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solemnly-mischievous · 3 years

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rivalry (d.m. x reader)

You and Draco Malfoy have a rocky relationship, at best. It'd be better to describe it as a rivalry. But all it takes is a bit of fire from your end to finally make him snap.

(AKA: I just really wanted to write an enemies-to-lovers trope for my first fic.)

A/N: Hi! First fic. Hope you like it. :)

Contains: Degradation, slight edging, d/s elements, slight dub-con (but not really; full consent is clearly given), light humiliation

Word count: 3.9K

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Normally, Defense Against the Dark Arts would be your favorite class. The spells you learn are fun and useful; Professor Lupin is always a plus, and most importantly, you’re good at the subject—so bloody good, you’ve bested even Hermione and Harry multiple times.

But lately, you’ve been finding yourself dreading the lessons. So much, in fact, that you were half-considering asking Hermione to hex you just to get out of your afternoon class.

Why? It’s a pretty easy answer when you got down to it.

Draco Malfoy.

You’d had an ongoing rivalry with the git since third grade. He’s been terrorizing you and your friends, mostly because of Harry, but along the way the two of you had begun building a personal vendetta.

(He probably hasn’t quite yet forgiven you for hexing him so badly he’d had to stay in the Infirmary for weeks, and you certainly haven’t forgiven him for causing your friends so much grief over the years.)

This year, you’d thought you could try your best to avoid him, with your upcoming N.E.W.T.s and all. But DADA had other plans.

Professor Lupin had begun experimenting with mixing up partners for class—it was, after all, a very hands-on class—and had apparently decided that cross-house interaction would build bonds and skill. His exact words were, “If they’re your friend, you’re gonna go easier on them. In the real world, you never know who you’re fighting with—or against.”

So he’d randomized the name list. You, being Gryffindor, knew immediately you wouldn’t be with any of your closest friends—but you hoped that perhaps you’d be paired with Cedric, or Luna, or anyone but—

“Your partner is Draco Malfoy,” Professor Lupin informed you when he got to your name, and you immediately make to protest.

“Her?” a voice came just as you complained “Not him”, and the students parted to reveal Draco himself, glaring daggers at you and Lupin.

“Yes, her,” Lupin replied, unruffled. “Now, pair up, everyone. We’re practicing Stunning today.”

That day, you’d fucking limped out of the classroom. Not to say Draco had gotten it easier—he could barely stand after you Disarmed, Stunned, and hit him with a nasty stinger hex just for the sake of it. (You’d gotten detention, but it was worth it.)

Today’s your second class with Malfoy, and you’ve never wanted more to be able to commit violent actions in your life.

“Please,” you whisper to Hermione as your group enter the DADA classroom. “Just one hex. I won’t even go to Pomfrey. No witnesses. You could just Petrify me, if that’s more to your liking.”

She sighs. “I’m not going to Petrify you.”

“’Mione,” you say, scandalized. “I thought we were friends.”

“Pair up, everyone,” Lupin calls out. Your friends shuffle away and you close your eyes, already getting a headache from the thought of—

“Well, well.” That fucking smarmy voice. “If it isn’t Potter’s little friend.”

“If it isn’t Daddy’s boy,” you snap, opening your eyes and glaring at Malfoy, who already has his wand out. “Bugger off, Malfoy.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.” Draco’s eyes narrow. Clearly, he’s as displeased with the situation as you are. “What are we doing today, then? Can’t wait to knock you down a few notches. Star of the class, my—”

“Patronuses!” Professor Lupin announces from across the room, and your heart soars—Patronuses, you could do that. Harry, months earlier, had taught you how to perfect a corporeal form in exchange for tips on his Astronomy essay. He isn’t here today—maybe you could be the only one in the class to do it.

Lupin continues, “Yes, the Patronus—an essential in the world of Defense magic. We’ll be starting with just the simple basics of it. A strong flick of the wand, and the words ‘Expecto Patronum!’. Say it with me, everyone.”

You chorus the words obediently along with the class, Malfoy’s snort of derision not going unnoticed.

“Good. Good, good, now—the key to the Patronus is to think of a happy memory. It has to be strong. Remember, Dementors feed on misery—it’s the only way to keep them away. Now, go practice. I’ll be walking around to see if there’s any problems.”

“Expecto Patronom,” Malfoy repeats in a mocking voice once the classroom starts filling with the chants of fellow students. “Doesn’t Potter know how to do that one? Heard he can do a deer. Pretty weak animal if you ask me—”

“A stag,” you correct. “And it’s Patronum, not Patronom.”

He glares at you again. “Think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“Certainly smarter than you are.” You glance at him. “Though that’s not saying much, is it?”

You give Fred Weasley, who’d circled around to hear the conversation, a not-discreet fist-bump.

“Alright then.” Malfoy spits out your last name, trying to provoke you. “Let’s see you do it.”

“You try,” you suggest, hiding your smirk. “Unless you’re too scared.”

Draco grits his teeth. Unwilling to back down from a challenge, he brandishes his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

A thin, wispy light appears at the end of his wand—weak, but clearly visible. Classmates around you murmur as they notice it, and Professor Lupin beams as he sees Draco’s doing. “Very good, Draco! A fantastic start.”

Draco flicks his wand smugly and the Patronus charm dissipates. He smirks, shooting you an expectant look.

You take out your wand, feeling its familiar grip, and you close your eyes. You recall the memory of a weekend in Hogsmeade with your friends, drinking Butterbeer as you stroll through the snowy village, pointing out the shops and people. Unconsciously, you smile.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Light blazes so bright you can see it under closed eyes, and you open them to find a glowing golden retriever prancing out the end of your wand. It bounds around in the air joyfully, leaving a trail of light where it leaps, and circles the classroom, eventually coming back to you and wagging its tail.

Professor Lupin is grinning, utterly delighted as he takes in your Patronus. Calling your name, he exclaims, “That is phenomenal—you’ve learned fast. Very impressive job!”

You smile back, and your Patronus glows lighter in response. You quickly call it off, the light being a bit too much, and the rest of the class passes by in a haze of awed murmurs and classmates asking your advice on their spellwork. You become so preoccupied, you don’t even notice Draco’s unrelenting stare on your back.

The class ends fast, the bell tolling to signify the start of what would be a study period for you. As students trail out of the classroom, chattering happily, Professor Lupin calls you over.

“Listen, I want you to know that what you did today was truly impressive,” he says, seriously. “I assume Harry laid out the groundwork, yes?”

You nod. He smiles. “You and Harry both are very accomplished students, then. But truly—I doubt many Aurors could’ve managed what you did today.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Your words are sincere.

“My pleasure.” Professor Lupin shoots you an apologetic look. “Now, I’m terribly sorry, but I have off-grounds business to attend to—would you mind setting the classroom to rights? I’m afraid I had to push the desks and chairs back for our class, but I don’t have time to put them back. I’ll write you a note, if you—”

“Oh, no, Professor, don’t worry, it’s a study period. I’d be glad to help.”

“Thank you,” he says, relieved, already heading out the door. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I’ll bring chocolate to compensate!”

“Goodbye, Professor!” you call, and he echoes it, and then he’s gone. You look around the classroom, seeing all the desks in the back, and you crack your knuckles. Time to get to work.

“Well. Quite the teacher’s pet, aren’t we?”

Merlin’s fucking beard.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy,” you mutter, turning around to find him leaning against the classroom doorframe. His blond hair glints silver in the sunlight, and his entire outline—his uniform, his stance, his dark gaze—is just… honestly, unfairly attractive.

So maybe your first impression of Draco Malfoy, years ago, wasn’t that he was a self-entitled git. Maybe, just maybe, you’d thought he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

And maybe that feeling never went away.

Not that you’d let him know that.

“What are you doing here?”

“Study period.” He starts walking towards you, shutting the door behind him. “Couldn’t help but be curious as to what Lupin wanted with you.”

“What’s it to you?” you snap. Malfoy doesn’t reply.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?” he asks instead, and you blink.

“Me?” you splutter. “Difficult? Fat lot of sense that makes, with you fucking insulting me at every move I make—”

“As I recall, our first interaction was you hexing me in third-year.” Malfoy sounds amused.

“You pushed Harry into the lake,” you snap at him. “You bloody well deserved it.”

Draco laughs. “Good times.”

“Malfoy, what the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“You’ve got quite a mouth.”

“My mouth is also capable of jinxing you three ways to Friday, so I suggest you leave me alone, yeah?” Your fingers twitch towards your wand in preparation, and he only looks on with derision.

“I’m just frightened,” Malfoy sneers. You barely notice him slipping off his rings, pocketing them. “Potter taught you that Patronus charm, didn’t he?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’. Just wondering what else he taught you.” A vengeful mood seems to have taken Draco. “You seem to hang out with him an awful lot.”

“It’s called having friends,” you snap right back. He looks as though he’s about to retort, but you push on. “Unfamiliar with the concept? Wouldn’t be surprised. Crabbe and Goyle don’t seem like the best conversationalists, are they? Just a couple of goons. Wonder why you don’t have better friends. Friends you can actually talk to who operate with more than one braincell.”

“Shut—”

“Maybe it’s because no one wants to be near you,” you continue, years of pent up frustration spilling out in a vitriolic spiel. “Because you’re a miserable bastard who doesn’t know how to be happy, aren’t you? You drive everyone away and then you go after more because you’re lonely and sad and fucking pathetic—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy repeats with a vehemence.

“—and it’s too fucking late to repair the damage you’ve done—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy snarls, and you stare into his narrowed eyes.

“Fucking make me,” you snap back, and he lunges.

You’re pinned against the wall of the classroom, Malfoy’s wand to your throat and a hand fisting your robes to render you immobile. Draco flicks his wand, ever-so-slightly, and you hear the classroom door lock with a wordless spell.

“Malfoy,” you whisper, but he cuts you off.

“Shut the fuck up or I swear you’ll bloody regret it,” he hisses.

“Draco,” you begin, and he curses.

“Fuck it.”

Gripping your robes, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s rough and demanding and you think he’s trying to hurt you, with how much his teeth scrape against your bottom lip and bite down gently, but you’re not pulling away, he’s not pulling away, and you find yourself leaning into the kiss, arching up to meet him—

He breaks away and looks at you, smirking.

“If I’d known that’s what it would take for you to shut your bloody mouth, I’d have done it years ago.”

“Let me go, Malfoy,” you say shakily, but even as he loosens his grip slightly, you show no sign of moving.

“If you’d wanted to leave you’d have Stunned me long ago,” he states, truthfully. Your wand is fully in reach. You know how to do wordless spells. And yet you let him kiss you.

“Shut up,” you grumble, still not moving.

“I think, perhaps,” Draco murmurs, glancing down at your body, “you’re enjoying this.”

“No,” you argue, and his wand digs into your neck—not enough to hurt but enough to register.

“Shh,” Draco hushes, almost condescendingly. “Be quiet, now. That’s a good girl.”

Involuntarily, you shudder at his words. They made your legs weak, and you fight off the urge to audibly whimper—what the hell’s gotten into you?

Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe he hasn’t noticed.

Of fucking course he notices.

“Oh?” The shit-eating smirk on his face is enough to make you glare absolute daggers at him. “Don’t give me that. You shivered. You liked it.”

“Shut up,” you say again, with no real strength.

“Don’t you want to be my good girl, sweetheart?” he teases cruelly, and you have to close your eyes to fight off the blush. It doesn’t work, and your face grows hot with embarrassment and arousal.

“Dear me,” Draco says mockingly. “What happened to the spitfire from minutes ago, hm? Still feeling like saying those words to me? Still feeling like being bad?”

Inadvertently, you shake your head.

“Who’s pathetic now?” he mocks, grinning, letting his wand trail a cold path down your neck, over your collarbone, until it rests on the top button of your uniform. “May I?”

The question sounds mocking, but he meets your gaze and you know he’s honestly asking for permission. And you give it to him, nodding, even as your blush deepens. Draco undoes your buttons, one by one, with tiny flicks of his wand, until your shirt is fully unbuttoned and you’re exposed to his gaze.

Draco shoves his wand into his belt and pushes your bra out of the way with an almost laughable urgency, getting a full, appreciative look at your breasts. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs. “Shame they belong to such a fucking headache, hm?”

You grumble some sort of an insult, and Draco pinches a nipple, which shuts you up effectively. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands trail down to your skirt, and instead of undoing the button he leans down and scoops the fabric up. “Here, be good and useful and hold this for me.”

The indifferent praise and the degradation combined has you obeying immediately, hoisting your skirt up and baring yourself to him, which only adds to an eddying swirl of shame and arousal pooling in your gut. Draco looks at you, stares, really, and it’s with a predatory grin that he reaches over to caress you through your panties.

“Soaked,” he observes, sounding both amused and satisfied. “You always get off this much to being treated like a right slut, then?”

“Draco,” you whine, bucking your hips up into his almost phantom touch. “Come on.”

“Is that how we ask nicely?” Oh, this bloody git. You’ll never be able to look at him again—he’s going to be so fucking smug around you.

When you don’t answer, he withdraws his touch completely, and you make a sound of protest. “No, no, please.”

“Go on.”

“Please touch me,” you try, but it’s hard to focus when you’re so goddamn wet you’re soaking through your panties.

“Not quite,” Draco muses. He’s palming himself through his trousers, and the sight turns you on impossibly more. “Come on, then—convince me.”

“Draco, please touch me,” you beg. One of your hands drift down to your panties but he slaps it away immediately, shooting you a warning look. “Please!”

“Touch you where?” He wants you to say it.

“Touch my cunt, please, Draco, fuck, I’m so wet it hurts,” you beg, and it’s true—you’re aching with arousal, and if he doesn’t touch you within the next few seconds you think you really just might combust. “Please, please touch me, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want, just touch me.”

“If only the school could see you now,” he sneers, but even he seems to break his self-control and he tugs your panties down harshly, all but ripping them off. “Baring yourself to me and begging to be touched like a whore.”

“I’m not—oh,” you gasp, his fingers pressing into your cunt immediately and his thumb working on your clit, sending waves of pleasure so potent you almost double over. His fingers are long and thin, which is why he can press two in without preamble, and the stretch is barely noticeable.

“You’re not what? A whore?” Draco laughs. “Please. Look at yourself.”

“’m not,” you insist, but you clench around his fingers at his words and he raises an eyebrow.

“I think you’re lying.” He presses a third finger in and you whine, little sounds of pleasure escaping your lips as he works you open. “Quieter, now, or I’ll have to gag you.”

You bite your lip, and Draco thumbs your clit as a reward and incentive. “Now, tell me what you are. Be truthful, or I won’t fuck you. I’ll leave, leave you here with your shirt hanging open and your skirt up, the doors wide open. Maybe the next bloke who stumbles in might help you.”

Your eyes widen—he wouldn’t. But his gaze is dead serious. “Say it.”

“I’m a whore,” you breathe, and he thrusts his fingers into you, hitting that right spot. “Draco!”

“Say it louder,” he orders, angling his fingers and curling them.

“I’m a whore,” you moan out, bucking your hips upwards—you’re close, you’re so close. “Draco, I—”

He stops moving, and his other hand pinches your clit harshly. “No.”

You let out a gasp of shock and hurt, reeling from the denial and pleasure. “But—”

“You’re not fucking coming until I say so,” Draco hisses, undoing his belt and pushing his trousers down. “And I’m not saying so until I properly fuck you into a bloody wreck.”

His cock is already hard, and he positions himself right at your entrance. You can feel him, his tip pressed against your wetness, but not pushing in. “Draco—”

“I think,” he muses, and you want to scream, “one day I’ll drag you into a broom closet. Fuck your throat so hard you won’t be able to talk for the day. You’ll look pretty, don’t you think?”

“Please—”

“Or I’ll bring you back to my dorm, so I can fuck you until you’re screaming yourself hoarse,” Draco says thoughtfully. “Your dorm works. So long as I can ruin you.”

“Malfoy—”

“Because it’s just so—” and he pushes into you in one swift movement, fucking into you immediately with a fast and rough rhythm, “—fucking nice to see you being a slut for me.”

“Fuck!” You grind your hips along with his rhythm, feeling the tightness of your cunt around his cock, and you clench as he hits your sweet spot with the right angle, almost shaking with the pleasure that it gives you.

Draco groans your name, fucking you brutally as he chases his own release, already pent-up from the teasing and the sight of your wrecked state. “’m gonna come on your tits, would you like that? Get it all fucking messy, maybe get some into your mouth, get you fucking ruined?”

“Please, please, fuck, please let me come,” you plead him, feeling your impending orgasm barrel towards you—you couldn’t last, you can’t fucking last—

“Fucking hold it,” Draco snaps. “Hold it like a good fucking girl, you understand?”

You let out a mournful sound, but you nod—yes, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please—

“Salazar, I’m fucking close,” Malfoy breathes into your ear, his voice rough and strained. “You feel so good, love, so bloody tight.”

“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. Draco exhales shakily and curses, pulling out and pushing you to your knees with such a force that you drop down, your skirt being the only padding.

“Wh—?” you try to ask, but Draco is already pumping his cock and then he’s coming all over your face, some of it dripping down to paint your breasts as he’d promised. Draco leans down to gather some release on a finger and pushes it into your mouth, eyes darkening as you suck and swallow around it.

“Good girl,” he praises, and you almost come right there.

“Draco, please,” you beg, still on your knees and still absolutely fucking desperate for release that he’s been denying you for the past half hour. “Please let me—”

“Alright, spread your legs, c’mon,” Draco guides, and you obey and then he’s there, thumb rubbing steady circles around your clit and two fingers pushing inside you once more. You whine and grind into his fingers, his touch, hips following his movement as he pushes you closer—closer—

“Fuck!” you sob as he senses your impending orgasm and stills his hand. “No—no, why?”

You sound like a petulant child and Draco laughs at you, and it’s an unfair move and a mean sound but it somehow turns you on even more. “I’m just messing, sweetheart.”

Fuck you, you badly want to say, but somehow you feel like that won’t get you what you want.

Draco starts moving again, his fingers gaining speed, and the sound of them pumping in and out of your soaked cunt sounds delightfully dirty. You’re quickly pushed to the edge again, and amidst your pleasure you eye Draco distrustfully.

“Please,” you whisper, and he smirks at you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

And he thumbs your clit and you’re coming, gasping with the pleasure and shaking as he eases you through it. His fingers don’t stop moving, even after your orgasm has faded, and you squirm in discomfort as he overstimulates you.

“Stop—please—”

“Promise me you won’t be a bloody pain again,” Draco levels at you, and you want to glare back but his fingers curl inside of you and you yelp with pleasure and pain. “Promise me, or I’ll keep going.”

“I—I won’t be a pain,” you mumble, trying to squeeze your thighs together to get rid of his touch, but he perseveres, flicking your clit mercilessly.

“Say you’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good,” you manage, so close to sobbing from the frustration. “Please, Draco, I’ll be good, be good for you, please stop.”

He relents and you feel him draw his hand back. You close your eyes and you hear him tug his trousers back on, buckling his belt. You feel strangely empty without him—without his fingers, his cock, his touch.

Draco produces a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the sweat, drool, and cum off your face, helping you button your shirt back up as well. “You alright?”

“Never better,” you reply, opening your eyes to see him staring at you in concern, all traces of the cruel tease earlier gone. Outside, the sun is setting, casting orange hues into the classroom, and you suddenly remember. “I—oh, bloody hell, I have to arrange the desks for Lupin—”

“I’ll do it. Stay here.”

Draco stands up and takes out his wand, flicking it twice in quick succession. A wordless spell. As you watch, the desks and chairs slide back to where they used to be, neatly arranging themselves in rows.

You’re impressed as he comes back. “What spell is—hey!”

He’s flicked his wand once more and torn your panties clean off your legs.

“Draco—what in Merlin—”

“A souvenir.” Malfoy smirks, stuffing your soaked panties into the pocket of his trousers. “And payment for the desks.”

“You’re a bloody prick,” you say, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Careful now, love. Remember what you promised.” Draco’s tone is playful, but warning. “I’m a man of my word, so you should choose yours carefully. Next time I won’t be as gentle.”

Caught off-guard, you can only nod obediently, which seems to please him. But you can’t promise you won’t slip back into old habits the very next day. Whatever the case, one thing was clear—there would almost certainly be a next time.

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#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy smut #draco x reader #draco x y/n #harry potter #golden era #hp #draco imagine #draco smut #draco malfoy x reader smut #draco x you #draco oneshot

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elsieys-blog · 3 years

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Perks of an insomnia-driven night.

Draco Malfoy x ravenclaw!reader

a/n: hi hello, this is my first draco malfoy au and I hope you get to enjoy it as much as I wrote it <3

contains: fluff, tension, cussing, insomnia, room of requirement, Draco's rings, and strangers to friends with benefits.

summary: due to another insomnia-driven night, you strolled and suddenly bumped into a particular Slytherin. He gave you a gift you would cherish forever.

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A loud buzz from outside startled you as you curled up on your bed, pulling the blanket up to your torso to suppress the chilly weather. You couldn't keep count on how many times you've tried to close your eyes and think as if you went into a free fall in hopes of getting yourself adrift. But no. You've closed your eyes, opened it again, flat it again but it didn't help at all. You were widely awake despite the fact you hadn't eaten any chocolate at all.

You heaved a sigh before deciding to leave your bed and go on for a short walk on the dimly lit hallways. Perhaps the calmness and stillness of it would soothe you. You pushed the duvet away from your nearly naked body and slipped your slippers onto your feet. Standing up, you went over to the bathroom, did some basic hygiene before twisting the doorknob and leaving your dormitory in a swift.

God, even the Ravenclaw common room didn't look fancy anymore.

It usually does every morning to dawn. But every midnight and pass midnight? It looks like as though someone was murdered and students ought to stay hidden in their dorms.

As your quiet and soft trudges echoed the walls, only a few line of torches lighting your way, you exited the Ravenclaw common room and was now and finally outside. The hallways were now bigger and neverending, as if you had set foot into a deja Vu. A few floorboards you step creaked and so the snoring portraits on every corner and side of the wall yawns and went back to sleep.

You maintained a good slow and calm pace until you forgot to pick up your wand from your room. There was no going back now because it was a long way back. Now you had to squint your eyes so that it adjusted from the pitch black darkness.

Loud cawing from crows scare you sometimes so goosebumps prickled your skin. The only thing you could see was the dots of glitter from the sky and the shadows the oak trees casted on the ground. The shadow was formed strangely and it looks distorted so you held a deep breath, reminding myself that there was nothing to be bothered of. And that everyone was sleeping just fine.

As you walked silently, your head elbow-deep in thoughts, you didn't know you were now staring at a wall so called the Room of Requirement. The walls was approximately fifteen feet, bizarre patterns across it.

"Well, there's nothing else to go, so. . ." Your mind spoke and you closed your eyes, thinking of a plausible reason to get yourself inside. After a few seconds, you heard three faint clicks until the wall molded into a tall door. You glanced sideways before entering the room slowly.

You were met by the darkness once again, but this time it felt comforting. You walked and walked, taking in the unblemished and grubby furnitures hidden beyond the tall door. There were stacks and mounds of unused things that you felt suddenly guilty. As you roamed around without a route, a movement beside you caught you off guard and it piqued your interest. Is someone else here?

"hello?" You started, your brows furrowing as you followed the movement.

As far from your expectations, the anonymous person replied and it was a manly, cold voice. "What are you doing up in the middle of the night? Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

A shiver came across your spine. You shyly said, "aren't you supposed to be too?" You saw his shadow lurch and you took the chance to step forward.

He said, "doesn't matter why I'm here. This is my usual spot." His voice was a bit taunting and bragging.

"Well, you're hiding in the shadows so... And you're not supposed to hide if you claim this as your spot." You sternly said, keeping your gaze fixated on his moving shadow.

"I'm not hiding. Have you come to the realization that it's the dead of the night?" He sternly said.

"Yes, but— I think we should come over to the light so I can see you." You plead but you doubt he would actually do it.

"See me? Pathetic."

You sighed. "What? How about let's do it together? I'm really in the mood for some company right now."

The man was hesitant at first but he considered it. As much as he was irritated by someone invading his territory, he kind of wanted a company too. There was a strong exhale across you as he said. "Fine."

You gave an upturned smile, stepping into a small ray of light seeping through a window. The moonshine cradled your face as well as his. He stood tall and with poise in front of you with a neutral glare, looking down as if his eyes belittle you. "Better princess?"

You couldn't help but stare at his eyes. Wait- he was standing in front of you so he blocked the moonshine and you could only see his silhouette. You grabbed his sleeve and ushered him to a better angle. When you gently pushed his back on a partition, you finally got to look at his golden blue eyes, and the bits of freckles that stretched to his nose and cheekbones. His face was sculpted beautifully and even his nose shaped like a button. He was lithe and pristine. And you began to coil into a pit of fire.

"You're- Draco Malfoy?" Your voice shook.

"that's me." He smirked and it only made my headspace ablaze. "And you are?"

You were too busy admiring his features but your mind eventually rebounded. "I- Y/n- Y/n Y/l/n!"

He kept on smiling. "Oh, you!" He began to finally acknowledge your ghostly presence before. "You're the one I shared potions with on fifth year eh? The one where we got perfect scores?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Right. The only reason we got perfect grades for it was because of my skills actually. Don't forget that." He playfully said, beaming a wink at you which got your cheeks turning slightly crimson.

"Ha ha, very funny. I still helped though." You avowed.

"Mhm. But I did most of the dirty work and you just stood there, watching." He laughed and I chuckled. Fun times.

"Fine. Have it your way. I did watch instead of help. Happy?" You jeered but you couldn't help but glance at the collection of rings on his bony fingers. You went still for a moment and decided to ask the unthinkable. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"You- you have nice rings. It looks good on you." You faltered in the slightest but remained a tepid look. "Silver matches you to be honest."

"Silver?" His eyebrows rose and his voice was unbelievably sexy. "I get that a lot."

You keep on staring, checking out the patterns designed on the small ringed jewelry such as serpents and cursive letters. You didn't realize you were smiling until his fingers convulsed. "Y/n?"

You look back into his stormy eyes with embarrassment. "Oh I- I'm sorry, I was just-"

"It's obvious you really like them, don't you?"

"Well, I mean it's pretty but-"

"Would you want one?" His question was out of the blue so you nearly jolted.

Your eyes widen in full extent, the feeling of affection was set into extreme levels that you feel like you're about to explode. "Oh er- that's good thank you, but-"

"It's pretty I get it. And you seem to admire it as much as I do so ..." He paused, removing one of the glinting rings from his ring finger and held it into his palm. "Here, you can have it for me."

