#this one was written by my pussy so jot that down | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sorryimanon · 3 years

Text

Pairings: Bakugou x fem!Reader

Tags: 18+, dirty talk, explicit scenes, mutual masturbation, penetration, bakugou being a switch, reader is a dom, lots of back and forth between characters, slow burn

A/N: this was supposed to be divided into two parts but surprise, surprise! i got lazy :) i had so much writing this. this might be my favorite fic ive written so far! this is a loooong one. enjoy!

P.S this is the unedited ver. I will posting the final on my AO3 account (sorryimanon)

Katsuki disliked her. No, he absolutely loathed her. Ever since she stepped foot into the classroom, it was destined for there to be a hostile barrier between the two of them. Granted, all she did was sweetly greet him like the rest of her fellow classmates, but Katsuki completely saw through her fading facade and ignored the kind gesture with a threatening showcase of his quirk.

"Being nice won't get you anywhere, baka," he snarled, glaring intensely at her all the while everyone watched the whole scene unfold.

He treated her like a foolish peasant after that initial encounter, disregarding her in any way shape or form as disgust shone through his eyes.

Y/N persevered the oncoming school years despite the blonde breathing down her neck consistently everyday. Katsuki's aggressive nature towards her subsided once graduation commenced, alluding to the blossoming maturity each student should have endured before branching off into hero work.

Not long after the celebratory succession, y/n bounced to several agencies that offered the same beneficial agreements for her. None caught her attention. Until one day she received a recommendation from Endeavor himself to work full time at his agency. Of course she accepted it and immediately wrote her sloppy signature down on the contract. Unbeknownst to her excitement, a separate copy of the contract was sent to another uprising hero around her age group.

So when she strutted in that morning of orientation, she never expected to see the very infamous Katsuki Bakugou slouched on one of the many chairs in the meeting room. Her throat tightened as she took a seat next to him, his height still freakishly tall even when they were just sitting. Staring straight forward to prevent from any means of eye contact with him, he lowered his head at her eye level and crooked a half smile.

"I'm gonna make you regret for even considering joining here, extra." A fleck of his spit hit the side of her face. Learning from her past encounters with Katsuki, y/n held her tongue in hopes for him to feel satisfied enough to leave her alone.

Thankfully their office hours were inconsistent to where they didn't intervene with each other, neither of them awkwardly meeting in the lobby or an elevator. However, sometimes y/n and Bakugou would desire the same craving for a caffeinated beverage and find themselves standing shoulder to shoulder by the coffee machine.

Bakugou likes his coffee black, she mentally jotted down as she intently watched his usual routine of preparing the beverage.

Like the asshole he is, Bakugou would purposely tip the mug and let a few trickles of the hot liquid burn her hand. He's done this every single time before he leaves y/n alone in the break room. Deep down, he relishes in the strained expression on her face when he inflicts the pain upon her. Thoughts danced across his head. Some involving him blasting y/n into the stratosphere to her kissing the tips of his boots for mercy. Either way, her being so submissive and, dare he say, a pussy to stand her ground sufficed him enough for the time being. But sometimes it pissed him off.

The constant harassment by the angry blonde went unnoticed by their other colleagues, including Endeavor, leaving y/n to prepare every morning to face the wrath of Katsuki Bakugou. His verbal abuse never wavered, occasionally whispering under his breath "weakling" or "stupid girl" whenever the pair were in the same room together. One time he sent her on a wild goose chase to find a missing case file that miraculously disappeared from her desk while she was copying something in the other room. Hours later, she soon discovers the said file tucked behind Katsuki's arm, snatching it from his grip and not once reprimanding him for wasting her time. Y/N eventually got used to it. Adapting to the annual insults of her work ethics and anything he could muster up from his sleeve. Both finally accepted their twisted dynamic, and became accustomed to the work lifestyle.

Months later, the dynamic soon changed when Endeavor announced an emergency meeting with everyone in the building. Apparently a new wave of villains have been reigning terror over the city, causing major damages and fatalities in a matter of weeks. Rumors started to circulate that the new generation of heroes don't have the capabilities to apprehend this group of evil doers. In the meeting, Endeavor made it clear for everyone to be partnered up before he dismisses them to patrol for the night, suggesting that pairing up with someone who is complimentary to your quirk is efficient for when dealing with these kinds of villains.

That's why y/n didn't voice her complaint when she inevitably got matched with Bakugou. His quirk alone was powerful already. With both of their quirks combined, there's no telling how the mission will go, but she surprisingly feels safe knowing he'll be sticking by her side throughout the rest of the night. It'll be a quick mission, then they'll return back to their previous mundane duties in the office. Back to Katsuki's mental and verbal torment.

"Could you move any slower?" Katsuki barked as both he and y/n were taking a quick stroll through the public park, scoping out for any signs of danger.

She was a step behind him, careful not to bump his shoulder or invade his space. She mumbled out a quick apology and fastened her pace, catching up to the man in gear. Tonight he wore his alternative hero costume, the design made specifically for when the temperature reaches an undesirable degree. The collar touched below the tip of his chin, his chiseled chest covered with the thick black material, and his arms protected from the cold with the addition of sleeves.

"Fucking weakling..." she heard him mumble once they circled the perimeter again.

Bakugou insisted for them to scout out as many places as possible in hopes for an encounter. He desperately needs any excuse for some action, to use his quirk out of anger. Previously, they patrolled the empty plaza of Tatoone shopping center. Other heroes were there as well, but still no signs of any villains lurking in the dark. For the third time, they met up at the center of the park after making another round, both already tired of the tedious task.

"Just our fucking luck. Still no signs of those stupid villains. I guess we should patrol the outskirts of-."

A bright luminescent beam struck the middle of Bakugou's chest cavity, ricocheting him backwards to slam against the trunk of a large tree, knocking him unconscious instantly. Startled, y/n's eyes frantically searched for the perpetrator, only to meet a pair of glowing green orbs staring right back. She shifted her stance in preparation for their next attack, blocking Bakugou's lifeless body from the villains view. Another beam shot from the darkness, only this time y/n counter balanced the blow by rolling to side, the blast missing her by a couple of feet. Y/N quickly raised to her feet and ran head first towards the dark figure. Without preamble, the figure shot multiple beams at the hero, each one emitting from the void of their chest.

Y/N dodged the bright suffocating strips of light, her feet shuffling and heart racing due to the adrenaline rush. However, she miscalculated her next move which allowed the figure to strike her left shoulder when she was distracted for a split second. Pain shot throughout her shoulder blade. Eyes drawn to a close, her hand shot up to cradle the injury. The intense sensation started to spread from the upper half of her body to below. Everything suddenly became numb, including her sensors. She couldn't feel the tips of her digits nor move any part of her face. The muscles in her legs soon stopped contracting, resulting in her knees giving out. She felt the hard, coarse ground beneath her as the darkness began to swallow up her line of vision. The last thing she saw was a scuffed up Bakugou laying face flat on the drenched grass.

- Y/N stirred awake, lifting one of her half lidded eyes expecting to see the villain looming over her tired body. But all she saw was the popcorn ceiling sheltering her, an overhead fan turned on and the curtains tightly shut. She slowly inclined her body upright and peeled the covers from her clammy figure. Still in the process of waking up, she made her way to the attached bathroom by the bed and located the sink. She splashed the cold water on her face, letting the droplets drench the clothes she was currently wearing. Turning off the facet, she craned her head to view the damage on her shoulder in the mirror. But how come she couldn't recognize herself?

Tuffs of blonde spiked out from her head. Her eyes weren't the same color either. Red crimson irises replaced the ones she had before. The injury from last night on her shoulder wasn't there no more, but she took sight at how broad they became. And she wasn't wearing her typical pajama top and bottoms. This morning she was clad in a black tank top and a pair of soft sweat pants.

No, this can't be true. This has to be some sick nightmare. Jolting backwards on her heel, she let out a terrible shriek. After screaming for a good minute, she calmed down and rested her hands on the bathroom counter, transfixed on the reflection in front of her.

"I-I somehow transformed into Bakugou!" The deep timbre voice of bakugou replaced her own. She tugged on the unkept hair and knitted her eyes shut. "This is only a dream. I'm dreaming right? I can't possibly be in Bakugou's body."

A loud ringing noise alerted y/n to open her eyes again. It was coming from her bedroom. Correction, his bedroom. She glanced at herself in the mirror one more time before retrieving the phone that was stuffed in a green duffel bag. Her eyes widened. She recognized her phone number on the screen. Knowing the circumstances, she pressed answered and awaited for the receiver on the other end to speak.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

"So, we somehow switched bodies because of being struck by that villains quirk the other night. How long did they say this will last then?" Y/N questioned Bakugou the following morning once they agreed to meet up somewhere in private. Right now they were sitting across from each other on a stone bench by the lake, the morning sun peaking through the tall skyscrapers behind them.

Bakugou shrugged his shoulders, technically hers, and said, "Endeavor informed me it'll probably linger for a good week. He also wanted us to not be on duty till we recuperate from this, saying that the side effects will drain our bodies." He couldn't muster up the courage to stare at her, because all he would see is the reflection of himself. "Unfortunately the villain fled the scene before the others arrived to retrieve us. They're still out there causing havoc."

"This is freaking weird."

"Fucking."

Y/N tilted her head in confusion. Across from her, Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in frustration.

"If you're gonna be me for a whole week then you might as well not sugar coat my vocabulary-dumbass."

Right, she now has to devote her time and effort into mirroring Bakugou's explosive personality. But that also means he too has to put on a show in order to persuade everyone he was her.

"Oh, okay..." she started but tensed up when realizing Bakugou was gazing expectantly at her. "D-Dumbass?"

Katsuki groaned as he rolled his eyes at her failed attempt of portraying him.

"This is going to be a long ass week."

- Bakugou grunted in disgust as he scavenged through y/n's closet for something to wear. Every piece of clothing so far hasn't met his criteria of approval to put on his body. There was an unnecessary amount of yoga pants and the most ugliest oversized graphic tees he's ever laid his eyes upon stored in her drawer. Growing up in a household of highly praised designers, the influence shifted his taste in fashion over the years. So, he made the rational decision to make a quick trip to the mall and purchase a few outfits for himself. Considering he's going to be in this body for a whole week, maybe even more, he might as well present himself looking ten times better than she ever has.

He tittered around the mall window shopping, entering store after store leaving with a handful of clothes in plastic and paper bags. So far he bought some outfits that edged a little on the fancy side, but paid no mind to his bank account. Bakugou guesstimated y/n's size during the venture, not wanting to pry or see what's underneath these restricting fabrics. He was about to leave when a frilly-pink themed store caught his attention.

It's a lingerie store, Bakugou thought as he neared closer to the entrance.

Posters inside the displays showcased attractive half naked women clad in nothing but the delicate material. Not to mention they were all posing seductively. An involuntary image of y/n flashed across his eyes, her imitating the same lustrous pose as well as wearing the sheer lingerie like the women behind the glass. Steams of heat practically blowed out from his ears, along with the embarrassing shade of pink panting his cheeks. He clamped a hand on his mouth, eyes widen in disbelief.

The fuck did I just imagine? There's no way in hell that just happened!

He must've been loitering there for awhile because a young girl, possibly his age, was standing in the threshold of the store wearing a pastel pink apron, giving him a welcoming smile.

She spoke, "Looking to shop for something, ma'am?"

Remembering back to y/n's distasteful clothing, he noted that she also lacked having any 'pretty' undergarments. It wasn't that he intentionally raided through her underwear, he just so happen to have stumbled upon the almost empty drawer by accident. In retrospect, he's doing her a favor. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Yes actually. Can you show me your most expensive set?" - "To your left! That dudes been camping by that spot since the match. He'll snipe you in the open!" Kirishima informed y/n as they both sat criss cross on the cushioned couch.

They've been playing the same game for hours. Y/N prayed for at least one water break or grab something quick to eat since they haven't moved an inch from their spots. Kirishima promised after this match he'll order some takeout for the both of them, but he said the same thing 8 matches ago. All she could do for now was pretend to be immersed in the game, getting a couple of impressive kills here and there, subsequently ranking her to a bronze level. Her digits were beginning to cramp up due to the repetitive moments of smashing down on the labeled buttons on the wireless controller. The screen across from them suddenly went dark and flashed the scoreboard from the recent match. Another successful victory.

"BOOYAAA!!!!" Kirishima clapped his hands and did a celebratory dance. "Ah, good game Bakugou."

Y/N flinched from hearing the blondes name.

"Kirishima, it's Y/N," she reluctantly reminded him.

Kirishima's whole demeanor went south. He chucked out a dry laugh and nervously started rubbing the back of his neck.

"R-Right sorry. Couldn't help myself. I mean, I am looking at Bakugou. Same face, voice, hair, and scary eyes."

After being battered by the villains quirk, Kirishima and Sun Eater were the ones to retrieve them before law enforcement shortly arrived once the perpetrator fled the scene. They were all under one strict oath to not mention this to the public, or else everyone’s image will tarnished and skew the potential of our future rankings.

"I know. I'm still trying to process this whole thing. I've been avoiding all the mirrors in the apartment since I came back." Y/N stood up from the couch and sauntered over to her designated bedroom for the week. She reached for the door handle but stiffened when a pair of hardened hands rested on her broad shoulders.

"Aye, don't worry so much. I bet you Bakugou is thinking the same thing. This week will be over before you know it," he absentmindedly began massaging the area between your shoulder blades and neck.

Does he always treat Bakugou like this despite that nasty little Pomeranian being a complete asshole to everyone?

"Kirishima?"

"Yeah?"

"What is Bakugou like around you?"

The red head hummed to himself at the random question, thinking of a perfect answer to her curiosity.

"The same how he was in high school except more tamer I guess. But I enjoy his presence none the less."

Then why does he seem to unleash his untamed feelings towards me specifically?

Y/N sighed, obviously not satisfied with that answer.

"Out of everybody, he seems to despise me more and more like it's a game," she said without realizing.

"You know how he is Y/N. He's very abrasive and blunt when it comes to other people's emotions, but deep down I know he only acts like that because he wants to present a strong image in front of everyone," he started. "He's scared of others looking down on him, I know that for sure. But I always looked up to Bakugou from the day I personally got to know him. So, I guess he just stayed by my side because of my admiration for him."

Bakugou is always putting up a front then.

"Interesting...well I'm gonna go to bed now. Thanks for keeping me company," y/n said once again reaching for the knob and opening the door, ignoring the red heads pleas for her not go to sleep on an empty stomach. -

The next day Bakugou found himself inside y/n's bathroom, feet firmly planted on the tiled floor not daring to move an inch. Even though he wasn't in his own body that didn't stop him from paying a visit to the gym this morning. He went extra hard on every machine, not caring about the wandering eyes men gave him while he dead lifted weights. Drenched in nothing but his own glistening sweat, Bakugou entered y/n's small apartment as he dragged his tired feet to the bedroom he was now familiarized with.

Something foul wafted into his nostrils, almost making him teary eyed to the stench. He tried to recall the last time he took a shower. Vaguely he remembers washing his body the morning before he got attack by the powerful quirk. It's been several days since then. This was one thing he didn't want to endure during his experience of switching bodies. He's been neglecting his own hygiene to avoid seeing y/n's exposed body parts. Changing out from her clothes with closed eyes was difficult enough, but taking a fucking shower?! Such a shitty predicament. But he can't smell like this for the remainder of being stuck in this body. He'll die of suffocation.

Ah fuck, that must mean she has to take a shower as well. Or worse, she already has and saw everything.

His eye twitched, lips trembling in fear at what he's about to witness.

Fuck it, I can't go out smelling like shit!

With shaky fingers he began stripping, eyes trained on anything but y/n's figure, the faint sound of the water streaming white noise to him. Her gym clothes piled on the floor, Katsuki slipped into the shower, head titled slightly to view only the shower head. He messed around with the chrome handle, indecisive on what temperature he wanted. Settled onto cold to awaken his sluggish state, he positioned himself under the shower head, goosebumps prickling his skin due to the sudden drop of temperature. Water droplets streamed down and canaled to his lower regions, the sensation relaxing his anxiousness just a smidge. He surveyed the options y/n had laid out for hair care products and grabbed the nearest one. Rubbing the body wash into the palms of his hands, he caught himself, arm mid raised getting ready to wash each crevice of his body.

Shit shit shit shit

The hand in front of him began shaking.

She won't know. It's not like I'm touching her sexually, I'm just keeping her clean for fucks sake!

As gentle as he could, Bakugou washed away the soapy residue, fingers cautiously ghosting over anything perking out. A moment too soon, he accidentally skimmed over her chest a little too fast, the tips of his fingers touching something that was hard and protruding. His breathing hitched.

I just felt her fucking nipple!

But fuck, it strangely felt quite pleasant. Pleasurable even if he had to admit.

He continued on with his previous ministrations, cupping her boobs like a madman and swiping one thumb over the taunt surface to test the waters. A fierce, tingling sensation surged shivers down his spine. An unsolicited low moan spurred out from the blonde.

"Hah!"

What the hell?! Why am I still touching her tits? And why am I enjoying it?

Finishing up his routine quickly, Bakugou snatched a towel from the cabinet and rubbed away all the sinful thoughts desperately from his head, a constant fight between his morals and neediness. Nobody will never know what he committed in the confines of her own apartment. And it'll fucking stay like that till on his death bed.

I practically assaulted her. I'm so fucking disgusting

For the rest of the remaining day, Bakugou planned on meeting up with Kirishima to hangout. He wanted to coerce the red head into talking about anything other than y/n. His mind needs the relief. He needs this spell to be over with.

He can't stand trying to fit into women's jeans any longer - Kirishima woke up that morning to a chorus of shrieks. Girlish shrieks, might he add. He thought maybe the neighbors were selfishly doing not-so-holy-things at the peak of dawn. But him and Katsuki were resided on the highest level of the penthouse, them being the only residents on the empty floor. It clicked once he heard his name through the thin walls.

"Ah! Y/N I'm coming!" He leaped from his bed and reached y/n's, technically Bakugou's, room in a matter of seconds.

Y/N's body twitched to the sound of the door being slammed open, the impact rattling the very few wall decorations in the blondes space. Standing in the threshold was the friendly red head, huffing and puffing air out of his chest like he just got done running a marathon.

"K-Kiri! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up!" Her words afterwards became a jumbled mess, realizing the predicament she pushed herself into.

"Hey, hey, calm down! Tell me what's wrong. It sounded like you were in pain. Did you hurt yourself anywhere?" The red had to remind himself this was indeed another person inside Bakugou's body, because Bakugou would never apologize repeatedly for the sake of apologizing in his entire life.

Y/N was looking quite pallid now, sheepishly tugging on the black covers of the bed, trying to find the easiest way on how to lay this out to her new roommate.

"Well...I just...I woke up to - ah crap."

Instead of explaining her situation, she pulled back the blanket to show kiri the thing protruding between her uncommonly, muscular legs. Kirishima's eyes widen instantaneously, eating up the pitched tent inside her basketball shorts. Oddly enough, this wasn't his first rodeo upon seeing the blonde with a boner. They were dudes. And dudes living together were bound to witness each other's 'flesh swords', he'd like to put it.

"Oh, morning wood? That's pretty normal. Nothing to fret y/n!" He dismissed her with the wave of his hand. "Bakugou gets them all the time! In fact, I remember he'd get them after sparring sessions back in our U.A days-."

"Okayyyyy, Never mind that! I know I have a boner. Just exactly how do I get rid of it?!"

"You mean, you don't know? Haven't you been taught this in Sex Ed class?" Kiri was actually curious as to why she doesn't know nor remember. He surly does. Learning about the human body by the infamous sultry teacher, Midnight, engraved so much information into his tiny-teenage brain.

"That was considered an extra curricular class. I took a CPR class instead."

"Right well, from what she taught us and from my own personal experience, you gotta rub one out."

Y/N's whole face contorted into a confused mess of disgust.

"Rub a what now?" She asked, although she had a feeling what the euphemism meant.

Kiri's face blotched red, the tint flushing to his chest as well. The man was evidently embarrassed about having this conversation with someone who wasn't Bakugou.

"I essentially mean you gotta masturbate. Ya know, in order to calm down your boner," he paused seeing how distraught y/n became. "It won't hurt I promise you! Don't worry, it feels really good! Like, eating ice cream good! Ah no that's not a good analogy!"

"This is so fucking horrifying..." Y/N poked at the thing, rightfully known as his dick, and kept starring as if it might miraculously subside to its original size.

Kiri coughed, grabbing her attention away from Bakugou's dick.

"He has lotion stashed in his drawer," he started, but malfunctioned seconds later. He revealed something private to someone that bakugou condemned as a 'weakling'. "That is if you need it for lubricant. It's kind of tough to jerk off dry..." his sentence fell off midway.

Y/N mumbled out an "Ok", and retrieved said lotion from the lower bunk of his drawers. She felt a pair of eyes on her. Kiri was still standing awkwardly by the doorway, unsure wether or not if that's his cue to leave.

"Um, thanks Kiri. You can leave now," she plopped back onto Bakugou's king sized bed.

This man sleeps alone. He doesn't need a ginormous bed all to himself.

"R-Right! Well, enjoy jerking off- ah no I meant - I didn't word that correctly! Ah geez, see ya later!" He sprinted out the door like his life depended on it.

Locking the door behind her, y/n forced herself into the attached bathroom, the lotion burning the palms of her hand each second. Once she settled down on the lid of the toilet, she shimmied out from his loose basketball shorts, letting them pool at her ankles.

If there's one thing she learned that morning, it was that being a man had its weird benefits. - "Slow down Bakugou! Let me at least catch up before you black out!" Kirishima was on his third shot while Bakugou just downed his sixth one for the night.

The blonde growled under his breath and tugged the red head by his collar to his mouth.

"Fucking idiot, don't call me that. It's y/n when we're out in public," he loosens his grip and snatches kiri's shot and tips his head back to drain it all down his throat, the burning sensation long gone.

"Ugh, my brain can't keep up with this whole switching body shit. It's been so hard back at the apartment." He internally cringes from the recollection of y/n popping her first boner this morning.

"What do you mean? Has that dumbass been giving you a hard time? If she has, I'll give her a piece of my mind."

"Not at all! She's been a saint while living with me. Which by the way, how come you can't just live at the penthouse while y/n stays at her place?

While Kirishima was talking, Bakugou ordered another round of shots. The bartender shoved a whole bottle of Fireball towards the man, saving him in the future to not ask anymore. The young server gave Bakugou a sly wink and returned back to serving other customers down the line. Cheeks flushed red, Bakugou thinks the man behind the bar was being too nice for his liking. He poured two more shots while keeping an eye on the average looking employee. If kirishima kept babbling, he might as well funnel the entire bottle in one sitting.

"I'm just following endeavors orders. We're not supposed to gain attention from those stupid reporters that camp outside our penthouse," he takes another swing of the warm liquid. "I'd rather fucking be quirkless than mistaken for having any rumored relations with her."

"Can I ask a genuine question? How come you hate y/n so much?"

"I don't hate her, I dislike her. There's a difference."

"I don't know man. Sometimes I mistaken your dislike with love."

"EXCUSE ME? IM NOT IN LOVE OF THAT BITCH?!"

"C'mon dude, I'm sensing a lot of denial from you. Also, shouldn't you be acting like her right now? She's very soft spoken if I'm not mistaken,"

"I'm not in denial idiot. I hate how soft she speaks. I hate how sickeningly kind she is even though nobody deserves it. I hate how she wastes her talented quirk and doesn't see the potential. She's a lost cause Kiri. She won't last for much longer in this field if she keeps this up."

"Wow, for someone who dislikes her as such, you surly sound like you care about heeeerrrrrr," kirshima drawled out in a sing-song voice.

"Shut up and finish your shot, shitty hair."

When the blonde was driving back to her apartment later that night, he slammed his fists against the steering wheel when an afterthought came to him.

His whole reasoning as to why he went out in the first place, and he can't seem to restrict himself from talking about the girl he's trapped in.

Even in this goddamn body I can't seem to steer clear from y/n talk! - Izuku had to do a double take when he entered the small coffee shop. Something about seeing the pensive blonde sitting patiently in a booth by the corner really made him feel like he was sucked into another dimension. Today y/n was wearing a white v-neck with a wool green cardigan and tight black jeans.

Kacchan owns cardigans? He thought, clearly amused.

Upon hearing the ding coming from the door, Y/N raised her head from her phone and waved Izuku over to her table. The poor man seemed like he was going combust right there. It's been awhile since he's spoken to his old classmate.

The green haired hero slid into the booth across from her and immediately started speaking Deku language.

"H-Hey Kacchan! Boy it's been awhile hasn't it? I was a little stunned seeing your message this morning asking to hangout. I'm sorry that I couldn't meet up sooner. I had an early patrol shift from 9 to 5. You might know how that feels, right?! Oh gosh I'm sounding like an adult. Can you believe we're adults-."

"Midor- I mean Deku, I called you up to ask about if you have any leads on the villain with the body switching quirk?" She cut him off.

