast as his hand slipped between your legs and his lips left a trail of hickeys down your neck. You were hopeless, shamelessly moaning Taehyung’s name and begging him not to stop.

“I thought you knew that you were mine. These breasts, your sweet cunt, even this sassy mouth is all mine. Don’t you dare think that you can belong to anyone else but me, understood?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good kitten.” You relaxed to the sound of your nickname, that moment short-lived as his cock entered you. A gasp escaped your lips as he waited for a moment before moving his hips. He kissed behind your ear before nibbling on the fleshy lobe. You were being held back by hands holding you up when he let you fall onto your hands and knees. He resumed his spanking, each slap only intensifying the pleasure that was coursing through your veins.

The sound of his groans overwhelmed your ability of coherent thought, the way his voice dropped an octave that was deeper than any of the baritones that were in the concert. His breathy cursing was mellifluous, his throaty groan was more beautiful than any piece of music you could ever listen to and no sound could never compare.

Your moans, whimpers and whines were all you could communicate, the sound of skin to skin a metronome in your head as his cock gave you euphoric pleasure that you couldn’t deny. A stutter was all you could muster before you came undone. You barely hold yourself up, Taehyung easing you up by your hips and you turned around to face him. He allowed you to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips, the presence of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip almost made you go in for another kiss.

“Is this what you wanted, kitten?”

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