Your cheeks were flaming and it was intolerable. He was platonic and you never expected it from him. You sucked in a deep inhale, tongue-tied. "Oh my god, Malfoy, this was so unnecessary-"

"It's alright. Besides, I think that hand of yours need some color." He smiled tenderly, handing you the ring. His height was towering and it only made things worse for you to handle because of how the air thickens and the atmosphere suddenly getting hot.

"I d-don't know what to say." You stutter. "But thank you. Thank you so much, wow."

You got ahold of the metallic ring, inserting it on your ring finger but it didn't fit. It was expected of course. So you tried putting it on your middle finger but it was loose still. As you were about to put it on your thumb, his cold hands gripped your wrist making you halt mid-process.

"What is it-"

"Here let me help you out."

God, he was also wearing a silver glinting necklace. Now that is fucking sexy!

Draco unclasped his own necklace, putting either ends of it into the ring until it hang perfectly. When it was perfectly adjusted just how he wanted it to, he offered it to you without double thinking, a genuine grin sprawled on his handsomely face.

You were still deeply honored yet it felt... Wrong. "Draco- I really appreciate this but- it's yours and we barely even talk-"

"I don't care about that." He flawlessly said. "You remind me of someone I deeply love and... I guess this is my way of being grateful we met at this untimely night." He scoffed and you're a bit sure you saw a hint of blush on his face.

"Really?" You didn't bother asking who that person was since he probably wasn't in the mood to tell you. You were flattered by his words as you accepted his offer.

"Yes. Now take this, and wear it. I want to see your hands with my rings, Y/n." He flirtatiously spoke, giving you another wink.

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous act. As you were about to out it, he stopped you once more and this time you were a bit provoked. "What is it again?"

He shrugged, and now the blush hidden in his handsome features was now displayed. It was cute seeing his pale, porcelain skin yo be tainted with a tinge of scarlet. He took the necklace into his hands and made strong and seducing type of eye contact. You nearly tripped at his look right now as he said. "Let's make this scene a bit... Romantic. And by that..." He clasped the necklace on your neck, his fingers ghosting your skin ever-so-slightly. "I get to do this to you."

You shudder, not just because of the cold weather, but because of his cold touch. It was so nice against your skin that you wanted him to do it again. You smiled and bit your lip to restrain any embarrassing words. "Draco, you're being too sweet-"

"Am I? People always like the idea of making me sound rude. It feels good I get to prove it to you that that is a lie." His hands sat ok your shoulder, the pad of his thumb caressing you pulse point between your neck and shoulder.

"I understand that. When people wanted to make you sound like a villain when truly your just trying to be genuine and basic?"

Draco grinned. "Yeah, Y/n. Something like that."

You contemplated for a moment, the tension between you building up because of how close your lips had been. It was merely an inch apart, your noses almost touching that you suddenly want to feel the saccharine taste of his lips and the soft texture pressed against yours. Maybe it would be the cure to your insomnia-driven nights. Maybe it would ease and alleviate you.

"You're pretty, you know?"

You were taken a back. You stared at his eyes still and didn't even realize his hands had dropped down to your elbows, pulling it closer to him, informing you that he wants your hands to lean on his chest—to feel how ragged his breathing had gotten just by her presence. You flinched a little and smiled.

"Oh?" Was the only word to roll out of your tongue.

"Mhm." Draco was lost in his own void, his concentration had dropped from your eyes and down to your gaped lips. "So pretty..."

Fuck...

You couldn't bear the growing impatience anymore and you knew to yourself that you had to do something about it. Something to help soften his heavy breathing. He looked tired and worn out. Fragile and about to burst. You had to do something about it quick before he breaks.

Shit!

And so you lifted your heel to match his height and pecked a kiss on the corner of his mouth. For a moment Draco closed his eyes to memorize the way both your lips linked—he was awestruck. He smelled good. So good that you wanted to give another go but was frustrated enough that he didn't slam you against the wall and leave you breathless from his aggressive kisses so you just stood there and watched him remember the unsolicited peck you just gave him.

"Y/n-"

"Can I kiss you?" You abruptly said without hesitation. "Again? And this time... Better?"

Shit..

He nodded in the slightest of movement before lowering his head and both your lips met anew. There were fireworks and butterflies erupting in your stomach and all you could feel was how graceful and subtle his tongue shifted against yours and it was pure bliss. And this time, it was rougher than you thought.

a/n: AHHH! i hope you liked this one, and also PART TWO IS COMING SOON! sorry, I left y'all in a cliffhanger ;))

#draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy one shot #draco imagine #draco one shot #draco fanfiction #harry potter #draco x y/n #draco x ravenclaw!reader #slytherin #ravenclaw

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fairestwriting · 3 years

Note

slams open your door/ one angst request for a childhood g/n reader with deuce, ace, jack, ruggie and vil coming right up! "if we're still single by 30, let's get married! (for housing benefits lol)" it was a childish promise made in jest, but the boy never forgot. in the end, it ends with unrequited/pining feelings from one/both sides that cant be returned due to bad timing/prior engagements/etc when they reach of age (go hogwild with the scenarios lis!!)

(slams my hands on the table) yes yes yes yes YES i love this trope

+ if you like my writing, you can buy me a ko-fi to support me!

Deuce Spade

You make the promise to him after you confessed to your crush sometime in 7th grade and got rejected, left to cry by yourself behind the school. Out of all your friends, only Deuce came to comfort you -- And so you, in your dramatic childish glory, feeling like you’d never find anyone to love, tell him the two of you should get married if you’re single by 30.

Deuce remembers every detail of that event down to how your eyes gleamed with the tears, how the light of the sunset casted that golden glow on your hair -- It was when he knew he loved you. It took him a while to find the right words to describe the feeling, but he’d been feeling it for a long time.

He doesn’t pursue you because he feels like he’ll grow out of it. You go to NRC together, the two of you against the world, and it’s like everyday he falls in love a little more. You support him through his attempts of being a honors student, and on the day of your graduation, the first thing you do is hug each other tight, cheering about how you made it, you finally made it.

You don’t lose contact with each other even after school. Deuce and you are basically attached to the hip, meeting up every other week to talk about college and then your jobs. Through all of this time you’re friends, both of you go through a handful of relationships each, but none of them are really serious. As you approach 30, Deuce remembers that promise from back then.

When your birthday comes up, you’re sort of gloomy over recent breakup, and Deuce, naturally, is the first one to be there for you. He shows up in the morning with a gift and makes you breakfast, your dear best friend warming your heart once more. You rant about your latest partner and exchange anecdotes about how last week went before everything goes silent, and suddenly his hand is hesitantly on yours.

“D-Do you remember, um.” He begins, face flushed. “That promise we made in middle school? That if we were single until 30...”

You blink. Really, that? It felt like so long ago -- It was hard to remember even. You can barely catch what he was going to try to say before you laugh your middle school self off, snickering at how naive you were -- Something in Deuce seems to shatter, then, and his hand retracts. It’s so fast you can barely tell what’s happening.

And he stays with you through the birthday regardless, of course he does. He’s your dearest friend, isn’t he?

the rest is under the cut cause... its long

Ace Trappola

You hated Ace, initially. You met in kindergarten and he was the worst, literally. Always pulling pranks on everyone and acting just so infuriatingly cheeky, your 5 year old self learned real rage through that little redhead boy who always hid your things just to get a rise out of you.

One day you decided to prank him back, causing massive trouble in the classroom that ends with the two of you getting intensely scolded, and that’s how, somehow, a beautiful friendship blooms. Ace gets this sparkle in his eyes when you’re done getting yelled at, and says that the two of you should be friends and work together on doing this to other people.

Since then you two became inseparable. You’d never stop bickering, but you also never left each other’s side. The two of you were a menace, an absolute terror to your teachers -- Whether you were a good kid before meeting him or not didn’t matter, Ace is great at being a bad influence.

Near the end of 4th grade, you begin hearing about how one of your classmate’s single parent was getting married again. This sparked a big conversation between your class, somehow, with everyone declaring who they wanted to marry. It was a silly childish thing. When your turn comes, you proudly announce that when you grew up, you’d marry Ace if you hadn’t married anyone else by 30, ‘cause no one else would choose him but me! You snicker after making the comment, amused at how mean you were being, but somehow your snarkiness seems to fly over Ace’s head.

It’s a thing that happens that you two never really talk about again, but it ticks in the back of his mind for his whole life as you two grow up. Even entering middle and then high school, he always remembers it when he goes through some sort of romantic disappointment. You really were the only one who always stuck around, after all...

Years go by and somehow you’re still by each other’s side. Every birthday that passes Ace thinks about it a little more, he wonders if that promise from ages ago was true. When your 30th birthday comes up the promise is constantly in his mind, he’s driving himself up the wall with expectation. And he doesn’t even know why he’s feeling like that, really, you two are just childhood friends, right? There’s no reason for him to be feeling so... like this.

Eventually, he just blurts it out, a couple days after said birthday. You two are probably just hanging out and ranting about work when he goes “Hey, you remember that stuff you said in 4th grade? About, uh, us getting married?” And you go silent for a beat. His heart races as he wonders what the hell he’s doing, even.

But you laugh it all off. What, that stuff about marrying you? Yeah, I was such a dumb kid. I was right, though, look how you’re still single, you joke, and it feels like a punch to the gut to Ace. He laughs awkwardly with you. Yeah, sure, how foolish the two of your were for thinking of something like... you two... being together like that...

Jack Howl

Jack was, before everything, the scary boy in your 2nd grade class. Beastmen weren’t exactly common at school, especially wolves like him, so he ended up sticking out quite a lot. Most kids, your friends included, thought he was far too scary to approach. And Jack himself seemed to be fine with that, not really interacting much with anyone.

That was all he was for you until, one day, an older kid gets mad at you during lunch for bumping into them and staining their shirt with juice. They’re about two or three years ahead and so much taller than you, you’re genuinely scared -- And who would know that in a moment like this, the one kid in your class you weren’t very fond of would stand up for you, convincing the bully to go away.

Afterwards, Jack asks if you’re okay, you two end up eating together, and the rest is history. You find out he was actually really sweet, despite seeming so tough, and you get comfortable with it. Jack was always a reliable, loyal friend, someone you knew you could count on.

This included when your friends started being weirded out by you for getting close to the scary boy in class. They get it in their heads that you have a crush on him and tease you for it, which makes you upset, but Jack stands up for you again. This was enough for you to be pretty starry eyed at the age of 7, so you declared that, hey, who cares about what these mean kids are saying! Maybe you and Jack should be together anyway. Actually, if you two got to 30 and you were still single, you should get married! Jack gets just as starry eyed as you, and you seal a pinky promise that day.

What you never knew, though, was that he wouldn’t grow out of it -- Because as time goes by and you two grow up alongside each other, it ends up slipping your mind. You meet new people and learn new things, getting into some relationships here and there, and though you’d taken the promise seriously for a bit when you were a kid, it was just something you laughed about now.

You don’t even remember it on Jack’s 30th birthday. You’re one of the first people to show up to the small gathering, naturally, you had known each other since forever. You’re teasing him about how he was so perpetually single even now, that you were reaching “marriage age”, and this seems to fluster him a bit.

“Well...” He starts, his ears going slightly limp. “I wanted... to keep that promise, you know. From when we were kids.” His voice is quiet, uncertain. It’s different from how you usually hear him talk, and you have no idea what he’s talking about. You question him about it, and he’s wide eyed when he realizes that you actually forgot.

He questions you about it. How could you forget? You two actually made a pinky promise about it -- But you’re just confused as to why he’s bringing this up, saying that of course it wasn’t a big deal, you two were just kids when it happened! Was he really expecting something from that? And when you ask him that, he’s silent.

Needless to say, the birthday is soured. Jack asks for you to leave, it’s a mess. You don’t know what you did wrong, exactly, just like you’re not sure how you could possibly fix this.

Ruggie Bucchi

“Partners in crime” was the only possible way to describe what sort of relationship you had with Ruggie. It starts in elementary school, you’re walking around in a farmer’s market near the slums and you catch him taking a handful of apples from a stand, without paying. Your eyes are wide as you remember who that boy was, a classmate of yours, and despite what your family had taught you about stealing, you walk up to the person taking care of the stand, and start chatting with them to distract them.

You’re not sure what really made you want to help this boy you barely knew, but it turned out to be the one thing in your life you’re the most grateful for, because the next day, when he sees you again in class, he runs up to you to thank you so many times in a row. And since then, you two started spending time together.

And you got along so well! Ruggie got along with most of the other kids and you had some friends of your own, but nothing was compared to how close the two of you were. You two scheme your way in and out of trouble through your school days, and at one point you can barely imagine your life without him.

Sometime mid 6th grade, your classmates start talking of crushes and dating and such, which gives you a lot to think about. You’re a bit upset that you seem to be the only one who isn’t in on the new fun, so one day, when you’re hanging out with Ruggie, you complain about feeling like you’d be single forever. Ruggie laughs and says that if no one wanted to be with you, then no one would want to be with him either. You still wonder what that meant.

In a fit of childishness, you say decisively that if you two were single until you were 30, you’d get married. Looking back on it, you can’t tell if you were kidding or not, but Ruggie and you shake hands mid-laughs, like you’re sealing a deal.

So time goes by. You don’t think too hard about that promise and Ruggie... doesn’t seem to, either, you actually wonder what’s going through his head often, because he rarely tells you what he’s thinking. You end up going to NRC together, to both of your families’ joy, and that just ends up making you closer, as two kids from the less-privileged side of the Afterglow Savannah in such a prestigious academy...

Your bond ends up really fire-forged after those four years, so it’s no surprise to anyone that you’d still be close even after you graduate, even as adults. Nothing could break a friendship like this.

You think about it on the day of your 30th birthday, when you’re out for drinks with Ruggie to celebrate. Really, how the hell did you stick to each other’s side for so long? You ask him as you loop an arm around his neck, and he grins. “Well, maybe we should get married like you promised then, y’know... when we were brats.” He says, a little quieter than your previous conversation. There’s a hint of some kind of different feeling there that you don’t catch at the time, scoffing at him and going, yeah, in your dreams.

The rest of the night goes normally, though you don’t hear from him for a couple days afterward... and when you do, he barely looks you in the eye. You wonder if anything bad happened, if you did anything wrong.

Vil Schoenheit

When Vil Schoenheit moved into your town, everybody was talking about him before he even really set foot into the classroom. Everyone had seen him somewhere -- The poster boy of villainy in all your favorite movies, a kid with a pretty face and a haughty aura.

You’re as curious as everyone else to meet him, though you don’t really share that strange vindictiveness the other kids seemed to have, angered at Vil himself for what his characters put others through. It’s so stupid, you thought, isn’t he just the actor? He might actually be nice.

When he arrives into the classroom, people are about as annoying towards him as you expected. Their disdain towards Vil bothered you, he’d barely said anything to others and yet they were already pegging him as a mean, arrogant person. So stupid, you repeat to yourself, and you decide to talk to him normally, and that’s how your ages-long friendship came to life.

Vil wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met. You come to find that he’s rather haughty, yes, and very strict with pretty much everything, but he was also very kind deep down, and willing to help you with anything you needed. He was a good friend. He was also, as you came to find out as you grew a little more, astoundingly pretty. With people disliking his “villainy” or not, by the time you’re starting middle school, he already consistently gets confessed to.

You’re a bit jealous. Not because you wanted Vil for yourself, no, he was just a good friend, but you wished people would find you as attractive as they found him, sometimes. You express that to him when you’re walking home together one day, and he laughs it off, saying it wasn’t as good as you thought it’d be. Still, you make him promise that if you were single by 30, he’d have to marry you, because if he just let you die alone, he’d be a bad friend. Vil seems strangely mesmerized by that, but he agrees.

Time goes by, you get to watch each other grow. Even with all the people going in and out of Vil’s life, he seems to keep you closer to his heart than everyone, and you never really lose contact with each other. Even when he’s busy, with movies or modeling or school, he still makes time to check up on you, and you see each other often.

When you’re actually nearing 30, Vil has reached a sort of stardom that burned your eyes just looking at, and you were so goddamn proud of him it was real. Somehow, he still makes time to show up for your birthday, after about a month of not really seeing each other -- And he spoils you to death on that day, the two of you spending all of it together and talking until it was late at night.

As the sun is about to rise, though, Vil’s chattiness subsides. About as sleep deprived as you, he says, softly “So since we’ve gotten there, and we’re both still single... maybe we should fulfill that promise from years ago, shouldn’t we?” You take a moment to process it, it’s tough remembering exactly when you made such a promise, but eventually you do. You feel like that should’ve been a joke, but the way Vil looks at you isn’t saying joke at all.

You sort of laugh it off either way, though. What, that silly promise? You ask, are you rubbing it in that you’re prettier than me? I can still find a partner looking like this, y’know. You think it’s funny, but Vil suddenly falls completely silent.

He then sighs, almost wistful, and says “Sure you can” before the conversation progresses... you’re not sure what happened, but life goes on after that like nothing happened. Deep down, Vil is feeling stupid for having taken the promise to heart, like he should have known better... but if you never really meant it, then what could he do but give it up? Even though it was the thing he wanted to do the least... he valued your friendship too much to do something that could possibly ruin it.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twst x reader #deuce spade #ace trappola #jack howl #ruggie bucchi #vil schoenheit #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #jack howl x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #lis writing

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jarofstyles · 4 years

Text

Teacher’s Pet

A/N: As requested, here is the first part of our professor!harry series. As usual, this we put our little twist on things and we hope that you enjoy! - n+d

send feedback and requests here

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masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warning: smut, mutual masturbation, use of sex toys

word count: 6.2k

While Harry tried not to show favoritism in his courses, it was hard not to be caring towards the students that showed effort but struggled. That was the case with little Y/N. She was young, pretty, had a bit of an edge to her. From what he had noticed she was kind and often let people borrow pens and once gave a diabetic classmate her muffin when she saw he was a bit pale and taking his blood sugar.

He wasn’t everyone’s favorite professor. He was a tough grader, had a bit of a resting ‘bitch’ face, and he wasn’t necessarily warm and fuzzy. It wasn’t what Harry wanted at all— but it had to be done so that the students wouldn’t just see him as a peer. He had learned that early in. He had to be strict and get respect or he would be stuck with slackers or people who thought he would ‘do them a solid’ as one student had tried to ask with a fist bump. But when it came to sweet students with dyed hair, a devastated little pout, and even watery eyes, he knew he would have to say something.

‘If you would like some help, please come to my office any time after 4. I would be happy to assist in figuring out the material.’

It was written next to a poor grade. He could tell that she had potential— she just wasn’t getting it. He also worried about her word usage. If what he thought of was correct, it would make sense why she was struggling.

School was never one of Y/N’s strong suits. From the beginning of her school career she struggled with getting the hang of concepts and her teachers grew a distaste for her because they thought she wasn’t trying. Y/N was a hard worker though, she did genuinely try, but her best was never enough. A few teachers pointed out that she might have a learning disability, but her parents denied that ever being a case. Her other siblings, both older and younger, were able to grasp concepts easily and were all incredible book smart in addition to being talented outside of school. It seemed that Y/N was just the bad apple of the bunch. Her parents would joke, but of course it hurt. She didn’t even want to go to college originally, but her parents forced her to at least try and get a degree so she wouldn’t be a low life. Y/N only agreed because they said they’d keep paying for her band. Of course, you can only really go to college if you pass though and Y/N wasn’t doing too well.

Professor Styles had always intimidated her, but he just took his job seriously. She could tell by the way he talked about everything that he was passionate about making sure people understood the deeper meaning behind these books and Y/N could appreciate that. It was just a shame that she struggled so much in his class. There were students that excelled in his classes and he was always giving them praise, little surprised smiles and nods, a small ‘good job’ or ‘correct, yes’ here and there. Y/N found herself wanting to try harder in his classes just to get a praise out of him, but she was too nervous to raise her hand even when she did know the answer. This was her third time getting a not so passing grade in this class and Y/N was growing more and more frustrated. She understood the material, or she felt like she did, but whenever it came to reading and remembering, she found herself getting stuck. Little frustrated tears formed in her eyes but she blinked them away, thinking she wasn’t going to muster up the courage to see him today.

But she did.

He had a soft spot for the students that he helped. It was human nature to care for those you spent time with. It wasn’t like how he thought about Y/N though. Okay— he knew it was bad. But he was intrigued by her. Why? He wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what it was. Maybe her edgy look, maybe it was because she was seemingly submissive and every time he caught her eye she looked like a deer in headlights. She stares at him a lot, he could notice that. But he likes it. So he was pleasantly surprised when she came to his office, looking skittish but also curious. She needed help and he would offer it to her.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you.” Harry adjusted his glasses and sat up straighter, putting the final mark on a test before looking back up at her with a gentle smile. He had to approach with caution, she already looked like she was going to shit herself. “I’m glad you got my note and weren’t offended. But I was wondering if you’d like some help.” He didn’t say what because he wanted her to tell him what exactly she was struggling with.

Y/N was very nervous, mostly because she didn’t like asking for help from anyone. She didn’t like to seem unintelligent in front of men, especially when they were as attractive as Professor Styles. All the girls on campus talked about how hot he was, how his dominance was a turn on and how none of them were properly able to focus in class. At least they were getting passing grades.

“Hi, professor...” Y/N said softly and closed the door behind her before taking a seat. “I, um... I’m not really good with asking for help.” She explained, pushing a few pieces of hair behind her ear before fixing her septum piercing. Y/N was playing with the hem of her skirt, one of her fingers playing with the fishnet stockings she had on. “I feel like I understand when you’re explaining it and then I go and take the test and it’s like I can’t remember anything you said. But I’m not good at academics anyway so...” Y/N let out a sad chuckle. Her self confidence was pretty low in all aspects, it was a shame because she was a pretty girl. She didn’t seem to think so, hence why she dressed up. At least her clothes she could control.

“Now, don’t say that.” Harry tutted. “I’m sure that’s not true. I bet you just have a different way of learning. If you understand verbally, but freeze when it’s written, that may be the case.” He hummed, flipping through the last work she had handed in. “My question is... it isn’t meant to offend you at all. But do you find difficulty in reading itself?” He approached it gently. You’d be surprised how many adults realize later on in life that they have dyslexia. They were labeled as not the smartest but he was because it took so long for them to understand because the words and numbers get jumbled up. “I’m asking because I notice in your writings, you spell things in a unique way. Or it seems the letters are flipped. This isn’t to embarrass you so please don’t be upset— we just need to figure out why it is that you struggle with the tests.” He leaned forward on his desk, licking over his bottom lip. She was beautiful. In that way when women didn’t know they were beautiful. He wished he could see more of her body— fuck, not going there. Absolutely not. Even though technically it wasn’t like he would be fired, seeing as half the damn staff fucks students. It was always that forbidden element. Either way, he was far too much for this sweet thing to handle. “I would like to help you if you would let me do so.”

Y/N felt really anxious, bouncing her leg to try and keep her composure. She didn’t think she was smart. She wasn’t good at math, wasn’t good at science, she was decent at English but even that seemed to be difficult now that she was reading classics that were barely in modern English. She just decided that learning wasn’t for her.

“I’m not a reader, no.” She shook her head, Y/N found herself having trouble focusing for a long time and when it came to reading words get jumbled up and she struggled a lot. Especially when she started thinking about it too much. Of course Y/N was embarrassed even though he said he wasn’t trying to embarrass her. It was more just her feeling incompetent. She didn’t like making eye contact with him for too long because she felt like he was staring straight into her soul. She was a bit shy and timid when it came to new people. She appreciated that he wasn’t judging her though. “I don’t know what you could do to help, but if you’d like to try we can? I—I don’t want to waste your time.”

“There’s no wasting time if it helps improve your learning, yeah? Please don’t think of yourself like that. You are an important person, just as important as my other students. I want you to succeed.” Harry promised. It kind of broke his heart that she was so sure that her time with him would be wasted. It made him sad that she felt that way. Why? “How about we set up a time... let’s say two days a week? I have time around now, so 4:15 to 5 where I can help you.” He normally wouldn’t do it for most but he wasn’t going to let her suffer. A passion project, so to speak. “I don’t know your schedule but I would be here during that time normally. I basically live in this office anyways.” He smiled in a joking way. “We can work on understanding first what was wrong and then we can have time to work on the new material.”

Y/N nodded her head in agreement, but it did make her worry. Of course she could only try her best but she was so used to failing that she wasn’t sure how much harder she could try. She was barely passing her other classes and frankly she was thinking about dropping out all together. Maybe she was the lowlife her parents made her out to be?

“Can do... Monday’s and Thursday’s..” Y/N told him, “if that’s okay, I have band practice on Wednesday’s.” She wasn’t sure why’s she told him but part of it was to show that she wasn’t just a stupid girl that she did have some talent or at least she thought she did. “It’s um... it’s really nice of you to do this, thank you.” She told him genuinely, though she was terrified of letting him down. He seemed so cool. He wasn’t like this in his classes, he seemed much more approachable this way. Maybe in another life they could have been friends or more than that... no, he probably wasn’t into girls like her. She needed a cigarette.

“Of course. You have my email if you need to reschedule.” But he could see right through her. Of course he could. “But... if you’re nervous, tell me. I can soothe the worries. I’ll be awfully disappointed if you don’t show up and don’t let me know.” He knew she was skittish. He didn’t want her to back out and not take the time to try at the very least. “Let’s just work on it a day at a time. I hope to see you soon.”

When she walked out, he was ashamed to say he was entranced by her ass. He was such a bastard for thinking about a student like that. So bad. But it didn’t stop him from seeing her eyes when he fucked his fist later that night.

----

The next couple of days left Y/N worried. Coming out of professor Styles’ office had left her feeling on edge, wondering if it was even worth trying. She felt like nothing would save her at this point but this was going to be her last attempt. If it didn’t work out she’d just drop out and couch surf. But she didn’t want to have to do that, her kitty Jinx would have to find a new home and that was something she certainly didn’t want. It was Monday and Y/N didn’t go to her classes today, feeling like it was justified because she was meeting with Professor Styles today.

If she was going to work on herself she wanted to be in the best shape possible, so she smoked some weed in the morning to get her day off right and got her things together before getting her skateboard and making her way to his office.

Harry was pleased when she actually showed up at his office. He was half expecting her to drop his class with how terrified she had seemed the past time, and he was curious to see how she had thought about what her grades and his revisions on her test. He had worn a dark red button up today with suspenders, his blazer off and hair a tiny bit messy. His glasses hung off the end of his nose while he looked up at her with surprise, before a smile came on his face.