"Oh yeah, that villain has been spotted a few times since the last attack. Of course most of my team hasn't been able to reprimand them. A few close calls though. But I heard two people from your sector got hit by the quirk! Are they doing okay?"

I hate lying to those big freaking green eyes.

"That's not true. They got hurt, but no one was attacked by their quirk. I just need to know if you have any information on the quirk in particular and what to do in order to reverse it."

Underneath the table, Izuku fumbled inside his pockets in search for his mini notebook. He still obtained the habit of jotting down everything, literally everything, in hopes the information will provide any source of aide. Izuku became all jittery and excited at the thought of sharing anything with Kacchan!

The small, crinkled notebook was slid across the table, hitting the tips of y/n's knuckles.

"Page 124, the first indent I wrote. It's mainly about my own conspiracy on what the villains quirk is. That was before their first debut of course. But now since we know it's a type of body switching quirk, I tried to pin point on what exactly lifts the quirks effect on the victim," Izuku explained casually while y/n skimmed through the notes and passages. "I did a little detective work on my own and contacted the people who were attacked by the villain. From what I gathered, let's just say- it's a bit taboo ."

This piqued her interest.

"What do you mean by, taboo?"

The man began to wave his hands around fervently in attempt to steer the blonde away from prying more. But y/n swatted Izuku's hand and continued reading the sloppy inscriptions.

Her eyes popped out from her sockets.

"I have to what?!" A few civilians stared in their direction, obviously gravitated to the familiar gruff voice.

"Calm down Kacchan! Why are you so angry for?"

Y/N rubbed her temple all the while wanting to slowly die than endure anymore of this.

"Nothing. Just- Ugh...Is it alright if I borrow this?"

"Y-Yeah! Kacchan can borrow anything from me as long as he returns it!" There was that gleam again in his eyes.

"Thanks Izuku, I owe you one!" She squeezed the greenettes freckled hand before leaving the booth and the shop all together.

Still in the cafe, Izuku sat frozen as if someone walked in with gun. Internally though, he was screaming. -

Y/N: Please call me. It's urgent

It was a Friday night when Bakugou received the cryptic message from her. He was in the middle of watching his true crime show when the annoying ding from his phone went off. For once, he just wanted to relax his mind and go on auto pilot without stressing his already strained body. It's the whole principle of Friday's. To fuck off and ignore everyone. What's so fucking important for her to text him out of the blue then?

Another acute ding.

Bakugou peeked over his shoulder to see who disrupted him this time.

Y/N: Bakugou, we need to talk. This isn't something to ignore.

He rolled his eyes and retrained his focus on the tv screen.

Ding Ding Ding

"FOR FUCK SAKE!" He released an animalistic growl from the depths of his throat, scratching his voice box even more. His fingers typed away aggressively, not bothering to read her previous messages.

BK: Leave me the fuck alone. You're to only text me if it involves with the reverse of this stupid quirk 🖕🏼

Three dots appeared immediately after he sent that. Bakugou started losing his patience while waiting for her response. He hated wasting precious time, especially if there was a second party involved. Her message finally delivered. Bakugou's eyes grew larger in size as he read the text.

Y/N: that's why I'm texting you idiot 🙄 I met up with Midoriya today and he may have given me the solution to our problem.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip as he typed out his last text message to her.

BK: fine. come over then. we can talk about it when you get here.

This time he didn't wait for her to respond back and began cleaning her apartment. - Feeling nervous was an understatement. Y/N felt like she was driving herself to her own execution. Bakugou being the one to carry out the death sentence. She didn't doubt the blonde would be elated at the idea of her being put under a torture device.

Okay, maybe he wasn't too malice to actually do it, but he probably entertained the thought.

Thankfully Bakugou's penthouse wasn't far from her own apartment, saving her much needed gas in case he goes ballistic on her.

The door flew open when she arrived shortly after one knock, revealing a very sluggish looking Y/N shooting daggers at her. Well, at least her body wasn't dressed in bruises or burn marks. That's a win. Bakugou paired herself with a cute crop top and silky pajama shorts. He's got taste she'll give him that.

Her apartment remained exactly the same as she left it when they both were ordered to switch residency's. Only a few traces of Bakugou were found. Mainly in the kitchen, where all his fancy cooking equipment and utensils were laid out. Unlike him, she ate out almost every night due to the red head being incompetent in the kitchen. He almost burnt down the complex last night. He relied upon his friend to do most of the cooking in their household.

The blonde briskly brushed passed her to sit on the couch, slinging his feet on the coffee table to make himself comfortable. Too comfortable, she noted.

"Well, spill it. What did the damn nerd tell you that could help us with this shit?" He inquired without preamble.

Like a hero, she was here on a mission. A mission that needs to be completed as soon as possible, even if the mission itself was ludicrous. She reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve the mini book, and flipped soundlessly to the page Izuku marked for her.

"On here it says that the quirk can last up to a week, maybe even more, depending on the victim(s). The effected will experience dry eyes, nausea, insomnia, painful migraines, and uncontrollable shaking due to being inside another persons body. They must let the quirk take its course then," she read out loud, ignoring Bakugou's groans of annoyance. "But, for rare cases, there have been reports of one's libido being greatly impacted. The victim will be in constant, insurmountable pain unless they relief themselves, then the two bodies will return back to normal."

To her surprise, Bakugou didn't show an ounce of indignation after hearing this piece of information. He seemed almost indifferent.

And there's no denying the truth. Both of their hormones have been off the rails. Ever since the incident in the shower, Bakugou has caught himself numerous times touching Y/N's boobs. Coping a sly feel as he cooked, cleaned, and even while he scrolled through his social media. Sometimes her ass as well to see if it felt good in his hands. Y/N was no saint either. Sporting boners every hour for no particular reason. All the blood rushing to her lower region became unbearable when she didn't take care of it. Kirishima kept reassuring her that it's natural for a man to get them a lot. But how much was too much?

He threw his hands up in the air and scoffs. "That's it? I just gotta jack off and then we're free from this curse?"

This is the part she dreaded the most. An uncomfortable heat flash roused up her face, a deep shade of red inching across her cheeks and nose.

"No. That's not what it means. We basically have to...ya know...," she paused mid sentence, too bashful to finish, desperately wanting Bakugou to put two and two together.

She shrunk in her position as the blonde narrowed his eyes at her.

"We have to fuck each other?" He profoundly acclaimed.

"Don't put it like that! But yeah, technically, we have to...help relief each other in order to switch back."

"If you wanted to jump my bones so bad you could've just asked." He leans back against the couch, arm draped lazily over the shoulder of the furniture, along with a playful smirk tugging up on the corners of his mouth. Y/N's blood ran cold when she felt the tiniest twitch down below. Her borrowed reproductive organ is betraying her!

"Do you want to be in constant pain till this all wears off? Or do you want to get this over with and never talk to each other again?" Y/N shuffled more towards the abrasive man, a strong tidal wave of anger rising within her.

"It won't matter because you always wound up in my presence anyway. Like a fucking pest that won't leave me alone." Without realizing it, Bakugou got up from his spot on the couch and marched over to Y/N, who at the moment looked like she was about to pop a blood vessel.

Another thing he hated about switching bodies was the fact that everyone towered over him, despite him being on his tippy toes. The woman in front of him acclimated his height, giving her the upperhand if they were to battle it out right now. If anything he could kick her shins at best.

"Whatever...I'm leaving," was all she said before storming off to the front door, grabbing her things along with her as she grew farther from him.

Katsuki's legs were moving on their own. His hand reached out and grabbed Y/N's forearm, halting her movements altogether. She's clearly enraged, thrashing her body back and forth to loosen his grip on her. He eventually grew tired of her stubborness and secured his grip on both of her arms, trapping her between the door and his body, producing a loud 'thump!'. Although he was in her body, he still carried his strength. In a matter of seconds, both Y/N and Bakugou were chest to chest now, their centers tapping aganist each other. She averted her gaze to the floor, as if their shoes were more interesting than this whole shitshow of a dilema. Bakugou squeezed her shoudlers, a little too much for her liking, to gain her attention again.

"I didn't say no, did I?" he asked hotly, his warm breath hitting her collarbones. An ice cold shiver ran down her spine, causing her breathing to hitch. Bakugou noticed her sudden stiffness and began rubbing gentle circles into the tender flesh of her skin. "Hoho, someone's excited aren't they?"

Confused, Y/N furrowed her brows and backed up further into the wooden door. But her question was soon to be answered as she followed Bakugou's hungry gaze to the prominent bludge taunting from her pants. Betrayed once again by her unstable horniness!

"Guess I'm not the only one," she accuses once spotting the definite wet stain around Bakugou's crotch. He smirked at that.

"Take care of it then," his voice oozed of seduction and want, rewarding him another twitch in your tight pants. The libido was taking full effect now, any animosity they had before was thrown out the window. Past arguments also long forgotten. Their main priority at the moment was to experience the sweet relief of coming undone.

Y/N darted her hand down to the spot Bakugou needed attention from, and cupped his crotch with her abnormally large hand. Bakugou lets out a shaky exhale as her fingers danced around the sensitive area. One of her fingers moved instinctively, feeling how drenched he was in his panties, and rubbed the underside to get a better feel of the sex.

"You're so wet Bakugou," Y/N mused softly. She leaned forward, searching into Bakugou's eyes for any signs of him wanting this to end. But the pool of his irises were blown out, no tint of your original color in them anymore. "Do you want more?"

He nodded quickly, his hair bobbing up and down. Y/N chuckled and removed her hand from its previous position to the hem of Bakugou's shorts, teasingly toying the waistband. She slipped smoothly into his shorts, tickling him in the process, and toyed with the corners of his panties before moving them aside so she could have access to the thing she's been craving to touch. Wetness lathered up her fingers with just one swipe, causing Bakugou to purse his lips and shut his eyes tightly.

"Is Bakugou embarrassed? Are you mad that I have the upper hand now? After all those years of verbally tormenting me, you can't handle my simple touch?" She whispered dangerously close into his ear. During this, she couldn't tell if he was pissed or turned on. Maybe a mixture of both, but she took pride in his strained expression.

"W-Watch your goddamn mouth. Or do I need to shut you up myself, eh?" By shutting her up, he meant mirroring her exact ministrations. The petite hand of Bakugou's latched onto the zipper of her jeans, and impressively dragged it down in one swipe without getting anything caught. He reached into the tight restraints of her boxer briefs and pulled out the hardened dick. He clicked his tongue. "Not to sound like a narcissist, but you gotta admit, my dick looks pretty."

"Just shut up and jerk me off you asshole. I'm starting to see stars," She wasn't lying to speed up the process. Her body felt like it was on fire, including her dick. If Bakugou keeps stalling for the sake of punishing her, then he's going to be seeing white for days on end.

Bakugou tentatively began pumping her, his grip not too tight nor loose on the flesh. Y/N sighed in relief as he swiped his thumb over the slit, covering his fingers in her precum. Seeing that he's giving into her needs, she returned the favor by inserting her index finger inside, not allowing him to adjust once she massaged the velvety walls.

Bakugou arched into Y/N's body, panting harshly against her chest. "H-Hah fuck, slow down. Shit!"

"Take it like a champ, Mr.Dynamight."

"F-Fuck you."

Oh no. Probably shouldn't have patronized him, because Bakugou sped up his languid motions to pure vigorous jerking of the hand. A wave of pleasure shot up through her body, jolting backwards due to the intense sensation. Of course he's a pro at this. What isn't he good at?

Bakugou rested his head onto the crevice of your shoulder since he could only reach so far, and ghosted his lips on the skin, carefully restricting himself to not engage in kissing the area. While doing so, he cupped the underside of your balls, rolling them around in his small hands. They looked so big when being manhandled in her grasp. Y/N stifled her moans as he kept messing with them, all the while stroking her simultaneously. She felt him smile. The cheeky fucker! Two could play it at this game.

Y/N used one of her thumbs that weren't preoccupied inside Bakugou to massage the only place she knew that could make him cum in seconds. Two fingers inside, one thumb attentively on the clitorous. It was enough to make Bakugou bite down on her shoulder, trying to prevent any moans from escaping his mouth.

"Moan for me Bakugou. I know you want to," she tried to persuade him with more strokes to the clit, occasionally pinching it with her unoccupied fingers. She can feel he was close. So was she. But she needed to coerce him into helping her to finish too. They need to be a team. "Say something Bakugou. Don't you want to cum? If you don't speak your mind I'm going to stop." She couldn't believe the words that were spewing from her mouth. Y/N has never dirty talked before. Nor has she gotten this far with anyone without freezing up. Definitely the libido effect.

Bakugou detached his teeth from her shoulder and stared deeply into her eyes. Pleading.

"Go faster. Please." The want and neediness in his voice said it all.

He indeed felt vulnerable and exposed right then and there when confessing his desire, but he couldn't care less. Her fingers inside him were heavenly. A mantra of ,"yesyesyesyesyesyes", left his throat as her ministrations didn't falter.

"Fuck! Keep going. Just like that- shit - just like that... yesssss." His moans were beautiful. Not because they sounded like hers, but the way how he vocalizes his pleasure made sense in the world. Every whimper or moan puts her closer to the edge.

"Are you- are you about to?" He asked quietly, as though he was afraid you might stop at any rate.

"Yes! So close, just keep stroking," it was difficult to form sentences after that, the build up tension in your stomach tightening like a ticking time bomb, making your pleads indecipherable.

But Bakugou didn't want to hear that. He wanted to her to say those three words of encouragement.

Make. Me. Cum

And then, as if his thoughts were broadcasted live, she snaked her hands into the locks of his hair and pulled him close to where the tips of their noses touched briskly.

In a small voice she whimpers out, "Make me cum, Katsuki."

Listening to her instructions, his grip tightened around the base of her shaft and began teasing the slit, never once averting his glare from her own. Y/N's legs turned into jello. It became harder and harder to stand any longer. She needed to release. She quickened her pace and brutally scissored his pussy, the erotic sounds of their wetness reverberating in the tiny apartment.

"Cum then baby. Cum for me only."

Baby

Next thing she knew a strip of white shot out from below, dirtying the hands of Bakugou's. Her body began to spasm. Katsuki didn't loosen his grip, the stimulation becoming unbearable at this point.

The coil within him loosened, the evidence of his climax coating her fingers, allowing his orgasum to reach its full potential.

The pair blacked out for a split second, but recuperated once the light hit their corneas again.

"Shit." "Fuck." "..." "..."

Silence. Then the realization hit.

"I'm staring at you and not me! It worked! Hallelujah!" Y/N exclaimed, feeling herself to make sure it wasn't a hallucination.

"Gross. You got cum all over my expensive shirt," he said, wiping away the white substance with his sleeve.

Both of them went into the kitchen to clean the after math. Bakugou would grunt occasionally in disgust, sponging away the grime. Y/N throughly washed her hands and towel dried them, thoughts stiffly empty and vexed. She broke the awkward tension.

"Well, I guess we should call Endeavor and inform him that we switched back."

He hummed in agreement.

"And we should probably exchange our things tomorrow or tonight, but preferably soon since we're going to be on duty again."

Another grunt.

"Don't worry about me mentioning this to anyone. We can just keep whatever happened minutes ago between us-

Bakugou cut her off entirely by smashing his lips against hers. Shell shocked by his action, Y/N kept her eyes wide open whilst Bakugou's were knitted shut. She laid her hands on his chest and shoved him away harshly, putting their distance at arms reach.

"Bakugou, what the hell? All of sudden you want to kiss me?" Y/N's face fell, contorting into a mixture of sadness and confusion. "You only kiss people you like. Not hate."

Bakugou moved towards Y/N slowly, a hint of a smile forming as he neared closer.

"And that's exactly why I did it, idiot," he proclaimed confidently, cupping the side of her face. The touch was so tender and gentle she forgot that it was Bakugou at first.

"You're toying with me, aren't you? The libido is probably still lingering. If you really liked me, then tell me the exact moment you did."

Without hesitation he said, "The first day of school. When you walked in."

Y/N slapped the hand from her face, her skin flushing red by his blunt confession.

"Stop lying. You were mean to me the first day of school. And every day after that. I don't think calling people a "weakling" or "stupid" constitutes as liking someone."

All he did was chuckle and continued scooting closer, eventually towering above her. She squirmed underneath him. She secretly missed having his height.

"You're absolutely stupid if you think I really meant any of that crap. I may have gone overboard on the whole berating thing, but that was just my way of pushing my feelings away, in hopes you'd improve better and not take shit from people like me."

"Ya know, it's kind of hard to detect that when you were practically spitting on my face."

He leaned down and pecked a chaste kiss on the crown of her forehead.

"You can call me all the names you want later. Kick my ass if ya want, but for now let me make it up to you," he whispers before planting his mouth to hers again, only this time she didn't protest.

Heat swirled within her as she watched Katsuki's eyes flutter close, enriched in the moment to open them, and gripped the base of her neck to apply more pressure into the kiss. The man guided her as he moved his plushed lips ontop of hers, consuming the pretty noises she made. And my, were they absoultey rich coming from her.

I want to hear more, the selfish thought banged repeatedly inside his lust filled mind.

Y/N nervosuly closed her eyes shut when Katsuki's wet tongue prodded the entrance of her tight, lipped mouth. Letting him take full control, Katsuki managed to enter the strong muscle into her wet mouth and explored the canvernous place with such eagerness, such tenacity. Like he's been dying to do this for as long as his skillful mind can remember. Y/N found herself moaning as Katsuki grabbed her waist and forcefully collieded their bodies together, her soft breasts pressed up against his hard chest. Her perky tits put him in a trance, remincseing back to the day when first touched them, the guiltiness eating him up from the inside-out. Katsuki slithered one of his hands to the taunt boob and gave it a firm squeeze, causing Y/N to squeak out in embarrasement. They still feel fucking amazing in his hands.

"You're so fucking cute," he drew back from her, already out of breath. Everything was hitting him like a tsunami. He can finally admit to himself that he's been wanting this since they became co-workers. Hell, since the fucking beginning. Younger Katsuki would deem him as a horny loser who lost at his own game, but he wasn't a damn kid anymore.

"K-Katsuki...bedroom?" her hands found their way back into his crisp locks, futher egging him to comply. The small action made him moan.

"Fuck yes," Katsuki growled out and in a haste hooked his arms underneath the back of Y/N's thighs, hoisting her in the air to lead them into the bedroom they're both familair with.

Journeying to her bedroom became a difficult task. If only she'd stop giving his neck, the most sensitve spot out of his entire body, kitten kisses then he'd be plowing her back by now. He grew weaker by the second as the shy, acute kisses trandsitioned into full on sucking and biting. Not that he was complaining.

Katsuki threw her down onto the bed, unable to contain his smile when she hiccuped a chorus of giggles. God, even her giggles are fucking contagious. Strong arms scooped her up momentarily, bringing her to the center of the bed. Grazing her aching spot was Katsuki's growing buldge. Y/N circled her arms around his tiny waist squeezing him closely as Katsuki rolled his hips downwards to meet hers. She seized Katsuki's bicep, whimpering, and rythmically pushed her groin towards his, the tin material of her shorts scraping the surface of his jeans deliciously. His head dragged down to her collarbones, panting softly, wetting the skin from the condesation of his breath.

"I want you so fucking bad, please," he managed to choke out in between the continous grinding.

Gaining a newfound confidence, Y/N mimiced the way how Bakugou unzipped her when they were still in opposite bodies and peeled back his briefs till his inflamed member popped out, smacking his lower belly. He cursed under his breath noticing the immense amount of pre-cum leaking from the head. As much as she wanted to lick it all up, there were other things to tend to. She shimmied out from her skimpy shorts and crop top, not wasting any time for lingering touches. But Y/N caught a menacing glare in his eyes. His attention was focused on something else. Looking down, she saw that she was sporting a sheer laced bra with matching panties. She definitely doesn't remember having these in her personal closet.

"You bought me lingerie?" Y/N tried to sound unfazed at the thought of Katsuki willingly purchasing these pretty undergarments for her. That must mean he's seen her boobs!

"Yeah? So what if I did. Your sense of fashion is nonexistent. I pitied you that much to where I bought you shit with my own money."

His face was stern, scarily resembling the times he'd be bashing someone's head on the concrete during a bloody battle. But his eyes told a different story. She couldn't quite pin point the time or place when she witnessed the same gleaming spark in those vermilion orbs, but she felt safe and wanted all in one.

So she began teasing the straps of her bra, head still in disbelief that the blonde underneath her bought it, and let the material slip off her shoulder seductively. Bakugou's breathing quickened as he watched y/n toy with the next strap. He stopped her midway.

"No," his fingers were ironically cold.

"No?" She questioned him, awkwardly frozen still on his lap. His evident boner pushing up against her sex, making her wet even more.

Numbly, Bakugou pulled up both of the straps to her bra and chuckled lightly to himself.

"I wanna fuck you with this on. It's been on my mind since I bought it," he admitted out loud.

Y/N held back a moan, his words carrying so much weight to them all the while directing it straight to her drenched pussy.

Without saying a word, y/n left acute kisses on Bakugou's neck, trailing it down further and further till she reached the leaking head of his member. He became antsy as she wrapped her petite hand around the base, fingers tracing the topography of his veins. Y/N saw the desperate look on his face and took all of him in her mouth, holding in the breath of oxygen she took before doing so. Bakugou hissed, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip nearly ripping the skin apart. This feels way better and more appropriate. He prefers her wet mouth over her fingers any day of the week.

Y/N sucked in her cheeks, allowing herself to take more of his member. The tip of his head eventually hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag and choke due to the sudden pressure.

"F-Fuck. Holy shit, keep going," Katsuki begged, tears swelling in his ducts already.

The saliva from her open mouth created a natural lubricant, making it easy for her to bob her head up and down. Bakugou's ears picked up the erotic wet squelching sounds coming from her as she kept up the brutal pace, the noise alone making him want to come undone. The sight of y/n slobbering on his dick is now engraved in his head. He let out a wanton moan when she played with his balls, recalling the memory of him performing the same ministration on himself with her beautiful hands.

He can feel the familiar sensation spreading down below, his throat constricting as the stimulation of her sucking and licking becoming too much. Before she could continue, Bakugou reached over and lifted her head by her hair.

"I can't hold it in any longer. I need to be inside you now," his voice was strained to point where it came out as a whisper.

Pushing her back gently, Bakugou latched his mouth onto hers as he spread her legs wide apart. Revealing a canal of her wetness dripping from her panties to the inner thighs. Bakugou licked his lips hungrily. Mentally slapping himself for not tasting her before she gave him head. He'll make sure to explore that endeavor later.

Lips still locked, Bakugou tugged the bottom half of her laced panties aside, strings of her glistening wetness shimmering, and positioned himself at her aching entrance. The tip of his cock teased her folds, coating it even more. He agonizingly went in slow circles, occasionally slapping her clit with it. Y/N's arms were above her head, clutching the linen sheets in anticipation. Katsuki smirked against her lips at her wrecked expression.

"Bakugou please...," y/n pleaded with her full chest. She wants to know how it feels to be wrapped around him. To be one with him. "Don't hold back. Just fuck me."

Bakugou's eyes grew darker after the demand, pure lust taking control over his body now. He sheathed into her quickly without taking his eyes off of her face. A quiet whimper left her throat when he fully bottomed out. He checked for any signs of y/n looking displeased or uncomfortable, but he got his answer when he felt her legs wrap around his torso, pulling him in as close as possible. Bakugou basks in at the sight of y/n sucking him completely, her legs fully bent back in an awkward position. He decides to pull his cock halfway out. y/n whimpers due to loss of friction but gets rewarded seconds later when Katsuki rams his cock inside again, pushing all his weight onto her.

"Oh, fuck, Katsuki!," she whines, instinctively clutching her walls around him.

"You're so tight for me huh baby? Can't help but to clamp around this dick," Katsuki sneered while pumping tentative thrusts into her.

His hands clasped both of her thighs now, pulling her towards him, urging her to move in a harmonious dance with him. Finding somewhat of a rhythm, y/n fucked Katsuki back by rolling her hips, a synapse of heat exchanging between them. Sweat starts dripping down from the crown of his forehead onto the peaks of her breasts. Lost in thought, he tipped his head forward and lapped up the remains of his salty musk, tongue expertly twirling around the taunt nipple. Y/N mewled, hands searching - reaching - for anything to ground herself, settling on interlocking her fingers with Katsuki's nitroglycerin drenched hands. She titled her head and took a whiff.

Caramel and soap

A popping sound went off in her ears. Katsuki released her swollen tit only to look up with hooded eyes, his infamous smirk on full display.

"Open your mouth," was all he said before raising one of his fingers that she was so embarrassingly fixated on moments ago. When she didn't obey Katsuki grabbed her by the jaw and shoved not one, not two, but three fingers in her mouth. Like with his cock, she couldn't handle the intensified pressure in the back of her throat, gagging instantaneously.

"Atta girl. Just take my fingers like a good bitch. Oh? You like it when I degrade you huh? Don't lie, you tightened instantly when I said that." Katsukis pace sped up rapidly, pumping into her cunt like a madman, fingers still lodge down her throat. Each thrust left her shuddering for more, his hips meeting hers to create a loud song, the noise drowning out her muffled screams.