“Y/N! I’m very glad to see you’ve come.” He hummed, sitting up and leaning back in his chair. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable on the couch. Would you like a water?” He had a mini fridge in his office. Without listening to an answer, he pulled one out anyways and handed it to her, rounding the desk so he seemed less scary. The desk was a position of power. One he loved, but also didn’t want to take advantage of when Y/N obviously was terrified of it. “Alright. So... you’ve seen my revisions?” He sat on the other arm chair across from the couch, glasses pushed up now with his copy of her paper. “Good. What do you think about your mistakes? Were they because you didn’t understand the material, or didn’t know what to say in paper?”

Y/N gave him a small smile, setting her skate board up against the side wall before taking a seat on the couch. No amount of weed could have calmed her down, she wasn’t even that high anymore it was just the residual feeling. Right now, she was more concerned about having to tell him what was going on inside her mind when she was working on assignments.

“I—I um... both?” She felt a blush creeping in on her cheeks. “I tried to like... watch videos about it, cause whenever I try to read I just get frustrated.” Y/N explained fiddling with the paper. She didn’t like this feeling, it was obvious that it was something that made her emotional which was why she didn’t really talk about it. She let out a breath, looking over what she wrote and seeing all the red pen. It made her want to crawl up into a ball despite how nice he was being. He was trying and so she would also try her best to keep it together. “I find it really hard to focus..”

“I don’t doubt that you do, Y/N. I’m thinking that maybe this isn’t something to do with your focus, but maybe it’s with your reading? You could learn differently than other people and that's absolutely alright.” Harry felt poorly that she was so sad and embarrassed about it. “Look at me.” When she didn’t respond he was trying a different tactic. Soft but very obviously meaning business. “There we are. Now, this doesn’t mean you’re stupid or unable to learn or do well in my class. You just may need to learn differently.” He stood up and grabbed a book from his shelf. “So this book— I got it online. It has some illustrations in it, and I find they’re pretty self explanatory. Maybe this will help you understand it better. Having an image opposed to words in your mind.” He handed it to her. She didn’t need to know he had bought it himself.

Y/N glanced up at him as he told her to look at him, seeing his face go much softer but his eyes still held that same intensity. She followed his with her eyes as he went to get the book. It was much thicker than the others due to all the illustrations but of course it made her feel like a little kid again. She just wished she could be normal.

“Okay...” She said softly, willing to try anything at this point. Of course she was nervous about going forward with his class seeing as she knew things would only get more difficult. Y/N gave him a small thank you as she looked through the book but part of her felt like it wasn’t going to work. No one was determined in helping her learn, they never have been. She’d always gotten very poor, passing grades because she assumed teachers felt bad for her or knew her siblings and assumed maybe she was just the rebellious one. “Sometimes I feel like I do better on the essays, cause I feel like I get it... but I end up getting better grades on the tests than the essays and it’s... disheartening.” She explained with a small frown, “cause I guess on the tests a lot of the time.”

He furrowed his brows, listening to what Y/N had to say. It made sense if she had dyslexia that she would be frustrated and upset with learning altogether but it was important to her and him as well, that she was able to do what she was meant to do. Whatever it was she had wanted.

“I think you should outline your essays more. Each body paragraph, with reasoning and thought. Come up with 4 to 6 reasons for each, word them how it makes sense to you, and write it that way. The structure taught isn’t the only way to do it.” He explained. Writing down on a piece of notebook paper an example of how she could do it. “I know it must be very frustrating— especially if it’s been years that you’ve had to deal with this. I understand. But I do have faith that you’re able to do this. You are intelligent, Y/N. You just have to figure out the right way to show it.”

Y/N let out a sigh, swallowing thickly as he gave her some advice on how to structure her essays in a way that would make more sense. She would try her best, especially with knowing that he was going to be grading things knowing what her situation was. Y/N was going to try her best to sound smart or collected, but she will admit she hadn’t been paying attention for years.

She pulled out a folder of her English work, pulled out the notes she had taken and the lay out for her essays and bit the inside of her lip. Y/N handed it to him and immediately went to pay with her own fingers. Observing him as he looked through what she had done previously.

“I—I try my best, I really do.. but anytime I get the courage to try it just gets worse and I go back to not trying at all because at least then I know I’m failing cause I’m doing it on purpose and not cause I’m stupid.” Y/N was trying to share her feelings to try and make him understand. “‘s really intimidating being in class with people who pick up information easily and I end up just tuning out cause it’s too fast for me to follow... and I don’t want to be that one girl that holds up the whole class with a stupid question.”

“You aren’t. If you have a question that you aren’t comfortable asking in front of everyone, you are always welcome to email me or come to my office at any time I’m here.” Harry promised. Poor girl. Jesus, what happened to her to make her self esteem like this? “You are very capable. Very much a smart girl. You need to tap into different areas of your brain. I promise, we can get your grade up together, alright?” He felt softness and fondness because he knew that sometimes professors weren’t the most understanding. Granted, he was only like this towards students that came for help— and oddly, even more so towards her, but still. “You don’t have to stop trying. You just need a different approach and we can help you find the right one. Do you like movies?” He suddenly remembered that. At her confused look, he continued. “Movies are scripts. Books. Visual. Do you find it easy to follow along with movies?”

She found it hard to believe him because no one really called her smart, ever. Y/N gave him a small smile and nodded her head, pushing pieces of hair away from her face before nodding and realizing she reversed the work she’d just done. He was a very nice man, it was clear that he was committed to helping her and it was definitely appreciated. She just didn’t know why he believed in her so much when no one else did?

“Well yeah... I can follow conversation and stuff.” Y/N let out a small chuckle, sniffling a bit before she continued. “I think another problem is I get too confused about things like.. the deeper meaning stuff in books. Like the themes and whatever you call it. Cause in my head I know what I think it means but then it’s meant to mean something else and then I think I just didn’t understand correctly.” Y/N was definitely more of a creative. She didn’t like following set rules, she liked going with the flow and following her own thing. It worked when it came to her music, she was able to focus then. But she taught herself guitar.

“I think that you need to first take the book at face value. Don’t look for the hidden meanings the first time you read because it will confuse you more.” Harry cleared his throat. She smelled really good. Like peaches and citrus. He wondered if her bed smelled like that, but stronger.

“Tell me some things you like.” He leaned back into the seat. “Things you think we can connect to projects. You said you’re in a band? Have a band?” He remembered that from last time. At her nod he continued. “You can find a song or make a playlist of songs that connect your head to the book. Say... Romeo and Juliet. Hmm.. check yes Juliet, We The Kings. If you’ve heard of that. You can find songs that help you remember.”

“Yeah, I’m in a band.” Y/N nodded her head a bit at him, “it’s like a indie punk thing...” She wasn’t sure what kind of music he listened to but he seemed young enough to think that indie music was good. Who knows, maybe he was one of those jazz guys with all the sweaters he wears. Y/N wasn’t one to judge though. The check yes Juliet reference made her chuckle, remembering middle school and highschool momentarily. He couldn’t be that much older then. “Yeah, I know that song.” She giggled and shook her head, “but yeah, I understand.” She spoke and took note of that in her mind. Y/N didn’t know how she was meant to explain to him that she spent the rest of her free time doing drugs. Tripping and writing music, hanging out with her kitty. That’s about it. Skating, going out in nature. Fucking. She definitely was a bit of a nympho. She assumed it was because of her need for attention.

“Okay. That’s good then. Use that to try and correlate.” He had felt weird watching her leave the room, seemingly in a better mood than she had been before but still nervous. It didn’t help that he hadn’t gotten laid and didn’t really want to have sex with someone else right now. God, if only he could spread her open and dip his cock into her soft cunt. That’s something he was dreaming of.

He thought about it the next night too. So, with his bored and needy thoughts, he went home and did his chores he needed to do, before he went to lay in his bed with his laptop. To be honest. Most porn didn’t do it for him. He much preferred erotic writing or even more so, cam girls. Sex workers deserved support and he always tipped well, though rarely talking in any of them. He was scrolling down the alternative tab when he found what he was looking for. Tattoos and plump lips, tits for a profile photo and a tongue sticking out. Interesting— and she was live.

He just never expected the exact woman in his head to be placed on the screen, smoke coming from her mouth.

Fuck.

Y/N wasn’t exactly sure how she thought about starting camming but it all sort of just fell into place. She started off just selling her nudes and videos for attention and money but then she realized that people would pay really good money to watch live stuff. It’s a good thing too because Y/N loved being watched. Her cams were usually regularly scheduled, but other times they were spontaneous because she was really horny. bbybunnie was her username, most people just called her pet names though, never by her actual name for obvious security reasons. She had quite the following too. People seemed to love her content. She was fun and bubbly and she felt like she put in a great show both literally and physically. Y/N had just done a bong rip, having her windows open to let the smoke out. She didn’t like smoking around Jinx so she’d let her in once she was properly stoned. She was dressed in a black crop top that said princess on it in gothic font, fishnets, and little black panties.

“Been really stressed lately with college and stuff...” Y/N answered a previous question as to what she’d been up to. “Working on assignments in stuff but it gets hard.” She pouted, turning her head when she heard Jinx scratching at the door. “One second.” She giggled and went to grab Jinx, leaving the door open so she could roam. “Here she is, say hi to everyone.” Y/N cooed in a baby voice. It was quite the sight. An alternative girl all soft with her cat, just starting the broadcast. Her vibrator was clearly in frame, already plugged in. A subscriber bought a heavy duty one for her.

And Harry should have clicked off. Right away, he should have exited the screen and said ‘gotta go’ because this was his student. His student he tutored and had fucking come on here to jerk off to a look alike. But he couldn’t. Not finally getting a look at her body. Soft and curved and delicious. Her tits strained the tank top and little tiny panties, some fishnets. Jesus fucking Christ. He let out an audible moan as he watched her sit back on the bed, talking back and forth with some of the comments.

He wasn’t sure what made him comment.

DaddyH: you look beautiful. I love the fishnets.

She did. And he loved them. A lot of the comments were dirtier but not to the point he could see it turning a woman on. He didn’t get an associates in sexology for nothing.

Y/N was pretty good with responding to comments, they were paying after all, but a lot of them were much nicer than most would think. Her community was used to her streams taking a bit to get going because she liked to get super horny, so once she was properly high she usually talked with her comments about things she’s been fantasizing about and what they’d like to see her do.

DaddyH. He was new.

“Hi daddyh, thank you! You’re new aren’t you?” Y/N said with an excited smile, she liked newcomers. It meant someone was interested in her. “Well we’ve got a special show on our hands then.” Her viewers loved when new people came because the shows were always better. She was visibly hornier. She shifted a little bit so she was leaning farther back on her pillows, bringing her legs up and out so she was spreading like a little butterfly. Of course the panties kept things covered but not much. Y/N pulled them up so they were tight on her, “Gotta get me real wet first, yeah?” She hummed, “love knowing you’re watching me... love when you tell me what you like...” It was strategic to talk dirty as if she was talking to one specific person.

Fuck shit motherfucker. Fuck.

Harry didn’t even see her pussy fully yet and he was nearly drooling. What the fuck had he done in what past life to get this type of luck? He wasn’t sure but he did know that whatever he did, he was thankful. He got a good look at her, her lusty eyes. He was a dirty talker. He loved to sex— fuck the English teacher in him. He loved making women a mess of whines and slick and speaking their darkest fantasies into their ears as the writhe underneath him. Y/N would be a fun one to play with. For sure.

DaddyH: you could play over the panties. They’re cute.

He had a thing for panties and fishnets, and she was going right to his kinks.

“But that’s no fun.” Y/N pouted at the comment, wiggling her panties a little bit so she could rub against her clit some. She let out a tiny moan and hummed, letting her hands move up her body to squeeze her tits through her shirt. She was properly eye fucking the camera too, teasing as she started to pull up her shirt. “I’m frustrated, daddy...” Usually she waited till she got a certain number of tips before she took her clothes off, but she was only a few dollars away so she pulled off her shirt revealing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The tightness of the tank top kept them up, but these men seemed to love natural tits. Her hand slipped down to start rubbing over her clit over top her panties, letting out little breathy moans of pleasure. “Really want to be fucked...” She explained, “Wanna be full...” Y/N pouted and quickened her pace.

“Bent over a desk.”

Harry had a big oak desk he could bend her over and absolutely destroy her. If that’s something she would want. Harry would wreck her. His hand palmed Over his cock as he took her in and looked at her tits. He was an everything man but tits? He could happily suck on hers for an hour and make marks all over, just to listen to her mewl and feel her on his tongue. He squeezed over his sweatpants, feeling himself heat up as he watched her. She was topless, his student. His student was topless and rubbing her clit over tiny little panties, giving a pout and looking at the camera too fucking similar to the way she looked at him in his office today. And while his rational mind knew he wouldn’t be able to look at her the same— he would want to fuck her even more than he had— he couldn’t stop watching.

It was clear that Y/N’s interactions with Harry had spilt over into her mind while she was getting into it. It was that intense stare that he had, his ringed hands, of course there was also the tone of his voice. How he asked her to look at him that one time. She could only imagine him asking her much rougher and in a deeper voice.

“Daddy...” She whimpered out, teasing her own self over her panties as she read over the comments. Y/N giggled are some, loving he praise if men calling her cute and telling her she was pretty and her moans were turning them on. She went and took off her panties cause she really couldn’t take it anymore, revealing her fishnet covered cunt. “Want a better view, hmm?” Y/N smirked, moving to rip them right over the crotch so everyone could see. “I’m so fuck wet for you... look..” She said all excited, pulling her fingers back to show the strings of wetness on her fingers.

Harry was in heaven. Truly. Or hell, because he wasn’t able to be the one ripping the fishnets up and fucking her in them. Her thighs looked soft and delicate and probably so easily bruised. He could do some incredible work down there.

DaddyH: Lick it clean, sweetheart. I know it’s sweet.

There was no way she wasn’t so sweet that his teeth would fill with cavities. No way. He wanted her taste all over his tongue. He was a very giving dom, very much eager to make his lovers cum again and again and again so long as they complied with his soft rules. It wasn’t difficult.

Y/N’s stomach filled with warmth as she read over the comment, bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking on them properly as if they were a cock. She was starting to like the Daddyh character. He was so sweet and polite in his choice of words, paid well. What was there not to like? She removed her fingers from her mouth giggling a little bit as she decided to show off some more. Y/N pushed the laptop back a bit, turning so they could see her ass and how she arched her back for them relieving that she’d had a butt plug in the whole time. Sleek and black with a little gem at the end. A lot of the things she had were gifts from subscribers. She had an Amazon wishlist specifically set up for them as well as a regular P.O. Box that then routed to her home. She had tons of back up fishnets, some used ones she sold online as well. Lots of other things. She quite enjoyed it.

When did she put that in? Harry needed to know. Was she wearing that when she was sat on his fucking couch? He would surely lose his goddamn mind if that was the case.

He tipped her $50, asking the question he needed the answer to.

DaddyH: Have you been wearing that all day, pretty girl?

The idea of her squirming in class occurred to him. And then the idea of a little vibrator inside of her that he had the remote to, pressing it on to see her reactions. He would buy her one, fuck. He would buy this girl anything if it meant getting to see her squirm and hear her beg him to let her cum.

Y/N wiggled her bum a bit, turning on her back again with a hum. “I’ve been wearing it all day...” She nodded, reaching over for her vibrator because she really couldn’t wait anymore. Everyone who streamed her knew she was impatient, sometimes if they paid a good amount she’d wait and tease herself first but she was needy today. She just kept thinking about professor Styles. “‘m so needy... been so horny lately, might be on for a while.” Y/N blushed, “or I’ll film some special requests on my onlyfans...” She smirked because she knew she would get lots of money for men begging her to stay but loads for custom content too. Y/N turned the vibrator on it’s lowest setting, starting to move it down on to her cunt where she let out a pleaser sigh. “I wanna cum so bad... just wanna cum.” She pleaded, reading to see what everyone was saying. Y/N turned it up a few notches, letting out a content sigh as she moved it over a specific spot. The feeling was indescribable and the noises that left her just showed how relieved she was.

Harry nearly fell over. Her ass was stuffed when she sat on his couch— and it wasn’t from his cock. Harry particularly loved anal, it was a very hot thing to him and the fact she hadn’t been warming his cock like that was near criminal. Truly.

“Sweet Jesus.” He breathed, finally taking himself out of his pants. Spitting thick on to the head, he spread it over his cock and waited for her to continue. She had an onlyfans? He would be subscribing and buying content. He didn’t give a fuck. He wanted it and it would be the best way to keep her close but far. He was watching how her legs trembled and her mouth fell open at the feeling, her body arching into the buzzing of the vibrator. Oh, how he would hold it against her and finger her until she squirted all over the bed and make her clean it up with her tongue. He was a sexual man but kinky more than anything. The idea of it all... it was so hot and wrong and taboo and it was even better in his cock’s mind that she was a no go zone. Made it hotter.

DaddyH: you’ve got such a pretty pussy. How many times can you cum?

Y/N read his comment and let out a whine, turning up the vibrator a few settings higher once again so she could get even closer to her brink of orgasm. “Let’s find out.” She breathed out and continued to crank up the settings. The closer she got the more she thrashed and bucked her hips both up and away from the vibrator. She was very enjoyable to watch she’s been told, specifically because she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut and that she was willing to take a lot. Y/N must have sat there for a few hours just making herself cum over and over again, both with the vibrator and the dildo she had. Once she was all fucked out, 5 orgasms deep, she just laid there and watched the comments roll in. She giggled at a few, breathing heavily as she slowly walked herself down from the blissful headspace she was in. “Thank you, I’m feeling so much better...” Y/N cooed, giving them a smile. “Have a good day or night!” And with that she’d logged off, happy that she had made a new regular.

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

[part 2]

A/N: bet you weren’t expecting that huh? 😈 and yes!! punk!y/n - n + d

let us know what you think!

masterlist

#writing #harry styles smut #professor!harry #professor!h #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

qitwrites · 3 years

Text

growing pains

Fandom: Boku no hero academia

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

5 times the Bakusquad tells Bakugou they love him + the one time he says it back

(AO3)

Ashido is many things. Book smart isn’t one of them.

No really, she’s got so much going for her with her dancing, her strength, her versatile quirk, her perky attitude and even her distinctive appearance, but she’s not one for the books. She doesn’t like them, and they clearly don’t like her back.

Her grades thoroughly reflect this hate-hate relationship.

Ashido tries though, she really does- even if it’s just cramming a few days before the exams, she tries to study. Yao-momo had even gone out of her way to help, but it just doesn’t do the trick. She knows she needs to get her act together and figure this out because she can’t be a hero with a failing grade, and the anxiety and fear starts taking its toll, leaving her restless and upset.

So, when Bakugou sees the pink-haired, pink-skinned pain-in-the ass sulking in the common room, he’s horrified by the words that leave his mouth-

‘Want my help?’

Ashido doesn’t even glance at him at first, choosing to stare at the wall forlornly. She slowly looks up to catch his eye, looks around, realizes that they’re all alone, snaps her eyes back to his and her jaw drops.

‘Me?’ She points a finger at herself. ‘You’ll tutor me?’

‘What did I just say dumbass?’

‘I just- BAKUBRO, THANK YOU!’

‘Shut the fuck up and get your shit. We’ve got our work cut out for us. And raccoon eyes?’

Ashido turns to look at him, eyes bright and shiny.

‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll kick your ass.’

Ashido beams. ‘It’ll be our little secret!’

To her credit, he sees her try. She’s distracted and constantly jumping up and down, too jittery to be in one place, but she also pushes herself to focus, to really absorb the material. Bakugou’s rough with her, the way he is with Kirishima, but he’s generous with the praise too, or as generous as he’s capable of being. It makes him feel all kinds of gross, disgustingly soft and gooey things when Ashido’s eyes go warm with pride when he pays her the smallest compliment.

They work hard for the two weeks leading up to the exams. Kirishima joins them for every session in addition to the stuff he does with Bakugou separately, and between the three of them, they manage to cover most of the syllabus quite thoroughly.

The day before the exam, Bakugou sees the nerves rolling off Ashido.

‘Oye!’

She flinches and turns to look at him, throwing him a sheepish smile. ‘Yes, Blasty?’

He bristles at the nickname but recognizes that there’s no malice, no intention to mock, nothing really- just a nickname meant for a friend. She isn’t provoking him- she’s just nervous and falling back on old, comfortable habits.

He grunts, ‘You nervous?’

Ashido chuckles. ‘Course I am! Don’t wanna let you down, you know?’

Bakugou smacks her lightly on the head with a roll of practice sheets.

‘Who do you think tutored you? Don’t underestimate our sessions. Get in there and fucking obliterate those stupid tests.’

Ashido’s smile grows more confident, and she gives him a huge thumbs up, bumps hips with Kirishima and jogs over to her seat. The bell rings, and the exams begin.

The tests are not bad. Bakugou notes that a good majority of the papers contain material that he’s covered with the two properly, and works his way through the problems, the equations, the literature, all of it. In the very back of his mind, in a place he barely refuses to acknowledge, he hopes that they’re doing ok.

A week after their final exams, Bakugou is walking back from the training centre when he sees a ball of pink approaching him at an alarming speed.

‘BAKUBRO!’ Mina hollers, arms raised over her head as she outright sprints at him.

Bakugou furrows his brow, chest expanding as he gets ready to yell at her when she interrupts him-

‘I passed EVERYTHING!’ Her smile is humungous, wide and warm and genuine to its core. ‘AND I ACTUALLY DID WELL!’

Bakugou doesn’t even realize he’s smiling back, that feral, triumphant grin he has when he beats someone during training or takes down a villain. He’s proud of himself, and he realizes, with a surprising amount of acceptance, that he’s proud of her too. Really damn proud.

He’s a bit slow to realize that she hasn’t stopped barreling towards him though.

‘RACCOON EYES, DON’T YOU DA-‘

Ashido collides right into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Bakugou curses the entire way, but Ashido out-laughs him, her body shaking with joy.

‘Thank you!’ She beams down at him, pulling him into a warm hug. ‘You have no idea what this means to me.’

Bakugou wants to push her off, wants to stand up, spew out some curses and stomp away, back to his room.

But he’s also proud. He’s also happy for her. He’s also glad she did ok. That she worked hard and was determined to make him proud and that she isn’t going to get held back or expelled or something.

So, he blames it on the summer heat when he not only doesn’t push her off but rests a hand on her shoulder, gives her a quick pat, counts to 10 and THEN shoves her away.

Ashido pulls off easily enough, still laughing. She bounces back to her feet, dusts off her track pants and offers him her hand. The blonde looks at it, huffs, and takes it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Ashido yanks him to his feet with a strong, firm grip and her eyes go soft and warm and radiant.

‘Thanks again, Bakugou.’

‘Tch, whatever. Fuck off.’

Ashido giggles. Her phone suddenly starts ringing and she pulls it out of her pant pocket.

‘Oh, it’s my parents, I gotta take this!’ She starts walking back to the dorms. ‘Let’s go out this weekend, get some food at the mall. My treat!’

‘I don’t want to fucking do-‘

‘Bye babe. Love you!’ And with that, she’s gone, her laugh echoing around the courtyard.

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

---

Bakugou knows for a fact that Sero is 90% memes and 10% tape.

He has no scientific evidence to back up this claim of course, but he’s definitely right.

The thing about Sero is that the longer you spend time around him, the more you can appreciate his stupid sense of humour, his great taste in mangas, and his ability to make the people around him smile.

Bakugou hates him completely, or so he tells himself. There’s no scientific evidence to prove on the contrary either, thank god.

So, with his shitty sense of humour and his easy-going nature, it’s natural to find Sero with a smile on his face. Not the kind of sunshine happiness that Kirishima has, but more of a mellow, easy joy. His body language exudes a relaxed vibe, immediately making the people around him lower their guard, and he shares a love for healthy food with Bakugou, earning him the blonde’s begrudging respect.

Bakugou finds the tape hero sitting at the kitchen island on a Tuesday night. It’s past Bakguou’s bedtime, but he’s hungry enough to warrant a midnight snack, though he’s not expecting any company. Turns out, neither is Sero.

‘Oh, hey.’

Immediately, Bakugou’s shackles are up. Because Sero isn’t smiling. He isn’t teasing him, there’s no humorous lilt in his voice, no mischievous glint in his eyes, nothing. He’s hollow almost, his skin pale and his eyes sunken in. Even his breathing seems off, too fast and too shallow all at once.

‘What are you doing up?’ Bakugou asks, quirking a brow.

‘Could ask you the same.’

Sero is barely looking at him. He has his phone in a vice-grip, and he looks like he’s going to throw up.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Sero jolts at that, eyes darting all across the room, and he can’t seem to look at Bakugou. Can’t seem to sit still or calm down. Bakugou can taste his anxiety, and it’s making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He feels protectiveness - strong and vicious and ridiculously overpowering - all the way in his toes.

‘Nothing, ha, I’m fine.’

‘Tapeface, I’m not fucking blind. If you don’t want to fucking talk about it, fine. Just don’t lie to my face.’

Sero finally looks at him, and he looks lost and scared and helpless. Bakugou’s never seen him like this, and the protectiveness surges.

‘I- I didn’t expect anyone to be awake. I’m not sure, you know, how to talk about it. I don’t even know what to do.’

Bakugou grunts to show him he’s listening before turning around and slowly pulling things out of the fridge. He remembers Sero’s love for fruits and soy and all things healthy and decides to make some Mapo Tofu. Not because Sero will like it or anything, the blonde just really likes Mapo Tofu, ok?

Bakugou begins the task of pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and gets to prepping the ingredients. He keeps himself busy and fills the space with the comforting sounds and smells of food because he is an expert at being unable to talk about his feelings. To articulate his thoughts sans anger and rage and panic. And he finds that it's easier, even if only a little, to talk when the focus isn’t just on you. When there’s stuff going on, when there are other focal points. It’s less scary.

‘My mom is getting surgery.’

Bakugou pauses in his movements. He stays still long enough to indicate to Sero that he’s listening but goes back to work so the focus is still on the food, so Sero will continue to speak. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and so pained, and something in Bakugou churns horribly. He works more softly, so he can hear everything.

‘She’s had medical issues all my life, so it’s nothing unexpected. She gets surgery pretty often, but it’s never any less scary.’

Bakugou can’t even imagine what that’s like, to have a parent regularly undergo medical treatment and surgical procedures.

‘It’s the first one since I got to the dorms. I’ve never been this far away, and I can’t-‘ Sero’s voice chokes. He breathes deeply and continues ‘-I can’t calm down. I begged them to let me come home but they refused, said I need to see this UA thing through, do my own thing, all that.’

Bakugou continues to cook. The kitchen smells warm and spicy, and the sound of sizzling spices saturates the space between them, and he thinks he can sense Sero calm down a little.

‘I get it. I do. They're right and logically, I can accept that. I just. Fuck, this is horrible.’

Bakugou doesn’t offer any words of comfort or advice because what does he know? He has no idea what Sero is going through, and anything he says might sound insincere or plain insensitive. So instead, he cooks. He cooks the meat, mixes in the spices, and tastes the broth. He works fast and efficient, his movements practised. When it’s done, he plates up two bowls, and sets one in front of Sero, taking the seat next to him. Sero’s at the head of the table, so Bakugou ends up on his right.

Sero stares at the bowl and then looks up at Bakugou.

‘Mom makes me Mapo Tofu when I’m upset,’ he grumbles by way of an explanation. The blonde proceeds to douse his serving in extra chilli oil and peppercorns because he made the overall dish at a much more tolerable spice level. NOT for Sero or anything, just because. You know. For the fuck of it.

Sero stares at the bowl of food silently before picking up the spoon.

‘I haven’t told the rest because I couldn’t find a way to talk about it.’

Before Bakugou can figure out a way to respond to that, Sero continues, ‘I’m glad you know, is not so bad to have someone to talk to. Or at, I guess.’

Sero digs in, and after the first bite, his eyes light up.

‘Holy fuck,’ he breathes, ‘this is so good.’

Bakugou smirks, digging into his own bowl and humming in agreement. It’s probably the best Tofu he’s made so far.

‘Shit man,’ Sero says in between big bites, ‘I freaking love this. And you. But mostly this. But also, you. Like 65-35? Maybe 60-40.’

The blonde snorts and Sero’s grin gets wider. They eat in relative silence, with the occasional comment from Sero and the sounds of them kicking each other playfully under the table. When they’re done, Bakugou rinses the bowls in the sink and joins Sero on the couch in front of the TV. It’s gotten ridiculously late, but he doesn’t want to leave him alone.

Sero rubs the back of his neck. ‘I uh, I don’t want to go to my room right now.’

Bakugou leans over the couch, grabs two throw blankets from a bin nearby and flings the yellow one at Sero.

‘Play that cool documentary on speedcubing,’ he barks out, tucking himself under his own red blanket. Sero gives him a wide-eyed look before navigating to the right piece on Netflix. He gets comfortable under the throw, and they fall asleep to the sound of people solving Rubix cubes at inhumane speeds.

Shoji finds them like that in the morning and gently shakes them awake. Sero’s phone has a message from his parents, telling him everything’s alright, and that’s the only reason Bakugou forgives him for gathering the blonde in a big, warm hug before the sun is even up.

He crawls into his own bed 5 minutes later, and his heart feels lighter than ever.

Maybe an antacid will help with all of these stupid, horrid feels.

---

Bakugou doesn’t like people.

As a general rule of thumb, he dislikes them almost instantly. People are loud. They’re invasive, annoying, clingy, and they never smell good.

People are also cruel and selfish and use you as they please.

Bakugou doesn’t like people; until he comes to UA.

Because the people in UA are loud, invasive, annoying, clingy, and never smell great either.

But they’re kind. They’re smart, driven, capable, funny. They work hard, they play hard, and they’re mostly selfless. They don’t flock to him simply because he’s got a great quirk or something. Truth be told, they’re all pretty formidable themselves. Grossly underdeveloped and years away from being at his level, but Bakugou knows that with time, all of his classmates will reach insane heights. They wouldn’t be in UA otherwise.

So Bakugou tries. Mostly because his stupid squad won’t leave him alone, but he tries.

When people hang out in the common rooms, he’s downstairs with them. If there’s a stupid Christmas party, or it's someone’s birthday, or the class wants to go out shopping or to play in the pool, Bakugou tags along with them more often than not.

There is a compromise though. With a social battery as small and easily drained as his, it isn’t uncommon for the class to find Bakugou chilling in a corner with his headphones in, simply taking in the vibe rather than actively participating. There’s no bad blood over this though- they kinda get it. Not everyone is as friendly or as vibrant as Kirishima or Kaminari. They’re honestly just glad he’s there at all, so they do their best to make sure he’s included while letting him set his own pace.

Bakugou’s in one of his recharging phases when he spots Jirou.

The earphone jack hero is wandering around, looking a little worse for wear. There are people from both 1A and 1B milling around, talking and laughing in the common areas, and the energy in the room is almost stifling. The blonde doesn’t miss the way Jirou covers her ears at one point.

From what he can tell, Jirou is an ambivert. She enjoys the company of others often, but she’s also perfectly fine being on her own, with a book and some music to keep her company. Right now, she seems exhausted, her own social battery running dangerously low.

Bakugou catches her eye. She gives him a small wave and he sticks his tongue out at her, pulling the skin under his eye down on one side. It’s petty and dumb, but he sees her huff a laugh and slowly meander towards him. Bakugou goes back to closing his eyes and tipping his head back, enjoying the familiar texture of the common room couch and the sound of the music in his ears drowning out everything else.

He feels the couch dip next to him, close but not too close. Jirou doesn’t touch him, doesn’t bother him, doesn’t shake or poke or otherwise engage him. She just sits there, stock-still.

When his eyes slip open again, Bakugou sees that she’s got her hands in her lap and she’s mimicking his posture, comfortably seated on the couch with her head tipped back. Her signature headphones are nowhere in sight though, and her eyes are open and red.

Distantly, Bakugou wonders if she’s forgotten them. That would suck ass- he’d be lost without his own pair. And Jirou’s relationship with music is on a level no one else can fathom- it’s literally part of her DNA, her quirk, her identity.

Bakugou isn’t sure what compels him to do it- maybe it’s because they both like bugging the hell out of Kaminari. Maybe it’s because Jirou is no-nonsense when it comes to hero work, which he can respect. Maybe it’s because, beneath all the teasing and smart-ass comments, Jirou has often looked out for him, advocating for the need for personal space when the idiot brigade drains him.

Whatever the reason, Bakugou finds himself pulling out his right earbud and holding it out for her, a silent invitation.

It takes maybe 4 seconds for him to feel the bud lifted gently from his fingers. Jirou is careful to not jar his own earbud when she adjusts his in her right ear, and Bakugou moves to raise the volume a little.

It is a bit annoying, yes, to have one ear open to the noise around them, but it’s not unbearable- far from it. He’s got some reggae on right now, a genre he indulges in when he needs to calm down and just relax his body.

When he turns to look at her, Jirou’s got a smile on her lips. Her feet are tapping to the beat effortlessly, and her fingers are mapping out the tune on an invisible fretboard. She opens her eyes and looks over at Bakugou, and her smile widens, crinkling the edges of her eyes.

Thank you, she mouths, flashing him another blinding smile. It makes Bakugou huff.

‘Whatever,’ he murmurs under his breath. The look in her eyes could not be mistaken for anything else- unadulterated gratitude and a heavy dose of love.

These gooey feelings are going to give him an upset stomach, Bakugou’s calling it right now.

---

Bakugou doesn’t even notice the pattern till Kirishima points it out to him.

It goes a little something like this- Bakugou feels off during training, or maybe doesn’t do as well as he’d expected on a test or project, or something just doesn’t go right. So naturally, he’s in a piss poor mood.

The squad’s antics don’t do much for him then, doesn’t really raise his spirits or anything, and he usually goes back to his room, slamming his door shut and pacing around like a caged tiger.

And that’s when his phone rings. The caller ID reads Pikachu.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Bakubrooooooooo,’ Kaminari croons, and Bakugou wants to break something.

‘Fuck of-‘

‘You ever wonder if cereal is soup?’

All the fight drains out of Bakugou, leaving only confusion in its place. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, I mean, is cereal like a sub-category of soup or something? Wouldn’t that make sense?’

‘Dunce-face, what the fuck? That doesn’t even make sense? You don’t cook cereal?’

‘Yes, but you could eat it with a soup spoon. That should count for something.’

‘I hate you. So much.’

‘Aww, love you too bro. Ok, gotta go, byee~’

Bakugou stares at his phone, shocked and confused and annoyed.

But no longer angry. No longer pacing about, no longer in a foul mood.

Another time, after a particularly bad bout of training, ending with aching forearms and snarls of frustration because he needs to get better but it’s not happening fast enough, Bakugou wants nothing more than to scream into a pillow and maybe eat some hot sauce.

Again, he gets a call from Kaminari.

‘Wha-‘

‘Do you ever just think about pizza and cry?’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, I mean, I think humanity reached its peak when it invented pizza, you know? And that makes me cry. Such perfection.’ He can picture Kaminari making a chef’s kiss gesture, and it pisses him off.

‘This is why you called me? Are you fucking with me?’

‘It’s really an honest question Bakubro. Don’t you ever tremble at the sheer magnificence of pizza?’

‘Delete my number.’

‘No can do. Gotta go, love you, bye!’

And again, he’s gone, just as quickly as he arrived. And again, Bakugou is left feeling baffled and miffed but no longer angry, no longer itching to scream and claw and break something.

He still eats some hot sauce though.

Kirishima is with him after one of his bad days, sitting on his bed and trying to pacify him.

‘It’s ok, it-‘

‘Shut up, Shitty hair! Fuck-‘ His hands tremble with the need to just do something, vent somehow, to break the tension in his spine. He doesn’t want to snap at Kirishima, which is why he never lets him tag along when he stomps away to his room after a bad day, but the redhead can be ridiculously caring sometimes and Bakugou doesn’t want to hurt him.

He doesn’t know what else to do though.

‘Shit, I- you need to leave, get out before I-‘

His phone rings. Pikachu, it says.

‘Dunce-‘

‘I’ve decided that, in the event of an apocalypse, you and I are teaming up together.’

‘Wha-‘

‘I know you’d much rather team up with Kirishima, cause he’s so strong and handsome and he’s your best friend, but he’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, will die immediately. So, it’s just you and me Blasty.’

‘Fuck right off, why would I-‘

‘We could name ourselves the atomic blondes.’ Kaminari suddenly makes a whooping noise. ‘Damn, that’s perfect Bakugou! I gotta print tee shirts right now, we’d look amazing.’

‘I am not wearing anything that matches you, miss me with that shit.’

‘I promise it’ll be black, and like, soft, with skull patterns or something.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I gotta go anyway, but you’re stuck with me Bakubro. Anyway, bye, love you!’

They end the call, or rather, Kaminari cuts it before Bakugou can get an insult or two in there, and when he looks back at Kirishima, he sees a big, goofy smile on his face.

‘What?’ he grumbles, tossing his phone on his bed.

‘He does that often?’

‘What, call me and say really random, really stupid shit? Yeah, all the damn time. I need to block his ass.’

‘Kinda sweet though, huh?’

Bakugou cocks his head. ‘What’re you talking about? It’s a fucking pain.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t seem as mad anymore.’

‘I-‘ And yet again, Bakugou is disgruntled and confused and irritated at himself, for getting swept up by Kaminari’s pace, but he’s not angry. All the fight has mostly bled out of his limbs, and he feels more or less normal if only a little on edge. Nothing too difficult to deal with.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Bakugou breathes. Kirishima’s smile is a tad wider, and he scoots over on the bed, making some space for Bakugou while he pulls out his laptop, ready to load up some shitty videos.

‘Tell him about this and I will never speak to you again,’ Bakugou grumbles finally, settling in next to Kirishima, leaning most of his weight into the redhead.

He feels Kirishima’s chest rumble with laughter.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Bakugou wonders if anyone’s ever tried to harness the power of feels to run turbines or some shit, because this stuff’s turning out to be overwhelmingly powerful.

---

In terms of quirk compatibility, Bakugou has found his perfect match in Kirishima.

The blonde’s quirk is perfect for offence. Granted, it’s exceptionally versatile and he can handle his own just fine, but with Kirishima, he feels invincible.

Red Riot is unmoving, unabashed, and utterly unbreakable. He knows Bakugou inside out, knows his moves, his tactics, his signals. They fight like a well-oiled machine, adjusting and improvising with ease. Fighting alongside Kirishima, alongside Red Riot, is like breathing. They almost dance around each other, and between taking down villains and conducting search and rescue, they’ve made themselves a formidable hero pair even before graduation.

So, it’s not uncommon for them to be paired up even when they’re working and interning under different heroes. They’re that good.

They’re on a mission together when things take a turn for the absolute worst.

Most of the pros are down, caught in the crossfire or too busy protecting the civilians to engage in combat. There are fires blazing everywhere, smoke congesting the air around them so much that Bakugou can barely breathe.

Riot stands next to him, breathing slightly laboured but otherwise unhurt. Bakugou has a cut on his forehead, blood running down his face, but he feels ok. Good enough to rush into battle and do his part in subduing these shitty villains.

But experience has taught him better than to run in with no plan, even when he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to rush into the action. Experience has taught him that without a moment to catch his breath and restructure the plan to achieve their goals, he’ll be doing a lot more harm than good. It’s frustrating as all hell, but he’s a hero in training. You learn this stuff on the job.

‘What do you think?’ He asks the redhead.

Kirishima straightens out his back, hands on his hips. ‘The elemental quirk user will probably be the biggest pain in the ass.’

Bakugou nods. ‘It seemed like a water quirk. We need to get her away from the buildings, away from the piping. There was also that shitty smoke user, he’s the reason the air is barely breathable.’

‘Yao-momo’s masks would’ve come so in handy right now,’ Kirishima muses with a smile.

Bakugou grunts in begrudging agreement but doesn’t comment further on it. ‘There should be three other villains, all with high-level quirks. I’m not sure which other pros will free up to help, but we have to isolate them, move them towards the construction site,’ Bakugou points somewhat East of their current location, ‘as per the plan.’

Kirishima nods in agreement and catches Bakugou’s eyes and the blonde’s breath hitches.

They don’t talk about it, but here’s the other thing- they’re probably going to get hurt, maybe even fatally. Not because they’re weak or they want to or anything, but the villains seem endless. They’re fucking strong too, and even with an army of heroes, the villains seem to come at them harder and faster the longer this battle goes on. Bakugou can feel his own stamina start to vain, and he knows Kirishima will hit his limit too, slower than the blonde but still. There will come a point when Kirishima’s skin won’t harden and Bakugou’s blasts will lower in intensity till all he can manage are sparks.

And even then, he knows they will fight with their fists and their bodies and their teeth. That’s what heroes do- they put everything on the line, for the people and for justice.

More often than not, they lose their lives for it.

Well, for what’s it worth, Bakugou could not have asked for a better partner by his side in such shitty, dire times. Kirishima’s soft smile seems to reflect his sentiments.

‘Hey, Katsuki?’

The hero code of conduct frowns upon the use of personal names in costume. You have a hero name for a reason, and it helps preserve your sense of anonymity and privacy, even if it’s pretty useless at its job.

For Kirishima to name him, and first name him at that, just goes to show how serious the situation is.

‘Yeah, Ei?’

‘Make me some hotpot when we get back, ok?’

Bakugou inhales deeply, coughs because of the stupid smoke, and his fists clench tight enough to leave crescent moons in his palms.

‘Only if I’m in the mood, Shitty Hair,’ Bakugou retorts, his voice far too soft for the King Explosion Murder hero. But that’s ok- here is only Eijirou, Katsuki, and the world burning around them. Soft is ok here.

Kirishima’s familiar belly-deep laughter gives him a boost of energy.

‘Let’s kick some ass.’

Bakugou feels, for one glorious moment, like he can take on the entire world.

They take their first few steps before Kirishima steps in front of him, blocking off his path. When he looks up to catch his eyes again, the blonde’s protests and insults die in his throat.

Kirishima’s gaze is trained on him as he slowly reaches forward and grabs Bakugou’s right forearm with his right hand, fingers digging into the muscle. It’s a firm, solid grip, reassuring and warm and so very familiar. His eyes are bright, bold, and wine-red. And they’re so full of love, brimming with the kind of affection, respect, and adoration that Bakugou never thought he’d be subjected to. Kirishima opens his mouth as if to say everything his body is already telling Bakugou.

‘I know,’ Bakugou interrupts, voice hoarse. Because he does know. The redhead is his best friend in the entire world, his person, his rock. ‘I know, Ei.’ His own fingers wrap around Kirishima’s wide forearm, gripping tight with calloused, too hot fingers.

Kirishima flashes him another soft smile past his headgear before letting go. He waits for Bakugou to catch up and they walk together, side by side, equals.

When they see the first villain, doing her best to uproot an entire building, Bakugou casts one last look at Kirishima, sees his positively feral smile, and charges with the force of a wild beast.

There are no feels there, just adrenaline, rage, and trust so thick, even concrete would crack under its weight.

---

When you’re training to be a hero, things can go wrong.

Accidents happen. People don’t move out of the way fast enough, or there’s a domino effect of some sort, or the aftershocks of one attack reaches a place it shouldn’t.

Bakugou’s switched up his training partner, choosing to train with Iida to fine-tune his aim and work with a fast-moving target. His blasts hit the mark sometimes, but not always. The gym is huge, so they aren’t really risking anyone with their training; at least, that’s how it is for a while.

But then, Bakugou takes aim and blasts at Iida, Iida dodges swiftly, the attack takes out a portion of the rock formations in the gym, and suddenly there’s a landslide headed right at Hagakure and Kaminari.

Bakugou doesn’t even think about it; his body moves before his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly in front of the two, arms raised to obliterate the debris when he realizes that a portion of the mountain had been laced with explosives for someone else’s training, and his quirk would make things exponentially worse. With the last few moments he has, Bakugou shoves Chargebolt and Invisible Girl away roughly and gets buried under the avalanche of debris.

The last thing he thinks he hears is a chorus of voices yelling Bakugou before his vision goes black.

---

And that’s what Bakugou remembers when he wakes up to white. White walls, white curtains, white sheets.

Unfortunately, the noise isn’t white. It’s annoyingly and stupidly loud.

‘There are too many of you here,’ Recovery girl says, sounding exasperated. ‘He will be fine, he just needs to regain his strength.’

‘Sensei, a whole section of a mountain fell on him, how can he just be fine?’ Jirou questions, sounding severely distressed.

‘Plus, this happened while he was saving me,’ Kaminari chips in. ‘I’m not leaving him.’

‘I have a secret healing quirk of my own,’ Ashido bullshits. ‘He’ll feel so much better when he hears my voice. I have to stay, it’ll be a crime for me to go.’

‘I can tape his wounds?’ Sero offers sheepishly.

He can hear Recovery Girl’s sigh from the other end of the room. ‘And you?’

‘He’s my person.’ Kirishima says it like it’s enough of an explanation.

Recovery Girl clicks her tongue. ‘Overdramatic, the lot of you. Play rock paper scissors or something, but I’m only allowing one of you to stay. The rest of you are going back to the dorms.’

The room bursts into noise again and Bakugou’s head feels like it’s splitting open.

‘HOLY FUCK, SHUT UP!’ The blonde roars from his bed. ‘I LOVE YOU GUYS, BUT IF YOU DON’T STOP YELLING, I WILL BODILY THROW YOU ALL OUT THE DAMN WINDOW.’

His own yelling does more harm than good to his throbbing head, but the noises stop completely so at least it did its job.

He’s alone for a blissful second before a crowd of five idiots surroundS his bed. Kirishima’s face peers into his, smile wide and eyes crinkled around the edges.

‘Hi, how you feeling?’

‘Like someone ran me through a garbage disposal and then put me in a microwave.’

‘Such details, much prose,’ Sero quips, earning him a chop from Ashido.

‘Blasty my love, can we do anything?’

‘Yeah, shut the fuck up and let me sleep.’

Jirou squeezes his calf from the foot of the bed. ‘You gave us a real scare there.’

‘I’m fine,’ Bakugou grumbles.

‘He will be,’ Recovery Girl reiterates, pushing them away and standing next to him. ‘I’ll do another bout of healing once you’ve recovered some of your strength. You can go back to the dorms before bed.’ She turns to his classmates. ‘Only one of you.’

They look at one another and everyone but Kirishima starts shuffling away reluctantly.

Kaminari lingers behind before quickly giving Bakugou a gentle hug. ‘Thanks,’ he whispers into his ear before pulling off and following after the others. Bakugou rolls his eyes and curls onto his side, yelping when he puts some weight on his tender side.

‘Easy,’ Kirishima mumbles, easing him onto his back. When Bakugou is finally comfortable, Kirishima drags one of the chairs lined up against the wall next to the bed and plops down, exhaling. Bakugou opens a tired eye to look at him and sees Kirishima with a stupidly smug smile on his face.

‘What?’

‘You love us, huh?’

Bakugou had hoped they hadn’t caught that, even though he’d screamed it loud enough for the entire building to have heard. Apparently, a cliff falling on you doesn’t stop you from blushing.

‘Fuck off, you were hearing things,’ he says anyway, because what is Bakugou if not in full denial about so many things?

Kirishima’s laugh is loving not mocking, and he puts his hand on Bakugou’s elbow.

‘Good to have you back Kats.’ He gives it a gentle squeeze. ‘Get some rest huh? I’ll be here when you wake up.’

Bakugou gives him a weak glare, but he can’t muster enough rage and anger because the absolute worst part is, he meant it. Because apparently being a rage-filled hero in training doesn’t make one impervious to feels.

Bakugou feels so betrayed by his own thoughts and emotions.

But right as he loses consciousness, he finds himself wondering if he minds all that much and he decides he doesn’t, almost not at all. The answer doesn’t really surprise him either.

He falls asleep to a cool breeze brushing over his skin and the sound of Kirishima humming under his breath.

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kidney9-9 · 4 years

Text

Petty Chapter 1

Hey everyone! This is the first chapter to the new series, Petty! This is an Enemies-to-Lovers with mutual pinning series with Peter Parker. I’m happy that this is out now! Taglist is currently open, and I’ll be tagging people that were interested in the series before. Send in an ask or comment on the series masterlist to be on the taglist!

Canon divergence!! Endgame happened, everyone is still alive and happy. Peter Parker and Reader are seniors in high school, and they are both 18+. There will be smut in this series, additional warnings will be added on with each chapter, and on the series masterlist. This is a female reader insert series :)

Chapters should be updated every other day unless specified!

Reblogs are very welcomed! Hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist Chapter 2

Peter Parker x Reader Warnings: swearing Word Count: 1.6k

You sighed into your coffee mug, already done with the morning as you saw Peter Parker swing into school, two hours early. Did he not realize that at least one person was at school this early? And that person would be you? You rolled your eyes, not getting how his secret identity hasn’t been revealed already. It was just so ridiculous. With Peter running around the city with a half-zipped bag, and a spiderman suit sticking out of it; just so stupid, in your opinion. You scoffed when you heard him crash into the closed front door, and you sunk into your seat even more, glancing back at the laptop in front of you, shaking your head.

The front door of the school was always locked, only people that had keys could unlock one of the backdoors, and only the principal and janitor had the key to the main entrance. You had your teacher’s key right now, and you snuck in when you noticed the janitor had just arrived, sitting in his car. You never got caught before, and you surely didn’t want to get caught ever. But Peter crashing into the doors, and lockers was bound to get either one of you caught soon.

You rolled your eyes when you heard one of the doors closest to you open, and you dimmed your laptop’s light as you saw Peter pass by, not paying attention to anything. What’s he doing here, right now? You could only assume it’s for his Spiderman business thing. You giggled silently when you peeked out the window in the classroom, noticing the janitor started to unlock the main entrance.

Your teacher left you the keys to the classroom and the school, to finish up all the work she didn’t do, meaning you had to grade every paper from all her classes. She teaches five different classes, and always comes running to you for help, since you were her chosen aide for this school year.

Another reason why she thought it was completely fine to do this to you was because she’s your cousin. “Stupid fuckin’ Mandy. Why’d you even go to college, fuck…” You trailed off, cringing at the amount you still had to grade. You grinned when you saw yours though, and you quickly put in an A+, knowing Mandy wouldn’t really care.

You pressed to the one after yours, groaning quietly when you saw it was Peter Parker’s. Ironically, he chose to write about himself- or Spiderman. You shook your head, scoffing at how stupid he was at choosing this topic. You chose to write about the use of colors in older books, and you wrote over three pages!

And here was Peter Parker, who wrote about Spiderman, comparing himself to the fucking Joan of Arc. You barely skimmed through it, hearing his footsteps down the hall, going to a different classroom.

The mouse scrolled straight up to put in his grade, and you giggled silently, pushing the letter F in. “Fuck you, Parker.” You scoffed, setting his grade in completely, and watched his final score in the class drop down to a D.

You beamed at it, seeing all the other students range from As to Cs, and only Peter’s was a D. “Looks like you aren’t passing this week…” You whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes at the thought of Peter again. You pressed onto the next person, sighing in relief to see they wrote about the use of personification in a recent book, everyone had read this year.

You didn’t worry about Peter not hearing you as you slammed the laptop shut with a loud groan, nodding to yourself, proud that you managed to get it all down in two hours. The school doors officially opened, after the janitor had unlocked them, letting students in. They mingled in the hallways as you strolled back to your regular student’s seat in the same classroom, after you dumped the rest of your cold coffee down the sink and set the mug in one of the closets.

You set your head on the desk, closing your eyes, just wanting to rest as you heard Mandy walk through the door. “Hey shithead, did you finish the work?” Mandy asked you, knocking on your desk harshly, making you bump up.

You rolled your eyes at her and nodded, completely annoyed. “Are you,” You paused, eyes widening as you glanced down at her outfit, noticing it was the same as yesterday, “Are you doing the walk of shame?” You whispered cheekily, grinning in victory as she scoffed at you, rubbing her face with one hand, obviously hung over.

Mandy raised her eyes to you, laughing almost playfully as she tried to ignore her headache. She tilted her head towards you, grinning and teasing you back, “Yeah, I am. What’s it like knowing I was pounded into last night, while you were stuck here doing my work?” You scrunched your face up together in disgust back at her, shaking your head.

“Mandy’s got a man, now?” You questioned, wincing when you looked at her neck, and seeing bruises and bite marks.

She flipped her hair around, feeling proud of making you uncomfortable and shook her head. “It’s a woman, shithead. I told you I was done with boys after that dumbass tried stealing money from me, again.” She deadpanned. You raised your eyebrows at her, surprised but happy that she got rid of that guy.

You leaned back into your seat, stretching your arms out behind you with a yawn. “Good for you, guys are either stupid or shit.” You replied, making her chuckle.

She slid her bag onto your desk, digging through it to grab a little mirror to look at the marks on her neck, and the left over make up smeared on her face. She groaned at the disaster her face looked like and pouted over to you, almost pleadingly, without saying anything. You rolled your eyes and nodded, leaning forward as she took out her make up bag, and handed it over to you.

“Thanks, shithead. Really, thank you. It’s been a month and she and I couldn’t do anything cause our schedules never matched up, till last night.” She whispered, closing her eyes as you dragged the concealer across her under eyes. You shrugged, knowing she couldn’t see you as you glanced back to the class door, making sure no one had walked in. You blended it in with one of her brushes, cringing at the dirtiness of it.