It became hard to see now, a tunnel vision of just a crimson glow. Soon she feels herself becoming light. Katsuki grew impatient and flipped y/n on her stomach, a tiny oof rocked out from her, and inserted his member back into her stretched out cunt.

Y/N yelps as Katsuki's cock hits the sweet spot - fresh tears flooding down her flushed face, babbling nonsense into her pillow.

She caves, sobbing, "yes, yes, ohgod. you feel so good. you're so fucking good -ah katsuki!"

Looming over her trembling body, the blonde slows his harsh thrusts to a savagely slow grind. He lowly chuckles watching her writhe and wiggle her body in desperation.

"You think you can just come that easy? Beg for me to let you come!"

Smack!

A harsh sting rattled her lower back, causing her to bite down harshly on her lip to avoid showing any pain.

"Such an asshole..." y/n huffed out, oblivious to the way how Katsuki was preparing for her next punishment.

Smack! Smack!

"Not good. Ask nicely for me to fuck this pretty pussy into the mattress."

More whimpers into the tear stained pillow.

"P-Please Katsuki..." she begins, frustration growing exponentially with every word. "Fuck me. I need your cock. I always needed your cock Katsuki. Make me scream out your name when I come!"

She didn't even have time to process what she said before Katsuki enclosed his hand around her throat, forcefully dragging her writhing body to his chest, cranking her head in a 90 degree angle. Cock still warming up her insides.

"That's my girl," he said before kissing her lips again, devouring the sweet noises she made.

Her neighbors were in for a long night. - Both of their bodies the next morning faced more damage than any crusade of a patrol. Bruises painted the outskirts of y/n's body, trailing from her thighs to the divots of her breasts. Katsuki paid no mind to it, seeing how he can make a bloody lip a trailblazer look.

Even though no one wanted speak much about the issue at hand - last night was a pivotal moment for their relationship.

Because y/n wouldn't be making a fresh batch of coffee for the Katsuki Bakugou in her kitchen right now.

Because Bakugou wouldn't be lounging by her washing machine, waiting for the timer to go off so he can put her bed sheets in the dryer.

They found themselves sitting comfortably in silence - the soft whipping of car horns outside her cracked window - Katsuki blowing on his coffee before taking a sip. It all seemed unreal to her. In any other circumstance they'd be at each other's necks by now, screaming nuisances in the air. She considers this whole ordeal a ruse. But it isn't. Thank god it isn't. Because Katsuki never looked calmer or relaxed in his entire life till now. And she wasn't going to bat an eye away from this ground breaking phenomenon.

Intently watching him drink from across the table, she ponders if Katsuki liked her from the get go, and maybe just disguised his feelings with disgust towards her later on. The question will go unanswered, possibly until he confides and tells the story himself, but for now she was content not knowing the what if.

"How did you know I like black coffee?" Katsuki asks, quirking up an eyebrow at her.

Y/N takes a long drag from her mug, indulging in the sweet taste of the caramel creamer.

She smiles and says, "I don't know. Just took a wild guess."

#mha smut #mha imagines #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki smut #bakugou fluff #bakugou smut #bakugou imagine

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pumpkin-stars · 3 years

Text

Your Eyes Also

AKA His Eyes Only part two

Frankie Morales/F!Reader

When you’re doing laundry, you find a folded up piece of paper in Frankie’s pants. Then you read it, and have to confront him about some of the things he’s written.

💕🥳💕 Happy Birthday CiCi @astroboots!! 🥳💕🥳 I know I killed you with that Frankie request and when @thirstworldproblemss messaged me to tell me your birthday was coming up I knew I had to somehow make it less sad with a part two. There’s still, of course, some angst in here, but I kept it ~90% fluffy! I was going to write smut here too, but consider kinktober a whole month of little gifts for you and everyone else 😘😘

Word Count: 809

Warnings/Content: baby!Morales is a troublemaker, a smidge of angst, you tell Frankie how much you love him.

I’ve tagged everyone who screamed at me about part one even though you’re not all on my taglist I hope you don’t mind xx

Masterlist | Join my Taglist

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He looks up at you from his place on the floor, leaning back against the couch as he sits on a cushion, eyes questioning. His gaze is pulled away quickly as the baby wiggles in his arms, sitting in his lap but reaching for the toy monkey on his knee, trying to squirm out of his hold, but his hands are firm, keeping her in place as his thumbs brush her cotton-clad skin.

“I um…” You move further into the room, “I found a letter.”

“A letter?” He glances at you again, focus pulled back to the kid as she babbles at him, abandoning the monkey in favour of making grabby hands at his ever-present hat.

“From you. In your shirt pocket.”

You can pinpoint the moment he realises what you’re talking about. When the easy smile falls a little - but stays in place as Rosita stares at him, not wanting her to worry - when his back stiffens and his eyes flash up to meet yours. “Oh."

“Yeah.” You nod.

“You weren’t meant to read that.” He mumbles, blinking in surprise as Rosi’s chubby fingers suddenly make contact with his nose. She cheers at her mini-victory, letting go of him as he tickles her gently.

“I’m glad I did.” You shrug, sinking to the floor to sit beside him, grinning at the baby before kissing Frankie’s cheek, so so glad she’s too young to understand what your words mean. “You wanna hug me and never let go, right? And you wanna drown in my pussy?”

He smiles, “I do. Always do.”

You lean against his arm, “Fuck you for thinking I’d hate you, Morales.”

A surprised laugh escapes him, “Overthinking. It’s even easier when you’re catastrophizing.”

Your arms wrap around his arm as you look up at him, watching as he makes faces at the kid, entertaining her despite his overactive mind wondering what you’re going to say.

“You’re home, and you’re okay. I’m okay, Rosi’s okay. And there is nothing that’s gonna stop me loving you.” You grin, “If anything would have it was that trip, and I’m still here. We’re still here.”

“I know.” He whispers, “And I’m so grateful.”

“You have me.”

“I know.”

“You’ll always have me.”

“I know.”

“And as soon as she’s asleep tonight, I’m gonna hold you to that promise you made.”

His eyes widen, “Remind me what I said?”

You pull the letter from your pocket, it’s torn and well-folded, the paper crinkled from heavy rain, some of the words blurred. A stripe of blood stains the page, like he’d wiped his brow and gone back to writing without knowing he was injured. There are several shopping lists and sticky notes in your memory that have been smeared with oil from similar incidents, when he’s been working on the beat-up truck in the garage and thought of something he’s needed or wanted to jot something down.

You move one hand to his lap, trapping Rosi’s leg, taking comfort from both of them as Frankie takes it from you and her too.

You scan the slanted handwriting to find the part you need, swallowing against the lump in your throat at the evidence of his pain and self-loathing. This is the only thing that’s come back from Colombia. Not a scrap of that money came through the door with Frankie, already deposited in some random account… He’d burned the clothes he’d worn, at the last moment he’d saved this letter… some small part of him needing to keep some physical evidence of what he’d done. Needing that last scrap of paper, the last words he’d written before his soul cracked and his friend was killed in front of him, because of him…

“Sweetheart-” Frankie whispers.

“I know.” You kiss him, and fold the paper so only the words you want him to see are visible.

He reads it, a sad smile growing as he remembers all the shit that prompted his words.

I miss your pussy so much. I wanna drown in you. If you’ll let me, sweetheart. I wanna stick my face between your legs until we both forget about everything I’ve done to you.

I wanna fuck you so good you’ll forgive me all my fucking sins. I’ll worship you, sweetheart, I’ll lay myself bare before you and let you dole out my punishment. Everything you think I deserve.

My love. My fucking angel…

If you’ll let me, I’ll never leave our bed again. I’ll spend my life making this up to you and I’ll never leave your fucking side if it means you’ll still trust me, still love me.

“You have nothing to make up for,” You tell him, “No punishment to take. But I want you to fuck me so good we both forget and forgive everything.”