Mandy continued, as you basically poured the concealer out on your hands and patted it on her neck, trying to cover the purplish marks. “She used this awesome move like; oh, wait I probably shouldn’t talk about that right now. But uh, anyway, thanks kid. Anything I should know about the papers?” You rolled your eyes, automatically thinking of Peter Parker’s paper and you paused, thinking if you should let her know.

Did you want her to know? Not exactly, since she’d likely change it back to his regular A in the class. But should you tell her? The options weighed in your mind for half a second and you opened your mouth, responding to her with a slight, “No, all’s good. Just followed that rubric you gave me, and everything was graded accurately.” Your voice was almost off, but you cleared your throat, getting rid of the slight questioning tone. Mandy nodded back, as you blended the makeup on her neck in, smiling when you noticed most of the marks were covered.

“Think you look okay, just zip up your jacket and keep your hair down today.” You concluded, sitting back and gazing at her appearance. Mandy groaned in relief, thanking you again as she zipped up fast, and shook her head, getting her hair out of place but it was better that way, since it covered more.

Mandy paused before she turned away to go to her table and glanced at you making your eyes widen just the slightest, feeling guilty at ruining Peter’s grade.

“Gave yourself an A, right?” Mandy laughed out playfully. You nodded, relieved that she didn’t realize your expression was off. “Yeah, definitely.” You giggled back, glancing back to your desk as she lifted her bag off, and walked away.

“Oh, fuck.” You whispered to yourself, wondering what the hell you just did. You shook your head, thinking it was probably going to end up being nothing, as you unzipped your bag.

You pulled out your notebook and a few pens, glancing back up as Mandy greeted some incoming students. You smiled at a few of them before you opened your notebook with a muffled sigh, pushing off the guilty feeling you were experiencing from Peter’s grades.

But then you shook your head again, groaning at yourself.

You shouldn’t have ever felt any guilt for what you did, Peter was stupid and even the concept of “Spiderman” was stupid. Why did he even become Spiderman? If you remembered correctly, Spiderman came about two or three years ago now, and your eyes widened, scoffing aloud at the idea of Peter running around in a spandex and shooting people with that yucky string thing. And now the both of you were in senior year, and he’s still in this weird superhero phase, that he’s not at all secretive about.

Mandy cleared her throat loudly, making you flinch and look up, to see that the rest of your classmates arrived. She glanced over to you, smiling slightly as she greeted the class, “Good morning everyone. Grades are in lock starting today, as we head into the next semester. Before we go for winter break, we’re reviewing English concepts from the beginning of class, and the final will be on a Wednesday.” Your eyes widened, oh shit.

In lock?

You coughed in surprise, glancing up to the ceiling as you drowned out your cousin’s voice, thinking about how you might have just potentially fucked up Peter’s chances of graduating.

Tagging: @hey-its-grey @kyberphilosopher @babe-dont @fantastic-fans @spidey-may09 @wayhoraeken @akidinlcve @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @colddays-heavyrain @xoxohollands @spidey-reids-2003 @annacipher101 @pink-or-red-roses @hollandprkr @cazslaughter @armitageskywalker @smellslikecraiglist @naikaryofficial @prismroot-starlight0 @tjitskedotinga @nicholas-nikki @marvel4geeks @itscaminow @iiamdeadinsidee @reality0verfantasy @tonywinnergavincreel @avxcodo @s-trawberryv-eins @ithoughtthiswastwitterbutfr @lozzypoz321

Taglist is open! These tags are from the people that were interested in the series before! I won’t add y’all again for the next chapter but if you’re interested in the series still, leave a comment on the series masterlist, or send an ask and I’ll add you to the official taglist!

Hope you enjoyed! Thank you!

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togasknifes · 4 years

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sleepy kisses | d. kaminari

a/n this is based off my favorite kiss in my favorite book, tbh if you can tell me where the kiss is from I’ll do your request :0c

“Have you seen Mina?” Kaminari grabbed you by the shoulders as you were on your way to your room.

You shook your head, “She’s teaching Deku how to dance I think?”

He cursed and kicked the door which made you jump slightly. “Why do you need Mina so badly?” Kaminari shoved the book in his hands into yours, “The Outsiders?”

“Present Mic is letting me take a test on it to help my grade, if I don’t get an A in the test I don’t pass the class.” He snatched the book out of your hands, “And Mina was supposed to help me study for it.”

You hummed, “You can still study with me if you want...” You both made your way to your room.

“You don’t understand I can’t.” He ran his hand through his hair as he leaned against the door frame.

“Just come inside and try again Denki.” He looked up at you, unable to say no to you he found himself inside your room. He opened the book and sat down on your bed, five minutes after he was hurling the book across the room and laying down with his arm over his eyes. You went and picked up the book from the floor.

“Shove over.” Your voice was barely over a whisper as you nudged him softly. Kaminari hummed but sat up, wrapping his arms around his legs and dropping his head on his knees.

“You don’t understand I tried to study, I tried to read it, I just can’t.” You gripped the book in your hands

“When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house-” You started reading

“Y/N.” Kaminari turned his head to look at you, “You don’t have to do this.” You gave him a look that said fuck no i dont and he grinned at you. You continued to read.

You cleared your throat, halfway through the book your voice was failing you. “You’re tired let’s take a break.” Kaminari’s foot shoved your leg and you nodded, “I’ll bring you some water.” He jumped out of your bed, you nodded and rubbed your eyes, taking the free time to use the bathroom and stretch. “I come forth baring snacks and water.” He dropped the bag of chips on your bed and handed you one of the water bottles.

Kaminari climbed back onto your bed. You gulped half the water bottle down in one sitting. “We’re almost done.” You opened the book again and started back where you left off.

After almost three hours of reading your eyelids felt heavy. You were tired. Very tired. Kaminari had his arm around your shoulder, your cheek was on his chest as you read. Three more pages.

“I only had two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home...” The book fell out of your hands and you curled up against Kaminari. You turned your head to face him. He pulled you up slightly so you were eye level, chest against chest. His hand found your cheek, your noses bumped into each other and your mouths fell sleepily against each other. He pulled you closer. Your fingers found their way up to his hair. It was hard to stay awake but you didn’t want to fall asleep. You wanted to keep kissing him. Kissing him all through the night but you were so tired.

“Thank you.” he mumbled against your lips. You nudged your nose against his before yawning. Eventually you just couldn’t stay awake.

#kaminari x reader #kaminari denki #kaminari fluff #bnha #mha #bnhaxreader #content? content

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royalminari · 4 years

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Tsuki Ga Kirei Desu Ne - Prologue (3-Mix)

Jihyo sat at her desk reading a magazine as her students took a test. The cover for the magazine she was reading had her best friend of twenty-seven years, Im Nayeon, plastered on it wearing a simple outfit next to a fence with some flowers while holding an ice cream bar. Although Jihyo would never say this to Nayeon’s face, in fear of inflating her ego even further, the older woman was gorgeous and pulled off even the simplest of outfits. All of a sudden, the silence was broken by one of Jihyo’s students. “Professor Park...” “Yes, Mr. Jung?” Jihyo asked, putting the magazine down. “Was your Mother a beaver, cause damn~.” Kai flirted. The young professor let out a tired sigh seeing as this wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, time a student has flirted with her. “That’s highly inappropriate Mr. Jung and if you flirt with me again, I’ll have to write you up for expulsion. That goes for everyone else as well, I won’t hesitate to write any of you up for flirting with me.” Jihyo spoke in a stern voice and was about to go back to reading her magazine when another student spoke up. “Professor Park...” “Mr. Kang, this is a test that will count towards your grade for this semester, focus.” “But Professor Park, I’m suffering from a vitamin deficiency that effects my ability to focus...” Concerned, Jihyo picked up her phone and stood to her feet. “Oh no... I can text Mr. Kim to run to the store to grab an orange juice for you, Mr. Kang...” “A-Ah, that won’t be necessary... Besides, the vitamin deficiency I have is a vitamin U deficiency~.” “I see~...” Jihyo chuckled dryly before looking at Taehyun with a straight face. “Get out of my classroom, now.” The furious professor demanded, calmly, scaring the young man. “Y-Yes, ma’am...” Taehyun stuttered, scrambling out of his seat and practically ran out of the classroom.

On his way out, he nearly bumped into a tall woman dressed in all black with her hair in a ponytail and rounded glasses on. “Yah! Be mindful of your surroundings next time, please? You nearly knocked me over.” “S-Sorry ma’am...” The young man stammered before taking off again. “I swear, college kids, they get weirder and weirder every year...” The woman muttered to herself as she entered Jihyo’s classroom without knocking. “Hey asshole, you forgot your lunch...” “Jeongyeon, how many times do I have to tell you, not in front of my class.” Jihyo scolded her best friend of twenty-seven years, Yoo Jeongyeon, and the taller woman ignored her. “Anyway, take your damn lunch, I had to stop writing because of you...” “You didn’t need to bring it, I could’ve went out and brought another lunch.” “No, I took time out of my job to make you this lunch, I was not going to let you waste it...” “I could’ve eaten it later or had it for lunch tomorrow.” “No...” Jihyo grumbled lowly and snatched the bag from Jeongyeon’s hands. “Give me the damn lunch!” The younger girl whisper-shouted at her friend making the older girl smirk. “Good... If you need me, don’t call me, I won’t answer...” Jeongyeon said before turning on her heels and walking out of the classroom. “Aye, yo, Prof Park! Your girlfriend is fine as fuck, just like you Prof~! If y’all were transformers, y’all would be Optimus Fine~!” Jihyo rubbed her temple then looked at Jisung. “Mr. Park, leave my class before I lose it...” “I just wanted to-” “I said get out, Mr. Park!” Jihyo snapped and everyone flinched in fear. “Y-Yes, ma’am... S-Sorry, ma’am...” Jisung trembled in fear before running out the room, barely avoiding the literature teacher Professor Kim Namjoon. “S-Sorry, sir...” Jisung apologized quickly before running off again making Namjoon shake his head. “Mr. Kim, what brings you here?” Jihyo asked, taking a seat at her desk. “I’m here to drop off some important documents...” The literature Professor stated, walking into the classroom and placing the stack of documents on to her desk. “Thank you, Mr. Kim, I’ll have these done as soon as possible.” The older male nodded and hummed in acknowledgement. The male went to speak up about what was on his mind when he noticed a few students staring at them intensely. “Yah. Mind your own business instead of listening to us talk, this is why most of you are flunking your classes.” Namjoon said, flustering the students and making them go back to working. “That wasn’t necessary.” “Eh, college kids are annoying...” Jihyo let out a dry chuckle. “You’re right about that.” Namjoon put his hands in his pockets and looked at the younger woman. “I see you’re still dealing with flirty students.” Namjoon joked and Jihyo sighed. “Stupid horny college students looking for their next lay, nothing I can’t handle.” “Hmm... If it gets out of hand, tell chief. Ok?” “Thank you for your concern, Namjoon-ssi.” Namjoon softly tapped Jihyo’s desk before turning around and leaving the room. Jihyo silently buried her face in her hands. “God, why?” She muttered to herself.

After a long day at work, Jihyo tiredly made her way through the front door of her shared house. “Oh, you’re home, great...” Jeongyeon commented dryly from the couch and she stood to her feet, grabbing her laptop and coffee, and walked out of the living room to go to her home office. Jihyo closed the door behind her and took off her shoes before walking to her room, passing dozens of pictures of the trio together over the years on her way. Once alone in her room, Jihyo slammed her room door and sighed before doing the paperwork Namjoon gave her at her desk. Two hours and a half into filling out documents, Jihyo heard the front door slam open and a shout of “the sexy one has arrived, peasants” which indicated Nayeon entering the house. The front door was quickly slammed shut and Jihyo heard rapid footsteps getting close to her room and her room door was slammed open making Jihyo grip her pen tightly as her eyes widen in shock. “Sup fucker, did ya miss me~?” Nayeon asked, walking into the younger woman’s room and sat on her bed making Jihyo sigh. “What’re you doing with your life, Nayeonie?” Jihyo asked and continued filling out the documents. “Hm, let’s see~. Modeling, getting laid, going to parties, drinking and maintaining my beauty~. What’re you doing with your life, hm?” The younger woman ran a hand through her short hair in frustration. “You’re annoying, you know that?” “Only to people I’m close with~.” Nayeon shrugged, laying on Jihyo’s bed and watching her closely from up-side down. “What’cha doing, Hyo-ssi~?” “Working hard, something you’re not familiar with.” “Wow, ok, asshole...” Nayeon muttered then smirked evilly before banging on the wall that separated Jeongyeon’s office from Jihyo’s room. “Yah, what the fuck, Nayeon!” Jihyo shouted, standing to her feet to stop the older woman. “Can you fucking not?!” Jeongyeon shouted, bursting into the room and glared at her senior. “You... Are you fucking crazy, why the fuck are you banging on the damn wall like an idiot?!” “Cause I wanted your attention, Daddy~.” Nayeon smirked as the younger woman’s face turned red in pure rage. “I’m trying to work, idiot!” “Do I look like I care?” “You’ll fucking care when I fucking strangle you!” “Ooo, kinky~. Didn’t take you for the type to be into choking, Jeong~.” “That’s fucking it, you’re dead meat!” Jeongyeon pounced on Nayeon and they fell off Jihyo’s bed. Jihyo looked over and saw Jeongyeon with her hands wrapped around Nayeon’s neck as Nayeon clawed at the younger girls hands. “Y-Yah! D-Don’t make my room a damn crime scene, get the hell out!” Jihyo panicked, trying to pry Jeongyeon off Nayeon.

A/N: I know I made them different from how they actually are but it’ll make sense in the future.

#twice #nayeon #jeongyeon #jihyo #3-mix #fluff #3-mix fluff #twice childhood friend au

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who-likes-cake · 4 years

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the dribble artist

It was a school day Jamal was running down the hall as fast as he could, he was almost late for math as he was running he felt his hair gently touching the back of his head because of the air.

When he got there he tried to get to his desk without the teacher noticing he was late. But, sadly he got caught and that's how he got landed in detention for the rest of the day. As the hours passed, he felt himself slowly drifting off. His eyes started drooping, his head falling on his desk and then he found himself dreaming about his favorite movie. He was imagining himself laying on the couch eating lays chips and watching his favorite movie for the 22nd time. And just when the dream started getting good Snap! Snap! Snap!. It was his teacher Miss Shirley telling him to get going “come on it's time to go home” so Jamal grabbed his backpack and headed to the bus. Honestly, the bus was like detention, but worse, nothing to do just sitting there but also bullies! Josh Brogan is the worst bully ever! Jamal knew this because first of all he's in 4th grade and he's been in this school for 5 years. Also his house is next to Josh’s and everyday after school Josh would chase him down the sidewalk. Jamal could feel his hand slowly going up the cold railing. As soon as Jamal got on the bus he started getting noogied and people were laughing at him for no reason and then Josh said “hey look its basket boy” and all of Josh's goons started laughing. Jamal started feeling embarrassed, his face turning red and then “ hey Jamal you miss your daddy” and again Josh and all of his pesky friends started laughing. Jamal felt like he was gonna cry but he knew if he did Josh and his goons would make fun of him. And he started to remember when he was 4 his dad saying ”if anyone starts annoying you fight back, because, if you don't those people will just keep annoying you.” So Jamal stood up, he looked at his fist and he socked Josh straight in the face. “DON'T TALK ABOUT MY DAD!!!” Right after he punched him he got scared “you’re gonna regret that” Josh said and Josh stood up and kicked Jamal straight in the knee. Jamal fell to the ground. And with his eyes barely open he saw Josh walking away, his bloody nose dripping. And just like that it was Jamal's stop he got off ready to lay down and watch The Shining for the 22nd time he stepped in his house, his knee about to give out and then Jamal heard this “ sweetie get changed into your shorts we gotta go to basketball”. Ugh... Jamal thought but he knew that arguing with his mom wouldn't do any good so he started getting changed and as he did his knee started stinging out of nowhere it felt like 50 hornets plunging their stingers into his knee and he was so tempted to tell his mom. But, ever since he told his mom that his head hurt she babied him for that whole week and Jamal hated that so he didn't tell his mom. He came downstairs and told his mom he was ready and told her to go outside to the car. He immediately grabbed a band aid and slapped it on his aching knee and he ran outside while slightly limping. He got in the car and his knee started to feel better. While his basketball team was playing one of Jamal's teammates passed the ball to him and of course while he was about to shoot the basket Jamal's knee started to hurt and he couldn't shoot it. So he pawned it off to Joshua “what are you doing you could have made that shot?” Jamal started to feel like everyone was watching him even though they weren't He started thinking these dumb thoughts. What if they kick me off the team? And of course as he was making dumb conspiracy theories the other team made a basket that he could have saved. “Come on man you're being weird today” Joshua said “Im sorry, Im sorry, I just have got a lot going on.” Jamal's mom was waiting for him outside.“Did you win?!” Jamal's mom said exceedingly, hoping for a positive answer. “No Jamal said (as he sighed) “and it's all my fault”. “Honey don't think that but anyway we gotta go, your sister has ballet and if she doesn't she’ll FREAK!! And you know what happens when Sally has a tantrum so let's go” Jamal and his mom started to drive and they kept hitting speed bumps. Jamal felt his stomach fluids wishing around and his body bumping up and down. A little while back before they went to the basketball, as Jamal was getting the band aids he also grabbed a notebook. So he slipped that out and started doodling. He was drawing something random and he didn't even know what it was, but when he was finished he realized that he had been drawing himself punching Josh. He quickly hid it because he didn't want his mom to see his drawing and say “it's too violent” and then they got back to his house and his mom immediately rushed inside. I don't even know how but in like 1 minute she came back out with Jamal's little sister fully dressed and they drove off to go to ballet. So Jamal went inside and grabbed his notebook and a bag of lays chips and sat down and turned on the shining and started drawing. He found himself back at that drawing of him and Josh and he started thinking “why is Josh so rude like there's literally no reason at all, but then he thought that maybe there was a reason, maybe Josh was actually a nice person and then something happened. He didn't realize how long he had been thinking but he looked at the TV and his movie was over and his chip bag was empty. Jamal decided that he needed some vitamin d so grabbed his notebook and headed outside. As he sat down, he could feel his knee boiling hot. Jamal was in pain but it was good pain and that's why he was staying out there. As he was drawing he heard a loud clunk against the road he looked up and it was Josh and his goons with their small scooters on the road. Jamal started to feel very worried that they would hurt him but they stared at him and then they ran? Jamal looked back and his brother was in his car. “Were those kids hurting you?” “No but they were about to” Jamal said as he started to rub his knee. “Well its a good thing I got here in time” Max said. Jamal headed inside. About 30 minutes later his mom and his sister were home. “Time for dinner were having meatloaf.”” Why meatloaf?” I don't like meatloaf!” Sally said in a disgusted voice. Jamal didn't like meatloaf either but he knew that he couldn't argue with his mom like his sister. It would not do anything, Jamal thought. As they were eating their food, Sally, after every bite, would gag hard and again and again and again... until she vomited. Jamal and Max immediately stood up and walked away even though he wasn't done with his food. He didn't have much of an appetite after that anyways. “Time for bed everyone.” Jamal was disappointed because he and his little sister went to bed at the same time. Jamal, a 9 year old went to bed at the same time as his sister, a 5 year old, but again he didn't argue. As he brushed his teeth he started thinking about his dad about how his dad slammed the door so hard it sounded like it was gonna fall off the hinges. Jamal got a paper cup, put some water in and swished and gurgled. “Ew why do you have to gurgle, be normal” his sister said as she was waiting outside the door. Jamal headed to his room and he plopped onto his bed and he laid down covered himself with blankets and then his sister ran in the room and jumped on his bed. Her knee landed straight on his knee and it hurt like crazy! But he didn't tell anyone. His sister snatched like 2 of his blankets ran in her room and shut the door and locked it. Jamal turned off the light and went to sleep. Jamal felt a wave of confidence after he punched Josh that morning. Jamal got ready for school. It was a normal school day... boring classes, bla.. bla.. bla. Jamal was being bullied on the bus and when he got home he stepped into the kitchen and said confidently to his mom “mom i don't like basketball.” “ U mm, OK, I guess we can cancel basketball for the rest of the year”. Jamal felt happy for the first time in a while and one thing he learned from this experience is that you don't have to do something you don't want to do.

The end.

#basketball #writing #original story #short story

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prorevenge · 5 years

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You okay the project for the whole team? Great turn it in to the professor tomorrow

Tl/dr; Kids in group project don’t take having a real life client seriously, 1 fails, 1 fails and doesn’t graduate, and 1 goes from A to C and screws up GPA.

Enough of the Backstory, here are the characters, obviously no where near their real names:

Matt - Professor

Client - Store owner

Damien - Project Partner

Jeff - Project Partner

Kirk - Project Partner

Barry - Me

The SPRING class in this story was a Implementing Business Computer Systems class. For the yearly project we had a real life client that our school volunteered the students for Pro Bono work of small business in the area. We were seniors, so we are trusted with the clients work as it is oversaw by our professor. This is a big step and I, for one, am excited. I had been doing nothing but working as a Bartender/Server in a fine dining restaurant and having my head in books learning how to code with barely any time to do much else - this was an opportunity to get a taste of the real world we were about to embark on.

The project started out fine, we all drive thirty minutes away to meet our client. A wonderful woman that owned a small floral business and she was paying 1-800-flowers to sell her product for her, which came with a website itself and a HUGEEEE price. This lady was also in her 60s and by no means fluent in computer - this is important for later. We talk, find out she wants a new website, her contract with 1-800-assholes ends in the summer. No pressure, we will be able to finish the web site and give it to her by the end of the semester, if not earlier. This will give us time to teach her what is needed and what to do so that she can maintain and run the website by her self. Afterwards we delegate the tasks, and since I have the most extensive background in coding and computers, I volunteer to learn how to create this website for our client as long as Damien, Jeff and Kirk work on the other parts of the project - the user guide and the technical documentation. For our client, this needed to be extensive so that she would be able to post her product on the website with an easy transition.

As we weigh our options over the next week, we come up with some proposals to the client and we set a meeting to go over these on a Tuesday - the day everybody is the most free in their schedule - the following week. Sunday - Jeff says he can't make it, Kirk quickly responds and says he can't make it either. I say its cool, Damien and I will be able to make it. Monday - Damien says we should reschedule because now he can't make it. I say no, I will go by myself we shouldn't cancel on the client - no biggie, I understand things come up. As the project went through the semester, I am killing the website. I have a working e-commerce store integrated with the stores paypal, i have a shop tab, and a featured page for in season flowers. I ask about the documentation and the user manual and I am told by the all three of them that they are working on it and will have a rough draft for me soon to check out. Cool, No problem. Time to show the client the product to see if she wants any changes or if we should just continue creating this website for her; we set a meeting with the client on a Tuesday a week or two in advance and everybody says that is okay.

Same song, different story. Sunday - Jeff says he can't make it, Kirk quickly responds and says he can't make it either. I say its cool, Damien and I will be able to make it. Monday - Damien says we should reschedule because now he can't make it. "I say fuck no, this is a client. You don't do that to clients." So I hop my ass by myself to drive 30 minutes to meet our client. I show the Client the website and she client is happy with the product and asks us to continue and she is excited for the finished product.

How our weeks are set up is in such a way which they start on a Wednesday and end on a Tuesday. So the last day of classes are on a Tuesday. The school then gives an extra free day that Wednesday for a "Study Day", then the exams schedule goes Thu-Fri-Sat || Mon-Tues-Wed. I am sure you can infer what students do on that Tuesday before study day. Fast forward to the end of the semester, I still haven't seen any documentation or user manual and it is due on the class' exam day, which is the first day of exam week. So a week before it is due I am told I will have the documentation and user manual in my hand before our meeting which is at 12PM that study day - Wednesday. I receive a email at 11PM on Tuesday as I am getting off work and I see that is the technical documentation and the user manual. i open it up, promptly get pissed, turn off my laptop, play some xbox and pass out before midnight. The reason being, technical documentation was 1 page and did not contain anything about the Database Schema used, the website language, the paypal information, the emails registered. Just the URL and some other information that wasn't important and was half a page long. Remember how our client was in her 60s? The user manual was 1 and a half pages long and, I shit you not, contained about 5 sentences and 3 pictures with an arrow. 0 explanation on how to use the website.

Come to the meeting at 12pm, I show up and wait about 5 minutes. I then text everybody asking where they are at, no response. I start looking over how to fix the user manual since I obviously have to start over. While I am working on it, I haven't said anything and then Damien walks into the room.

D: "Did you get the docs?"

Me: "Yeah. You guys really think this is finished?"

D: "Oh yeah, it should be good to turn in."

Me: "Idk, I think we should add a little more, this is for our client, she won't understand this. Where is Jeff and Kirk?"

D: " ahhahaha We all got fucked up last night after finishing up the documentation, they are probably still passed out. Also, I'm turning it in tomorrow, if you want to do anything else go ahead, but whatever I have I am turning it in. I think its ready to turn it so I won't be doing anything else, I have other classes to study for. I already have an A in this class so it doesn't matter to me and Kirk and Jeff have A's as well so they don't care at all."

Perfect he said the magic words and then he left with a flash drive. I immediately went upstairs and told my professor, Matt, everything. I said I don't want to leave my client hanging, yes my client, not ours. Matt said that he completely understands and even commends me for wanting to stay on top of everything and not give our client a bad taste for our students. He then asks why. I simply stated, "What you are about to receive tomorrow for 'our' project is completely unacceptable. It is unfair for us and for our client to leave her hanging." I showed him the website, which he likes and then I showed him the user guide and technical documentation. I asked for an extra week to finish the documentation and user guide - as I had a plan for what it should be and needed time to create it all. Matt said absolutely, but forget about the documentation. You obviously know what is in it, just focus on the client. So I created user videos with dictation, drove to the client and showed her how to use it all, where to find the videos. I even created a program that had all the videos inside so she could have it on her desktop and the program pulled up the video of her choice for whatever she needed help with with some buttons so she wouldn't have to search folders for the videos. I gave her my contact info and said I'll be here over the summer if she ever needs help with the website or has any questions and I can swing by.

After all of this happened and afterwards I gave an update to Matt who also had an update from me. Apparently he almost failed the rest of my group because they turned in their project by slipping an unmarked USB drive under his door. He only accepted it after they emailed him asking him if he received the USB. Matt also called our client to verify my story of the fact that they never showed for client meetings and the client told him I was the only person that has been showing up. Hearing this from other people, anybody in my group that had A's in the class leading up to the project got a C, anybody with a B in the class failed. Damien's GPA was screwed up from this class as it was a 4 hours class. Kirk and Jeff both failed and Jeff wasn't allowed to graduate and Kirk had to retake it the next semester even though he wasn't graduating. My grade which was an 84 before the project was bumped to an A. The next year Damien asked how I did in that class because he was confused about his final grade, and I simply said I did fine, received an A. He has no idea the reason why. Don't f*ck with me and my grade and I won't f*ck with you.

(source) story by (/u/sw1mm3r202)

#prorevenge #by /u/sw1mm3r202 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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nationallark · 5 years

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Blood From the Stone, an adaptation of Onision’s Stones to Abbigale, Chapter One [EDIT: now complete] 3k words

(AN: hi friends! I decided to go ahead and align chapter one of my rework with chapter one of STA, so here it is for you guys! from now on, I’ll be posting the full chapters on Tumblr and I’ll put links to my Wattpad and Ao3 in my About page!!)

I hope you enjoy :)

The moment I opened my eyes, I was blinded by my freshly wallpapered room. Several days into my latest drastic redecoration, even the cast iron bed frame was now painted white. Light peeking through a narrow opening in the curtains bounced off the walls, making me clamp my eyes shut. Clearly, changing my room back to wall-to-wall white was another in a long line of self-inflicted psychological tortures.

My family could tell that the black had depressed me. I found comfort in the darkness, but neither extreme was without fault. I didn’t mind waffling between light and dark bedrooms, as I had ample spray paint and plenty of time to kill, but for a moment the intense light show pouring through the bay window felt like it was burning clear through to my brain.

Mom, having switched to the overnight shift by mid June, didn’t wake me up like she used to. Then again, neither did my alarm clock. I rolled away from the window and squinted into its plastic face only to see a cheaply backlit 8:17 AM staring back at me.

Great, I was going to be late again.

Not taking the time to grab my usual handful of cereal, I scribbled an excuse note and pulled a sweater over my sleep shirt before hopping on my scooter and pointing it in the direction of the school. As soon as the cold wind began to sting my cheeks, I realized that I in my haste had forgotten a scarf. Oh well.

I narrowly missed crashing into a giggly Lauren and Raymond who, hand in hand, were heading away from the school and towards the old church, no doubt to smoke or make out or any number of activities Lakewood students tended to use the place for.

Mr. Hanson, my heavyset history teacher, gave me a withering look as I ducked into his room with only fifteen minutes left in first period.

“James, talk to me after class,” he said mildly from his perch in the back of the room. I dropped my note on his desk on my way over to one of the few empty seats, electing to try and absorb some of the day’s lesson from the ongoing group activity rather than sit outside and count ceiling tiles.

It didn’t take long, however, for my mind to wander from British colonialism to the fascinating small scale history being made around me. I watched as Calvin, one of the honor students who was gunning for valedictorian, explained the reasoning behind his answers while Jaime nodded along and Miranda half paid attention to him while also monitoring Mr. Hanson to know when it was safe to chew her gum. It was too early in the school year for anyone to be too stressed out over grades, so there was only a sense of resigned monotony among the students.

That is, until the bell rang.

Over the ensuing bustle, Mr. Hanson glanced up from his work and looked at me expectantly, but I could only smile and shrug as I allowed myself to be pushed into the hallway with everyone else. Sorry, Mr. Hanson; I had a more important class to get to.

My second period was all the way across campus, relegated to one of the ancient trailers that also held the ESL students, sign language class, and music appreciation. Sculpture I, being one of the easier options for making the required fine arts credit, was naturally full of slackers and people who, like me, weren’t talented enough in music or theater to take anything else.

My cross-campus trek was interrupted by dozens of students circled around what I could only assume to be a fight. Unfortunately, the fight just happened to be in the center of the hallway that was my only path to art class. I hunched my shoulders and slipped through the growing crowd, breaking into a jog as the minute bell rang. I normally wouldn’t bother with getting to class on time, but I made an exception for sculpture; sculpture was the class I had with Abbi.

Ever since I’d seen Abbi in second period on the first day of senior year, she was all I could think about. Every day she would sit at the left side of a shared desk, drop her bag on the left side of her chair, and, resting her elbows on the tabletop, pick at the fake wood grain desk cover with her pencil.

As I ascended the creaking steps into the trailer, there were more seats open than I expected, probably because their usual occupants were still observing the fight I’d managed to squeeze past. There Abbi was, however, in the same getup as usual: her dark, wavy hair bunching on top of the desk as she bent over it, her deep purple eyeshadow and tinted brows still visible through the fringe. She had on the army jacket I’d never seen her without, even during messier art projects that showed in the cuffs of its sleeves. Even in the harsh light of the trailer’s fluorescent bulbs, she looked fantastic.

I tried not to make it too obvious that I was rushing to sit next to her, so I forced myself to slow down and take a casual approach to the desk. Step. Wave to Mrs. Stanley. Step. Check out the newest student-made hangings above her seat. Three steps. Gently drop my bag onto the desk.

Finally, I pulled the metal desk chair out and plopped into it with a grin ready for Abbi to turn and look at me...which happened to be at the exact same moment my thighs registered how ungodly cold the A/C had made the chair. I hissed in shock and stood up to save myself from mild frostbite, pushing the chair away from me and tipping it backwards and onto the floor with a metallic crash. Having looked up from her handiwork in time to see everything go down, Abbi glanced mildly at the chair, then at me, and went back to work without even laughing at me. Freaking smooth, James.

I picked up the chair amid the laughter of the other sculpture students and the quiet concern of Mrs. Stanley and sat down once again, this time being careful to pull the stretchy fabric of my shorts down long enough to cover the metal seat. I aimed my smile back at Abbi, who, this time, didn’t look up.

I barely had time to be disappointed before the stragglers arrived clearly invigorated by the hallway fight, whooping and hollering before Mrs. Stanley told them to quiet down or she’d mark them as tardy. Once again I looked at Abbi, whose attention was held steadfast by the desk cover. Well, at least it wasn’t just me that couldn’t get her attention. At this, I felt a wave of relief.

The relief was cut short, however, when one of the stragglers named Jason joined us at the shared desk, taking the seat directly across from Abbi. His arrival and unceremonious dumping of his bag on the desktop earned him a brief look and a practiced readjustment of Abbi’s position so that he wouldn’t accidentally bump into her, and once again the relief flooded my system.

Now that everyone was in their seats, Mrs. Stanley, looking for all the world like a walking retirement party, officially began class by going over the previous day’s finished assignment, which itself was the culmination of our unit on color and texture. I myself had modeled my project after my then-black room with soft black silk and smooth painted wood and was given an A for my trouble.

The main topic of discussion, however, wasn’t our grades. It was the introductory project for the next unit: symbolism and storytelling. Mrs. Stanley began to hand out the rubrics for the project while she gave us the bad news: we were going to be working with partners.

No, no, no. Not okay, because with my luck, I’d be paired with bonehead Jason or asshole Alex who’d just gotten back from a stint in alternative school for exposing himself in the cafeteria last year. I struggled to pay attention as she continued to outline the project.

“To simplify things,” she said, still handing out papers, “you’re going to be paired with the person across from you.”

That rule meant I was paired with….oh, God. While I wasn’t looking, Alex had apparently drifted into class and sat in the one remaining seat, which just so happened to be next to Jason and across from me. This wasn’t happening.

I’d been there in the cafeteria last year when Alex exposed himself. I’d even seen it. I can’t say I was particularly impressed, but I guess I didn’t have very much data with which to compare. Regardless, I was uninterested in being stuck with this kid for God knows how long while trying to work with whatever drivel he’d come up with and pass of as ideas.

My musing was interrupted by a voice that said “Can I be paired with James?”

Hearing the rare appearance of Abbi’s somber voice made me smile despite myself, and I took a moment to apprecia--wait. That was my name that had come out of her mouth. She’d asked to be paired with me. I couldn’t blame her, really, as her other option was Jason, who was barely a notch above Alex in terms of competence.

Despite her annoyance at Abbi’s resistance of her rules, Mrs. Stanley appeared to take pity on the both of us and rearranged our partnerships to put Abbi and I together and sic Jason and Alex upon each other. Looking only a little hurt, Jason huffed and looked Alex up and down before shrugging and choosing not to make a stink about the arrangement.

As Mrs. Stanley continued, I tried to remind myself that Abbi was only working with me to avoid the more offensive option that was Jason. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the thought that Abbi would be talking directly to me and nobody else in second period for the next several days.

“For this project, you will each take something you own, and together, you will create something that brings new meaning to your possessions. In case you can’t tell, this is a project that’s going to render the items you bring useless for the future, so I wouldn’t suggest bringing a favorite shirt or expensive electronic. Today, you’ll work on deciding what you’ll bring and sketching out the final product.”

My mind was racing with ideas about what I could bring when I stopped to consider what Abbi might have to offer. What would she consider useful but okay to part with? Surely she had a spare makeup brush or two, with all the work she clearly put into doing her face day after day.

“What are you going to bring?”

I wished she’d say my name again. I’d always thought my name was so boring, but coming from Abbi, it was beautiful. Shit, gotta answer before I look like a weirdo.

“Uh, I don’t know…” Great.

“You could bring something to go in my hamster cage,” said Abbi.

“Did he die or something?” I winced, mentally berating myself. Great, just great. Bring up her dead hamster. That’ll make her have the hots for you.

“Never had one. Dad got the cage and forgot the hamster.”

“How do you forget a hamster? Was he high?” Abbi shrugged and looked away, and I took the opportunity to feel like a complete ass, first for bringing up her nonexistent dead hamster and then for asking about her maybe-stoned father. I wondered, briefly, how the species ever managed to repopulate if there were men like me walking around and completely turning women off.

Instead of shutting my mouth, I decided to try one more time to lift her spirits.

“Maybe I could, uh, bring that weird thing my mom keeps in her bedside table?”

Abbi snorted and, for a fleeting moment, gave me the most perfectly little crooked smile I’d ever seen on those plum-painted lips. And, by God, I was the one who put it there. I let slip an eye-crinklingly wide smile before composing myself into what I hoped was a sly grin. Abbi got ahold of herself too and opened her mouth, hopefully not to be too grossed out with me.

“Tell me you didn’t actually touch your mom’s--”

“Of course not!” I interrupted her. I didn’t know if I could stand to hear that combination of words aimed at me and not die from the resulting embarrassment. I laced my fingers together and stared down at my desk, willing my reddening cheeks to calm down.

Soon, the bell rang and dismissed us to third period, and I quickly stood up, grabbing my things and getting ready to run away from the social situation my big mouth had put me in. I was in such a hurry, in fact, that I almost missed Abbi calling my name from our desk.

I stopped short of the door and sidestepped the other students rushing back to the main school building. Having successfully grabbed my attention, Abbi reached into the scrap paper box and pulled out a white and gold speckled scrap of tissue paper.

“Here,” she said, scribbling something down on it. “gotta run; gym class.”

I felt for her; to get to the stadium for girls’ gym, she was going to have to cross the whole campus and wait for the crosswalk. But more importantly, she gave me a note! I scrambled to open it as I walked to class and discovered she’d written down a phone number. Her phone number? My eyes snapped upwards to the hallway, but Abbi was long gone.

For the rest of the school day, I was floating on air. Abbi had never once given me a second look, but now that we’d spoken some she wanted me to have her phone number! Did she want me to call her? I decided to play it safe and wait until I was home to do anything. I moved my phone case and gently pushed the note inside for safekeeping.

The final bell couldn’t have come soon enough. I picked up my scooter and ran to the bus in hopes of getting home as soon as possible, and Davis waved me over from a seat near the back. I joined him.

“Blow me off again this morning? I’m starting to get lonely,” Davis said with a theatrical sigh. I gave him my best eye roll in return while artfully cramming my scooter in one of the overhead storage areas. I sat down next to Davis and held my backpack in my lap.

“Alarm didn’t go off,” I said, gazing out the window at all the people milling around in the bus circle. Why wouldn’t they get out of the way? Didn’t they know I had something important to do?

“Whatcha’ looking at?” said Davis.

“Oh, nothing. Just wish these assholes would mo--”

And suddenly through the throng of students and teachers I saw Abbi perched on the hood of an old Sedan in the parking lot, looking bored out of her mind and utterly, utterly perfect. Without looking away I grabbed Davis’ sleeve and pulled him towards the window.

“See that girl? That’s Abbi.” I said.

Davis squinted at the parking lot. “The emo chick with the crappy car? That’s your dream girl?”

I smacked him on the shoulder and spoke, still unable to look away.

“She’s amazing. She’s artistic and good at carving, she always does her eyebrows perfectly, and she matches her makeup to the paint stains on her jacket cuffs.”

“Uh, okay. Why not wash the jacket?”

I was getting ready to reply when an unwelcome figure entered my field of vision. Seth, one of the assholes in my history class who liked to talk back to Mr. Hanson, walked up to Abbi and hugged her while she sat on the hood. And sure enough, those paint speckled cuffs wrapped around his waist and hugged right back.

I sat back in my seat and tried not to look as devastated I felt. Of course she had a boyfriend. How could a girl like that not have a boyfriend already? Besides, I didn’t have any right to be upset. Before today, I’d barely said ten words to her altogether. I opened my phone case and pulled out Abbi’s note. Why had she given me this, then?

When my stop came I rode my scooter the rest of the way home and dumped my backpack on the floor before flopping onto my bed. So, Abbi wasn’t trying to get me to ask her out. And she wasn’t asking me out, either. So...what gives? I sent her a text, trying my best to seem casual. Abbi? It’s James.

She replied a few minutes later, Cool. Was wondering when you’d text. So, what are you bringing? And don’t say your mom’s vibrator.

Oh, so that’s why she gave me her number. Of course. We hadn’t started on the sketch for our project, and we hadn’t even figured out what we were bringing. Scanning the room, I came up with the first thing I saw and texted her back. A stuffed animal?

This time, her response was almost instantaneous. What if I bring one of mine and we do like a zombie animal?

I couldn’t help sighing dreamily at her idea. I did tell Davis she was artistic, after all. Sounds cool! :)

Sweet.

As much as I wanted to keep talking to Abbi, I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I set my phone down and picked a stuffed animal I was willing to part with--a brown bear with a red ribbon--and put it in my backpack for tomorrow before hopping in the shower. I lowered myself to the floor of the tub and distantly felt the warm water hitting my chest.

#onision #anti o #stones to abbigale #blood from the stone #bfts #anti onion boy

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lovelylunarwriting · 6 years

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Hufflepuff!Mark x Gryffindor!Reader

Mark likes and does lots of things. He likes hanging out with his friends, listening to good music, getting good grades.

But if there is anything Mark Lee does not like, it is heights.

He just. Cannot handle being up that high.

It scares the hell out of him.

So when Jeno asks him “Hey, you should try out for the Hufflepuff quidditch team this year so you can be on the team with me!”, Mark’s like “oh gosh I barely passed the flying class and you want me to?? Go do it for funsies?”

And Mark will do anything to make his friends happy- it’s just the whole flying thing has him terrified.

While voicing his concerns to Lucas, for once in his life Lucas has a good idea.

“Why don’t you ask Y/N to train you? They’re the best flyer in this whole castle”, he says offhandedly, but Mark’s like “yes!! that’s a great idea!!”

Lucas: “Really? They’re right over at the Gryffindor table, you should go ask them”

Mark: “Oh gosh, I know they’d be helpful but I don’t know if I can talk to them… they’re so…”

Lucas: “So what?”

Mark: “Above me, I guess? I mean they’re them and I’m just- Mark”

Lucas: “Well, ‘Just Mark’, you know how parents sometimes throw their kiddos into pools to teach them to swim?”

Mark: “Yeah?? What about that”

Lucas: “Grab your floaties cause we’re going swimming!”

On a side note- Mark may have been super charming and romantically whisked you away in his daydreams, he’s never actually said any words to you other that “sure”, when you asked if you could borrow his quill during Charms class last year.

Poor boy has been hopelessly crushing on you for quite some time, but hasn’t done anything about it because, Y/N?? The coolest Gryffindor and Hogwart’s swiftest flyer??? Being associated with bumbling Hufflepuff Mark Lee?

No way. At least that’s what Mark thinks- that you’re way out of his league.

But in reality, you’re pretty much in the same exact boat.

what is with all these water references

You’ve thought Mark is cute for almost a year but haven’t said a word of it to barely anyone, because you just know that rumor will get around faster than your top speed.

The only person who knows is your best friend, Johnny.

Although he teases you for it, Johnny really does respect your feelings and is one of the few people at Hogwarts that can actually keep a secret.

You and Johnny are goofing off in the Grand Hall, eating your dinner and having a good time, when you see Lucas dragging some poor Hufflepuff kid by the collar over to the you both.

You look the other way, hoping that if you ignore Lucas, he’ll pester someone else with whatever he’s up to this time.

“Hey, let go!”, the Hufflepuff shouts, and you don’t even have to glance over to know that it’s Mark Lee.

Now that has your attention.

The two boys stop rather abruptly right in front of you, Lucas with the slyest smirk, and Mark whose eyes are so wide open, you’d think he’d accidentally walked through Peeves.

You: “Hey, Lucas! Hi… Mark”

And with those words, Mark’s whole stance changes. He stands up straight, shoulders back, instead of his previous cowering-prey position.

He’s happy because “oh my gosh they know my name!!”

Lucas: “My boy Mark here needs some flying lessons and little bit of courage. Thought you’d be the one to ask”

You: “Oh, I’d love to!”, you answer a little too quickly to be cool.

Mark: “You would… really?”

You: “Yeah, of course! When would you like to start?”

Lucas: “He would like to start literally right now”

Mark: “I mean if you’re busy then we could do another time, I would unders-”

You: “Right now’s great, actually. I’ve already gone to all my classes for the day”

That just leaves you and Mark, staring at each other, each of your minds racing a mile a minute.

As well as an impatient Johnny, who just wants you to go tell maRK yoU liKE hiM alreADY.

Johnny: “Should you guys like, go then?”

Lucas: “Yeah, get out there already!”, he agrees, dragging you out of your seat and giving you a good enough push towards Mark for you to need to keep your balance by grabbing onto the boy.

Which of course makes both of you a blushy mess due to the sudden proximity.

You laugh it off and tell Johnny you’ll be going, and he just wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively.

The walk out to the Castle Grounds is painfully awkward, to say the least. You’re both so hyper aware of the other person that neither of you break the silence- for fear of saying something dumb and making the situation even more awkward.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, you make it down to the stadium where each house’s quidditch team stores their brooms.

Grabbing yours off the rack on the wall, you turn to Mark because he isn’t on a team so?? Where’s his broom.

Before you can even say anything, Mark must’ve been thinking the same thing because he stumbles out an explanation.

Mark: “I- uh, I didn’t expect you to say yes so my broom is still in my room but I can just borrow Jeno’s because I know he won’t mind and… yeah”

You: “You really thought I wouldn’t help you?”

Mark: “I didn’t mean to say you’re not generous enough to because of course you are, it’s um it’s just that you’re… you?”

You: “Of course, I’m me, who else would I be?”

At this point he gets that you’re quite literally missing the mark here, so he gives up trying to explain and grabs Jeno’s broom. he knows it’s Jeno’s because of the flower stickers Jaemin stuck onto it

Leaving the storage room, you both make your way onto the field of plush grass.

The stadium has always felt like a home away from home, like somewhere you were born to be.

Mark looks like he feels about the opposite, through yours eyes. Really though, he’s just terribly nervous about ya know.

Plunging to his death.

You: “Alrighty, let’s get started! Place your broom on the ground and call it up”

Mark: “Call it up?”

You: “Of course, don’t you remember from your first year? Don’t worry, it’s not challenging. You just have to say, “Up!””

When you say the magic words, your broom- which you had also placed on the ground- shoots up straight into your hand, hitting your palm with a distinct whack. That sound you could listen to a thousand times and never get tired of it.

Mark: “okay… up?”, he says timidly, and to no one's surprise the broom does not budge.

You: “C’mon, you've got to have a little more vigor than that”

Mark: “Fine then. UP!”

The broom jolts off the ground at an alarming speed and hits Mark straight in the forehead, knocking him backwards onto the grass.

You: “Oh my gosh, are you okay?!”, you ask, trying really hard not to laugh.

He just covers his face with his hands, making no attempt to get up and mutters a “I'm fine, it's fine- everything’s fine”

Now that you know he's okay, you can't help but break into a fit of giggles.

Mark: “It’s really not that funny”, he half-heartedly claims, sitting up and laughing along with you.

You: “Oh but it so is”

After deciding that it’s probably nothing serious, but that Mark should really get that bump on his forehead checked out, the two of you stroll back on up to the castle, the atmosphere being a lot more light and feeling a lot more at ease with one another than the way down earlier.

You walk him to the infirmary and then go on to make your way to the Gryffindor common room to head in for the night.

Swinging open the giant wooden door as dramatically as you can, you flop onto the couch Lucas is on, disregarding the fact that he’s even there and sprawling across his legs.

Lucas: “There are three other couches?? And four arm chairs??? Why did you have to pick the one sofa that is in use”

You: “Because this one’s my favorite and you know that! It’s the cushiest of them all. If you’re so bothered, then move”

Lucas: “I was here before you!”

You: “Yeah but I’ve been out all night with Mark and I’m tired! So if anyone’s getting up, it’s you”

Lucas: “Ooo how was Mark? Did he fly well?”

You: “We didn’t even get to flying due to an… accident of sorts”

Lucas: “Accident? Oh no, did he accidentally blurt out his feelings for you? I told him not to-”

You: “I’M SORRY HIS WHAT”

Lucas: “...so he didn’t say anything about that?”, he asks, looking like a deer in headlights.

You: “No!!”

Lucas: “Okay then neither-did-I- g o o d n i g h t”, he says and stands up abruptly, flipping you off the couch in the process.

You: “Ow… does he really- Hey!”

Before you can finish, he’s already run up the stairs and hidden in his room.

For a Gryffindor, he sure’s acting like a big cowardly baby.

It’s not your fault that he spilled that secret! He should come out and deal with it, but he’s locked himself in his room.

He can’t hide forever though, which is exactly why the next morning at breakfast, you make a point to sit directly next to Lucas, Johnny flanking him on the other side.

Johnny: “Atone for your sins, Lucas”, he says in a clearly joking tone, but Lucas takes him seriously.

Lucas: “I’m sorry ! I know I shouldn’t have said that but I really shouldn’t say anything else either so Y/N, just go talk to Mark!”

You: “How could I-”

Mark, who of course happens to walk into the grand hall that very moment hears Lucas mention his name, and joins the conversation.

Mark: “Talk to me about what?”

Lucas: “Look Mark, I’m so sorry but I told them that you’ve been in love with them for like years”

You: “Years?! You didn’t mention that part!”

Lucas: “...”

Mark: “...”

You: “...”

Johnny: “This is getting awkward so I’m gonna dip out. Let me know how it goes!”, he announces, clapping you on the back and going to sit on the other side of the room at the Slytherin table with Sicheng and Doyoung.

Mark just stares at you for a moment, clearly mortified, and the quickly walks out of the room.

Scrambling out of your seat, you chase after him into the hall and grab him by the wrist.

He doesn’t turn around, but he does stop in place.

Mark: “I’m not surprised that you caught me really- you are the fastest out of the whole school. But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to go sulk somewhere without you there to see”

You: “Are you an idiot?”

Your sudden outburst peeks his curiosity, and he slowly turns around to face you, but still making an effort to look anywhere but at you.

Mark: “I didn’t think you were the type to kick someone when they’re down”, he mumbles, determined to stare at the his shoelaces until the conversation ends.

You: “Mark, I like you. A lot”

With that, his head snaps up and he looks at your with the cutest confused-puppy-dog look on his face.

Mark: “I’m sorry, you what?”

You: “I like you, but it’s not like you gave me a chance to tell you that”

Mark: “...I’m not dreaming this, am I?”

You: “Not a chance”

Mark: “...”

You: “Mark, do you wanna date me?”

Mark: “Hell yes”, he answers with no hesitation whatsoever.

You: “Then, c’mon. We’re having a skip day- let’s go to Hogsmeade”

Mark: “Skip?? Classes?”

You: “I mean if you’re that dead set on going-”

Mark: “No, no, no, I’d much rather spend the whole day with you- I’m just not used to the idea”

You: “How are you friends with Yuta and yet you’ve never skipped a class”

Mark: “Like I’d let him drag me into that. I’ll let you drag me into skipping though~”

And so that’s exactly what you do- blow off your classes and walk around Hogsmeade hand in hand, stealing glances at one another and breaking into fits of laughter when one of you catches the other staring.

Half way through your date, you ask the question that’s been on your mind, but you didn’t feel before that it was the right time to ask.

It’s now or never, you figure.

You: “Hey Mark, why exactly are you so dead set on wanting to fly?”

Mark: “I… well. I know I’d have fun with my friends on the quidditch team, and they really want me to join for whatever reason. The thing is I’m terrified of heights, and in particular- falling from them”

You: “So you’re doing this for your friends?”

Mark: “Essentially, yes”

You: “What would make you happier- flying up really high with your friends in one of the most dangerous games in Hogwarts history, or cheering them on from the stands?”

Mark: “Cheering, obviously”

You: “If that’s so obvious, then why don’t you just do that instead?”

Mark: “I know but Jeno wants me to-”

You: “Jeno is your friend! He wants you to be happy! Not to be scared for your life every time you’re up on a broom with him”

Mark: “...I guess you’re right”

You: “Oh you know I’m right”

Mark: “A handful of hours into our relationship and you’re already bragging?? I see how it is”

You: “Come on, you knew what you were getting into”

Mark: “I definitely knew what I'd be getting into, and I'm super glad that I did”

Squeezing his hand in a silent reply, you look the other way to try and hide your giddiness and embarrassment.

Dates with Mark include but are not limited to: Walks around Hogsmeade, cheering obnoxiously loud for Hufflepuff at quidditch games (when Gryffindor isn't playing, of course) and lazy couch dates where you literally just cuddle and play phone games.

Cue a morally conflicted Mark when Hufflepuff and Gryffindor end up playing one another in quidditch.

He’s like “Should I cheer for Jeno?? One of my good friends?? Or my significant other who will most definitely mention it if I cheer for the opposite team”

Mark ends up sitting with all the professors (neutral territory) while wearing so much red and yellow that you’d think he’s endorsing McDonald’s.

Which is a good solution, because then neither person ends up unsupported.

Gryffindor still creams Hufflepuff, though. sorry my puffs bbys

But hey the Hufflepuffs aren’t mad, they just wanted to play for the fun of it and they know Gryffindor goes hard

Johnny and Lucas… won’t let you fucking live

They take every opportunity they can get to make some jab about you and Mark.