He smiles, “I think I can do that.”

~~~

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#🥳 HB CiCi 🥳#frankie morales/reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales/you #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales/reader #catfish morales/reader #catfish/reader #francisco morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #stuffiwrote

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doubleleoenergy · 3 years

Text

FIRE & DESIRE

You a real ass woman and I like it. I don't wanna fight it.

Pairing: sub!Sam Wilson x dom!Reader

Summary: Sam is coming home from a rough Captain America-related meeting and Reader wants to try something she watched on a Netflix show while he was away.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, faceriding, blindfolds, sensory deprivation, bondage (tie), dirty talk, smut

Word Count: 2082

Author’s Notes: Thank you to @midnightf helping me come up with the perfect idea, and also thank you to @evanstan-hoe for giving me the courage to write again!

Sam makes his way out of his car, grabbing his briefcase out of the backseat before making his way to the front door of his home. Fumbling with his keys, Sam unlocks the door and shuts it behind him, setting his briefcase down against the hardwood floor.

“Babe, I’m back.” He calls out, grumbling as he knocks off his loafers. He and Joaquin met with the Sergeant and his team about the logistics of a rescue mission next week in Sierra Leone, and he promised to fill Bucky in tomorrow when they meet for their weekly lunch at their favorite diner by Bucky’s apartment. The meeting was not necessarily BAD, but it was exhausting sitting through nine hours of briefs and information when all he wanted to do was get out of his suit and crawl back into bed. It’s not that he didn’t WANT to be Captain America, it’s just that now that he met y/n he wanted to spend any free time he had with her.

They met through his sister Sarah when he came to take his nephews out fishing three months ago, and was instantly drawn to her. Y/N had moved to town just before Sam moved back to be closer to Sarah and the boys, he asked her out the same day they met and the rest was HISTORY. Y/N preferred to stay over at his place when he wasn’t on a mission, which Sam didn’t mind. She actually helped to make the place much more warm and inviting, helping him pick out furniture and insisting on THROW pillows on the couch. What’s the point of a throw pillow if it’s just for decoration? Sam didn’t mind though, he loved that the decor reminded him of her, and that he actually felt at home with someone.

“In here!” Y/N calls from the bedroom, waiting for him to walk through the open door. She had spent the morning cleaning and prepping for dinner tonight before settling back into bed and watching a new show on Netflix. There was less plot than PORN it seemed, and one particular scene in the third episode gave her an IDEA. She was anxiously awaiting Sam’s arrival ever since, and now it was finally time to help him blow off some steam.

Sam’s footsteps are heavy against the wood floor, walking into the bedroom and tugging at the tie around his neck. “God, that meeting took SO long. I need to get out of these clothes and jump in a hot shower.” He wanted to wash the hours spent in his suit jotting down notes and setting up their plan for the mission off his body and out of his mind.

“Well, actually I’ve been waiting for you. I wanted to try something I saw on tv.” Before Sam can protest, she moves closer, pressing a finger to his lips. “-And don’t tell me that you’d rather take a shower and RELAX. I’ve been waiting for you to get home and I know we both need some relief.”

Sam cocks a brow at her, watching as she pulls the tie from around his neck and holds it in her hands. “Now STRIP.” Her voice is soft, but she’s never told him to do that before. He doesn’t protest though, he had been wanting to get out of the suit ever since he put it on that morning, taking no time at all to pull off the white button-up, belt, and trousers, standing in front of her with just his black Calvin Klein boxers.

“Take those off too.” She motions to the boxers on his chiseled frame. “Then I need you to move onto the bed and sit up against the headboard.” She watches him with LUST filled eyes, tugging the hem of Sam’s oversized shirt over her own head and slipping down her lacey black thong. She’s naked now, just like him, moving over to the bed to straddle his legs. Sam reaches down to touch her hip and she slaps his hand away.

“Put your hands up to the headboard, over your HEAD.” He’s confused, furrowing his brows but doing as he’s told, watching as she takes the silky black tie she had just pulled off his neck and tying it around his hands, looping it through the slits in the headboard before making a taut knot to keep him in place.

“So you’re not going to let me TOUCH you?” His voice comes out a bit rough, Sam loves to touch her body, roam his hands all over he soft skin, but today is different.

“Nope, not unless you’re GOOD. Now, I’m going to slip this on over your eyes so you can’t see anything.” She’s leaning over to the nightstand, pulling out a navy blue mask with the words ‘Beauty Sleep’ written out in cursive across the front. “You’re going to have me wear your SLEEPING mask?”

“I didn’t have a real blindfold, okay? Just pretend it’s not girly.” She slips it on over his head, the silk pushing over his eyes until he’s enveloped in darkness. This is totally new, he can’t see her but he can FEEL her still straddling his legs still, making his cock twitch and fill with blood.

“You’re going to be quiet unless I ask you to speak.” Her voice is low, and he can feel her moving her weight off of his legs as her feet step on either side of his torso. He can FEEL her hovering above him, feel the warmth of her body as it staggers above close to him. He can smell the mix of her vanilla lavender lotion on her skin, his favorite.

“You’re going to get me off with just your MOUTH.” She moves over his face and he can SMELL her pussy before he feels her dip down so he can reach her lips. He is so turned on by the way she’s making him submit to her and takes no time at all to start lapping at her core, taking in the sweetness of her wetness as he moves his tongue in and out. He wishes he could use his FINGERS, fuck into her so he can hear the wet noises coming from her folds, but of course she’s got him tied up. His cock is hard and throbbing against his abdomen and he lets out a moan into her pussy, sending shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, Sam you’re SO good with your mouth.” She moves her fingers along his short hair, nothing to grip except the back of his head as she pushes his mouth deeper into her core. With the moan that leaves his lips again she can tell he’s INTO it and she wastes no time, moving her hips along his face, riding it. Sam’s mustache is tickling right along her clit, drops of sweat pooling along her brow, heat building up in her chest.

“Baby I’ve been waiting all DAY to try this out on you, saw it on a Netflix show and knew it’d be so hot. Everything is hot with you.” Her breath is becoming ragged and Sam KNOWS that means she’s close, she’s riding his face hard and he’s bucking his hips up in the air for some relief but he feels her slap his shoulder lightly. “Do NOT move. This is about me right now.”

A few minutes later she’s coming undone ABOVE him, her orgasm ripping through her as she cums on Sam’s face. He wants it all, every last drop of her and he’s lapping it all up like a kitten with a bowl of milk. Y/N grabs the headboard for support, legs shaking as she finally moves off of his mouth.

“Y/N please…” She moves to straddle his thighs again, watching as his cock bounced against his chest. He was so fit, like a GREEK GOD at her disposal and she licks her lips. “Please what?” He groans again, tugging his arms against the silk tie but not enough to break free.

“Fuck, please y/n do something, ANYTHING….baby please, need you to touch me.” He can’t see her still with the mask over his eyes but he can feel her thin fingers as they FINALLY grip the base of his cock, stroking lightly.

“You’re gonna keep the mask on this whole time.” She strokes his cock a few times, noticing the precum start to leak from the tip down the shaft and she moves so she’s above him again, hovering her pussy over his cock. “You want this SAM, want me to sit on your fat cock?”

He’s choking out a moan, eyes watering a bit. She never teases HIM like this and it’s driving him crazy. “Yes, baby...y/n please, use my cock baby, fuck just-” He’s cut off when he feels her sinking down slowly onto him until he feels her lips sitting flush against his skin, bottoming out inside of her. She always feels so FULL from his cock.

“Fuck, Sam you feel so GOOD. I want you to just feel me, not be able to see what I’m actually doing. You can talk but you’re not allowed to move.” Her hand grips at his thigh so she can support herself, the other pressing against his chest, bouncing up and down on his cock. It feels so thick inside of her, her pussy throbbing. He doesn’t even had to touch her, doesn’t have to MOVE and she’s still losing her mind.

Sam struggles with not being able to SEE anything, but it’s as if his other senses are heightened. He’s focusing on just how good it feels to be INSIDE of her, how her walls clamp down on his cock, the sound of her moans filling the room.

“Baby, this is so hot...you’re so HOT. I don’t even care that I can’t see you because I can just IMAGINE how you look.” Sam can picture her plump breasts bouncing against her as she moves, her hair falling into her face and her lips pursed. She’s so beautiful, naked or not, she’s got him wrapped around his finger. He’s groaning now, knowing he can’t hold on much longer.

“Sam I want you to fill me up, fuck me full with your cum. Want to feel you inside me all day, want to feel it LEAKING from inside me as I finish dinner tonight.” Her words are only making it harder, she KNOWS he’s got a breeding kink when it comes to her, and her words are always the best way to egg him on and put him over the edge.

“Fuck I’m gonna-” His orgasm has him sending hot spurts of cum DEEP into her pussy and y/n stops her motions to just hold him in tight, wanting to savor the feeling. He’s breathing heavily now and she can see the sweat dripping off his chest. The feeling of his cum and the look of PLEASURE on his face has her cumming once again. Once he’s stopped twitching inside of her she pulls off of him slowly, tightening her walls to keep as much cum as she can inside, though she feels a dribble running down her thigh. Y/N moves beside Sam, first untying his hands from the headboard and then pulling off the mask and throwing it to the floor.

“Was that okay?” The submissive side of her coming out to make sure he’s pleased. Sam’s rough hands pull her to his side, his eyes FINALLY being able to take her in. He kisses her hair, fingers rubbing up and down the small of her back.

“Baby that was FANTASTIC. Who knew you’d be good at dominating me?” Her fingers aimlessly trail along his slick torso, curling her body further into his. “I might have to do that more often.” Eyes meet his, hers feeling slightly heavy from her two orgasms.

“So they have another mission for you, huh? When are you-” Sam kisses her lips, cutting her off. His fingers move to play with the loose strands of her hair, pulling away to give her a soft smile.

“It’s not until NEXT week, so let's not waste our time thinking or TALKING about it. Just want to focus on you.” He places another kiss on her head, her body relaxing as her eyes close.

“Besides, I’m definitely gonna need you to do all THIS again before I leave.”

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson smut #sam wilson x reader smut #doubleleoenergyworks

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nightshade-minho · 4 years

Text

-Yes, Sir-

Warnings: professor!Jisung, student!Reader, spanking, unprotected sex, humiliation, degradation, exhibitionism, orgasm denial etc.

Word Count: 1.3k

Requested: Yes!

You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help it. Mr. Han Jisung was undoubtedly the hottest professor on campus. After all, he was also the youngest, and that made him the preferred topic of all the female students.

It wasn’t just his looks...no. The man’s cocky attitude, chillness and infuriating smirk did nothing but turn you on even more, to the point where you left the lecture hall with soaking wet panties sticking to your folds.

You tried your best to be a good student in class, answering all his questions and turning every assignment in on time. You wanted to be his favorite student.

It was a Thursday morning, and you watched as your professor kept rambling on and on. Usually you tried your best to be attentive in his class, but he’d taken his blazer off due to the summer heat...and his rolled up shirt sleeves were making you grit your teeth, rubbing your thighs together. You sighed as you doodled in your notebook, sketching him as you daydreamed. Once you were done, you started writing down things you wanted him to do to you...you couldn’t help it. He just looked so hot, made you so horny. It was too hard to concentrate.

“Miss Y/n?”

“Huh?” You looked up, surprised to see the whole class staring at you. Jisung smirked as he leaned against his desk. ‘‘You didn’t answer my question.”

“Uh, Sir...I...”

He shook his head disappointedly, making his way to your desk. You quickly tried to shove your notebook in your bag, but he’d already snatched it out of your hands. Your face turned red, fear and embarrassment swirling in your brain.

“What’s this, now?” He flipped through the book, his eyes widening and smirk growing as he read the dirty thoughts you’d jotted down.

He sighed, going back to his desk and setting your book down on his table. “I’ll need you to stay back today, Y/n.”

You gulped.

***

As the rest of the class poured out, you nervously waited, playing with your fingers. A girl was twirling her hair as she asked him a question regarding an assignment, giggling flirtatiously. You rolled your eyes when she finally left.

Jisung arranged a few papers on his desk, before slowly turning to you. “Come here, Y/n.”

You gulped, moving closer hesitantly. He sighed, taking your book in his hands. “You’re a good student. You ace all your tests. Why then have you been so distracted lately?”

You didn’t respond.

“And then I see this.” He started flipping through the book, your cheeks reddening as he read out loud.

“I want Mr. Han to bend me over his desk and spank my ass raw.”

You cursed, hiding your face as he continued. “I feel like Mr. Han would be able to ruin me so well. I bet his cock is just as pretty as his arms and his face...” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow at you.

‘Now, I think I’ve figured out just what the cause is for your sudden distraction, hmm?” He smirked, leaning back against his desk. “You’re not the good little girl I thought you were. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

You shook your head, hanging your head in shame as you heard Jisung hum.

“How do you think we can remedy this situation?” He asked, stroking his chin as he watched you carefully. You meekly looked up, shrugging. He beckoned you over, and you tentatively walked forward, yelping when he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you close to him.

“I think bad girls need to be punished. Don’t you?”

You couldn’t do anything but gasp as his hand drifted under your checkered skirt, gently groping the flesh of your ass as he cocked his head to the side. “Answer me, angel.”

You moaned out as his finger reached between your cheeks, trailing down to your pussy.

“Y-yes...” He frowned, smacking your ass lightly. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, S-sir...” You breathed out. He pressed a kiss to your cheeks. “That’s right. Now be a good girl, and I might think about letting you cum, okay?”

You nodded, brain clouded with arousal. He pulled away, flipping you around on the desk and bending you over it. “I intend to satisfy all your fantasies today, babygirl.”

You whimpered as he lifted your skirt, his eyes greedily running over your ass, before his hand came back down on it. “Count, you dirty slut.”

You whispered a “One,” as he continued smacking your butt, cock growing harder at the sight of your cute little ass growing redder, jiggling with the impact of his palm.

When you got to “Thirteen,” he finally stopped, smoothing his hand over the sore area, leaning down to press kisses to the red flesh. “Good girl.”

He turned you back around, hoisting you up onto his desk. Jisung rubbed your clothed pussy with two fingers as he pressed a kiss to your lips, quickly slipping his tongue in. The two of you made out messily, tongues swirling around each other. He kept stroking you through it all, enjoying the way you moaned into his mouth.

He pulled away, eyes hungrily scanning your chest before opening your shirt hastily, sending buttons flying. He pulled down your bra so your tits could pop out, taking one in his hand as he softly kissed it, licking a stripe to your nipple before he took it into his mouth.

He bit down on one, making eye contact as he did so, loving the way your face had pleasure written all over it.

After he was content sucking on your nipples, he removed your shirt from you completely. He then unhooked your bra as well, leaving you in nothing but your skirt and knee socks.

“So hot, for a little girl…”

“S-sir, I’m only four years younger than you.”

“Shhh little girl, let me play with what’s mine.” He said, returning you to your previous position of being bent over the table, chuckling at your quivering red ass.

“I bet you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Everything turned out just the way you wanted. You never imagined this would happen when writing down those filthy thoughts of yours, did you?” He pulled down your panties before tucking them into his back pocket.

You shook your head desperately, pussy clenching around nothing when you heard the sound of his pants unzipping. A minute later, you felt his head being pressed to your entrance, sighing in satisfaction as he finally slid into you.

“God, you’re tighter than I thought you would be.”

You couldn’t do anything but moan as he slowly started fucking into you, groaning as you squeezed around him. He landed a smack on your butt before grabbing one cheek, spreading it so that he could go deeper. You were a whimpering mess as he leaned over you to pick the book back up, continuing to read out the immoral things you’d written down. The humiliation combined with the feeling of his cock repeatedly abusing your sweet spot had you near the edge in minutes, clenching as you felt your orgasm approach.

“What a slut. You like being bent over your teacher’s desk like this, hmm? Like the way anyone could walk in at any moment and see what an absolute whore you are for my cock?”

You whined at his words, feeling your high build up.

Suddenly, he pulled out, pressing the tip to your entrance teasingly as he tsked, stroking his cock and cumming all over your pussy lips.

You felt tears prick your eyes at the ruined orgasm, your pussy still desperately throbbing in anticipation. Jisung pulled away, tucking his cock back into his pants.

You straightened up, turning around to express your frustration when he handed you a piece of paper.

“My number and address. See you tonight, my love.” He winked and left, leaving you half-naked in the classroom.

#jisung smut #han smut #han jisung smut #stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #jisung #han #han jisung #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines

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bangtanlalaland · 4 years

Text

more than enough | knj (m.)

synopsis ⇣ your unfortunate divorce has left you questioning life and your entire existence. that is, until, your counselor demonstrates just how much you’re worth.

— marriage counselor!au

⇢pairing: marriage counselor!kim namjoon x divorcee!female reader

⇢genre: angst, smut, pwp

⇢word count: 5.4k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: someone plz stop me from writing these porn-filled, no plot having fics, i think i need help, dom joon makes an appearance (who doesn’t love this man? uwu), lots of filthy filthiness, swearing, oral sex (f + m receiving), drunk bathroom oral sex actually (oops), did i mention jungkook makes an appearance? (he’s that blonde babe from the bathroom scene) 😏, masturbation, unprotected sex (always stay safe!), rough sex, breathplay, dumbification, hair-pulling, spanking, slapping, choking, creampie, impreg kink (ugh my fave), over-stimulation, voyeurism (oof), multiple orgasms, name-calling (being called a slut), jungkook’s tongue is magical, namjoon’s dick is huge (don’t @ me), premature ejaculation (oops)

a/n: I’ve had this also in my wips for awhile 💜 including like 10+ wips with joon because he’s my bby & I love him so much ugh!

Your fingertips awkwardly fiddle with themselves, a slight tension in your shoulders that you’re sure is visible. With legs crossed, you take a deep breath and contemplate your next guilty pleasure meal of the day. Everything around you seems black and white; since your divorce, you’d become null and void — not understanding why life itself got you to this point. You’d often question your purpose in life.

Why me? What did I do wrong? Am I not enough?

But here you are, reminiscing when everything seemed smooth, lovely, and peaceful. When things weren’t always about arguing over finances, hectic work schedules, a decrease in the amount of quality time spent together, or most importantly: pleading for just the smallest ounce of attention.

The sudden sound of your counselor’s throat clearing startles you, “Mrs. ____?” His notepad and pen in hand, his eyebrows raising up at you, slightly. Not having realized you’d zoned out, your fingers stop moving on their own accord. Your back straightens up just a tad more.

“Sorry, I-”

He cracks a smile, his hand raising up in reply, “Don’t be. Take your time,” You take a deep breath, and silently woosah yourself. Some part of you is curious as to why people like your counselor work these kinds of jobs. You couldn’t imagine having a career where you’re required to keen in on people’s problems everyday and offer advice, when you have problems of your own and can’t get your shit together.

Ugh, life.

“I’m hanging in there. I guess?” He cocks his head to the side, eyeing your expression.

“Can you tell me one good thing that happened to you this week?” You take a deep breath, followed by a coy smirk.

It had been a long time since you stepped out and especially in risqué attire. Your roudy friend and co-worker, Candice, insisted that you needed to spend the night out to celebrate your now freedom — post divorce. A slight sentiment of anxiety takes a toll on you, that is until she orders you both a couple shots of tequila to rile you up.

“Here’s to being young, wild, and free baby!” She exclaims, clinking her glass against yours. The both of you tilt your heads back, inducing more alcohol — hissing due to the slight burn in the back of your throat. Candice taps your shoulder, and hell were you feeling the aftermath of the liquor. You’re all giggles and feeling loopy.

Next thing you know, you’re locking lips with a cutie in the bathroom. Teeth and tongues clashing against each other, the thrill of getting it on with someone you don’t know was exhilarating — courtesy of the liquor in your system. Your mind hadn’t registered the lingering aroma of his cologne, until he pressed you up against the wall and stooped down on his knees, reaching under your dress to pull your panties to the side. Your lady lips revealed to him, and it’s as if he’s as horny as you are in this moment, if not more. The blonde-haired babe glares up at you with those pouty lips and dives head first. His nose brushes up against your clit as he licks a long strip along your folds, stopping to circling his tongue around the bud. His lips encase around your clit, and his muffled moans vibrate against your core, making you throb relentlessly with much arousal. He lifts your leg up and over his shoulder, while your back rests against the wall — an attempt to keep some leverage while having him in between your legs like this.

“Mmmm,” was all you could hear from him as he licks up and down your pussy lips, coating them with his saliva.

Your mind couldn’t even process the last time you’d been eaten out like this; uncontrollable moans slipping out of you, and it feels oh so damn good. Your hips grind against his tongue, helping to bring on your orgasm at a much quicker pace. His soft fingers grip your thighs to keep you in place. He pulls away with a pop and stares at you with those gorgeous, doe-like eyes. Your chest rises up and down, panting to gain your breath back. His fingers find purchase on your lips, and with a light tap you open up sucking them in your mouth. A low groan slips from him, you bob your head back and forth making sure to coat his digits and suddenly he pulls away. With furrowed brows, you hadn’t even processed that his fingers rammed into your pussy, your walls now warm and wet, inviting them in. Your fingers grasp onto his hair, pulling and tugging once his thumb swipes your clit intently. You’re so close and just need a slight push.

“Damn babe, how can you be this wet?” He giggles in your ear. You can smell whatever it is he doused himself in from the bar. You can’t quite pinpoint what exactly, but it is there.

“Just fuck me already, please” You plead with his fingers still inside you, he rubs your clit just right and repeatedly thrusts his fingers in and out. The obvious squelching sound of your pussy can be heard, and you pray to God nobody else suddenly walks in. You guys did lock the door right?

Shit.

And then he stops, removing his digits from you. You frown instantly.

“Need you in my mouth,” He adds, returning to his previous position from before, His lips wrap around your folds, sucking and tugging them with hunger. Like he’s having the most delicious meal in his last day on Earth. He continues to make obscene sounds with his slurping noises, his fingers press and rub onto your clit in a rapid motion. Your thighs give out, and it’s a clear indication to you that you’re going to cum. Has it really been this long? Have you really forgotten what it’s like to have an orgasm? That feeling deep within where the bottom of your tummy and core meet, feels tight as a knot. He lashes his tongue out to glide along your folds and sticks himself inside of you, tongue fucking you while rubbing your clit.

“I’m going to cum!” You cry with a labored breath. He uses your cry as a sign to lift your leg over his shoulder while he grips your waist, his hands land on your ass — gripping your cheeks firmly. His tongue lands flat to paint his saliva all over your cunt, his hands aid in gliding his tongue up and down your pussy at a rapid pace. He shakes his head back and forth, his tongue brushing across your throbbing, aching clit as a result. He continues at his relentless pace and suddenly that feeling inside snaps.

“Fuck!” Your thighs tremble violently and your core contracts continuously. Your back arches off the wall, but the stranger doesn’t stop his motions, his tongue continues on its own accord, not letting up. You even feel his fingernails digging into your cheeks slightly. Your fingers grasp onto his strands, tugging with an necessary amount of force — mimicking his motions. His low moans suddenly drawing out more than you expected, adding an extra touch to your orgasm, — your clit feeling used having been stimulated for a moment too long. The trembling of your body subsides, your legs attempting to hold on for a little longer as you fight to push him from you.

“O-okay. Okay, that’s- E-enough. Fuck!” To your luck he pulls off with a swipe of his hand across his mouth, panting and out of breath. You assume that’s the only reason he gave up, until you notice he continues to moan, his face contorted into an expression you suppose is from a feeling of ecstasy. And then his gaze drops down to his clothed crotch; his wide eyes roam upwards to your form, with lips parted. Your trembling figure gradually regaining composure.

“Oops,” He slips, letting out a contagious laugh. You follow where his gaze was before and shake your head.

“I-it’s okay, I understand.” His eyes crinkle up in a crescent-moon shape, and you somehow notice the rosy tint of his cheeks, streaming to his ears. Poor thing. He’s probably embarrassed.

Your counselor listens with open ears, taking in everything you’re describing to him, while jotting down what you think are a few notes. But to your unknown avail, he has written:

Client lacks in sex life, due to divorce Stranger gives oral sex; client reaches orgasm

Namjoon clears his throat before proceeding, “And what is it that makes this-” He pauses to gather the correct words, attempting to wash away the imagination of you spreading your legs out, pussy on display, on his leather sofa.

“Experience a good one for you? Is it the thrill from having an orgasm? Maybe the act of having a stranger perform oral sex on you? Or is it because he orgasmed in his pants by performing oral sex on you?”

You contemplate for a moment, thinking deeply about his speculation. You admit it; he’s great at his job. Well, at least better than you would probably be in his line of work. With legs still crossed, you playfully dangle your ankle up and down, your leg now having fallen asleep but you’re somewhat in an awkward state — speaking to a male about your recent sexcapade.

It’s times like these that you wished you were referred a female counselor. And it doesn’t help with how attractive Mr. Kim is, which is definitely a deal breaker for you. You take in his lavender streaks that paint the strands of his hair, paired with highlights of platinum blonde.

Although, you can’t help but ponder what he thinks of all this? Seeing it as you’re a divorced woman, having developed a dry spell, and can’t seem to even orgasm from her previous husband — the person you’d committed your life to, to what you assumed would have been able to please you in the bedroom but unfortunately he failed. It’s embarrassing, to say the least.

Mr. Kim had been there through it all, the good and bad, the ups and downs, twists and turns. It wasn’t that he failed his job, no. He was perfect at it; but, your marriage simply failed. You wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Kim confessed that he knew what the outcome would be, because it was that obvious. But your ex-husband had to hire a professional simply because he was too prideful to admit his wrongdoings and actually “man up” to fix his problems.

Part of you hated that you’d stuck around after the divorce, and you’re surprised Mr. Kim hadn’t suggested you no longer needed of his services. But, you suppose he was just being kind, offering the best of his services — while another part of you assumed he understood that you do need someone to vent to. Being as that, doing so helps to ease the mind. You’re sure he’s aware that everyone needs to talk to someone, even if it’s a stranger.

Except in this case, Mr. Kim isn’t a stranger — quite the opposite actually and some part of you felt vulnerable to him. The fact he knew your story; any personal thing you could think of that’s ever happened to you — you had spilled it all to him. You contemplate: Who does he confide in, despite his career being that he helps those in desperate times of need? Does he ever vent to anyone? And if so, does it help him to stay sane?

You shake your head at the thought of it all, wanting to piece the entire process altogether. You’d almost forgotten he was still here in this very room with you, awaiting a response to slip. And damn, is he patient. You curse yourself for having zoned out that much, and with a clearing of his throat you are gracefully brought back to reality. The atmosphere suddenly parching your form, an odd sensation of heat pooling over you — paired with a sheen of cold sweat approaching.

He stares into your gaze, as if studying you for a moment.

“Mrs. ____?” His eyes still glued onto you, searching for any sign that you will open your mouth for once. But, you can’t seem to say anything else but one word.

“Control.” His eyebrows flick in response and he slowly nods — having scribbled something into his notes:

Control?

“Control?” He questions, giving you the spotlight to elaborate on whatever it is you’re implying. Your foot stops dangling, having now closed both of your legs entirely, squeezing them together. The visual of that stranger’s mouth lapping at your cunt flashes through your mind.

You take a deep breath, “Yes, control.” Namjoon’s eyebrows quirk upward, as if signaling for you to continue already.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” You blurt out while grabbing your belongings, in a hurry to leave. Namjoon seethes. He’d endured months, perhaps a year of therapy with you. He refused to let you walk out without being satisfied. And he knows exactly what you need. He had the date written down, when you came to him for one of your sessions and confessed how long it had been since you had sex. It’s a memory he’d never forget, because although he’s a licensed counselor and shouldn’t personally involve himself with his clients — with you it was different. He despised the way your ex-husband treated you. It was wrong, and he couldn’t take the pain of seeing you stressed beyond your limits.

“ ____,” His deep voice now dipped in a stern tone, one you’d never heard before, and he never calls you by your first name. Like ever. With your back turned, you can feel his presence directly behind you. So close, you could practically drown in the warmth radiating from his body. He reaches past you, his fingers finding placement over the lock of the door.