It’s all in good fun, though! They never say anything genuinely hurtful, just dumb stuff like “ooo shouldn’t you be with you boyfriend Mark right now??”

Stupid boys trying to roast you are the least of your worries, because being the fastest flyer in Hogwarts and dating the sweetest bean in Hogwarts seems like a pretty good situation to me.

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eene-fangirl · 6 years

Text

Stand By Ed Chapter 6 [An Ed, Edd n Eddy/Stand By Me Crossover]

NOTE: Chapter 6 of @camriko-arts collaboration on Stand By Ed!

No less than an hour later the Eds journeyed further into the woods. The more Edd kept saying that he kept thinking about the famous musical.

Ed brought along his ipod. He plugged in and started goofily dancing around. Edd and Eddy could make out the lyrics of the ‘Lolly Pop’ tune. It was Ed’s favorite song. It always cheered him up. The tallest of the Eds danced around in different motions, bobbing his head and humming along. It was quite the entertainment for Edd and Eddy who walked together a short distance behind Ed.

“He’s a riot!” Eddy chuckled.

Edd smiled fondly at Ed. “There are some days I wish I could experience the serenity of Ed’s world.”

“Why?” Eddy asked, intrigued. “I mean, same here! I’d like to know how that big guy’s mind works, too. Sometimes I think its a field full of chickens and Ed’s frolicking through them.”

Edd giggled at the funny image. He continued to look on at Ed. Nobody would ever think he and Ed were friends. They were different. That’s what Edd liked about his friends. He wished others would understand.

“He’s always so happy. I would like to know how Ed stays so positive despite all the negative events that have impacted his life.”

Eddy noticed Edd’s head sadly dip to the ground, watching his feet. Ever since they left the cul-de-sac he looked down. It had to have something to do with that car parked in the driveway. A car was never there.

Eddy remembered again that he and Edd barely spent much of the summer together. In the past they’d see each other every single day. The three of them spent countless hours making up scams, or having sleepovers, and even drinking as many sodas burping aloud the alphabet. Eddy snickered at that fond memory. Why couldn’t life stay that way?

Glancing back up at Edd, he asked, “So, you ready for school?”

Edd’s uncomfortable reaction only made Eddy worry further. School was Edd’s favorite topic. Edd didn’t attend the Peach Creek school system until the fourth grade. Before then he was homeschooled. The poor guy was stuck in his dark room, alone.

Fourth grade was when the three of them finally became friends and started hanging out. It was strange. Considering how close they were you’d think they’d been hanging out since Edd moved into the cul-de-sac when he was five. But, they didn’t. Eddy blamed Edd’s parents, hating them even more for sheltering their gifted son.

“I do admit that I’m more nervous,” Edd replied, hardly looking at Eddy.

“Understandable.”

“We’re attending high school!” Edd announced as if he was just realizing this fact for the first time.

“You can say that again!”

“We’re attend-”

Edd stopped himself realizing the catch. He eyed Eddy who was biting at his lip, giggling.

“Gotcha!”

“Very funny,” Edd mumbled, though he was smiling.

They were silent once more.

“Eddy?”

“Yeah?”

“May I ask you something?” Edd asked timidly.

“Shoot away.”

Edd licked his lips. He took a deep breath. “Am I... peculiar?”

Eddy reacted little to the question. “Everyone’s weird, Double D. Look at Ed and I!”

“Answer me honestly, Eddy,” Edd stated in a sad tone.

Eddy struggled having no idea what sort of answer Edd was looking for. “Well, yeah, but you’re you! I’m surprised you actually still hang out with Ed and I.”

“We’re the Eds, Eddy.” A confused Edd stated.

Something was troubling Eddy. Now he was looking at his feet. “Not when high school comes around.”

“What are you referring to?” Edd asked.

“You know what happens in high school. Friends split ‘cause they find new people and other activities. You fit in more in school then Ed and I. Face it, you’re better off without us.”

“Eddy, that is not true!”

“Yeah, it is! You’re good at so many things! Look, you’re already takin’ AP courses while Ed and I are takin’ all the normal classes that are hardly significant. You’ll join clubs, win awards, probably go on trips with the science team, and deserve the best scholarship to a college which serves all the smartest brainiacs in the world.”

Edd shook his head trying to comprehend all this. This is not the conversation he wanted to have while out here. “Eddy, where is all this coming from? I’m not leaving you and Ed!” Edd firmly stated.

“Well, then you’re bein’ selfish and holding your own skin back!”

“I’m not being selfish! You said yourself! We have to stick together!”

Eddy was silent, rolling his eyes. Though he was happy with Edd’s neverending camaraderie.

“Have you still been writing?” Edd asked changing the subject.

Eddy sulked his shoulders. “Eh,” he grunted in tone of voice which said he did not want to talk about this.

“I really like your writing, Eddy. You produce so many wonderfully touching stories.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddy mumbled.

“Eddy, you could be a writer!”

“Screw writing!” Eddy barred through his teeth spitting out all the anger investing his insides.

“What turns you off about it? It’s helped you!”

“That’s what everyone says!” Eddy yelled out frustrated. Now they stopped walking, standing in the middle of the woods. “My Dad tells me, ‘you’re just a kid, Eddy,’ and I’m like ‘oh gee, thanks! You know how hard that is?’ I have no freakin’ clue what I want to do! You’re always one step ahead of Ed and I! Like I said, you’re better off!”

Edd placed a hand on his shoulder in order to calm his friend down. He was quite heated. “Eddy, you have a gift. I’m still figuring out my own abilities and even my own future. I’m still unsure and it even frightens me honestly.” Edd’s tone was sad now remembering the conversation he had with his father.

“You musn’t doubt yourself. Ed and I are here for you. You are not alone.”

The friends were quiet staring into each others eyes. They hadn’t shared a deep moment like this in ages.

“Hey, guys, what are you waiting for?” Ed called out. They were just about to exit the woods.

Eddy nervously laughed off their conversation. “Yeah, let’s go. The kid may not even be dead by the time we get there!”

Once the forest ended a valley of water surrounded the Eds. A train trestle stretched on for about a mile to the other side of the land. Edd looked all around trying to see if there was another route they could take.

“When’s the next train, Double D?” Ed asked.

“Well... we could take another route...”

“If we take a shortcut there’s no way we’re gettin’ there tomorrow!” Eddy pointed out again frustrated. “We gotta cross.”

Edd’s eyes bulged. “Cross? Are you out of your mind?”

“Double D, you know that’s been established,” Edd responded with a smirk.

“If the train comes we can’t get out of the way!”

“But, Double D, we can jump in the water.” Ed pointed out.

“It’s a one hundred foot drop, Ed. We could get hurt,” Eddy said to him.

Both Ed and Edd stared off nervously, each contemplating different scenarios. Eddy meanwhile grumbled to himself. An idea popped into his head. “Ed, you guide the front, I’ll be the caboose.”

“What?”

“We’re crossin’! Don’t worry, Double D! As long as we got each others backs we’ll make it over to the other side.”

“But, I want to be the caboose!” Ed whined.

“I’d rather keep an eye out for you two.”

“Aw-”

“You coo at me sockhead and I swear I’m pushin’ you off the trestle!”

The Eds slowly and carefully maneuvered across the trestle. Edd however crawled along the tracks fearing any misstep. His sleeping bag dragged along, getting in the way. Eddy could hear hias little moans of discomfort and felt bad for his friend. He wished that they didn’t have to go this way either. Time was not on their hands. It would be the end of the world if Bro got there first.

The water sloshed below them. Ed moved faster. That was good. He was the slowest.

Eddy practically bumped into Edd who stopped crawling. He was whimpering.

“Move it, sockhead!”

“T-Train...” he murmured.

Eddy felt rumbling under his feet. His heart throbbed. A whistle was heard a short distance behind. Eddy turned around to see a train appearing from behind the maze of trees!

“TRAAAAAAAIIIIIIIN!” Eddy hollered.

Ed immediately started running.

“Get up, sockhead!” Eddy shouted at Edd practically pushing his dear friend to his feet. His voice squeaked in terror.

Edd was petrified. This was far worse than hanging over a waterfall, witnessing the actions of Edd’s brother, or any other ordeal the Eds have gone through.

Finally Edd stood up on his feet with help from Eddy but his legs were like jello. After tripping up a few times he and Eddy finally ran as fast as their legs could take them. The train’s horn blared, warning them. Trains couldn’t stop in time!

“Run, guys! Run!” Ed shouted at them. He was already on the other side of the trestle a safe distance away. That was good.

Tears ran down Edd’s face. Eddy ordered that he dare not look back. He sounded so terrified. The train was nearing closer and closer until it was right on top of them like... like... a colossal king kong snake. Yup, Edd was definitely watching too much of Ed’s monster movies.

Just when they thought it was the end Edd and Eddy jumped off the side rolling into a ditch kicking dirt in the air.

The train rolled passed never even stopping to make sure if the boys were okay.

Ed ran up to the end of the ditch. “Guys?!” He called out. His heart was pounding out of his chest.

Eddy picked his head up only to come face to face with Edd. Eddy was practically straddling Edd.

“Oh my...” An embarrassed Edd cheeks flushed.

“Uh, you okay?” Eddy asked him.

“Yes. Fine.”

“Are you guys gonna started kissing?” Ed teased making kissing noises.

“Get real, Ed!”

Eddy helped his friend up from the ground. Edd blushed at the chivalry. Without another word they kept movie. The sun was starting to dip beneath the trees.

#ed edd n eddy #eene #eene fanfiction #EddEddy #Stand By Me #crossover #Stephen King

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trash-the-tozier · 6 years

Text

Greyscale

Title: Greyscale

Length: ~10.8k words

Summary: Soulmates are what make the world vibrant, colors getting brighter and brighter the closer a pair of souls get to one another. In usual cases, the world starts off black and white and changes as a person travels, but for Mike, colors have always been there. Faint, but there, and that doesn't change until the night his friend Will goes missing.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, small changes made to the canon to fit better within the story

A/N: My sister and I were talking about the bond El and Mike managed to form over just a couple of days and she was like "they're soulmates obvs" and I just went !!!!!!!! bc I love soulmate aus more than I love life itself. This takes place throughout the entirety of season 1. also posted on ao3 here

Mike's world was always dull. Not by his friends, or his experiences; that's what made it all worthwhile. It was way the world looked. Everything was almost in greyscale, the colors just barely there, so nearly faded out that Mike had to concentrate to clearly see the saturation. If that was just the way it was, he wouldn't complain; he wouldn't know he could. But things looked muted. They felt muted. With fairy tales boasting worlds full of incredible sights, Mike couldn't help but feel frustrated. He supposed this was how it was for everyone though. That's just how the world was, is, and will be.

Except it isn't, as he comes to learn in kindergarten. They have a day learning about colors, the teacher bringing a color chart down from the wall and placing it next to her chair. They sit on the floor around her, looking up.

Each color is in its own row, ranging from incredibly dark to pale light as it travels horizontally across the poster. Mike reads each of the names, stopping at "orange" and "purple", having to sound them out slowly, like he's been taught to do when he encounters any other word he doesn't quite know yet.

"This is a color chart." Mrs. Anderson explains. "Each color is different, and they make up what the world looks like."

Mike nods in agreement. While it's a little hard to see, he can tell that "red" has this warmth to it that "blue" just doesn't have. Even at their darkest points, there's something inherently brighter about "yellow" than "purple".

A boy sitting next to Mike named Lucas raises his hand. He's frowning, his eyes still on the chart as he speaks.

"They're not different." He says. "They look the same."

Mrs. Anderson gives him a gentle smile.

"They look that way now. One day though, when you meet someone special, colors will show up. It's like that Hot and Cold game. Have any of you played that one? When you're trying to find something, and the closer you get, the 'hotter' you get, and the further away, the 'colder' you are? It's like that. The closer you are to your special person, the better and brighter colors will be. Life will take all of you to many different places, so a lot of you are too far away from your soulmate to see colors yet. But don't worry about it. Colors will happen with time."

Then it's Mike's turn to frown, his friend Will catching his eye and looking concerned by his expression. Mike doesn't understand. He can already see colors, even if it's just barely. Does that mean his soulmate is nearby? It has to, right?

He asks his mother about it that night as she tucks him into bed, confiding in her that he can already see colors a little bit, and that he isn't like the other kids in his class. She gives him a strange expression, a smile that he doesn't realize until years later is a little bit happy and a little bit sad.

"That is fantastic, Michael." She brushes his bangs back from his forehead, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. "She must live around here! In this state, or in this town, maybe."

Mike doesn't really get it. Sometimes, he would rather be normal, like the other colorblind kids in his class. Does it have to be a girl? They're all annoying and giggly, and Will says Jonathan told him they all have cooties. Mike doesn't know what cooties are, but he doesn't want any.

Dustin is fun and talkative, and when he joins their group in third grade, the rest of them become more talkative too. Mike ends up confessing about his color vision at a sleepover the following year (he blames it being late for making his tongue loose, despite it only being three minutes after midnight; that's late when you're nine years old) and despite trying to emphasize how faint the colors are, all of his friends bombard him with questions. They spend a few weekends riding around town to see if the color gets stronger or weaker, but if it does change it's not enough for Mike to notice. He likes that his friends know, though.

In fifth grade, Lucas starts asking him if his clothes match. Mike doesn't really know what he's talking about--"fashion, you know? looking good?"--and thinks it's kind of stupid, but he still tries to help. He’s usually just nodding or shaking his head at random because it's all still mostly grey anyway, feeling a bit bad sometimes when he realizes how much Lucas is taking his criticisms to heart. Will usually has a quiet question or two about soulmates, but Mike usually can't answer them. He may be seeing colors, but he's as clueless as everyone else.

He begins unknowingly taking comfort in the incredibly greywashed hues he can see, and as a result begins hating it when his family goes on trips out of state, or even out of town. He doesn't like it when the brown fades from Nancy's hair, or he can't see the blue in the eyes of his new baby sister, Holly. The limitation of his vision fills him with unease, even his dreams playing out completely in black and white, and he hopes for the sake of his soulmate that they don't feel as unsettled as he does when the distance grows between them and the colors fade away. He just hopes they know he'll return.

His first year of middle school is the first time the colors disappear. He's in the middle of class when everything snaps to black and white, and it's so sudden that he nearly falls out of his chair. He has to leave, getting shakily to his feet and running from the room, ignoring his teacher's angry voice yelling after him, and a concerned Dustin calling his name. His legs feel shaky and he doesn't even get all the way down the hallway, bumping hard into the wall of lockers with his shoulder and stumbling in an attempt to steady himself.

The disappearance wasn't gradual, as though his soulmate was moving farther away from him. It was instant, quick as a blink, and now Mike feels as though he's gone blind. He knows that colors don't disappear when soulmates fall asleep, so consciousness isn't the problem. It's more permanent than that. Farther away. It's as though his soulmate is dead.

The whole world sways and Mike feels himself sinking to the floor. Almost as soon as the thought hits him though, the colors are back, still dull, still as washed out as always but there, and Mike takes in a shaky breath.

"Mike!" Will's voice, calling his name, pulling him from his haze of hopeless confusion as his friends run down the hallway. They all crouch next to him, Lucas putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay? Are you going to throw up? You look like you're going to throw up."

"What's--" He looks around at them all, trying to reclaim his breathing. "What are you guys doing?"

"Worried about you." Will explains briefly. He catches Mike's eyes and holds them, and Mike knows he can tell how shaken he is. "What happened?"

"I... I was just sitting there, in class, and then all color disappeared. Like my soulmate was just gone. I thought maybe my soulmate died, or... Or something."

Dustin lets out a low whistle.

"Oh man."

"But it's back now. Colors, I mean. I don't know what happened."

He looks at them all, hoping for a solution, but a few clueless shrugs follow his eyes. Then their teacher sticks her head out into the hallway. She looks incredibly peeved.

"Oh, yeah." Dustin gives Mike a sheepish grin. "She wouldn't buy into the idea that all three of us needed to pee at the same time, but we ran out anyway. So we all have detention this afternoon for 'making a scene' to help you." He gets up, pulling Mike to his feet too, and despite himself Mike feels a small smile on his face.

Detention gives them time to think of theories, swapping them as they walk home together. Some of them are otherworldly or extraterrestrial--"no, his soulmate isn't an alien, shut up Dustin"--and by the end of it Lucas's idea is the most plausible, as much as Mike hates it.

"Maybe she's sick. Maybe she flatlined, but the doctors used those electric shock things to bring her back."

"Defibrillators?" Mike asks uncomfortably, the word long and clumsy on his tongue. He doesn't like the sound of that. He doesn't want his soulmate to be that sick; it sounds horrible. He can only hope it's a one time thing.

It's not. It takes nearly a year for it to happen again, but then it begins increasing in frequency. By the fall next school year, this "flatlining" is happening once or twice a week, and it terrifies Mike every single time. He always holds his breath, and if colors haven't come back by the time his lungs begin to burn, he starts feeling panicky. But the flatlining begins lasting longer and longer, and when a fifteen minutes one passes during lunch on Friday, Mike fears his soulmate might be gone forever. He hadn't realized how much he cared about having a soulmate until the threat of losing them came.

Three days later, Will Byers is declared missing. He rode out from Mike's after a D&D session and never came back. His bike is found, but he's not on it. He's nowhere to be seen. It's all surreal, Mike feeling as though he’s not even in his body when he hears the news, strangely terrified and disconnected. It’s almost unbelievable. The police question Dustin, Lucas, and Mike himself, but Mike feels like their answers don't help much.

The colors before Mike's eyes are noticeably brighter, fluctuating as he goes throughout his Monday, but he barely notices it. He's too worried; too distracted, though he does wonder if the two events are somehow connected. But the colors aren't disappearing, and either way there isn't anything Mike can do about it, so he focuses all of his energy instead on helping Will, to somehow find his best friend. He completely disregards both his mother's curfew and the police chief's orders and gathers up Lucas and Dustin, heading out into the night.

It probably isn't the best idea to go out into the woods in the dark, in the rain, alone--walking through the same spanse of ground that Will was last seen, as Dustin has anxiously reminded them five times now--but Mike knows it’ll be worth it if they can manage to find anything helpful. He’s squinting through the heavy raindrops and the flashlight beam can only go so far, Mike and his friends stumbling over roots and stray branches as they make their way through the forest. They try a few times to call out Will’s name but it feels useless, their voices swallowed up by the trees overhead and the whistling storm.

Then Mike hears something. It's faint but it's there and he tells his friends to shut up, standing stock still. It's the sound of a figure approaching, a jump in Mike’s chest when he realizes the figure is small like Will, thin and shivering. Then he turns and points his light at the silhouette, and his breath dies in his throat.

It isn’t Will. It's a girl, small and shaking slightly, soaked to the bone in what looks like nothing but a giant t-shirt. The shirt is so yellow that it has Mike stumbling back a few paces in shock, looking over the rest of her. She's pale from cold, her lips pink, the end of her nose bright red, her hair incredibly short and her eyes a dark brown. She’s the most colorful thing Mike has ever seen, as though she's the center of the universe, the crystal that all light passes through to fracture into pieces and color the world.

She's looking at him in the same surprise that Mike's sure is on his face, Lucas leaning close and whispering harshly into his ear.

“What the hell do we do now?”

“W-we have to help her.” It takes a moment for Mike to find his voice. “She's wet, and, and she's cold, and it's raining, we need to--” He reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder but she flinches back, and he freezes completely. “She needs help.”

His friends’ faces obviously don't agree, but they seem afraid to openly seem rude in front of another person, and don't say a word as Mike turns back out of the woods to their bikes. The girl is silent as well but she follows very closely behind him, just a step or two away. Dustin and Lucas don't talk to him either, though Mike does overhear Lucas asking what the hell it is Mike is thinking. Honestly, Mike isn't sure. All he knows is that he can't leave her alone in the rain like this.

They make it back to his house, entering the basement unnoticed, and as soon as Mike walks into the downstairs room he’s immediately assaulted with a wash of colors, browns and reds and greens and oranges all over the place in a mismatched hodgepodge.

Dustin bumps his shoulder to get past him, jostling him out of his surprise and back into action. The girl is still shivering, looking around the room with wide eyes, and Mike grabs a big tan coat laying across the couch, offering it in her direction. She just stares so he begins draping it gingerly over her shoulders and then she understands, pulling it quickly around herself. He gestures to the couch and she sits without question, the action more of a collapse than anything, and Mike feels worried for her. He looks over her again and sees that despite the reservation on her face she's clearly exhausted, her eyes downcast.

He asks the first logical thing he can think of.

“Is there a number we can call? For your parents?”

She looks up at him and Mike swallows. Her eyes are big and dark, the same color as the buzzed-short hair on her head. Of course, that's what Dustin asks about. He first asks what happened to it, then if she has cancer, and Mike is brought back to Lucas's “flatlining” theory instantly, asking the girl if she's in trouble. Then Lucas says something about blood, reaching towards her with a pointer finger. Remembering the way she flinched back when he tried to touch her earlier, Mike bats his hand away. They've all battered her with questions but she's barely moved, just sitting there, wide eyed.

“Stop it! You're freaking her out.” He tells Lucas. Lucas gapes at him.

“She's freaking me out!” He insists. After a bit more arguing and a rather offensive deafness test, Mike realizes that the girl is still in her soaking wet clothes. He rushes to get something for her, a pair of sweats that he hopes will keep her warm. She nearly takes her clothes off in front of them and Dustin completely flies off the handle, Mike realizing by the look on her face that she's doesn't know what's wrong. Somehow, she doesn’t know that girls and boys aren’t supposed to just change clothes in front of each other. It worries him a little bit, but he takes her quickly to the bathroom and tries to close the door.

“No.” Her voice is soft, but insistent all the same.

“Oh, so you can speak!” The words sound dumb as soon as they leave his mouth, but he can't help it. He’s too surprised. He’d nearly just assumed she couldn’t talk at all, but he’s glad she can. Her voice is nice, he thinks, but once he realizes the thought he shakes it away. He leaves the door open a crack and returns to his friends, where Dustin still hasn't put his head back on his shoulders and Lucas is nervous about the whole thing.

Lucas’s claims about an escaped convict and the looney bin make Mike upset for reasons he can’t really describe. When he reveals his plan to let the girl spend the night in his basement both of his friends turn on him in disbelief, but he doesn’t think it’s that crazy. Kicking her out into the rain isn’t even an option in his mind, and their parents would get mad at them if they tried to do anything about her tonight. So she has to sleep here.

Lucas and Dustin go home, and he sets up a little hideaway for the girl to sleep in, getting her any pillows or blankets he thinks she could want. Thankfully, he finds that his clothes aren’t too big on her, and she curls up in her alcove. She’s quiet and wary, flinching back when Mike reaches for her, and he berates himself when he draws his hand back. He should have remembered that touch makes her uncomfortable. But he just can’t help it; she pulled back her sleeve when he asked her for her name, and there's something etched into her arm.

“I’ve never seen a kid with a tattoo before.” He explains in apology. The ink on the inside of her forearm doesn't form letters, but three numbers instead. 011. Eleven. “What’s it mean, eleven?”

She meets his eyes, tapping her chest with a pointer finger, the action deliberate.

“That’s your name?” He asks, confused. People aren't named after numbers. Or, they shouldn't be. But she nods.

“Oh, okay. Well, my name's Mike, short for Michael. Maybe we can call you El, short for Eleven?”

She gives a small, consenting nod. El. It feels strange, like he just named her, but it's not as though she's a stray dog. She's a person, a girl, and she's spending the night in her basement. His friends’ disbelief of his plan hits him then, just a little bit.

It's horrifically past bedtime, and though Mike still feels wide awake, the girl--El, he reminds himself--probably needs to sleep. Whatever she’s been through, it’s taken a lot out of her. Mike gets to his feet.

“Night El.”

“Night, Mike.”

Her voice again, soft but steady, and when he hears her say his name, something about the world shifts. It’s as though something that was off is finally amended, and he feels it as his heart clicks into place inside his chest. Everything feels right.

It takes until he's laying in bed and staring at the ceiling to realize why. Because the world is completely in color now. Because she’s his soulmate. This is what having a soulmate feels like. Mike hugs his arms around himself, the feeling strangely comforting, and lets his eyes close.

The next day, El refuses to talk to Mike's mom. She flat out says no and doesn't get up, and Mike doesn't know what to do. Eleven doesn't want help. She's lost, homeless, with nothing to her name--a name that's a number, no less--and she doesn't want help. There's only one explanation Mike can think of, and it makes his limbs feel weak.

“You're in trouble, aren't you?”

It's barely a question, and she doesn't answer, just glancing up at him, but Mike knows he's right.

“Who… Who are you in trouble with?”

He hopes it's something small. She's in trouble with her parents, maybe. Mike knew a kid in third grade that got taken from his parents and moved out of state after a couple months of not being able to bring a lunch to school. The other kids didn't like him because it didn't seem like he wasn't able to wash his clothes very often either, and sometimes he had bruises on his arms, but Mike and Will would sit with him and share their lunches. Then he moved away to live with his aunt. Eleven is demolishing the Eggos he'd brought downstairs for her so quickly that it reminds Mike of that boy, and he hopes maybe that was it. Just that. But then she speaks, and his hopes are dashed.

“Bad.” Her voice is grave, barely a whisper.

“Bad? Bad people?”

He wants to help her. He wants to help her so much that his chest aches in a way he's never felt before, but first he needs to know what's wrong. She nods.

“They want to hurt you? The bad people?”

She shapes her fingers into a gun, pointing at her own temple, and Mike feels his stomach twist. Then, unblinkingly, she shifts the barrel of her gun to Mike's face instead, her fingers mere inches from his face, pointed straight for his throat. She meets his eyes.

“Understand?” She asks him, and he does. They can't tell his mom about her. They can't tell anyone, because the bad people want to hurt Eleven, and if they find out she's here, they'll hurt him too. They'll hurt everyone. Mike needs to keep her safe.

His mother calls for him, and it's time to go to school. He rides his bike about a third of the way there, watching colors fade slightly before he doubles back, skipping class to stay at home with El. Everyone has gone out so he lets her leave the basement, showing her his house and his things. He knows that she's only half paying attention to him as he talks about the stuff he's pointing to, but that's because she's trying to focus on everything around her at once as she looks around.

It's a bit strange to him, how fascinated and vaguely worried she is by everything, everything familiar that Mike calls home. It makes him wonder if she's ever had a “home” before. It seems impossible for her not to have, and he knows she couldn't have simply wandered around the woods her whole life, but still. He wants to know what happened to her, but he knows better than to ask.