“Sit down,” he commands. You shudder under his rigid voice, finding yourself to obey as he instructs, somewhat afraid of what he’d do if you didn’t comply. His towering figure follows back to his seat prior to your attempt of departing. His legs now spread wide and back slightly slumped in his chair. Your shoulders naturally tense themselves, a result of the heat wave washing over you.

Namjoon glares at you with an unreadable expression, as if he’s peering into your soul, a sudden churn resides in your tummy. You absentmindedly pull your dress down just a tad, the material now clinging to your skin due to the sweat that built up under Namjoon’s gaze.

He strokes his chin, and you thank the Heavens for that sight because it definitely gets you going. His slender fingers grazing amongst his skin, veins popping while doing so. You can only imagine what they would feel like inside your-

“Off the record, I know what you want.” He blurts out, stilling his motions. You question him with a rise of your eyebrows. The coy smirk that appears on his lips has you boiling on the inside, your thighs rubbing together pathetically — to ease the ache within your core. What the hell is this man doing to you?

“Should it be too much for you, the safe word is velvet.”

He removes his glass and places them down on the coffee table separating you both. He proceeds to make his way toward you, eyeing you down as if you’re his prey. He unbuckles his belt and slips, “You’ll do as I say when I say it and not give any back talk. Understand?” Your mouth flies agape at his sudden change in demeanor — only adding fire to the fuel in your heat.

He tilts your chin up with his finger, “Don’t make me ask you twice.”

“Yes- Yes, Namjoon.” He slaps your face, at first in a gentle manner, your kitty throbs in response at the sudden action.

“It’s Sir to you.” You nod in reply, “Yes, S-sir.”

Namjoon sits in his favorite spot, unbuttoning his slacks. His hands snake behind the garment, running along his shaft under his briefs.

“Open your legs and play with yourself,” He demands. Before your brain could process what he requested, your body moved instead. You pry open your legs and Namjoon is instantly met with your aching cunt.

“You little slut,” He mulls with a followed growl, his cock twitching under his grip. “You came all the way here with no fucking panties?”

You nod at his question, bringing your fingers to your wet folds.

“So fucking filthy.” Namjoon pumps himself at the sight of you grazing along your clit. “I should fuck you until you can’t think anymore.”

“Please,” you whine, grinding your hips. You lick the pads of your fingers and rub your clit instinctively, a moan falling from your lips.

“Is that what you want?” He coos, precum seeping from the slit on the head of his cock. “You want me to fuck you silly? Make you cream all over my cock like the good, little bitch you are?”

Wanton moans now become uncontrollable for you, and you lose yourself in Namjoon’s sexy voice laced with lust, “Yes, Sir. P-please, fuck me. I need your cock.”

A low rumble emits from his chest, he runs his fingers through his strands that were glued to his forehead. He pushes his trousers and briefs down to his knees.

“Come here. Now.” He motions with his index finger, and you find yourself at his beck and call. Namjoon slides himself down further in his seat and gestures you over him.

“Sit on my face,” You do exactly as he says and hover over his face. He doesn’t hesitate to grip your hips and lodge his tongue inside of your hot heat. His nose nuzzles your clit in the process, soaking in the fragrance of your womanhood. He graciously fucks your hole with his tongue, then slithers along your inner folds. He sucks and tugs onto them between his plump lips, groaning into your cunt. You naturally grind your hips, following his motions.

“Oh, fuck.” You slip, while grazing your fingers within his strands. Namjoon’s fingers dig deeper onto your hips. He lays his tongue flat down to glide against your clit, your folds having been coated in his saliva. He peers up at you with those wide, sexy eyes, and the sudden shock of his palm smacking your ass jolts you forward — your grip landing on the leather seat. His moans continue to reverberate within your core, emitting a cry of euphoria from you. He wraps his plush lips around your nub and sucks feverishly. His nails graze along the flesh of your ass cheeks and…

Smack.

“Mmmm, Sir!” He shakes his head back and forth, and sucks your clit again — sending you into your second orgasm in the past week. Your thighs tremble and back arches slightly, your nails claw the leather of the seat and your hips grind along his tongue — an attempt to ride out your high. Namjoon lands another harsh smack onto your bottom, and you scream maybe just a little too loud for your liking, yet it’s music to his ears.

But, he doesn’t stop.

He continues his ministrations, and just as you try to break away from his steady pace, he constrains your hips with his large hands, locking you in place. He doesn’t let up on your now sensitive clit, and instead continues to slide his tongue all around and onto your bud. You shake your head in reply, the stimulation being too much but somehow there’s this burning ache that re-approaches, and you know there’s yet another orgasm approaching.

You push his head away, desperately wanting him to get his mouth off your aching pussy.

“P-please, Please.” You plead. But he grips onto you harder and shakes his head in a “no” gesture, his tongue gliding along your clit while doing so. His lips encase around your nub again and eagerly sucks the life out of you. Your legs shiver.

Namjoon mumbles within you, “Cum on my face, again.” His hand slaps your ass cheek again and again, sending you into your second orgasm that seems more powerful than the first. Your entire body convulses, eyes roll back, and you let out a screeching cry. He gently rubs the area he’d smacked before, and peels his mouth from you finally. He slaps your cheek again and demands, “On the couch. Now.”

You’re barely able to recover from your orgasm, and with shaky legs you set on your two feet to make your way over to the leather sofa. Joon follows behind and drops his trousers and briefs down to his ankles, kicking the garments to the side. Your met with the sight of his length, and you audibly gasp. He’s so thick, and your kitty clenches just by looking at him. His dick springs up, and you note the precum now dripping from his slit and down into a thin line.

“Come here,” He says while pushing your head onto his length. He stuffs his cock into your mouth, fucking your throat relentlessly. You grab onto his thick, juicy thighs to keep some leverage. The lewd noises of your throat being fucked can be heard through the office space. Namjoon��s breath hitches at the view of you stuffed with him entirely, his dick literally choking the life out of you. He lets out a grimacing chuckle, “Finally you can keep your mouth shut, huh? Let someone else take control, hm?” He bucks his hips forward, the veins in his arm protruding as his grip on your hair tightens, thrusting himself back and forth into your mouth.

His head falls back in ecstasy. Your nails graze along his bare thighs, begging for a release of air. And you assume that inspires him to torture you even more because before you could process what’s happening. He pinches your nose shut, to keep you from breathing, and holds himself at the back of your throat. You pound his thighs as a result.

“Look at me.” He commands, and with tears streaming down your cheeks, your gaze follows up to his hooded lids as you eagerly pound your fists onto his thighs and scratch the flesh. You’re convinced you are on the verge of passing out until he lets out the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life and that’s when his thighs tense up in your touch, his lower abdomen contracts, and bursts of warm cum shoot down your throat. You shut your eyes to focus on not passing out, but somehow with his added jizz, it doesn’t help. You continue to smack his thighs to signal you’re on your way to Heaven if he doesn’t let up. You feel his cock gradually easing out, and then he says…

“Fucking swallow.”

And so you do, managing to swallow every drop of him and finally he releases his throbbing member from your mouth. As soon as you are let free to breathe in some kind of air, you suck in a huge breath — followed by some coughs to gain your breathing back, and then an odd sensation within your head subsides. Once again, you can’t recover. Namjoon pulls you by your hair and shoves you toward the leather sofa.

“Bend down.” And you do exactly as you’re told, obeying him as if you’re a puppy and he’s your owner. Namjoon pumps himself and slaps your ass once you bend completely over, arching your back to push your bottom out more profoundly.

“Such a good slut.” He slaps your ass and you whimper at his harsh demeanor. Somehow you manage to wiggle your goods at him, wanting to know what that monster between his legs feel like, and your craving doesn’t go unnoticed. Namjoon tugs your hair, making you arch your back whilst he forces your entire form against his chest. His stiff length is pressed against your ass, and you find yourself grinding against him for just any type of friction to ease the level of horny that’s overcome your being.

“Look at you all needy for my cock. I don’t think you’re fucking ready for me, hm?” His hold on you grows tighter, and the sharp pain of him pulling your strands, mixed with his cock rutting against your behind, strangely makes your core twitch — a dire need of attention.

“Oh, but Sir! I am ready. Plea-” With that, Namjoon shoves you forward back into doggystyle. And when your back isn’t arched enough to his liking, he takes a big blow to your ass, prompting you to adjust your posture. You’re sure by the end of this so called “session” you’ll slip from his establishment sore and bruised. The tip of his cock nudges at your entrance, he runs himself along your dripping labia, making sure to smother himself in your wet. The rising heat in the pit of your core makes you anxious. You can’t remember the last time it had been when you’d had sex, and you supposed Namjoon knows this. You’re not even sure what all this means. How could you both look at each other the same after this is all done? Will he let you go after this? Maybe refer a different counselor? Or will this continue to be what his “sessions” are about? Or is this just a one time thing, and after today, everything will go back to normal? But how could that be possible?

Your on-going thoughts are put on a hold when a slight stretching-like burn approaches so sudden, and you’re left with a wide-opened mouth. Your nails scrape the material of the couch you have left to hold onto. Namjoon feels like nothing you’d ever felt before. He’s big, you know that. But holy hell does he feel different than he looks; it’s something you can’t explain. With toes curling, you call out his name as if he’s the only person left on the plant. What did you do to deserve this kind of dick? Your walls clamp eagerly around his shaft, sucking him in entirely — like a vacuum.

“Shit! It’s been that long, huh?” He admits, gritting his teeth at the sentiment of how tight you are. “He- Let this go?” He adds, while bottoming out completely. Pulling almost all the way out to slam right back into you — your body jerking forward in the process. “S-so fucking stupid. How- Mmmm.” Namjoon can’t contain himself; he pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, trying beyond his limits to not blow his load into you so quickly.

“How could he let this go?” He pulls out and slams back into you again, this time with a harsh punch. He reaches for your hair, balling his fist into the strands, because for this time, he can’t just take it easy on you.

“More for me, then.” And that’s when you scream as if you’re being murdered — more like your vagina is. Namjoon begins a brutal pace, ramming into you and having no second thoughts about it.

“Oh! Unfgh, S-sir!” Your eyes shut instantly and face scrunches up in pleasure; you’d honestly never felt so high in your entire life. If you could be fucked like this at least once a week, you’d truly die happy.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you dumb?” He shoots with a hint of hostility. “I was relieved-” He punctuates with a harsh thrust, “To find out you both divorced… Wanted to fuck the shit out of you ever since you stepped foot into my office… Told me every fucked up thing he ever did to you.” You’re not even sure why but his confession has you smothering him in your juices. The fact he had a desire for you was hot, and you would be lying if you said you wouldn’t have fucked him the first time you had a session with him — that is, without your now ex-husband. Maybe Namjoon is right, maybe you are a slut. But who cares?

Namjoon releases his pull on your hair and pushes your head forward, you languidly fall onto the cushion and bury your face within it while he continues to bang out places in you that you never knew could be reached — his animalistic mannerisms are beyond your comprehension.

“Oh, yes!” You cry out, your figure shifting upwards from his vigorous pace. You nearly topple over at how hard he’s fucking you, and at this moment, you can’t fully think straight with him fucking you senselessly. The only sound you’re aware of is the slapping of his balls against your ass and his grunting here and there. You mumble a few incoherent words, and then a few slapping sounds follows. Your ass cheeks now burning with a hot passion.

“Look at you-” Namjoon grunts as he stills himself inside of you and twists your body around, leaving you to rest on your side. “Can’t even speak properly with my dick inside of you.”

Slap.

“Should clog this little pussy of yours up with my children.”

“Fucking come here,” He hauls you toward him to bring you closer, his cock sheathing itself fully inside of you. Not able to form proper words, your nails drag across his thigh and you wrap your leg around his waist, the heel of your foot digging into his bottom cheek. And just as you blinked, he wraps his hand around your throat and begins plunging his cock in and out of you repeatedly. You’re so close to cumming again, that you find some strength to ease your way between your legs and mindlessly rub your clit. Namjoon notes your actions and squeezes your throat harder.

“Yes! F-fuck!” You attempt to choke out; then Namjoon rams into that certain spot within you that has you seeing stars, and your orgasm floods your entire self that you’re shaking underneath him.

“Fuck yeah,” He coos while releasing your throat and slapping your face left and right. “He was so stupid, hm?” Your walls contracting around him has his cock twitching in a way that he knows is a warning of his impending orgasm. You clench so tightly around him, almost locking him in place, whilst creaming all over his shaft.

“Say it.” You whimper in reply, and he grips your face in place to keep you from squirming. “I want you to say how stupid your ex-husband was for leaving you. Say it now.” Your body continues to tremble and grow limp, yet you force the words from your mouth that even you surprised your own self.

“M-my ex-husband was stupid for leaving me, ahh!” Namjoon jams into you again, his thrusts now a much sloppier pace while his thumb reaches for your clit again, rubbing relentlessly. You wiggle around to somewhat ease your now sensitive, aching clit. But he doesn’t let you. He slaps your face again and pins your arms above your head, his body landing fully on top of yours. He licks the pads of his fingers to find your clit again, and you don’t think it’s possible to cum for the fourth time today, but you’re convinced Namjoon would prove otherwise.

“I want you to cum on my cock again.” He states, with a much softer tone this time, added with, “And tell me how much you’re worth having.” Another wave washes over you, granting his wish. Your chest heaves up and down in an attempt to fully gain your normal breathing pattern back. Your writhing body sends a shock of pleasure straight to his groin, and the need to cum is slowly advancing.

You cling onto Namjoon, and slip “I- am worth it. I-I’m worth having,” It’s as if your simple doing of following his command pushes him over the edge. But your added comment fuels him on even more.

“Cum inside of me, please. Make me full of your children.” With that, Namjoon shudders above you. His member pulses inside of you, streams of his cum color your insides. His lavender-stained strands glue themselves to his forehead, and it isn’t until now that you realize how wet your skin is, courtesy of the leather material below you.

Within the silence that subsides afterwards, aside from the melody of the both of you panting, Namjoon breaks the ice.

“You’re more than enough.”

#bts smut #namjoon smut #hyunglinenetwork #btsguild #btsgoldnet #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #houseofddaeng #btswritingcafe #mikrogalaxynet #ficswithluv #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook

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neon-junkie · 3 years

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I absolutely adore your writings and I have been inspired to start writing but the problem is that I never did before. And whenever I try I just don't know from where to begin I just feel lost not knowing exactly what to do. I really need some help or any tips. you can ignore my ask if you don't want to answer it I don't want to bother you

thank u so much, and ah, i feel your pain. here’s a load of brutally honest advice for you, hope this helps!<3

Write whatever the fuck you want. Seriously, it doesn't matter how specific or weird it is; if you enjoy writing it, then carry on.

If you're unsure on what to write, then begin diving into fantasies of your favourite characters/ships. Maybe you like to fantasize about going on a picnic date with someone? Or thinking into detail on how said ship would end up together? Or maybe you just want to fantasize about being fucked senseless by certain characters? Nice. Go and write all that shit!!!

Look into the basics of grammar and punctuation. I've noticed minor mistakes people do, such as using ' or , for speech bubbles, which honestly makes fics harder to read. " is very clear, and it's basic punctuation knowledge. Don't do anything weird with punctuation, please. You may not realize how hard work is to read whenever the punctuation is a mess...

That being said, learn when and how to use commas. Please. There is nothing harder to read such as a sentence like this with no commas. Commas are basically short breaths of air or brief pauses in your work and you can never have too many of them. See, look how hard those sentences are to read... I'm dying lol.

PARAGRAPHS. PLEASE USE THEM. It doesn't matter how incredible your fic is, if you've written everything as a large, thicc, block of text, then most of your readers will back out. Large chunks of texts are so hard to follow... so hard... I'd recommend using a new paragraph every 2-6 lines, or after a character has finished talking. Also, readers with things like ADHD and Dyslexia struggle to follow blocks of texts.

PLEASE only have one character talking per paragraph. If another character is going to start talking, then make a new paragraph for them. Your readers will quickly get confused if more than one person is talking within one paragraph.

Don't go overboard with the bold and italics feature. If you use them often then they'll lose their true meaning, and your readers will become somewhat immune to them. Use them when the time is right, when the stars have aligned, when your crops have grown, and your skin is clear.

Don't take shit from anyone. That sounds weird to say, but people will give you shit for no reason.

Expect backlash, no matter what you write. There's always going to be someone out there who hates your work, and will probably go out of their way to express their unwanted and unnecessary opinion. Block and ignore. Don't feed the trolls. Don't waste your time on them.

If you write requests, then remember that you have the right to refuse any request, for any reason, even if it's just 'I don't want to write that.' And like I said, don't take the abuse if people kick off because you won't write their fic - tell them to write it themselves.

If you do take requests, try and outline exactly what you will/won't write, characters you'll write for, topics you'd like to overall avoid (such as phobias and triggers.) And if people disrespect your limits, then block them.

This one is hard, but try and not find comfort/reassurance in things such as reblogs, likes, comments, kudos, etc. People tend to neglect writers and rarely give you feedback, let alone a reblog. It's really hard, but just... try... and fail (like me.)

Don't be afraid of smut. Sex is common. Sex is normal. Sex is taught to be shameful despite the world literally revolving around it. If Megan thee Stallion and CardiB can sing loudly and proudly about how wet their pussies are, then you can write about characters fucking each other.

Research your shit. Research everything relevant to your setting. But sometimes, for the sake of fanfiction, it's okay to bend your research to fit what you're writing.

Find a writing style that works best for you. Some people like to draft out their entire fics before diving in, some simply jot down a few notes and key points, and others wing it. I'd recommend testing all those styles to help find what works best for you.

Don't force yourself to write. Writing is usually a hobby - it's meant to be fun. If you're stressing out over a piece then leave it alone, come back to it in a few days, and if it continues to stress you then simply drop it. It's not worth getting worked up over.

#advice #writing advice #writing tip #writing tips #Anonymous

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calumcest · 3 years

Text

i know we’re gonna uncover what’s sleeping in our soul

[ao3]

so! my fic exchange fic for the absolutely lovely @lifewasradical who had the most brilliant reader profile i have to say you are truly so big brain in your preferences (perhaps because they overlap with mine no i am not biased). thank you so much to @allsassnoclass for hosting this you are wonderful and i adore you

thank you to bella and ainslee for listening to me chat shit about this fic and to my anonymous friend for also patiently listening and encouraging me and also telling me to stop fucking writing i need to hear that shit

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s.

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate.

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s.

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate. At least, in theory. In practice, it’s a little more complicated - most people’s soulmates aren’t exactly the same age as them, so some people have to wait a few years, and some people find out they haven’t got a soulmate, and a small handful of people find out their soulmate has already passed away. It’s a complicated process that’s built up over generations - when Luke’s grandparents were younger, it was still the norm for governments to inform people of the identity of their soulmate on their twenty-first birthday, but privacy and mental health concerns in recent years following a few nasty high-profile situations where people discovered their soulmates were serious criminals led to the passing of international legislation restricting access to the information. Now, the only way a person can find their soulmate is by writing to them, or the dreaded letter that arrives the day after their twenty-first birthday informing them that their soulmate has predeceased them.

Luke’s sort of the baby in his circle, so he’s the last to find out. His brothers are both older and so by the time Luke really understood the system they’d already found their soulmates; Alex and Jack had already known they were soulmates when Luke had met them, also being a few years older; and when Calum had woken up on his twenty-first birthday to see it best be you, dickhead scrawled on his arm in Michael’s messy handwriting it had only really been a formality, confirming what everyone already knew.

Luke, though, has no idea who his soulmate could be. There’s no one he’s ever felt that alleged special affinity with, no matter how hard he’s tried to force it. He’s never felt entirely safe with someone, the way that Ben describes it, never felt at home with someone, the way that Michael describes it, never felt at peace, like, deep in your soul, like the universe is balanced just right around you the way that Calum describes it. He has felt the desire to punch people in the throat before, as Alex and Jack both describe it, but he thinks that’s probably more of a them problem than it is a universal experience.

And it’s not that Luke’s particularly unusual in that - the vast majority of people don’t know who their soulmate is before their birthdays. Ben and Jack both had to fly to different countries to meet theirs, and Alex and Jack had been on opposite sides of the USA, and the way Michael talks about it, Quakers Hill would seem to be on a different continent to Mount Druitt. It’s what Luke tells himself every time he looks in the mirror at four in the morning, alcohol and often something else swimming through his veins, and sees the fear of what if I’ll be one of the lonely ones? etched into the cloudy blue of his eyes. You’ll be fine. Almost no one knows their soulmate before their twenty-first birthday. Lots of people don’t even know them then. You’re not even twenty-one yet; just be patient.

Except, now he is twenty-one.

It’s two minutes past midnight, and Luke’s sat on his bed, already a little buzzed, Michael and Calum flanking him, pen poised over his inner forearm. This is how it works - as soon as the clock ticks over to midnight on a person’s twenty-first birthday, their soulmate (if they’re already over twenty-one) is accessible. And the way to communicate is by writing to them. Luke still isn’t quite sure how it works, because it just does, so he’s never questioned it, but what one soulmate writes on their skin appears on the other’s, like a temporary tattoo. It fades after a few hours, but it’s usually there long enough for the person to notice; after all, who wouldn’t spot a new hi, hello, or the odd grocery shopping list appearing on their hand or arm?

“What do I say?” Luke says, a little nervously.

“Just say hi,” Calum suggests, and Michael scoffs. “What?” Calum says, turning to Michael and raising an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

“Well, it’s not very original, is it?” Michael says haughtily.

“It doesn’t have to be original, Mike, it just has to work,” Calum says.

“Okay, but what if it doesn’t work because it’s not original?” Michael says. Luke’s grip on the pen tightens.

“Who’s going to reject their soulmate because they said ‘hi’?” Calum points out. Michael crosses his arms, and shrugs.

“I would’ve,” he says.

“Only because you knew it was me.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Guys,” Luke says, anxiety leaking into the edges of his tone, and the two of them start a little, like they’ve just remembered he’s there.

“Just say hello,” Calum says.

“Hello?” Michael echoes. “What is he, some eighteenth century English lord? Say ‘hi’, Luke, or ‘hey’.”

“What, you can’t say ‘hello’ now?” Calum demands. “Anyway, it’s the principle, alright? Just greet them. It doesn’t have to be the best introduction in the world.” Yeah, Luke thinks. Yeah, that makes sense, right? It doesn’t have to be stellar; it’s just got to be something. So he nods, takes a deep breath, and lets the pen touch his skin.

Hi.

The word sits on his skin like everything he’s ever written on it before, doesn’t sink in or dissolve or do a little jig. Luke hadn’t been expecting it to - after all, he’s seen enough soulmates write things to their partners - but it looks just like when he used to hastily jot down his homework for the day because he’d forgotten his planner again, and it’s oddly underwhelming. It doesn’t look - or feel - like something he’s been anticipating for years is happening, despite the butterflies in his stomach. It looks a little lonesome.

“Well?” Michael asks impatiently.

“It’s been thirty fucking seconds, Mike, Jesus Christ,” Calum says, swigging from his beer.

“So?” Michael says, craning his neck to look at Luke’s arm. “Punctuality is an important quality in a partner, you know.” Calum scoffs incredulously, and Michael scowls. “Except if your partner is me. I have enough incredible traits to make up for it.” Calum just throws him a slightly-fond-but-mostly-exasperated look, and turns back to Luke, who’s still staring at his arm.

“Maybe they live in a different timezone,” Calum suggests. “Or maybe they’re younger than you.”

“Maybe,” Luke allows, and puts his arm back down on his lap, but doesn’t stop staring at it. “Maybe they’re busy.”

“Maybe,” Calum agrees.

“Maybe we should finish these fucking beers,” Michael says pointedly, and Luke finally tears his gaze away from his arm and over to Michael, who’s gesturing at the crate they’d lugged upstairs (‘they’ being Calum and Michael, because Luke refuses to lift anything heavier than a book). He’s got a point - it’s Luke’s birthday, and there’s a slim chance of his soulmate replying immediately, so he might as well enjoy himself.

“Alright,” Luke says, reaching for another bottle. “But don’t you fucking pussy out on me at two in the morning again.”

“What the fuck?” Michael demands indignantly, also reaching for a bottle. “When have we ever done that?”

-------

At two a.m., when Calum and Michael have stumbled blearily into bed together, Michael curling around Calum as they drifted off to sleep, Luke’s sat up in bed, staring at his arm. It still only says hi, and Luke’s trying to focus his alcohol-addled mind as much he can to will it to say more, to say hey, I’ve been waiting for you underneath Luke’s writing, but nothing changes.

And logically, Luke knows there are countless explanations as to why he hasn’t heard anything from his soulmate yet, least of which is that it’s only been a couple of hours. There’s a high chance his soulmate is younger than him, or asleep, or just busy, and a slim chance that they could be- well. Luke doesn’t want to think about that. It’s just- Luke’s been wanting this for years, always daydreamed about his soulmate, about the colour of their eyes and the sound of their laugh and the warmth of their touch. He’s conjured fantasy after fantasy in his mind about how his twenty-first birthday would go, about how he’d meet his soulmate and immediately fall in love, about the comfort and safety and fulfilment he would feel. Because that’s the whole thing about soulmates; they’re made for you, made to fill in the gaps in your soul that you can’t even see, and as Luke blinks at the single word written on his arm, a word that feels like it needs completing somehow, he realises he might want that more than he’d realised.

After a good ten minutes of staring and trying to engage any telepathy he may have, Luke decides that if his soulmate isn’t going to add anything, Luke’s going to have to do it himself. So he reaches for a pen, thinks for the briefest of seconds before a slightly-drunken thought tells him just introduce yourself, tell them about yourself, and he writes:

My name is Luke. It’s my twenty-first birthday today. I live in Sydney, Australia, and I have two brothers and a dog. What’s your name?

It reads like one of his French oral exams at school that he barely passed, but Luke’s satisfied with it, capping the pen and setting it aside. It’s good to give a bit more information, right? Surely his soulmate will appreciate more than just a hi, will be more likely to reply if they know a little more about him. Plus, he’s asked a question, and it’s only polite to respond to a question, isn’t it? They’ll be trapped into responding by social etiquette, if they’re of age.

Yeah, he thinks, satisfied, as he rolls over on his side and lets his heavy eyes fall shut. If his soulmate is old enough, he’ll have heard back by the morning.

-------

When Luke wakes up to the sun streaming through his window - fuck, they forgot to shut the curtains last night - he momentarily forgets what day it is, too focused on swearing under his breath and squeezing his eyes shut, debating whether it’s worth getting up to shut the curtains or not. He decides it is, and heaves himself out of bed, and as he’s padding over to the curtains, arms already outstretched, he sees two lines of text on his arm.

Luke had written more than two lines. He’d written a few, all bunched together in a long paragraph. And this handwriting is bigger than Luke’s, more confident, more assertive.

It’s his soulmate.

Luke stops dead, twisting his arm around so fast he thinks he might have given himself a Chinese burn, heart beating so fast that it’s all he can hear, and reads.

I’m sorry. I don’t want to be your soulmate.

And then, like an afterthought added reluctantly in a smaller script underneath: Happy birthday.

Luke stares at the words, reading them over and over, each hastily scribbled scratch of the pen like a tiny needle in his heart; not quite enough to tear it apart entirely, but enough to make it ache and leak.

So he has a soulmate. A soulmate who doesn’t want him back.

It doesn’t make sense, he thinks, a little disoriented, stumbling back towards his bed and reaching for the pen he’d left on his bedside table almost on autopilot. Luke’s soulmate doesn’t even know him. How can they not want to be his soulmate? What did he do wrong? How can he have ruined something that’s predestined, something that’s fated to happen?

What? he writes back. The ink is harsh black on his pale skin, dug too deep into the flesh of his arm, sitting on top of his skin rather than underneath it like the words from his soulmate - some kind of sick symbolism, maybe, Luke thinks dazedly. An impenetrable layer between them, and it’s his own skin and bone. He’s heard of people not wanting their soulmates, but only after meeting them, or finding out that they’ve committed some horrible crime, or something of the sort. He doesn’t know of anyone who doesn’t want their soulmate before meeting them.

“Hey,” Calum says suddenly and sleepily, clearing his throat and making Michael groan, stirring in his arms. “Did they write back yet?” Luke blinks, swallowing around a dry mouth.

He could lie. He could pull his sleeve down and say nah, not yet, and Calum would hum noncommittally and say sorry, mate, keep trying, I guess, and that would be it. He could keep it to himself, wouldn’t have to admit to those around him that somehow, he’s managed to turn his soulmate away from him before they even know him, that while they’re all in happy relationship with their soulmates, he’s managed to fuck his up before it began.

But on the other hand, he doesn’t know how long he could keep up that lie, because people would keep asking from time to time, and keeping it to himself feels like it would slowly eat at him from the inside out, teeth digging into the fabric of his soul and tearing it into even smaller pieces, and so he swallows, and says: “Yeah.” His voice is thick and wobbly, and it makes Calum’s brow crease, makes him struggle to sit upright leaning on his elbows, ignoring Michael’s noises of protest.

“What?” Calum asks, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?” Luke wants to cry.

“I-” he starts, and then stops. He doesn’t think he can say the words aloud. Instead, he holds out his arm, sleeve still rolled up, and watches as Calum’s eyes flit over the words, then looks away quickly as he sees Calum’s expression shift from concern to pity.

“Oh, Luke,” he says softly, and now Luke doesn’t want to cry but can’t stop it, can’t help the tears that are pricking at his eyes, forcing him to swipe at them hastily before they can fall.

“I don’t get it,” Luke says, a little numbly. “I- how can they not- they don’t even know me.”

“I know,” Calum says, shoving Michael off him and swinging his legs out of the bed they’re sharing. “Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry.” But Luke doesn’t want Calum to be sorry. He wants his soulmate to want him back. Was it the stilted introduction? Maybe Michael was right; maybe Luke should have thought of a more striking opener, should have mentioned some interesting facts about himself, come up with something flirtatious and witty and suave. Maybe his soulmate took one look at Luke’s nervous, awkward introduction and thought nah, fuck that, I’d rather be alone than have this guy as my soulmate.

“I should’ve said something better,” Luke says quietly, letting himself be pulled into Calum as he sits down next to him and puts a warm, strong arm around Luke’s shoulder. “Michael was right.”

“Oh, fuck Michael,” Calum says, with feeling, and Michael opens one eye a crack.

“Wha’ve I done?” Michael mumbles, and then, like he’s just remembered what day it is, he shoots bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and excited. “Oh, fuck, did they reply, Luke? Did they say something? What did they say, was it-”

“Mike,” Calum says warningly, and shoots Michael a look that Luke doesn’t need to be his soulmate to understand - shut the fuck up, Jesus, read the fucking room. Michael falters, and then frowns.

“What happened?” he says, a little fiercely. “Are they a dickhead?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “A proper cunt.”

“Hey,” Luke protests weakly, and Calum’s arm around him tightens.

“What did they say?” Michael asks. Luke hesitates, swallows, and then holds his arm out.

“Hang on, I need my-” Michael says, fumbling around on the bedside table for his glasses, and then swears when he realises they’re covered in fingerprints, wiping them hastily on his t-shirt before shoving them on his nose and squinting at the writing on Luke’s arm. He reads the words at least three times, going from a frown to a clenched jaw, and then looks up at the two of them, green eyes ablaze behind his glasses.

“What the fuck?” he demands, and whips his glasses off. “What the fuck?”

“I know,” Calum agrees, stroking Luke’s bicep. “It’s fucked up.”

“They don’t even know you. All you said was ‘hi’.” Luke bites his lip.

“I wrote a bit more,” he says. “After you went to bed. I just- just introduced myself. Said it was my birthday, I live in Sydney, have two brothers and a dog.”

“Alright, so all you did was fucking introduce yourself,” Michael corrects, leaning into his anger. “What the fuck sort of reason could they have for saying that?”

“Mike,” Calum says gently, and Michael’s gaze turns to him for a moment and then softens in understanding.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I just- fuck. I’m sorry, Luke.” He sets his glasses aside, gets up and sits on Luke’s other side, wrapping his arm around Luke’s waist, and that’s too much for Luke - he starts crying in earnest, big, ugly sobs that come from the frayed patches of his soul that feel like they’ll never be stitched together because the needle doesn’t want to play ball. Michael and Calum just cradle him through it, whispering soothing words, humming quietly, pressing soft kisses to his shoulders and temples and forehead as they rub gentle circles on his skin. It’s enough to stave off some of the desperate longing leaking from the pinpricks in his heart, enough to give him a little splutter of a spark in his veins that reminds him hey, you still have people who love you. It’s not enough enough, and Luke vaguely thinks it never quite will be, but it’s enough to stem the flow of tears, to make him sniff and ask for a tissue through a thick throat, to make him clear his throat and try on a watery smile.

“D’you want us to tell your parents?” Calum asks quietly, taking Luke’s snotty, tear-stained tissue from him and setting it on the bedside table. Fuck, Luke thinks, as a fresh wave of tears brim in his eyes. He’s got to tell everyone else, now, too. Over and over, telling person after person yeah, my soulmate doesn’t want me. My soulmate doesn’t want me.

“No,” Luke says, even though he does want Michael and Calum to tell his parents. “I- I should tell them.”

“Okay,” Calum says gently.

“Can you-” Luke cuts himself off, biting his lip. Michael and Calum just wait, though, so Luke bids the scraps of his dignity farewell, and mumbles: “Can you tell Alex and Jack, though?” He feels both Calum’s and Michael’s arms tighten around him, feels Michael pressing a kiss to Luke’s shoulder as Calum says yeah, mate, of course we can. Of course.

(Happy birthday, the words underneath the line etched into Luke’s skin telling him I don’t want you say, now wet with the tears dripping from Luke’s cheeks onto his sleeves. Yeah, Luke thinks bitterly. Happy fucking birthday to him.)

-------

Telling everybody is exactly as painful as Luke had anticipated.

He manages to tell his family in one go, because they ask over his birthday dinner, and he almost manages not to cry into the stunned silence as he says it, only breaking when Ben sighs sadly and pulls Luke into his chest for a tight hug. Alex and Jack call around four to ask him whether he’s finally going to get laid (what, Lex, that’s literally how you wish someone a happy twenty-first birthday, what’s your fucking problem), and Luke makes big, wide eyes at Calum, who throws a quick glance at Michael, who snatches the phone out of Luke’s hands and hastily walks out of the room, whispering something fiercely with a knitted brow and his hand cupped over the receiver. When he comes back in and hands the phone back to Luke, Alex and Jack have switched tack completely, all attempts at normalcy and breeziness mitigated by the oddly gentle, hesitant tones to their voices. Luke hates it, hates the pity and the microscope he feels like he’s under, the fact that he’s done the whole thing wrong somehow before even starting it, so he mumbles his excuses and hangs up on them as soon as he can, lying back on the sofa and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

The first few weeks are almost equally bad - Luke just wants to forget about it all, pretend that everything is normal outside of his own head, make-believe that his world hasn’t had a harsh spotlight shone on it showing the cracks in the façade he’s been admiring as though it were worthy of the Louvre, but everyone’s walking on eggshells around him, whispering whenever he leaves a room and stopping abruptly as soon as he comes in, or throwing him concerned and pitying looks. He hates it, hates that his mum will come into his room every evening and ask him too-casually how his day’s been, hates that Calum and Alex will ask him how he’s doing and look too sad when he says he’s fine, hates that Jack and Michael will bluntly tell him fuck someone else, forget about them. He just wants things to be normal again, doesn’t want the constant reminder that even the person made for him doesn’t want him swelling up in his lungs and choking him day in, day out.

He does a lot of research in those first few weeks. The majority of the results are about soulmate pairings where one person has moral qualms with the other, and a smaller group are about pairings where one partner only sees a platonic future where the other wants a romantic future - those are rare, though, as the system is designed to take these preferences into account - and it’s only on Luke’s second week of searching that he finds something, a tiny footnote at the bottom of an article about being soulmates with a serial killer. Choosing love, it says, and when Luke clicks on the link it opens up an ancient-looking website that says Choosing love: soulmates and the autonomous self.

It’s not a long article, and it’s riddled with spelling mistakes, but the gist of it seems to be that the author thinks the soulmate system is fucked up in principle, not in practice - they readily acknowledge that their soulmate is perfect for them, but resent the idea of having love assigned to them. It brings in ideas of free will raised by such authors as- and then Luke stops understanding, eyes glazing over as he reads metaphysical libertarianism and fatalism and compatibilism. So maybe this is what Luke’s soulmate’s problem is, Luke thinks, rereading the first few paragraphs that he actually understood. But it doesn’t make any fucking sense - why would someone try and choose someone that might not be right for them, when the right person is at their fingertips?

(He asks one night, after a few too many hours alone with his thoughts. Why don’t you want to be my soulmate? But it, like everything he’s written over the past month since his birthday, goes unanswered.)

Luke tries to reach out a few more times over the next few weeks, with varying degrees of success. His soulmate is completely unresponsive when Luke asks where they live, or how old they are, or what they do for a living, or what they look like.

Can you at least tell me your name? he asks once. No response.

Okay, what about your initials? he asks the next day. Again, no response.

One initial? he tries, the day after that. Please. Just your first initial. Maybe it’s the ‘please’ that does it, or maybe Luke’s soulmate is just sick of being asked the same question three days in a row and doesn’t want to get half a letter? Write it in code? tomorrow, but when Luke wakes up the next morning there’s a tiny, slightly-smudged A written underneath where he’d asked for the initial.

That’s the last Luke hears from his soulmate.

For a while, he writes a few times a day, tries to say something witty or something clever or something interesting. He tells A about his job, tells them about how frustrating it is to have Jack as his co-worker and Alex as his boss (because seriously, Jack should be fired at least four times an hour, and he’s fairly sure your boss being your soulmate violates a fair few codes of conflict of interest), tells them about Michael and Calum and how he sort of wishes he’d gone to university like they did. A never responds, and so after a while Luke gets self-conscious and stops writing so often, just checks in once a day in the evening to give A a roundup of the previous twenty-four hours. Luke figures the person doesn’t care, probably won’t read it, but it’s like a more cathartic version of a diary, one that has the possibility of being read and talking back, however slim the probability may be. Every evening, just before he goes to bed, he rounds up his day, vents to A about Jack breaking a bass in the shop again, laments that he doesn’t get to see Michael and Calum as often as he’d like to, talks about the regulars who come in like clockwork for their guitar strings, muses about whether he should get up early and get a coffee on the way to work tomorrow or whether he should get as much precious sleep as he can. He fills his arm from left to right, twisting it all the way around until he has to hold the pen at such a strange angle that he can barely control it, getting out all his thoughts and grievances and little things he’s observed that day, and when he wakes up in the morning, his arm is completely empty again. A never writes back, never even indicates that they’ve seen or read Luke’s ramblings, but they never tell him to stop it, either. And while that probably doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t not mean anything, either, and that’s as good as Luke figures it’s going to get for him. Plus, it becomes so ingrained in Luke’s daily routine that he barely even notices he’s doing it, and he sort of thinks getting a response might throw him off a bit.

(One night, so drunk he can barely stand, Luke scrawls I wish you wanted me. I wish I didn’t have to be alone. It’s gone when he wakes up the next morning, but there’s a tiny pen marking underneath where it had been, like A had gone to write something and then thought better of it.)

A week or so after that incident, Luke’s just taking out his earphones, still humming along to the song he’d been listening to as he shoulders the door to the shop open, when Jack appears right in front of his face, making him jump and drop his phone.

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters, picking his phone up from the floor and inspecting it for damage he can sue Jack for.

“Glad you noticed,” Jack says. “Come to the back room.” Luke stops, and narrows his eyes.

“What for?” he says suspiciously.

“What do you mean, what for?” Jack says, sounding a little affronted. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

“Well, we need to fix that. We should do a team bonding day,” Jack says, just as Alex walks around the corner. “Hey, Lex, d’you think me and Luke can do a team bonding day?”

“A team bonding day?” Alex echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I thought torture was illegal in Australia.”

“That’s true,” Jack agrees placidly. “I’m not sure I can spend a whole day with Luke.” Luke scowls, aiming a kick at Jack’s ankle, just as Alex passes by and says: “I was talking about you, idiot.”

“I’m a fucking pleasure to spend time with,” Jack says, voice rising as Alex walks away. “You spend all your time with me.”

“For legal purposes,” Alex calls over his shoulder. Jack frowns.

“Legal purposes?” he says.

“Yeah,” Alex shouts. “The life insurance papers have to look convincing.” It’s Jack’s turn to scowl, yelling fuck you at Alex’s retreating figure and getting a you can’t afford my fees in return.

“Not on the fucking salary you pay me,” Jack shouts, and then turns to Luke. “Come to the back room.” Luke eyes him warily.

“No,” he says. Jack scowls again.

“Aren’t I your manager?” he says. “Come to the back room.”

“I think I’m your manager at the moment,” Luke says, because who’s manager is dependent on the whims of a certain Alex Gaskarth and Jack breaking another bass last week had outdone Luke accidentally selling an Epiphone for half its retail price. Jack, though, just waves a hand dismissively, then grabs Luke’s wrist and starts tugging him towards the back room.

“Hey,” Luke protests, trying to plant his feet and failing miserably - Jesus, Jack’s stronger than he looks. “This is kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” Jack says. “You know where you’re going.”

“But I don’t want to be,” Luke says, grabbing onto the desk as he’s pulled past and scrabbling to hold onto it. Jack just yanks harder, dislodging Luke’s grip, and forces him into the back room.

“What?” Luke asks warily, when Jack finally lets go, glancing around at the cardboard boxes filling their shelving units up to the ceiling full of new bass and electric guitars that Luke was meant to unbox two days ago but didn’t. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” Jack protests, and then kicks the door shut behind them and grins. “It’s what I’m going to do.” Luke groans, tipping his head back, and shakes his head.

“No,” he says, taking a step back and holding his hands up. “Nope. I’m not getting involved in this.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I know it’s something I don’t want to be involved in.”

“No you don’t,” Jack says.

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because it’s something you’re planning.” Jack pouts.

“Listen-” he starts, taking a step forward towards Luke, who instinctively takes another step back, and that’s all Luke hears because then his heel is hitting a cardboard box hard, forcing it back against the wall, and the box on top of that is wobbling and making the box on top of that one wobble even more, and Luke says shit and flings his arms out to steady himself, catching the metal of the shelving unit and pulling it towards him, making all of the heavy, heavy fucking guitars in it come crashing down on top of him. A few land next to him with ugly crunching sounds and accompanying twangs, and a few hit his legs and force him to the ground, and then a few are hitting his stomach and chest and crushing his organs, making him gasp for breath, and then a few are hitting his head, making him momentarily unable to see as his vision swims so much it almost disappears entirely, and then Luke must lose consciousness because the next thing he hears is a distant voice shouting, sounding incredibly worried.

“Luke?” they’re yelling. “Luke? Fuck. Oh, fuck. Shit. Luke, Luke, are you okay? Are you- fuck, fuck, Lex, help me, help me move- no, not that, you fucking idiot, that’s going to-” and then Jack’s face comes into view, uncharacteristic concern etched on his features.

“Huh,” Luke says weakly. “You look funny when you care about me.” And then he passes out again.

-------

When Luke wakes up again, he’s in hospital.

At first, it sends a jolt of fear running through him when he wakes up in an all-white, clinical-looking environment, but his brain supplies a helpful hey, remember when all those guitars fell on you? That was pretty wack, and then it sort of makes sense.

“Oh, hey!” someone says, and Luke’s head snaps to the left to find the source of the voice. It’s a pretty - very fucking pretty, oh God - man, standing next to a bunch of machines, some of which are bleeping, some of which are blinking. “You’re up.”

“I’m up,” Luke says, and finds that his throat is dry and raspy. He coughs, and tries again. “Uh. Who are you?”

“I’m Ashton,” the guy says. “I’m your nurse. Well, until my shift ends.”

“Oh,” Luke says. “Hi. I’m Luke.” Ashton grins, hazel eyes lighting up in amusement, and steps back from the machines he’s been fiddling with.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Luke says, and looks down at himself. His right arm is bound in a cast, and when he tries to wriggle his toes he finds his left foot in a cast too, and winces when he takes a deep breath. “My body hurts.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, and moves to the foot of Luke’s bed to pick up a tablet.

“Yeah,” he says. “You had a bunch of guitars fall on you. You’re lucky you came out of it with just a few broken bones and a concussion.”

“And probably a huge bill for damages, if my boss is anything to go by,” Luke adds, and Ashton looks up from the tablet with a small smile.

“Nightmare boss?” he says, and then frowns. “Hang on, you’ve had a visitor claiming to be your boss. American guy?”

“Not the one with skunk hair?” Luke asks in trepidation, because the last thing he wants to deal with is Jack Barakat in a hospital environment, and Ashton shakes his head.

“No, but he was with him,” he says. “I think they’re both still here, actually. They were insistent that they wanted to be here when you woke up, but I can tell them to leave, if you’d like.” Luke hesitates.

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “The boss thing was, uh. A joke. Well. Kind of. He is a shitty boss. But. Not like that.” He swallows. Fuck. He should not be allowed to interact with hot men, honestly. Maybe Ashton will just think these incredibly lacking social skills are a part of the concussion and not just Luke’s main failing as a person.

“It’s still visiting hours, so if you want they can come in, but I’ll get the doctor to check you over first, since you’re awake now,” Ashton says, and Luke nods. Yeah. He should probably get checked over. Seems like the kind of thing you do in a hospital, right?

“Sure,” he says, and Ashton throws him one final grin before heading out of the room. Luke exhales shakily, lying back on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling.

Fuck. He hopes he’s sick enough to stay in hospital forever, and that Ashton’s on shift tomorrow, too, and the day after that, and the day after that. However long it takes for Luke to become socially adept, really.

-------

The doctor tells him something about broken leg and fractured wrist and broken ribs and bruised internally, but all Luke hears is will take a few months to heal fully but no lasting damage, and we’re just going to keep you in for today and tomorrow and monitor your situation, since you had a fairly nasty concussion. Jack and Alex come bursting in as soon as the doctor gives Luke the all-clear for visitors, rushing to his side and telling him how fucking stupid he is, what the fuck, why would he grab onto the fucking shelving unit to steady himself, but their eyes are shining with worry and their faces are a little red and puffy, and it makes Luke’s heart lurch in his chest in an oddly pleasant way. Alex tells Luke he’ll give him a pay raise if he doesn’t sue for workplace injury, and Luke laughs and then immediately groans in pain and says don’t make me laugh, I’ve broken my ribs.

(“Don’t worry,” Jack assures him, “Michael and Cal are coming in after us. You're safe on the laughing front.”)

Michael and Calum do visit after Alex and Jack, but only get to stay for five minutes before Ashton’s sticking his head in the door and saying Luke, your parents are here, and they’re not happy that everyone’s seen you before they have.

(“He’s your type, isn’t he?” Michael says loudly, before the door’s even closed behind Ashton, and Luke wants to die. He wonders whether he can force one of his broken ribs to puncture his lungs, or something.)

By the time his parents have finished fussing over him, his mum plumping up his pillows and his dad clapping a hand on his broken leg that makes Luke let out a choked scream of pain, Luke’s so exhausted that he just falls straight asleep, only waking up when he hears some shuffling around his bed.

“Mm?” he mumbles, blinking blearily, and finds Ashton smiling apologetically at him.

“Sorry,” he stage-whispers. “I’m not great at being quiet.”

“No, no, ‘s all good,” Luke says, swallowing like it’s going to get the horrible taste out of his mouth.

“How are you?”

“Fine, thanks, and you?” Luke answers automatically, and then belatedly realises he’s lying in a hospital bed with an IV in and a few broken bones. “Uh. I mean-” he says hastily, but Ashton just laughs, gentle and amused. It sends a shiver down Luke’s spine, although that might just be whatever Ashton’s just pressed on the machine blinking next to Luke’s head.

“Do you ever get a good answer to that?” Luke asks, turning his head to look at Ashton.

“To what?”

“To asking people how they are in a hospital.” Ashton smiles down at the tube he’s fiddling with, and Luke tries not to think about the fact that the other end of the tube is inside him, tries not to let his stomach turn. It’s probably not very sexy to throw up in front of Hot Ashton.

“Not really,” Ashton says. “But it’s free to care, right?” Oh, God. Hot Ashton is also Caring Ashton. Fuck. Luke is not in the right state of mind to deal with this.

“I guess,” Luke says.

“So, how are you?” Ashton asks, smile still playing at his lips.

“Uh,” Luke says. “Tired. My body still hurts.”

“You should rest,” Ashton advises him. “Pretty much the best thing you can do for your body right now.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, and then without thinking, adds: “I mean, I was resting, until…” he trails off, rational part of his brain kicking in and screaming what the fuck, Luke, that’s your fucking nurse, that’s so rude, that’s so unprofessional, you’re going to get kicked out of hospital and forced to try and heal your broken bones on your own (okay, maybe not so rational), but Ashton just laughs, bright and amused.

“Point taken,” he says, but he’s still grinning, so Luke figures he’s safe. “Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep.”

“I’ll send my botox bill your way,” Luke says, and Ashton arches an eyebrow, stepping back from the machines at Luke’s side.

“I’m not sure that’ll hold up in court,” he says.

“Guess we’ll have to find out,” Luke says, eyes following Ashton as he crosses the room over to the door. Ashton huffs out a laugh, looking over at Luke as he pulls the door open and lets light spill from the bright hallway into the room, making him glow softly like some kind of weird, scrubs-clad angel.

“Sleep well, Luke,” he says, and then the light is gone.

-------

Luke does sleep well.

He sleeps for most of the next day, only waking up for a very groggy talk with a new doctor of which he takes absolutely nothing in, then for a very painful walk to the bathroom with a brisk nurse who tugs on his elbow too hard, and then when Alex, Jack, Michael and Calum all pile into his room as soon as visiting hours begin. He’s kind of glad they’re all there, because it means they can entertain each other rather than him having to partake in the conversation, so he can just lie back, exhausted, and watch them bicker over whether or not Luke would notice if they stole his hospital food. Wait, hang on-

“Hey,” Luke says, frowning. “No one’s stealing my hospital food. I need to heal.”

“But it’s salmon tonight,” Michael protests. “You don’t even like salmon.” Luke pulls a face. He really doesn’t like salmon.

“So, what, I should starve?” he says indignantly, even though he probably would rather starve than eat salmon.

“We can sneak you food,” Jack says earnestly. “Mike and I were thinking-”

“I told you, Jack,” Alex says exasperatedly. “Visiting hours are once a day. Luke needs to eat more than that.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Michael says. “Not if we bring him enough food.”

“He can space it out,” Jack suggests.

“Yeah, I’m sure Luke would fucking love to eat cold and soggy chicken nuggets,” Calum says sarcastically, and Alex nods and points at him, all thank God, finally someone speaking some sense.

“They’re not going to get soggy,” Michael protests.

“Yeah, do you know how many preservatives they put in those things?” Jack adds.

“And you think that’s what Luke should be eating to mend his broken bones?” Alex asks dryly.

“He’s fine,” Michael says breezily. “He’s twenty-one. His body’s been managing a poor diet so far.” Luke scowls.

“My diet’s fucking fine,” he says. “What’s wrong with my diet?” All four of them round on him in disbelief.

“Are you fucking serious?” Calum demands, at the same time that Michael says: “What isn’t wrong with your diet?” and Alex says: “When was the last time you even looked in the general direction of a vegetable?” and Jack says: “No, y’know, the man’s got a point. His diet could be worse.”

“Just because it could be worse doesn’t mean it isn’t bad,” Calum points out.

“Credit where credit is due,” Jack says solemnly, “he’s doing a better job than he could be.”

“The only way Luke’s diet could be worse is if he went all Monsieur Mangetout,” Alex says, and the four of them blink at him. “What?” he says defensively. “C’mon, Monsieur Mangetout? You know Monsieur Mangetout.”

“You wanna flex your French pronunciation skills one more time?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow. “The floor is yours, mate.” Alex rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off,” he says. “My point is-” but they don’t get to find out what his point is, because then the door’s opening and Ashton’s sticking his head in. Luke wishes he’d been able to shower this morning - he’s sure his hair is sticking up all over the place, and that half the curls are flattened and frizzy, and he sort of wants to say sorry, Ashton, I swear I’m at least a little hotter than this most of the time.

“Visiting hours are over, guys, I’m sorry,” Ashton says apologetically, and all four of Luke’s friends groan. “Sorry, sorry, I know,” Ashton says, and then throws Luke a smile before closing the door as they start gathering their things together, the sound of chairs scraping filling the room.

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Jack says to Luke, nodding at the door Ashton’s just closed.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “He’s also my nurse, so. Very illegal.” Michael pulls a face.

“Is it?” he asks. Calum and Alex both throw him hard looks.

“Yes,” they chorus.

“Fucking hell,” Jack grumbles, pulling his coat on. “Laws are really fucking boring.” In this case, Luke can’t help but heartily agree.

“Well, hurry up with the healing, and then he won’t be your nurse anymore,” Michael suggests.

“Pretty sure it’s still illegal,” Alex notes.

“So?”

“Jesus Christ, Jack,” Alex mutters, and pushes him towards the door. “We’ll come back tomorrow if you’re still here, Luke.”

“Us too,” Calum says, shepherding Michael in the direction of the door too. “Bye, Luke. Be safe.”

“Be safe?” Luke echoes. “What sort of fucking danger am I in at a hospital?”

“Falling in love, apparently,” Calum says, and then the door swings shut behind him.

Well, Luke thinks. He’s not exactly wrong.

-------

Ashton comes back at around seven p.m. with Luke’s dinner, although I don’t usually serve dinner, it’s not a nurse’s job, but Jenna’s just had to go home for a family emergency and I was the closest person at hand. It’s salmon, and Luke pulls a face when he sees it that makes Ashton laugh.

“You don’t like salmon?” he says. “We have veggie options too, if you want that.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Luke says hastily, not wanting to come across like the fussy eater he is, for some reason. “Salmon’s good. I like salmon. It’s, uh, a good fish.” Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then snorts.

“Sure,” he says, and sets the tray down on Luke’s lap carefully. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Luke says, which isn’t really a lie this time. “Everything still hurts, but.” He shrugs. “It’s alright.”

“You’re a trooper,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke nods solemnly, using his unbroken left hand to slot the knife into his right hand.

“It’s the top level care I’m receiving,” he says, and Ashton laughs again.

“Flattery will get you places,” he says, and Luke pauses, glancing over at Ashton.

“What places?” he asks, and Ashton winks, and sets a slice of chocolate cake down on the tray balanced on Luke’s legs. Luke looks down at it, and then back up at Ashton.

“That was on the menu,” he says. “You were going to give that to me anyway.” Ashton just grins, and heads back to the door.

“I would’ve withheld it if you hadn’t complimented my exemplary nursing skills,” he says, as he pulls the door open.

“I thought you said dinner service wasn’t part of the job description?”

“I might fight for it to be now,” Ashton says, pulling the door open. “Everyone needs to play God from time to time.” Luke snorts.

“That’s a completely non-alarming sentence to come out of your nurse’s mouth,” he says. “I think I’ll check my IV myself tonight.” Ashton’s lips hitch up in an amused smile.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he says, and then he’s gone.

-------

The next day, Luke is told that he can be discharged after a series of tests have been carried out, which are booked in for five p.m. - right in the middle of visiting hours, so he texts everybody not to come - and then get delayed until nine p.m. By ten, Luke’s still waiting for someone to come round as promised, and is getting incredibly restless, so turns to reach for his phone again - and stops dead.

There’s writing on his arm.

Writing that he, with his broken right hand, did not put there.

He yanks his arm close to him, then turns to fumble with the light above his bed because he can’t fucking see, and squints at the writing.

It’s just three words, small and scribbled like they had to be written fast or A would have lost the nerve to say them, but they make Luke’s heart thud against his ribcage like it’s trying to break a few more of his ribs.

Are you okay?

What?

Luke’s reaching for the pen in his drawer before he’s even thought about it, a million responses racing through his mind. What the fuck, being one, I thought you didn’t want to be my soulmate another, why are you talking to me now? What changed? in there somewhere too, but mostly: why?

It’s a good thing it’s only why, too, because writing the letters takes a fucking age and when he’s done, it sort of looks like something he would have produced when he was four years old. The reply is instantaneous, though, and Luke can barely believe it, feels like he’s hallucinating the way the letters are appearing one by one on his arm. He’s too scared to blink, like it’ll break the spell somehow, like looking away will make A think well, he’s replied, that’s good enough, but another sentence appears, letter by letter.

You haven’t complained about Jack in a few days.

So they have been reading Luke’s quasi-diary-entries.

Fuck.

Shit. Luke has no idea what to say. Should he tell the truth? Should he try and take a mile from the inch A is giving him, ask what the fuck is going on, press the question of why A doesn’t want to be his soulmate? No, that’ll make them clam up again. Maybe he just shouldn’t reply at all. After all, it’s not like A’s ever given Luke anything when he’s been pouring his heart out in the early hours of the night, is it? Maybe Luke should give them a taste of their own medicine.

He only considers that for a total of half a second before the pen is back on his skin, writing underneath A’s handwriting - God, it’s fucking surreal.

I’m in hospital. Broke a bunch of bones. There’s a longer pause this time, and when a few minutes of Luke staring intently down at his arm have passed with no further reply and he’s thinking fuck, that’s it with a sinking heart, a few more words appear.

I’m sorry to hear that. Get well soon.

Luke’s just about to put the pen back down to his arm, to write a quick thanks, because it’s about all he can manage to write legibly with the weird way he has to hold his pen with the cast on, when more scribbles start appearing.

How are you doing? Luke bites his lip.

Fine, he says. You?

I’m not the one in hospital.

True, Luke writes. My body aches.

You should rest. Best thing you can do for your body. Luke huffs out a laugh.

You sound like my nurse.

Your nurse knows what they’re talking about.

I’d be concerned if he didn’t. The reply takes a little longer to come this time, but after a few minutes more words are appearing.

Touché. Luke’s just staring down at the word, racking his brain to think of something to say to keep the conversation going because fuck, fuck, he’s talking to his fucking soulmate, when a few more words appear.

Goodnight, Luke. Get some rest.

I’d like to, but I’m waiting for more tests, Luke writes. He waits, and he waits, but no response comes.

Fuck, he thinks, rereading the entire conversation over and over, and over just for good measure. Fuck. He’s spoken to his soulmate. He’s spoken to A. He’s spoken to his fucking soulmate.

He reaches over for his phone, turns his arm this way and that and takes a photo, and sends it to his group chat with Michael and Calum. He sees Michael’s typing bubble pop up before the second picture has even sent, but then the door is opening and Doctor Nichols is striding in, and Luke hastily puts his phone down and nods along to the list of tests she’s rattling off that need doing before he can be discharged, mind covered in an impervious sheen of soulmate soulmate soulmate that stops any of it going in.

Fuck, Luke thinks, as he’s getting a bright light shone in his eyes and trying his hardest not to blink or look over at his phone, which is buzzing incessantly on his bedside table. Fuck.

-------

Michael and Calum agree that this is a positive step.

(Are you fucking kidding me? Calum says, when Luke voices hesitancy. They checked in on you. They fucking care.

rt, Michael says.)

Luke’s not so certain, though. The thought of it is sending delicious sparks dancing from his heart to his fingertips and down to his abdomen (or maybe that’s the medication, he’s not entirely sure), but he doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, given A’s hard stance and silence for the past few months. But A would have received a letter if Luke had died, and the government are usually pretty quick to send those out, so maybe there is something to be said for the fact that they only waited three nights before asking after Luke.

Luke’s body is too exhausted to let him stay up psyching himself out over it, though, forcing him into a deep sleep as soon as Doctor Nichols has told him he’s free to leave the next morning and left him be, and when he wakes up the next morning it’s to someone opening his curtains.

“Hey,” they say, as Luke’s eyelids try to fight the fucking sun, and Luke shields his eyes with his hand to see Ashton silhouetted by the window.

“Weren’t you on shift last night?” he asks, and Ashton smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Life of a nurse,” he says tiredly. “Sorry for the light, by the way. Figured it would be a nicer way to wake you up than ripping your IV out.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Luke says, squinting and scrunching his face up, and Ashton huffs out a small laugh as he makes his way over to Luke’s side.

“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” he warns.

“That’s a shame,” Luke says. “I always thought having needles ripped out of me would be an enjoyable experience.” Ashton smiles again, and there are a few crinkles around his eyes. God, he really is fucking pretty.

“Are you looking forward to going home?” he asks.

“I’m looking forward to not having to eat salmon anymore,” Luke says.

“Hey, I offered you the veggie option,” Ashton says, and Luke winces as he feels the needle and whatever the fuck else being pulled out of his vein.

“I didn’t want to be a nuisance,” Luke says.

“Hold this,” Ashton instructs, and Luke reaches over to hold the gauze on his arm as Ashton reaches for a clear plaster. “You wouldn’t have been a nuisance. You’ve been an exemplary patient.”

“Is that a compliment?” Luke says. “I’m good at lying around being useless?” Ashton grins.

“You’re not useless,” he says. “Patients keep me in a job.” Luke grins back.

“I’ll try my best to get seriously injured again, then,” he says, and as Ashton turns away to the trolley he’s put Luke’s cannula on he catches the tail end of a small smile playing at his lips.

“Legally and professionally, I can’t encourage that,” he says, and Luke snorts.

“But personally?”

“No comment.”

“So you want me to hurt myself?”

“Is that what ‘no comment’ means these days?” Ashton says, throwing Luke a glance over his shoulder as he pushes his trolley over to the door, eyes twinkling. “Get some rest, Luke.”

“Wait,” Luke blurts, and Ashton stops. Luke blinks, like he's waiting for Ashton to say something, even though he's the one who'd asked him to stop, because shit, he hasn't thought this through. Something in his brain just said stop, ask him out, ask him out. And really, he thinks, why not, because if he embarrasses himself he'll never have to see Ashton again, and he's no longer Ashton's patient, so he takes a deep breath, says fuck it, and mumbles: “Uh. Look. Would you- would you want to go out? With me? Not- not now, obviously. Some other time. But- y’know. Would you?” Jesus Christ. Ashton hesitates for a moment, and then throws Luke a slightly sad, kind smile.

“I’d love to, Luke,” he says, and Luke’s heart soars for a moment, flying higher than it’s ever gone before “but I can’t.” Fuck. Luke’s heart should have read Icarus.

“Why not?” Luke says. “I’m not your patient anymore.” Ashton shakes his head.

“Still not allowed,” he says. “Only exception is if you find out you’re soulmates.” Well, fuck.

“Oh,” Luke says, and hopes the wobble in his voice isn’t as audible to Ashton as it is to him. “Okay.”

“I really- fuck. Sorry. I just- I’m sorry, Luke.” Ashton smiles at him again, barely more than a twitch of his lips, and then he’s gone.

Luke leans back against his pillows and stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding.

Maybe he’s just not meant to be with people whose names start with the letter A.

-------

Luke sits around at home for a week before he decides he’s so bored and so sick of being fussed over by his parents that he insists on coming back to work. Alex, in turn, insists on picking him up and dropping him off every evening, like he’s doing a fucking school run, and Jack insists on Luke doing nothing besides working the till so he can sit down. It’s fucking boring, because all the fun parts of the job are helping little kids buy their first guitars or talking to seasoned professionals about the ins and outs of the instruments, not smiling politely and waiting while they swipe their cards. He has nothing to do between people paying, so he spends most of his time on his phone, swiping through his various social media apps and wishing his hand weren’t in a cast so he could at least play guitar. It’s not exactly the worst way to spend his time, though, especially now that he’s found that forum of people pretending to be middle-class Dads which is oddly relatable and funnier to him than it probably is to anyone else. He’s in the middle of scrolling through it in a particularly quiet lull on a Thursday afternoon, screenshotting the best ones to send to Ben and Jack, when the shadow of a person looms over him.

“Hey, I- oh,” they say, and Luke looks up from his phone hastily to find-

“Ashton?” he says, surprised.

“Hi,” Ashton says. God, he looks good; he’s wearing a leather jacket over a faded grey Guns ‘N’ Roses t-shirt and black jeans, and his hair is falling into his eyes a little, and Luke sort of wants to kiss him and sort of wants to die.

“Uh, hi,” Luke says. “Sorry. I just, um. Wasn’t expecting to see you here. How can I help you?” Ashton blinks at him, and then smiles.

“I need some new strings for my Strat,” he says, and Luke nods. Of course Ashton plays guitar. Hopefully he doesn’t play, like, fucking drums, or something. That would probably be too much for Luke’s little heart to handle.

“Sure,” he says, turning to the selection of strings behind him. “Ernie Ball Regular Slinky alright?”

“Sounds good,” Ashton says, and Luke pulls a pack down and sets them on the desk in front of him, busying himself with adding up the cost like he doesn’t know it off by heart.

��How are you doing?” Ashton asks as Luke furiously types in numbers to avoid looking at Ashton, making Luke pause and glance up at him.

“You’re not on the job right now,” he says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh, raking a hand through his curls.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t care,” he says. “So?”

“I’m alright,” Luke says. “Bored, mostly. Kind of shit not being able to use my hand.” Ashton makes a small noise of sympathy, and Luke dramatically presses a button on the till and announces: “That’s fourteen dollars, please.”

“You won’t have to have the cast on for long,” Ashton says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. Luke tries not to watch the way the movement exposes a sliver of his stomach. Thank fuck the scrubs had made Ashton entirely shapeless, because Jesus Christ.

“I feel like I’ll have to relearn how to use my hand normally when it comes off,” Luke admits, accepting the twenty Ashton hands him and fumbling with the till for a five and a one.

“That’s pretty normal,” Ashton says, accepting the change. Luke’s fingers brush against Ashton’s palm, and he tries not to let them twitch at the contact. “You’ll be used to it after a day or two.”

“Maybe I’ll grow attached to it, though,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. “I mean, everyone has to be nice to me now.” Ashton looks down at the cast, which has Luke sucks big dicks written on it in huge, black letters courtesy of Jack, and then back up at Luke pointedly, who sighs. “That’s just Jack,” he says, and right on cue, Jack pops his head out of the back room.

“What’s me?” he says, and then brightens. “Hey, Nurse Irwin!”

“Hi, Mr Barakat,” Ashton says.

“Hey, idiot, Luke’s sexy nurse is here,” Jack shouts, and Alex’s head appears out of the office.

“What?” he says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin.”

“Hi, Mr Gaskarth,” Ashton says politely. “How’re you?”

“Great, thanks,” Alex says. “Better now that you’ve patched my best employee up.”

“Hey,” Jack says, affronted. “Aren’t I your best employee?”

“Did Nurse Irwin patch you up?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’ll be my best employee after that, then.”

“Good to know my nursing skills are what keep your business running,” Ashton puts in, and Alex grins.

“Think it’s more than just your nursing skills,” he says cryptically, and then disappears back into his office.

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters under his breath, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Uh. I’m sorry. Here. Um. Have fun?” Ashton smiles, a little teasing, a little amused.

“Will do,” he says. “Look after that arm for me.” Luke’s heart skips a beat. For me.

“Well, I was planning on smashing it up a bit more, but now that you’ve said that…” he says, and Ashton laughs, eyes twinkling.

“See you around, Luke,” he says, pocketing his strings and heading for the door. Luke watches him go, and then groans and puts his head in his hands.

“What the fuck?” Jack says. “Why didn’t you ask him out?”

“I did,” Luke mumbles into his palms. “The day I got discharged. He said no.”

“What?” Alex pipes up, sticking his head out of his office again, because apparently he’s still listening too. “Why? Does he already have a soulmate?” Luke’s stomach flips. He’s been trying not to think about that possibility. But surely Ashton would have said that, right? It’s the kindest way to let someone down. And he had said he would have loved to, however much out of politeness that may have been.

“Apparently it’s still not allowed, unless you’re soulmates.”

“Well, you could be-” Jack starts, but immediately falls silent upon a stern look from Alex. “Fine. Well, since you’ve got nothing better to do in your spare time now, you can start by reorganising those CDs you fucked up the other day.” He nods at the cardboard box that’s been sitting behind Luke for a few days now, and Luke rolls his eyes, and bends down to pick it up with a dramatic sigh.

“Fuck you,” Luke says sullenly, and gets to work.

-------

Nine days after Luke’s discharged from the hospital, another message appears on his arm.

How are you doing?

Luke’s heart skips a beat, and he reaches for a pen with fumbling fingers, slotting it into his hand as best as he can manage.

Better, Luke writes. I’m out of hospital.

I’m glad to hear that.

Why do you ask? Luke decides to chance it. Fuck it, he thinks. Why not?

You still haven’t been writing. Luke swallows.

My writing hand is in a cast.

Oh. Luke frowns.

Could you not tell from my handwriting?

Honestly? No. Luke scowls.

My handwriting isn’t that bad.

Isn’t it? Luke’s scowl deepens. A is fucking rude. Before he can come up with a suitably haughty response, though, they’re writing something else.

Can you just write me something in the evenings to let me know you’re okay?

Luke stares at it for a moment, something bitter rising in his throat. He doesn’t owe A that. A’s done next to nothing but ignore him, and now they’re demanding something from him?

You never let me know you’re okay, he writes back, a little petulantly. There’s a longer pause this time, like A’s really thinking about the answer, because when the words come they’re written like they’ve been rehearsed prior to pen touching skin.

Do you want me to?

Luke hesitates. Does he? Of course he does, it’s his fucking soulmate, but they don’t want him, and it might make him more attached to them and make it hurt more when they inevitably reject him again.

(Oh, who is he fucking kidding.)

Yes.

Okay. That’s it, they don’t say anything else, and Luke doesn’t want to chase them, so he puts the pen down and stares at the conversation.

Okay. So they’re- so they’re sort of talking now. That’s something, right? Maybe they can at least be friends.

(He pushes away the that’s going to hurt too much, Luke, that’s going to hurt far too fucking much that flashes like a neon warning sign in his head, rolls over and goes to sleep.)

-------

After that, he falls into a sort of routine.

He goes to work, plays on his phone, jumps whenever the door opens in case it’s Ashton, like his strings are going to break within a week or two, then goes home or goes to Michael and Calum’s to watch them play videogames (he’d discovered fairly early on Xbox controllers and casts don’t mix), then gets ready for bed and writes A a quick I’m okay message. Sometimes it’s just that, just I’m okay, and sometimes it’s I’m okay, had a good day at work, or I’m good, really tired, or I’m okay, Jack broke another bass guitar today, I don’t know what he has against those things. A always replies with Thanks, I’m okay, but it’s something. It’s almost enough, and Luke can make do with that.

Six and a half weeks after getting out of the hospital, Luke gets his arm cast taken off. His leg still has a few weeks to go, and he’s told his ribs are healing nicely, congratulations on refraining from strenuous exercise (Luke almost laughs in the doctor’s face), but Luke’s not really thinking about that. Logically, he knows the chances are next to nothing, but he can’t help but look out for Ashton, just in case. He doesn’t see him, of course, but when he half-jokingly mentions it to Calum and Michael that night, Michael makes an offhand comment that sticks in Luke’s mind.

“Looks like Ashton’s helping you get over A,” he says, eyes glazed over as he stares at the screen in front of them.

“What do you mean?” Luke says.

“He’s all you fucking think about despite only meeting him, like, four times,” Michael says, and then swears loudly as Calum shoots him. “You cunt.”

“Should’ve been paying attention,” Calum says, with a shrug.

Luke’s thinking about that remark as he’s getting ready for bed that night, staring at himself in the mirror as his right hand tries to remember how to use a toothbrush. Maybe Michael’s right. Maybe Ashton is the antidote to A. Or, at the very least, he’s proof that Luke can like people that aren’t his soulmate. The thought makes him smile around his toothbrush, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. Yeah, his soulmate might not want him, but maybe he’s not doomed to be alone, after all.

He spits and rinses, and then wanders into his room, picking up his pen to write his daily I’m okay message to A. A millimetre before the pen touches his skin, though, he hesitates. He might as well ask the question he’s asked a hundred times before, now that A actually speaks to him, even if it’s only to say the same three words every night. The worst that can happen is he gets ignored again.

I’m okay, he writes, and then, why don’t you want to be my soulmate?

Thanks, I’m okay. The response comes immediately, like A’s been waiting for Luke to check in, but nothing else follows it. Luke watches his arm for a few moments, waiting for more to show up, and then sighs, turns his light off, rolls over and falls asleep.

-------

When he wakes up the next morning, he hobbles into the bathroom, yawning and stretching, and as he’s reaching for his toothbrush he happens to glance in the mirror - and stops dead.

There’s something new on his arm.

He looks down so fast he thinks he might have snapped his own neck, heart skipping a beat.

I want to choose who I love.

So it is that, Luke thinks, testing the weight of the words on his heart. They aren’t as heavy as he’d expected them to be. In fact, he thinks, as an image of Ashton flashes through his head, he sort of respects it. A can have their chosen love. Luke can find someone else.

(Another image of Ashton flashes through his head.)

He hobbles back to his room and sits down on his bed, picking up the pen and thinking. Fair enough sounds a little passive aggressive, as does that’s fair, but Luke can’t think of anything else to say, so he settles for that’s fair and adds a little smiley to try and mitigate any potential hostility that might come across in the words. He blinks at the phrase for a moment, half-hoping for a response, but it’s eight in the morning and the words must have come at around four or five for them to still be there, so A’s probably asleep. So Luke shakes himself out of it, reaches for his toothbrush, and forgets about it.

-------

A week after that, Ashton comes back into the shop.

“Hi, Luke,” he says, waving and grinning as he closes the door behind him, because of course he’s a fucking gentleman who doesn’t let the door swing shut heavily like almost everyone else who comes in. “You sell drums, right?” Oh, Jesus. He’s not a drummer. He is not.

“Uh,” Luke says intelligently, like there aren’t two drum kits set up opposite him. “Yes?”

“Sweet,” Ashton says, ambling over with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing short sleeves today, because it’s November and the weather’s starting to really warm up, and Luke can’t help but thank whatever deity may exist that he lives in the southern hemisphere, because Jesus Christ, Ashton’s arms are a fucking sight to behold. “I need a new snare.”

“Sure,” Luke says, tucking the pen he’s been holding behind his ear. “For- for you? Or- like, as a gift?” Ashton throws him an amused look.

“Who gifts snare drums?” he asks, and Luke shrugs, trying not to think about Ashton drumming. Good fucking God.

“People have gifted stranger things,” he says, and waves a hand at the drums opposite.

“Oh, hey, you got your cast off!” Ashton says brightly. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “Still feels a bit weak.”

“I’m sure you know how to strengthen it,” Ashton says solemnly. Luke blinks at him. Is he- surely he’s not- is he- “Oh my God,” Ashton mutters, cheeks a little pink, like he’s just realised what he’s said. “I meant- I meant that the doctor should have given you a few exercises. Fuck. I did not mean- I’m not- fuck.” Luke can’t help but burst out laughing, warmth curling in the pit of his stomach as Ashton throws him a sheepish smile. God, he’s fucking cute. Luke is far too far gone on this man.

“Yeah, I forgot them,” he admits, because I didn’t take them in because I was too busy looking at every nurse that walked past in case they were you sounds insanely creepy. Ashton throws him a slightly exasperated look.

“Luke,” he says admonishingly, and Luke rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling.

“What was that you said about me being an exemplary patient?” he reminds Ashton, who shakes his head, grinning.

“I should have reserved judgement,” he says, making his way over to the drum kits Luke had pointed out. “Hey, do you have any sticks for these?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Luke says, hobbling out from behind his desk to the basket that stores test sticks and then over to Ashton, ignoring his protests of you shouldn’t be putting weight on that foot, Luke, let me get them, tell me where they are.

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “It’s getting taken off next week.” Ashton throws him a look.

“Yeah, next week,” he says. “These things have specific healing times for a reason.” Luke just waves his hand dismissively.

“I have another foot,” he says, and Ashton tuts, but a small smile is tugging at his lips.

“Hey, Luke?” a voice shouts - Jack, whose head pops out of the back room. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you make a note that we need to order more of the Dunlop Hendrix Wahs, the SolidGoldFX NU-33s, the-” shit, Luke thinks, looking around him wildly; there’s no fucking paper, and Luke’s got a broken foot, so he can’t get back to the desk before Jack’s finished rattling this list off. As he’s spinning on the spot, the pen he’d tucked behind his ear dislodges itself and threatens to fly out, and he slaps a hand up to stop it before realising hey, pen, I have skin, I’ll just write it on my arm and write it on paper later.

“The Hendrix Wahs, the NU-33s, and what?” he calls, scribbling on his arm.

“The Hydra Stereo and Reverbs, and the Boss Pocket Processors.” Luke nods, frowning as he notes it all down, and then looks back up at Jack.

“Got it,” he says, and Jack gives him a thumbs up and disappears back into the back room. “Sorry-” he starts, turning back to Ashton, and then drinks in his ashen face, and frowns. “Are you okay?” Then he notices in the corner of his eye some writing on Ashton’s arm, and thinks huh, that’s weird, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there when he came in - in fact, I’m certain that wasn’t there when he came in, because I made a mental map of every inch of his body, and looks down, trying to surreptitiously read it.

Hendrix Wahs, NU-33s, Hydra S&R, Bass Pocket Processors.

Luke’s list. Luke’s list, in Luke’s handwriting, has just appeared on Ashton’s arm. That doesn’t make any sense.

“Wait,” Luke says slowly, and looks back up at Ashton’s stricken face. “Wait. You- hang on. How did my list just appear on your arm?”

“How do you think?” Ashton says quietly. Luke blinks.

“I don’t know,” he says. Ashton stares at him.

“I- what? What do you mean?” he says. Luke frowns.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says. “How did my list appear on your arm?”

“Jesus Christ, Luke,” Ashton whispers, and then grabs the pen out of Luke’s hand and scrawls hi on his own arm. It sits there next to Luke’s list, looking oddly harmonious for two things that are completely unrelated, and Luke stares at it for a moment before looking down at his own arm.

There, right next to the messy scribble of his list, is one new word.

Hi.

Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” Luke says faintly, and steadies himself against a nearby keyboard. “Oh my God. You’re- you’re A?”

“You’re Luke?” Ashton sounds just as faint as Luke.

“I- yes? Fucking- how did you not- you met all of my friends? Michael, Calum, Jack, Alex? At the hospital?”

“I only knew them by surname,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. You’re Luke.”

“You’re A,” Luke says, and then a thought occurs to him and he swallows, and grits his teeth. “Fuck. You’re A.” The words come out harder this time, tinged with bitterness, and it makes Ashton’s eyes snap up to him, big and wide and so pretty it would take Luke’s breath away if he had any left to give.

“What?”

“You- you don’t want this.” Luke gestures a little feebly, not wanting to be too specific, but Ashton just looks at him like he doesn’t quite get it. “Y’know. This. Us.” He swallows. “Me.” Ashton’s gaze softens.

“Oh, Luke,” he says. “I- fuck. I do. I want you. I just didn’t- I didn’t want Luke. But I want you.”

“But I am Luke.”

“I didn’t know that, though,” Ashton says. “I- oh, fuck. You’re my soulmate.” The word sends a chill down Luke’s spine. Jesus. He’d sort of almost come to terms with the fact he’d never meet his soulmate, never have a soulmate, never hear those words out loud, and now here he is, standing with one foot in a cast at work, talking to the hot nurse he’s not been able to get off his mind for two months who just so happens to be his fucking soulmate who had semi-torn Luke’s heart out from its resting place on his birthday.

And now, he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“You didn’t want me,” he says, more than a little accusingly. “And now you do.” He doesn’t ask anything in particular, but Ashton seems to know what he’s pointing at anyway, because he bites his lip.

“Look,” he says. “I- I just didn’t want to fall for someone because it was assigned to me, or whatever. I wanted it to be a choice, not something I was forced into. And then I did fall for you, without knowing you were my soulmate, but obviously I- I couldn’t, because you were a patient - or a former patient - so I just- I thought that was it, but. Fuck. I fell for you on my own, and it turns out you’re my fucking soulmate.” Luke swallows. When he puts it like that, it makes a lot more sense. Luke can kind of get that. And the fact that Ashton’s saying he fell for Luke but just couldn’t act on it is definitely helping matters - Luke’s easily buttered up by an ego stroke.

“You broke my heart,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Ashton swallows.

“I hoped I hadn’t,” he says, like that makes it any better.

“You could’ve at least waited ‘til it wasn’t my birthday anymore,” Luke says. “Or explained yourself. I thought it was me.”

“You thought what was you?”

“I thought- I thought I’d put you off, somehow. That I was the problem.” Ashton’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head.

“God, no. Jesus. No, no. I just- I wanted to be clear, and I thought the less I engaged the better, y’know? Like, the less you’d have to latch onto, the easier you’d forget about me.” He hesitates. “I shouldn’t’ve done it on your birthday, though,” he says. “I’m sorry. And- I’m sorry for everything else, too. It was never you.”

And, okay. Luke’s the type to hold grudges. He’s petty and he’s childish, and he doesn’t forget shit like this. But he’s also an adult and he’s (to some degree, at least) capable of rational thought, so he shoves away his first instinct that says spite him, go on, make him hurt like he hurt you and thinks about it. Yeah, Ashton fucked up. He should’ve waited until it wasn’t Luke’s birthday, and he should’ve explained himself, and he just should’ve been a lot more communicative from the beginning. But the past week or two, Luke’s actually been okay with the idea that A doesn’t want him, so he can’t really hold that against Ashton anymore, not when his heart has patched itself up the past five months and shrugs off the idea of not having his soulmate in the way he’d always wanted. And he does understand Ashton’s reasoning, even if he doesn’t agree with it, so he clears his throat, and, just to make sure, says:

“So- so you do want it now?”

“Fuck, I- well, I want to see where it can go,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t want to make any promises. But I’d like to try.” Luke blinks at him.

Ashton wants to try. Ashton, who is Luke’s fucking soulmate, wants to try the two of them on for size.

“Okay,” Luke says. “Okay. Yeah. We can try.”

“Yeah?” Ashton says, a little nervously.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “I mean, I’ve been sort of infatuated with you from a distance since meeting you, anyway, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton grins and opens his mouth to say something, and then there’s a yell from behind them.

“Hey, Luke,” Alex says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you call our accountant? I need the books going over by- uh. Why are you both smiling like you’ve committed a crime? You’ve not committed a crime on these premises, have you?”

“What?” Luke says. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What’s wrong with you two?” Alex says suspiciously. Luke glances over at Ashton, who shrugs, tiny and imperceptible, like sure, go on. Fuck.

“Uh,” Luke says, and swallows. “Turns out Ashton is, um. Kind of my soulmate?” Alex blinks at him.

“Who’s Ashton?” Luke blinks back, and then points at Ashton. “That’s- that’s your soulmate? Ashton’s the dickhead?” The back room door opens.

“Who’s a dickhead?” Jack asks, intrigued.

“Ashton,” Alex says.

“Who’s Ashton?”

“Nurse Irwin.”

“Oh. Hey again, Nurse Irwin. Why are you a dickhead?”

“He’s Luke’s soulmate.” Jack looks at Alex, and then at Luke, and then back again.

“No, he isn’t,” he says calmly.

“He is,” Luke says.

“Fucking hell,” Jack says, and then goes back into the back room and closes the door.

“Hey,” Alex shouts, frowning. “Get back out here. Luke’s just found his fucking soulmate.”

“I’m not dealing with this mess,” Jack yells back, muffled by the door.

“What mess?” Ashton asks, bewildered. Alex whips around to stare at him.

“The mess you made,” he says. “Y’know. When you broke little Luke’s heart on his twenty-first birthday.” Ashton has the good grace to look embarrassed, and even winces slightly. Good, Luke thinks, a little childishly. Public humiliation probably makes them even for Luke’s birthday being ruined, isn’t it?

“I didn’t mean to,” Ashton says, sounding very much like a five-year-old.

“I don’t care,” Alex says. “You two sort shit out between yourselves.” Ashton blinks at him.

“Right,” he says, and turns to Luke. “So. Uh. I feel like now is the time to ask you on a date.”

“What, with my chaperone watching?” Luke says, throwing Alex a pointed glance, and Alex throws his hands up in exasperation and heads back into his office. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, with a small smile. “It’s sweet how protective they are of you.” Which, yeah, but like, fuck, because if Ashton thinks this is protective, he’s got another thing coming when he meets Michael and Calum. Luke bites his lip.

“Wait ‘til you meet Michael and Calum,” he says, a little warningly, a little gleefully.

“So is that a yes?”

“A yes to what?”

“Me asking you out.” Luke blinks.

“Ashton, I asked you out, like, two months ago,” he says. “And you’re my soulmate. Obviously it’s a yes.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Ashton says, a little defensively. “It’s good to check.”

“What, so now you’re the king of communicating?” Ashton throws him a slightly hard look, but it softens when he sees the smile on Luke’s lips.

“I sort of deserve that,” he admits, and Luke grins.

“Part and parcel of going on a date with me,” he says, and Ashton grins back.

“At least I to go on a date with you,” he says. “Softens the blow.”

Yeah. Luke could get used to the way his heart is trying to communicate with him through the medium of interpretive dance.

(It’s a good thing his soulmate’s a nurse.)

-------

Hurry up, Luke scribbles on his arm as quickly as possible. I didn’t pay for parking.

Jesus, Luke, comes back almost immediately. I’m on my way back.

I can tell by your handwriting.

You’re one to talk.

Fuck off.

xxx

Luke puts the pen back in the glove compartment and taps his fingers on the gear stick, peering at the revolving doors to try and spot his boyfriend. It only takes about thirty more seconds before he sees him walking out, looking around for a moment until he sees Luke parked badly and illegally and jogs over, shaking his head fondly.

“Idiot,” he says, when he gets in the car. “If we get a fine, you’re paying it.”

“You’ll have to bargain with Alex to give me a raise, then,” Luke says, throwing the car into reverse without bothering to look over his shoulder.

“Jesus, Luke, look where you’re fucking going,” Ashton says, even though there’s no one there. Luke shrugs, puts the car into first, and pulls out of the spot he’d been parked in.

“What?” he says. “We’re right outside a hospital. It’s fine.”

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mutters, but when Luke glances over he’s smiling.

“So?” Luke prompts. “What did they say?”

“It was fine,” Ashton says. “There are procedures in place for this sort of thing, y’know. They had the government papers confirming you’re my soulmate, and the ethical review was fine, because you just broke a few bones so I barely looked after you.” Luke scoffs.

“Just broke a few bones?” he echoes, a little indignantly. “I broke half my fucking body.”

“Well, you did toss about fifty guitars onto yourself,” Ashton says, fumbling in the glove compartment as Luke pulls out onto the main road.

“That was to get out of whatever Jack was trying to force me to do,” Luke says. “And it worked.”

“Was it really worth it?” Ashton says, pulling the pen out of the glove compartment and raising his eyebrows.

“Of course it was,” Luke says immediately. “I didn’t have to do whatever dumb shit Jack had in mind.” Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Ashton roll his eyes.

“That was a perfect set-up to say of course, Ash, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” Ashton tells him, and Luke grins.

“Would’ve said that if I meant it,” he says, and Ashton sighs, but he’s grinning.

“I don’t know why I bother with you,” he says, and Luke grins back.

“Because I’m your soulmate,” he says. “And worse than that, you chose to be stuck with me. This is all your own fucking doing.”

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mumbles again, but he’s scribbling something on his arm, and when Luke glances down he sees a slightly shaky heart drawn right where his wrist meets the back of his hand, and smiles out at the road.

“Love you too.”

#lashton #malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos slash #jalex #YES I KEPT IT UNDER 15K #sorry i am literally going to crow about my achievement on that front #no one come for me for the title #IT WORKED OK...its not just my addiction rearing its ugly head agian

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luffles424 · 4 years

Note

“if you call me sir one more time, i’m bending you over my desk.” & “i want him to hear us. maybe then he’ll get the message.” CEO jimin pls💗

1. if you call me sir one more time, i’m bending you over my desk.

10. i want him to hear us. maybe then he’ll get the message

Warnings: teasing, spanking, semi public sex

Jungkook finishes his report to Jimin and you make sure to jot down all the important information to type up later for Jimin to review. Jimin asks a few questions and you continue to take your notes, cleaning up your stuff while they start chatting more informally. You head to the door with Jungkook, his hand resting on your upper arm as he leans close to whisper a joke in your ear. You hide your laugh behind your hand.

“Y/n? A moment, please?” Jimin calls as Jungkook opens the door for you.

You say goodbye to Jungkook, watching as the door shuts behind him. You turn back to Jimin with confusion written across your face. “Sir?”

His lips purse. “If you call me sir one more time, I’m bending you over my desk.”

You snicker, walking back to his desk, setting your notebook down on the chair you had been occupying. “Why, sir, that doesn’t sound like something you should say to an employee.”

Jimin smiles, standing from his chair. He takes his jacket off, tossing it over the back of the chair. He makes his way slowly around his desk as he begins to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

“Wrong thing to say sweetheart.”

“Or maybe it was the right thing to say.”

“You’re really asking for it today, hm?”

You give him a wink as you place your palms on his desk, back arching so your ass sticks out teasingly. He hums appreciatively, hand coming to rub your ass appreciatively.

“So eager to please too.”

He hikes your skirt up so it bunches around your waist, leaving your lower half bare and you hear his sharp inhale. You lean down to your elbows, ensuring that he gets the best view of your bare ass and pussy.

“Fuck, no panties today?” His hand comes down on your ass and you bite your lip to stifle your moan. “Were you hoping for something, sweetheart?”

You shake your head as his hand comes down again, this time on the other cheek.

“No? Not even for sweet Jungkookie? He has a crush on you, you know?” You shake your head again and Jimin continues his spanks as he speaks. “I think you do. He was flirting with you.”

He delivers a particularly hard smack and you scramble to cover your mouth with your hand to keep your noises muffled. Jimin scoffs, grabbing your arm and pulling it behind your back, forcing your chest to his desk. He gives one last spank, your ass burning delightfully, then his fingers are sliding along your slit.

“Don’t hold back, sweetheart. I want him to hear us. Maybe then he’ll get the message,” he slips three fingers into your pussy and you moan in pleasure, far too loud for the fact that you’re at work while people are still here, “that this pussy belongs to only me.”

#bts drabble #jimin drabble #bts smut #jimin smut #wickizer #asks

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stranger-writer · 5 years

Text

A Bowers’ Bet

Hello all you beauties out there! In celebration of the release of It Chapter 2, I thought i’d post this since it’s been sitting in my drafts for awhile and what better time than now to indulge in the guilty pleasure that is known as The Bowers Gang? Let me know what you think!:)

Summary: When Henry and Patrick make a twisted pact on who can steal Derry High’s most inexperienced student’s virginity first, they think it will be their most exciting game yet. But what happens when one starts to develop feelings, while the other is determined as ever to win, no matter what or who is standing in their way?

A Bowers’ Bet Part 2

“Fuck, I wish you could have seen the tits on this one. They were a nice distraction from her whiney fucking voice. You should have heard her. ‘Oh Patrick, please, fuck me. Patrick your cock is so big. Patrick I want it harder. Patrick tell me what a dumb fucking bitch I am,” Patrick shrieks in his best attempt at the girls high pitched voice. As if humiliating his girls when they were alone wasn’t enough, Patrick felt he always needed to talk about the intimate details to his three best buddies later.

“Well maybe that last part is what I was thinking but still, it was making my fucking dick go limp, so I made sure to not only shut her up then and there, but tried to make her lose her voice to spare everybody else who has to endure it constantly in the best way I knew how,” he sneers, his cheshire grin growing from ear to ear as he was reminiscing on the beautiful fear that flashed in the girl’s light blue eyes. It was an instant look of regret, but Patrick relished that sudden realization, knowing it was way too late to back out since they were already bare and on their knees for him because lets face it, he is never one to show mercy. Getting involved with someone like Patrick was like playing with fire, sooner or later you’re bound to get burned.... literally.

Vic and Belch let out an awkward laugh, trying to appease Patrick as Henry gave him the biggest eye roll of the century. Henry couldn’t stand listening to Patrick’s play by play of which girl he fucked, how they fucked, where they fucked, and everything in between. Even though he would never admit it, Henry was secretly jealous of Patrick because of how much action he constantly got. Patrick noticed Henry’s annoyed expression from the unamused scowl on his face.

“What stick is up your ass today huh?” Patrick questions, calling Henry out in front of the whole group.

“Nothin’ you asshole, I’d just like to talk about something else other than hearing you go on and on about fucking the living day lights out of Macy Hartfield.”

“Alright then,” Patrick mocks, interlocking his fingers together as he sets them down onto the lunch table. “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. So tell us Bowers, what girls have you been fucking lately?”

Patrick knew Henry wasn’t getting any, but he just enjoyed pushing his buttons way too much.

“I get plenty of pussy thank you very fucking much, sorry not everyone goes for the school’s biggest come dumpsters,” Henry scoffs, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed.

“Oh Henry, you’re so cute when you’re jealous. Why don’t you just accept the fact that I can get any bitch in this place on their backs for me. Or preferably, their stomachs.”

Suddenly, a very awful, terrible idea comes to Henry’s malicious mind. “You want to bet on it?” he challenges, putting his elbows on the table.

Patrick squints his eyes slightly, a sly smirk forming on his mouth as he licks his lips in great anticipation.

“What kind of bet we talkin’ about here Bowers?” Patrick asks with his voice low, scooting his chair as he leans in closer to Henry, feeling extremely intrigued.

“I’ll give you two weeks to make the school’s Virgin Mary want to fuck you,” Henry challenges, grinning widely as the scheme that was brewing in his head began, making his eyes light up with excitement.

Patrick chortles before he responds. “And who might that be?”

Henry literally couldn’t stifle the smug grin any longer, until he finally points his finger to the far right corner at a girl who was sitting by herself with papers and books scrawled out all over the table.

“Her.”

Patrick follows Henry’s directions when he notices the lovely brunette with the glasses, sitting alone but looking very much occupied with some sorts of school work. Her name is Juliet and she was known for being one of Derry High’s brightest students. Juliet could be described as bashful by most, but is very sweet and genuinely loves being able to help people, no matter who it is, any way she can. Unfortunately, having brains and a pure heart leaves her with the ultimate stereotypical label of being “inexperienced” and way too innocent to ever be as promiscuous as the other popular girls in school. Patrick observed the way her clothes fit a bit too loose around her small frame and how she was wearing a lavender cardigan with long sleeves even though it was hot out and how her long dark brown hair fell into loose waves in front of her face.

Although underneath the clothing and square framed glasses, no one had ever really took the chance to realize how beautiful she was. Juliet had light freckles that speckled across her nose, voluptuous pink lips that could make any boy imagine what it’d feel like to kiss them, and her eyes were a hazel color that could be almost hypnotizing. As Patrick observed her, he noticed every detail of her in an instant, making him smirk in satisfaction because Juliet was everything he desired; attractive, fragile, and weak.

“Oh you’ve got yourself a deal Bowers,” Patrick agrees, already having a hard time tearing his eyes away from his new found possession. “But how about we make things a little more interesting?” he grins, turning back so he’s facing Henry. Suddenly, Patrick gets an even worse idea.

“You have to try to pop her cherry too,” Patrick smirks.

“What the fuck you mean Hockstetter?” Henry fumes, becoming clearly irritated that his evil scheme wasn’t going according to plan.

“Whoever fucks the girl first wins,” Patrick declares.

Henry glances over at Juliet once again, now despising himself for picking her because the only reason he had in the first place was because she literally had “virgin” written across her forehead.

"Whats wrong Henry? Scared?” Patrick taunts, throwing his hands behind his head as he stretched his tall legs out in front of him.

Henry Bowers’ reputation and ego was too important to him than to have his gang thinking he was a pussy.

“I ain’t fucking scared, you’re on,” Henry smirks, biting his lips as the two boys shake hands.

“Well how are you going to prove if one of you have sex with her?” Vic intervenes, bringing up a fairly good point. I’m sure Belch and Vic wouldn’t put it past Henry to make up some elaborate lie if it came down to it. He would do anything to not kill his incredibly large ego.

“Trust me, when four eyes misses a day of school because she can’t walk, you’ll know why. But if you need actual evidence I can gladly bring in the bloody sheets. I’ll be keeping them as a souvenir anyways,” Patrick chuckles, looking at the girl once again, his thoughts running wild with every little dirty thing he had planned for her.

Henry shakes his head in disgust, “What the fuck? No, we’ll just have to trust each other’s word, but let’s make one thing clear Hockstetter. You can’t force her or scare her into fucking you. The whole point is to actually have her fall for one of us.”

“You guys are both way over your heads. You’ll never get a girl like that to fuck either of you scum bags,” Belch laughs before chugging down the remainder of his chocolate milk.

“Oh just you wait,” Patrick states biting his bottom lip, staring blankly yet intently at Juliet. He rises up from his seat before leering down at Henry, smiling wickedly. He briefly glances at Juliet once more before his beady eyes go right back down to his best friend. “Let the games begin Bowers.”

Patrick turns and coolly starts to stalk his way over to her table, taking his sweet time with every slow stride as he begins getting closer to her. He reaches her table and it’s like his looming presence is impossible not to notice as Juliet slowly lifts her head up. Her big, doe, eyes widened a bit as her insides churned slightly when she realized who was standing in front of her. Even though Juliet wasn’t defined as a cool girl, it didn't mean she lived under a rock and never heard all the insane stories about the deranged boy.

“Hey there pretty girl, mind if I join?” he nods, motioning to the chair beside her. Patrick doesn’t even give the poor girl an option to respond as he slides the chair out, causing a high pitch screeching sound, before sitting down beside her. He sat so close that their shoulders and thighs were touching making her feel a little uncomfortable, but of course Juliet would never have the nerve to tell him to go away. Patrick takes no time before he begins analyzing her so intently, she feels as if he was staring right into her soul.

“Hey Patrick,” she greets with a soft smile. Patrick just continues to stare at her, completely taking her in. Juliet then realizes what he must need from her.

“So let me guess? Mrs. Evan’s algebra homework? Or maybe Mr. Beasley’s English outline?” she questions as her nose scrunches a little bit in a teasing manner. The way she said it was not cocky, but cute and her delicate voice had a certain soothingness to it that even Patrick couldn’t ignore. He breathed in, inhaling her pure, innocent, scent feeling so tempted to just touch her. To feel her. It was strange, Patrick suddenly felt ticked off that she was so used to boys only wanting her for her brains that she automatically assumed he was only talking to her to jot some math answers down.

“You’re so accustomed to people only wanting to use you for that little head of yours aren’t ya?” he grins as his eyes raked down her body unshamefully.

“Sometimes,” she responds while tilting her head a bit. “And your so accustomed to everyone being petrified of you. Aren’t you?”

Patrick was a bit taken back that she wasn’t stuttering under his intense gaze, how she wasn’t staring down at the ground in uneasiness, or how she wasn’t fidgeting, desperately hoping he would just go away.

“I guess you could say that,” Patrick answers, somehow scooting even closer to her. He takes his long fingers to her collarbones and lightly traces over them as he begins to toy with her necklace. “Tell me,” he demands in a husky tone, his voice almost sounding an octave deeper as he continues to ask, “Are you afraid of me princess?”

She studies his face quizzically for a second before she chuckles,“Well I suppose that depends.” Juliet grabs his hand and places it back onto his lap. “Do I have any reasons to be?”

“Depends,” he mocks her as he drapes his arm around Juliet’s chair.

“On?”

“If you’re willing to go out with me this weekend and find out for yourself.”

Juliet knew Patrick Hockstetter was an intense and strange person, but she figured many of the rumors about Patrick must be false or extremely fabricated. Although, who would even possess the vile imagination those stories held?

“Hmmm, I don’t know, sounds a bit risky,” Juliet swiftly remarks as she begins to gather all her papers in place to put in her folder. Patrick doesn’t move as he watches her intently, his tongue gliding back and forth on his teeth as he begins to ponder what to do with this girl who he seriously underestimated. Juliet seemed to be poised and confident, which actually intrigued Patrick more, but he knew he needed to change that real quick.

“You’re probably right,” Patrick responds quirking an eyebrow up, making Juliet stop what she was doing and look into his eyes. “I mean it would be so easy to lure you in my room, tear your clothes off with a knife and cut that sweet tan skin of yours as I take those glasses off so you wouldn’t even be able to clearly see what would be coming next.”

Juliet freezes, appearing a bit stunned at Patricks intense words. Her eyes couldn’t help but widen a bit as she unknowingly begins to peer at Patrick in fear.

“Or there’s always dinner and a movie. Your choice,” he smirks as he begins to chuckle, making Juliet exhale a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in. She began to awkwardly laugh with him, but there was a daunting way he said those words that made her feel like he was not kidding.

She begins piling her belongings in her book bag rather hastily now, desperately trying to conjure up how to turn down Patrick graciously.

“I’m really sorry Patrick, but I’m going to pass on both choices,” Juliet states while standing up and putting her bag over her shoulder.

This made him angry, but he knew he had to keep his cool to get her where he needed. It’s as if she was a mouse and he was the deadly trap waiting to snap down onto her neck to crush her. Usually his dangerous charm worked on every girl he wanted in his bed.

“Well you haven’t even listened to option three yet,” he says as more of a demand, standing up so he was hovering over her tiny height, blocking her from walking past him.

“Listen Patrick, I’m sure you’re a very...uhm..uhh” Juliet was stumbling on her own words, having a hard time figuring out if she had actually heard anything good about Patrick at all. She huffed and took a breath before she restarted and continued, “I’m sure you are a very nice guy, but I know your ways and I’m not falling for any of them.”

Patrick belts out in a laugh before he responds, “Oh please sweetheart, enlighten me.”

“If I say no, you enjoy it because you like the challenge of persuading me otherwise. If I say yes, you get what you want faster.”

Patrick ducks his head lower to get eye to eye level with her, smirking profoundly. “Sounds like in either situation you’re stuck with me.”

“Well you haven’t listened to my option yet,” Juliet persuades, gently pressing her hand against his chest so he would back away a bit. “Patrick, please, let’s just pretend this encounter didn’t happen today and we can just go on like we have been.”

Patrick snickered quietly, making Juliet become more internally frustrated.

“And here I thought you had me all figured out there princess,” he sneers before he states, “But there’s one thing you left out.” Patrick grabs her by the neck firmly as he moves his mouth to her ear when he slowly murmurs,"When I want something, I fantasize about it all day long. I think about it so much I drive myself crazy thinking about how much I need it. How much I want it. How much I fucking crave it.”

Patrick begins combing through her long strands with his bony fingers before he continues. “So basically,” he states, gripping her neck slightly harder, “When I want something, there’s no going back.”

Juliet briefly closes her eyes in frustration before he moves to face her, releasing his grip on her neck and gently grabbing her chin now. “Understand?”

“Patrick, you’re just wasting your time okay? I’m really sorry, but I just don’t want to go out with you and I never will.”Juliet became shocked at her harsh words towards the boy. She has never spoken to somebody like this before. It’s like Patrick’s transparency was contagious.

“Bet I'll change your mind,” he winks and with that, he releases her and turns to walk away into the crowded lunch room towards the door, leaving Juliet confused with his sudden mood change. All she is left with is his famous last words that she would never know the double meaning of until it’s too late.

Henry was livid having to witness Patrick and Juliet’s interaction at lunch today from afar and knew if he wanted to beat Hockstetter at his own game, he had to think not only hard, but fast. He knew absolutely nothing about Juliet, other than the fact that she was a goody two shoes who has never been touched before. He had to talk to someone who could give him at least some information about what the girl liked or disliked, and Henry knew exactly the person to ask.

Eddie Kaspbrak. Henry has seen them in the library numerous of times and that was because Juliet tutored him whenever he needed help with math which was very often.

As soon as that bell rang, Henry darted down the math hallway in search of the kid’s dorky face. Finally, he spots him heading into the boy’s bathroom. Perfect, Henry thought to himself.

He waits outside the stall Eddie is in until the door swings open. The skinny boy sees the infamous Henry Bowers right in front of him and his facial features go from relaxed to petrified.

“Tell me everything you know about Juliet,” Henry demands, cutting right to the chase as he props his hand up on the bathroom stall. Eddie’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. Wait, no swirlie? No atomic wedgie?

“Why?” Eddie questions. Part of him was purely just curious and another part of him was concerned for her. Henry grabs him by his perfectly ironed, red collar as he brings his face closer to his.

“That wasn’t a fucking question loser, tell me what you know about the girl.”

That makes Eddie’s bottom lip tremble as he begins obeying Henry’s command, babbling every single random fact he knew about innocent Juliet.

“Uh, s-s-she loves books, especially poetry, she loves animals, she’s really good at playing the piano, she likes flowers a lot, and uhm-”

“Uh huh, keep going,” Henry urges on, wanting to hear more.

“Uhm Juliet typically doesn’t go for you know.... grungey looking guys...”

“What the fuck are you saying Kaspbrak, that I’m some sort of grease ball?” Henry hisses, gripping the boy’s collar harder.

“N-no! Not at all! Y-You’re a very handsome guy Henry! Please! Don’t stick my head in the toilet again,the last time my mom took me to the hospital because she thought I caught a virus!”

Henry closes his eyes briefly, trying his best to not beat Eddie’s face in before asking,“Is there anything else Kaspbrak?”

“That’s all I can really think of right now.”

Henry releases the boy’s shirt, motioning his head towards the door, signaling that Eddie was free to go. He starts to wheeze before scrambling out of there, leaving Henry with not a whole lot of knowledge about Juliet, but enough to plan his next move.

Patrick was leaned against the front of the school’s building, waiting for Juliet to come out of her last class of the day. He was hoping the scheme he conjured up with Vic earlier would go exactly as planned. Asking Belch was an option too, but Patrick felt he would go and rat on him to Henry.

The last bell rings, meaning school was out of session as all the kids swarm out of the building. Ben Hanscom came slowly walking out with some sort of project in his hands and headphones over his ears, completely delirious to the fact that Patrick and Vic were waiting for him.

Vic saunters over to Ben, yanking the headphones off of his head, making him turn around. Patrick witnesses as Vic tries stalling Ben as much as possible until he sees Juliet exiting through the double doors.

Finally a minute later, he catches her walking out, the slight breeze blowing her hair and skirt a bit. He smiles to himself and begins to rush over to Vic, whispering in his ear, “There she is.” Suddenly, Patrick runs quickly behind a tree not too far away.

Vic glances over and waits till he knows she will have the perfect view to see what he’s about to do.

Juliet is a couple of inches away from them, and that is when Vic decides it’s the perfect time to strike. He shoves Ben hard, almost making him fall straight to the ground before smacking his project out of his hands, making the entire thing fall apart into dismembered pieces onto the ground. Juliet immediately stops in her tracks, frowning at the malicious act towards the new boy, which makes her get down to help pick up the destroyed assignment.

Patrick suddenly comes “rushing” forward.

“What the hell is the matter with you Vic,” Patrick snaps as he gives a fake smack with the back of his hand onto Vic’s shoulder. “Leave the kid alone. Here buddy, let me help you,” he apologizes, getting on his hands and knees to clean up the mess, along with Juliet. If there was one thing Vic realized in that moment, it was that Patrick was taking desperate measures to get Juliet’s attention and approval.

Ben just stands there, puzzled, completely and utterly lost as to what is happening. Patrick has never done anything but torture the poor kid since he moved to Derry. Ben and Juliet stare at Patrick, totally stunned at witnessing him being nice. It’s sad that the boy was so insane that observing him do a humane act was seen as astonishing. Juliet was quite surprised that he stood up against his own friend to defend Ben Hanscom, but that was another thing about Juliet, she believed that regardless of who you were, everyone had just a little bit of good in them. Unfortunately, Patrick was too far gone, and she would figure that out soon enough.

The two of them finish up piling the styrofoam remains on top of the cardboard. Patrick stands to his feet, handing it over to Ben. “Here ya go fella.”

Ben has his mouth slightly agape as he stares at Patrick with a complete blank stare on his face. He slowly grabs the deteriorated project from his hands, feeling actually frightened by the eerie smile on Patrick’s face. Hockstetter thought he was coming off friendly, but it was like a wild bear trying to disguise itself as a bunny rabbit. Ben quirks an eyebrow up before he says, “Uhh, thanks I guess.”

“Run along now,” Patrick orders, not being able to constrain his true self for too much longer. Ben senses Patrick’s familiar hostility return in his voice before he quickly walks away as fast as his chubby little legs can away from him.

Patrick offers his hand out to Juliet, thinking that was a “gentleman” thing to do. She glances up at him reluctantly before grabbing his hand as he pulls her light weight up off the ground.

“Thanks. That was..... that was really sweet of you to stick up for him like that,” Juliet states in disbelief. Patrick was feeling overjoyed that he was getting the exact reaction he wanted out of her.

“Well what can I say? Can’t judge a book by its cover right?” Patrick taunts, using what she loves as a way to make her feel guilty. She immediately looks down to the ground, her stomach fluttering with nerves that only a person like Patrick could cause. He sensed this and it made him feel more powerful every time she showed any act of uneasiness.

Suddenly, Henry and Belch come out of the building, immediately spotting Patrick, Juliet, and Vic in an instant. They step down the stairs before making their way towards them.

“Juliet, right?” Henry asks her, pretending to play cool and not give her the slightest clue that she’s all he’s been thinking about the entire half of the day.

“Yes,” she smiles, her perfectly straight teeth on full display. When Henry sees her face to face, he can’t help the sudden, uncontrollable, rapid beating of his cold heart. Christ, he thought. If she just ditched the glasses, wore some tighter clothes, and had more confidence, she would blow all the girls at Derry High out of the water.

“Here. I found your book. It must of fell out of your bag when you were walking in the hallway or somethin’,” Henry shrugs, scratching the back of his head as he hands Juliet her copy of Hamlet.

Henry was just as big of a schemer as Patrick was. Juliet’s book didn’t accidentally just fall out of her back pack. Belch was the lucky one in the bunch who had Chemistry with her. To help Henry out, Belch stole the small book out of her bag when she was too preoccupied working on the lab they were assigned. Henry now had the perfect excuse to go up and talk to her, plus it was also extra brownie points that he was doing something kind like going out of his way to bring it back.

Her eyes immediately beam when she lets out a little gasp. “Oh! You have no idea how crazy I was looking for this. It was so strange,” she giggles. “It was like it totally disappeared. Thank you Henry,” she states, studying him, not understanding how the school’s most notorious bully would give a care in the world about a lost book that belonged to someone else. He noticed her observant stare and she didn’t want to offend him so she continues on and says, “Honestly. I never would have found it.”

Patrick and Henry didn’t realize how they both came up with a similar scheme to get the girl’s attention. What’s even worse is that Juliet didn’t notice either.

Belch is biting his lip from holding back the mischievious grin on his face before him and Henry quickly glance at one another clearly amused. Henry would never admit how he loved hearing her say his name. Patrick rolls his eyes, hating that Henry just had to swoop in and ruin his plan with a fucking book.

“Wow, how kind of you Henry,” Patrick sarcastically remarks before grabbing the girl’s hand. “Let’s go Juliet, I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s okay,” Juliet rushes, pulling her hand away from Patrick instantly as if he had some kind of disease that she could catch just by touching him. “My mom’s in the car down there waiting for me.”

“See you guys later,” Juliet waves before turning around and walking toward’s her mother’s car. When she hops in, her mom is quick to question what she briefly just witnessed.

“Why were you talking to those delinquents Juliet?” she scolds. Her scarlet red lips twisted into a grimace.

“I lost my book and Henry was just returning it to me mom, that’s all it was.”

“I don’t want to ever see you around them again, do you understand me? They’re nothing but trouble.” Juliet’s mother glares at the four boys before putting the car in drive.

“I understand,” Juliet mutters while opening up her book, deciding that was a good way to not have to talk about the Bowers Gang any further. When she opens it up to where her bookmark laid, a little slip of paper comes falling out onto her lap. Her eyebrows knit together before she grabs the note and begins to unfold it. It reads:

Juliet,

You’re so pretty, it makes me sick

I really mean that, I’m not trying to be a dick

I ain’t good with words, but I can kind of rhyme

Will you go out with me this Friday? I think we’d have a good time

Please say yes, it would make me so happy

Sorry, I know this poem is really fucking crappy

-Henry Bowers

Juliet puts her hand over her slightly open mouth, covering the stunned expression on her face. No boy has ever done anything like this for her and never in a million years would she think the Henry Bowers would be the boy to do it. Juliet quickly glances over at her mother to make sure she hasn’t noticed anything before quickly folding the note back up while biting down the suppressed grin she so desperately wish she didn’t have to hide. Unfortunately, little did Juliet know those “heartfelt” words were used to leer her in and now she has officially fallen for the deceiving trap that Henry has perfectly set up.

For just a moment, there was a small voice in the back of her head that was telling her it was a bit strange that the two boys who have never given her the time of day have suddenly sparked an interest in her. Unfortunately, she simply brushed it off, knowing that the whole gang was notorious for collectively hitting on girls. Although, Juliet began to feel a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was so much more to at least Henry Bowers than what her mother, the town of Derry, or even Juliet herself made him out to be. And that was her first mistake.

#bowers gang #Henry Bowers #henry bowers x reader #patrick hockstetter #patrick hocksetter x reader #it fanfiction #it 2017 #Owen Teague #the bowers gang #it 2019

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