It's strange for him too, though. He'd tried to keep it off his face that morning, teasing his sister as he wolfed down his food. He couldn't let anyone know he can see colors now, because his parents would have questions. But his house is so incredibly colorful. The furniture, the walls, the floors, and the trinkets that line the shelves are all little pops of color, instead of being so dull, and it isn't until now that Mike understands what Lucas meant about 'looking good’. The colors around his house are a mess, and he briefly wonders why nothing matches. But then El walks up to his father's La-Z-Boy, the thing muted despite his newfound color vision, and Mike hurries over excitedly, wanting to show it to her.

El likes his father's chair. It makes her smile when he reclines it and pops out the foot rest, nervous at first but nodding trustingly, the concerned expression melting into a smile when the chair rocks, and he has to smile back at her. Cute, he realizes, and this time he doesn't let himself shake the thought away. Her hair is nearly completely buzzed off, and her teeth are a little crooked in the front, and she's cute.

Mike has found a few people cute before. Holly could be cute, when she was sleeping or not screaming or something, but this is different. This is cute the way Alice from Science class was cute when she wore her hair in a bow for picture day, or the way Will is cute sometimes when he gets excited and smiles and jumps up and down. It's the kind of cute that makes Mike want to hold her close, keep her around and keep her safe. The different, good kind of cute. He likes that she makes him feel that way.

They're in his room, looking over his science fair trophies when she points to Will. It makes him a bit sick to his stomach to see the shocked, scared expression on her face when her finger touches the photograph.

“You know Will?” He asks. Maybe she saw him out, the night they'd gone to look for him and they'd found her instead. He tries to press her for answers, for anything, but they both whirl around when a car crunches into the driveway. His mom is home. El needs to hide.

The downstairs instantly loses itself as a viable option, so he drags her back into his room and begs her to hide in the closet. She's hesitant, and he promises not to tell his mom about her.

“Promise?” She asks in confusion.

“A promise is something you can't break.” He explains. “Ever.”

He isn't sure she understands but they're out of time, and thankfully she lets him hide her. He lies easily to his mother, who believes him to be too distraught to go to school, convincing her even after there's a loud bump from upstairs.

The sound has Mike confused, but that's nothing compared to how he feels when he goes upstairs and finds her on the floor, tears on her cheeks. She's upset and he doesn't know what to do, unsure of how anything could have happened in the time that he was gone, and he doesn't believe her when she says she's okay. He doesn't believe her even when she promises, but she gets to her feet, and doesn't elaborate. He doesn't hug her despite wanting to, knowing she probably wouldn't appreciate it. It makes his chest hurt, that same kind of hurt he felt when he found out she was in danger.

He didn't expect such a strong reaction from himself either, watching her curl up into a sitting position on his bed. He's a little scared by the pain on her face, feeling a surge of anger at whatever could have caused it. He shouldn't have left her alone, he thinks. She can't go back to the basement so they spend time in his room, Mike talking to her quietly, walking around his bedroom and exclaiming over all of the different colors of all of his things that he's never really noticed before.

“These colors are here because of you.” He tells her. “You can see them too?”

She nods.

“Colors.” She says, and Mike's heart swells, making a promise to himself then and there that despite what may have happened to her before she was found, he would never let her get hurt again.

Lucas and Dustin come over and meet her all over again, with her name this time. Mike tries to explain the situation about El’s knowledge of Will and the Bad People but Dustin is too baffled to listen and Lucas is scared, so scared that he doesn't listen either. He tries to leave but Eleven doesn't let him, slamming and locking the door. Slamming and locking the door with her mind, that is, and Mike is amazed. He can't do anything but stand and stare, blood running slowly down her nose, deep and red. It's the darkest color Mike has ever seen.

They talk about her powers, and about Will, and teach El the word “friend”. Dustin thinks she's really cool and Lucas doesn't trust her, and they decide to go out again the next day and look for Will after school, but with El this time to see if she can help.

But they have to go to school first. At recess Lucas teases Mike about El, laughing and saying he's in love with her, and while he's just joking, Mike feels conflicted. He doesn't know if he loves her or not. He feels as though he should, since they're soulmates and all, but love is such a big word. He knows there's something special about her, but isn't sure of much else. Either way, he doesn't tell his friends that she's his soulmate. It but feels too weird and embarrassing to let them know, and he genuinely doesn't know that he could get the words out if he tried, simply telling Lucas to shut up. Maybe he'll tell them when he figures it out and maybe he won't, but they're his best friends, so he knows that sooner or later they'll find out somehow.

Despite his promise to himself just the day before to keep Eleven from getting hurt, she gets hurt anyway. By him, no less, as Will's body is dragged from the water at the quarry. All of the false hope El had given him, about knowing Will and being able to find him is withering and dying before his eyes, and his chest hurts so badly and his eyes sting and Mike whirls on her, in too much pain to see her own surprise and confusion and try to understand what that must mean. And he yells. He yells at her, because everything hurts too much and he doesn't understand how she could do this to him. Because Will's dead. He gets on his bike and goes home, the vibrancy of the world fading around him as he makes it back, letting his bike clatter on its side in the driveway and running straight into his mother's arms.

He's still crying when Eleven comes home. He's on the couch in the basement, holding a pillow to his chest, his sobs having subsided to a slow stream of tears down his cheeks that are beginning to seem constant. Colors start coming back to him slowly and he knows that means she's on her way, closing his eyes and pressing his face into the pillow, unsure of how he's going to feel upon seeing her again. He opens his eyes just in time to see the room awash with colors, and then she slips quietly through the door. She's visibly upset, shaken and shivering and sitting down in her alcove.

“How did you find your way back?” He asks quietly. Despite it all, he feels bad.

“Colors.” Her voice is quiet and a little raspy, as though she's been crying too. They sit in silence, Mike able to feel it every time she looks over at him. He wonders what she's doing, or if she wants to say something, but she doesn't try, so he doesn't ask. He gets up, pulling out a binder he's kept of things Will has drawn for him, looking through, seeing the pictures fully in color for the first time. Will's colorblindness is evident, human characters having purple skin, or shooting green fireballs. Somehow though, Mike likes the pictures better this way.

Eleven gets up too. She takes his supercom, fiddling with it, the sound annoying and distracting. He tells her to stop but she doesn't seem to care, and it makes him angry all over again. He wants to explain himself but his words come out harshly, getting worked up and losing his message halfway through. Her eyes are wide and pained as she listens and a small part of Mike is almost glad of that, so full of hurt that he desperately wants to pawn those bad feelings off on another person. He turns back to the drawings, but then the supercom clicks again and Mike hears a voice. Will's voice.

Eleven’s nose is bleeding, the same as it did when she used her powers before, and Mike realizes that she wasn't lying. She'd never lied to him. Will was still alive, but they couldn't see him. They couldn't reach him. He could only be reached by magic, by whatever it was El was doing to the radio. And she needed a bigger radio.

They realize that for that, she needs to go to their school, and for her to even leave the basement she needs to look like a normal girl. They take Nancy's stuff, old stuff that Mike is pretty sure she won't miss, and the three of them do their best to make her look as normal as they can.

They don't succeed. She steps from the bathroom in her pink dress and blonde wig and she looks nothing like any normal girl Mike has ever seen. She’s different. Mike can't figure out what's wrong with himself because he just can't stop staring, and then a word comes out of his mouth before he realizes he's going to say it.

“Pretty.”

Because that's what she is. She's pretty, she looks so pretty, and Mike doesn't even care about the look Lucas is giving him when El offers up a small smile back. Then he cares very, very much, and tries to save face.

“...good. Pretty good.”

It doesn't work. But El goes to the mirror, looking over her reflection and murmuring the word quietly to herself, and she looks genuinely happy for possibly the first time, so Mike doesn't regret saying it.

Mike knows that the best way to keep his friends’ teasing at a minimum is to stop looking at El, quit staring at El, no, no, look anywhere but El, but he can't help it. They make it all the way to the AV Club room before being caught by Mr. Clarke, and Mike feels a little bit badly about lying to him, especially after Will's name is mentioned and he gives him that same strange sort of smile that all adults have been giving them since Will went missing. With a promise to be able to use the ham radio later, the four of them are forced into the gym for an assembly.

Mike doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be at a pseudo-memorial service for someone who isn't dead, surrounded by people who only now are pretending to care. Though not everyone is pretending. Troy and James are being loud and rude and laughing, and while Will may not be dead he's still lost and alone and in danger, and anger swells up in Mike again.

He doesn't really realize the weight of his actions until Troy is on the gym floor and the whole school is watching. But it's good that they are, because when Troy pulls back to deck him in the face he's frozen instead, and pees his pants in front of the entire student body. There's some laughter and chatter and Mike is amazed, turning around in time to see El catch his eye, smile the smallest bit, and wipe a tiny amount of blood from her nose, heading towards the gym exit. The word “stunned” doesn't even begin to cover how Mike feels, simply following after her.

They make contact with Will, and it's terrifying. Lights flash and they hear him crying out to his mom, but he doesn't hear any of their attempts to reach him. El’s eyes close and black and white starts closing in on Mike and he feels panicked, worried about her, reaching in her direction when the radio bursts into flame and everything stops.

He asks El if she's okay, but she's obviously not. She needs to get home, and with the help of Lucas and Dustin they remove her from the AV room as the sprinklers rain down on them and the fire alarm blares. Eleven can barely walk, her face pale, her eyelids fluttering, and Mike is so afraid for her, unable to properly breathe until they get her back in the basement and lay her out on the couch. Dustin suggests that she needs fuel, offering her some of his trail mix despite Lucas's protests that she's not a robot. But she eats all of the trail mix, even the raisins, and nods when Mike asks her if she feels better. Then it's time for some research.

Mike doesn't understand the point of dressing up in a fancy way for a funeral. When he asks, his mom doesn't really answer, saying that funerals are about being respectful and celebrating Will's memory. Mike knows that. But all of the memories he has with Will are happy ones, running through the woods and playing games and sharing secrets and eating junk food until they both have stomach aches. In not a single one of these memories is Will in fancy clothes, but his mother is distraught, so he decides not to argue. The funeral has Dustin completely unbothered, but the sight of the casket does get to Mike a little bit, with the grey rain and the grey sadness all around them, and he finds himself wishing Eleven was here with him. He would ask to hold her hand, trying to imagine the colors of the flowers around them at their full vibrancy to help him feel better. It works a little bit.

During the food and drinks, they find Mr. Clarke at a table and ask about dimensions. His answer is helpful, helpful enough to know they're looking for a gate, and he excuses himself to go talk to Will's mom. Lucas says he wants another cookie, getting on his feet, putting on his sad-about-Will face and walking back into the crowd of people. Lucas is best at doing the sad face, so good that sometimes Mike had to wonder if he's actually pretending or not. Dustin turns to him. He looks excited.

“This is crazy, Mike. Your girl can communicate across dimensions. Dimensions!”

“My girl?” Mike splutters, knowing his face is heating up and trying to frown the feeling away. They're not really supposed to talk about her outside of the basement, but Mike can't just let the statement stand. “Why is Eleven my girl?”

“She lives your house, for one.” Dustin points out, and Mike can't really dispute that fact. “You're the one that named her--”

“She already had a name, I didn't--”

“--and you can understand her, somehow. She says like two words at a time, and you guys have full conversations. It's like your brains are linked, or something weird.” He regards Mike for a moment. “Do you think she can use her powers to read your mind?”

The thought is a scary one, not to mention extremely embarrassing. He hopes not. Considering El’s powers though, he doesn't think so.

“Probably not.”

“Either way, I wouldn't want to play charades against you guys.” Dustin says. “Lucas and I wouldn't stand a chance.”

Mike tries to imagine that, playing charades with El. Playing any games with El, really. Eleven being their friend, attending their school with them and going out to the arcade or the theater. The thought of going to see a movie with El heats his face up again, but he likes the idea, too.

“She's our Mage.” Dustin says.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s our Mage.” He repeats. “She’s the Mage, You’re the Paladin, Lucas is the Ranger, and I’m the Bard. And we’re on a campaign to find our Cleric and bring him back from the Realm of Shadows.”

The simplification of the problem does help a little. Mike frowns.

“But we’re up against a demogorgon. We’ll need to roll a lot of twenties.”

Dustin shrugs.

“Sure. But with real magic on our side, I feel alright about it.”

What none of them expect is for a member of the Party to betray them. Mike doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t want to believe it. He should have noticed it though, he thinks, because El has been looking gradually weaker throughout the day, walking slower, her hand going up to her nose. He’d been trying not to watch her though, as part of his ongoing effort not to stare. But she’d misdirected their compasses and led them in a circle. Mike is angry and hurt, but he remembers back to the night Will's body was found, trying to push those feelings down, knowing now that there must be an explanation and that they just need to find one. All she can say is that it isn’t safe, looking at him pleadingly. She’s afraid for them, and doesn’t want them to go to the gate. But they have to.

Lucas doesn’t accept her answer, too frustrated and frightened to be patient and he's rough with her instead, and when he calls Eleven a monster and Mike sees the stricken look on her face, he can’t hold it together anymore. She doesn’t deserve to be attacked for trying to protect them. He tackles Lucas to the ground, but Lucas is stronger than him and soon wrestles his back onto the grass. Both Eleven and Dustin are yelling at them to stop fighting, then a scream splits the air. All colors blink before Mike’s eyes and Lucas isn’t on him anymore, thrown into the air and skidded across the ground and slammed into a slab of concrete. His body is limp and still and panic swells in Mike’s throat, running to him, he and Dustin trying to shake him awake to no avail.

“Why would you do that?” He shouts, whirling on El. She’s crying, fear on her face and blood coming from her nose, the color deep and as scary as she is. “What’s wrong with you?”

She just opens her mouth, no sound coming out, looking almost as though she can’t breathe. Mike turns back to his friend in need, trying to wake him up, letting out a breath of relief when he opens his eyes.

Lucas is disoriented, tears pricking his eyes as he struggles into a sitting position. He bats both Mike and Dustin off of him, getting up and striding away. Mike doesn’t want to let him go, still worried for him, but Dustin holds him back. And that’s when he remembers he yelled at El again, feeling sick to his stomach when he looks around and notices that not only are colors more grey than normal, but they’re fading fast.

“Where’s El?” He asks Dustin, who looks around too. The junkyard is empty save for the two of them, without even footprints to suggest where she had went. She’s just gone. They yell for her, searching until they have to go home, but Mike’s vision stays frustratingly grey-washed. He sleeps in the basement that night, lying on the couch with his eyes on the door, but she doesn’t come home like last time. Dustin comes over early the next morning to find Mike pacing in front of her alcove.

“I just… I can’t believe she didn’t come back.”

“She’s got to be close.” Dustin rationalizes. Mike nods a little. The colors are a bit brighter than they’d been before he met El, which means she’s in town, and closer than she used to be. But he feels guilty and terrible, absolutely horrible for yelling at her the way he had, her horrified expression etched into his mind.

“Mike, this isn’t your fault.” Dustin argues, as though reading his mind. Mike realizes he’s right.

“Yeah. It’s Lucas’s.”

“Wasn’t his fault either.”

Mike turns to him, wondering if his friend is joking.

“It wasn’t his fault?”

“No!”

Mike can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“So you’re saying he wasn’t way out of line?”

“Totally, but so were you!”

“What--”

“And so was Eleven!”

No. Dustin was not dragging her into this too.

“Oh, give me a break.”

Dustin purses his lips, taking a step forwards, his voice raised. He looks a little angry, but mostly exasperated at him for reasons Mike doesn’t understand.

“No Mike, you give me a break!” He exclaims. “All three of you were being a bunch of little assholes. I was the only reasonable one. But the bottom line is, you pushed first. And you know the rules: draw first blood--”

“No!”

As soon as Dustin says it though, Mike knows he’s right. He drew first blood, so he has to apologize. But he doesn’t want to. He’s not sorry. He’s mad at Lucas for calling El a traitor and a stray dog and a monster, he’s scared for El because he's supposed to keep her safe but she's still missing, and he’s mad at himself. He’s a little mad at Dustin too, for being so reasonable. But the rule is law, and Mike loves his friends too much to let himself be banished, so he agrees with Dustin’s plan to talk to Lucas and find Eleven. They’re outside, backpacks on and about to mount their bikes when Dustin fixes him with a look.

“What?” Mike has to ask.

“Why do you care about her so much?” Dustin asks. The question would have sounded rude, but with the way Dustin asks it, it doesn’t. He’s genuinely curious. “We’ve known her for like… A week, maybe. She’s cool and stuff, super cool, but even before we found out that she has magic powers you’ve just… I don’t know. Been like this.”

Mike looks down at his hands, his fingers curled around the handles of his bike. He swallows.

“She…” It’s not really embarrassing now, admitting it. He looks back up, meeting his friend’s eyes. “She’s my soulmate, Dustin. You know, colors and stuff.”

It obviously isn’t the answer he’s expecting and he stands there for a moment, his mouth slightly open. Then he blinks once. Twice.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Dustin slings his leg over his bike, his face set with determination.

“Let’s find her then.”

Mike asks Dustin not to tell Lucas though, especially if he’s still angry. And he is still angry, and it makes Mike angry too. While Dustin tries to be a moderator, Lucas still doesn’t accept his apology, shoving them aside and going upstairs, so they look for Eleven instead.

At Dustin’s suggestion, they try to use the color vision as an actual “hot and cold” gauge, like they’d been told about in elementary school, but it’s really difficult. Mike has a newfound appreciation for how Eleven had managed to find her way home before, in the dark even, because he can barely tell when colors change to be brighter or dimmer. A busted up shopping center has Eleven’s handiwork all over it, and that helps their search a little, but in the end, it’s her that finds them.

Troy and James find them first. The bullies chase them to the quarry, and Troy has a knife and he’s so, so angry. He holds the blade to Dustin, threatening to use it unless Mike jumps, and despite Dustin begging him not to, Mike knows he doesn’t have a choice. There are rocks below, the water dark and dangerous, and he steps off the edge and towards the abyss.

He’s only falling for a few seconds before the air seems to catch him. Colors are coming back, steady and sure, and he’s lifted over the heads of everyone, placed back down on the ground. He turns and there Eleven is, her wig gone and her skin streaked with dirt, stalking forwards with a near-deadly expression on her face. She dispatches the bullies easily and they run, Dustin yelling after them, but Mike barely notices; he can’t even describe how relieved he is to see her, happy and thankful and shocked all at once.

He’s looking at her, but she’s not looking back. Her eyes are downcast, and she blinks a few times, swaying on her feet. Mike realizes what’s about to happen a second before it does; saving him had weakened her, and she falls to the ground. They run to her, but by the time they reach her she's flat on her back, and there are tears in her eyes.

“Mike.” Her voice sounds almost broken, and Mike’s chest aches. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

“The gate. I opened it.” There’s blood coming from not only her nose, but her ears too. Up this close, it doesn’t look scary, or dangerous; it’s a show of weakness, a sign that she needs help. She made herself bleed to save him. “I’m the monster.”

“No. No, El. You’re not the monster. You saved me.”

She searches his eyes at those words, her face screwing up again as a new wave of pain goes over her face, her eyes welling up and threatening to spill over. He places his hand on her arm. He needs her to understand that she isn’t bad.

“Do you understand? You saved me.”

He pulls her up from the ground and into his arms, pressing her head into his shoulder, holding her tight. Despite all previous misgivings about being touched, Eleven doesn’t pull away. She holds him just as tightly, and though they’re crouched uncomfortably on the ground, Mike doesn’t ever want to let her go. It feels right to have her in his arms, like he’s found where he’s supposed to be in the universe. Right here, right next to her, wherever she may be.

Dustin joins in, his arms around the both of them, and Mike feels Eleven swallow roughly, wiping her cheek on his shoulder and nestling closer.

It’s also Dustin that moves them back into action. Eleven needs to be cleaned up, and she needs food. They walk back to Mike’s house slowly, coming in through the basement. Dustin keeps staring at them, making a face at Mike and smiling, and Mike has to resist the incredibly strong urge to tell him to shut up. They go into the bathroom to wash the dirt off her face, and while Mike knows Eleven doesn’t need the help, he doesn’t really want to let her out of his sight just yet. He’s as gentle as he can be with the washcloth, and her eyes never leave his face.

“That’s better.” He says when she's clean, letting his arms fall to his sides. Both the makeup and the wig are gone, but she’s just as pretty as she was before, if not moreso. She turns to the mirror though, obviously missing them, her expression sad as she puts a hand to her short hair.

“You don’t need it.” He tells her earnestly, and she spares a glance at him.

“Still pretty?”

“Yeah, pretty.” He says, willing himself not to blush. “Really pretty.”

She looks back to the mirror, and thankfully, she smiles.

“El?”

“Yes?”

She’s looking at him now, with her big brown eyes, and he finds himself wondering if there’s a word prettier than pretty, because pretty doesn’t do her justice anymore.

“I’m happy you’re home.” He confesses.

“Me too.” She says, and she smiles again. When he meets her eyes he realizes that he wants to kiss her, but to his surprise, it’s her that steps closer. Nerves are welling in Mike's stomach the closer she gets, not much space between them at all when the bathroom door bursts open. They both jump, El turning to the source of the noise. It's Dustin, exclaiming that Lucas might be in trouble.

He is. The bad men are coming, and Mike knows that they're coming for Eleven, telling his mom to say he's left the country, because he's willing to bike all the way to Canada to keep Eleven safe. The bad men follow them in an army of big white vans, but they still manage to meet up with Lucas. Then a van turns up the street, coming right at them, and being so surrounded makes it feel like they're out of options.

Mike doesn't even have time to slow his bike down. He feels El’s grip tighten on his waist, his color vision flashing to black and white for just a second, the same as it did when El threw Lucas into the air. This time, she flips an entire van.

Time seems to stop as the giant vehicle soars over their heads. Even Dustin, who had been yelling near nonstop, falls silent as they watch it go, Mike's legs completely ceasing to work. The van lands with a deafening crash behind them, and they all look around at each other. Then El’s grip loosens, her arms weak around him, her head dropping onto his shoulder.

“El?” He asks quietly. She makes a small sound so he knows she's still conscious, and they carry on. The four of them make it back to the junkyard, dismounting their bikes. Mike is worried for Eleven, realizing how exhausted she must be from saving him twice in a row. Dustin is yelling again, completely in awe, Lucas's voice cutting him off. He kneels down next to Eleven, apologizing and placing a hand on her back.

“Friends… Friends don't lie.” She says quietly. “I'm sorry too.”

Then Mike holds his hand out for a handshake, and Lucas accepts it.

They try to formulate a plan. Lucas tells them about Hawkins Lab, insisting that the gate has to be in there somewhere. But there's no way to get in, what with the barbed wire fencing surrounding the place and the armed guards everywhere. They don’t really get any farther than wondering that on earth it is they’re supposed to do when a helicopter starts heading their way. The bad men are still after them. Scrambling in a panic, they stash their bikes under a rundown bus and dive inside, the helicopter passing overhead. They’re all fugitives now.

They fill Lucas in on what they had done. He offers Eleven a high five when he hears about her defeat of the bullies, but she has no idea what the gesture means, so they have to teach it to her. But they don’t come any closer to an idea on rescuing Will, and Mike has a hard time even seeing any viable options.

When the Chief and Nancy reach out to them, Mike decides to trust them. He doesn’t really know if the decision is good or bad, but as soon as Dustin starts pacing and fretting about Lando Calrissian, he begins to regret it, because now he has a weird fear in his stomach that someone is going to make it out of this with only one hand left. Though if this situation is really like Lando then he should be more worried about cryogenics, and now he has to shake his head to clear it.

Thankfully though, Chief Hopper comes for them. He takes them to Will’s house, where Nancy, Jonathan, and Will’s mom are all there. They have to explain everything, and in the process they find out that not only does Eleven know what the gate is, but she’s seen it. She’s been inside the lab. El tries to contact Will, as well as Nancy’s friend Barbara, but she can’t, and Mike knows why. She’s exhausted. When she returns from the bathroom though, she says she can find them in the bath.

They build a sensory deprivation tank in the middle school gym, and it’s arguably the strangest thing he’s ever done. Nancy asks him if he likes Eleven and he completely lies his ass off, but he can’t admit it to her. Besides, he’s pretty sure she’s lying to him about how she feels about Jonathan, so they’re even anyway.

When Eleven lies in the water and falls still, the lights flicker, spark, and Mike’s world plunges into black and white again. It’s like all those times it happened in middle school, the exact same feeling, that flatlining that had happened before. Except El isn’t dead, she isn’t dying, and it feels wrong for colors to be gone when he’s so close to her. He wants to touch her, to reach out and grab her hand, but he knows he can’t. He hates this, worry and fear all tangled up inside his chest, his breathing going shallow. They find out that Barbara is dead, and Will is in Castle Byers, but his voice is faint. Eleven begins to whimper, her voice coming out as desperate cries through the supercom, and Mike very nearly jumps in the bath to help her before El pulls herself out of whatever trance, or void she’d entered. She yanks the goggles off her face, her breathing heavy and her face already screwed up in tears, blood running from her nose as she holds tight to Mrs. Byers’s arm and cries.

It’s Lucas who breaks the shock and stillness that's fallen over all of them. He runs off and finds a towel for Eleven and they pull her from the water, sitting her down on the bleachers. She’s nearly too weak to hold herself up, but Mike is more than willing to offer up his shoulder and she rests against him, getting his clothes wet, but he doesn’t care. Lucas wraps the towel around her shoulders, and Dustin pats her sympathetically on the knee.

“Hey, El?” Mike asks softly. Not only does El angle her face up to look at him, but Dustin and Lucas look over as well. The question isn't going to be private, but Mike doesn't really care. He's too curious.

“Mike?” She prompts.

“When… When you're all in the upside down, or whatever… Is it black and white down there?”

“Yes.” She says. “No colors. I don't like it.”

Mike nods a little.

“When you do that, I can't see colors either.” He confesses. “It always scares me.”

“But colors are here.” She says. Her voice is gentle, and he almost laughs; she's weak and wet and shaken, and sounds like trying to comfort him. “Colors are with you, Mike.”

“Yeah.” He swallows, nodding. “They are with you.”

Eleven replaces her head on his shoulder, scooting a little closer. Out the corner of his eye, Mike sees Dustin grinning ear to ear.

“Wait, what?” Lucas asks. His voice is loud. “Eleven, she's… She's your… Your…”

“Yeah.” Mike says, before he can get the word out. Lucas gapes at him.

“No wonder you look at her like a lovesick puppy all the time! You are one!”

Mike can feel himself blushing.

“Shut up Lucas.”

“Mike and Eleven, sitting in a tree, k-i-s--”

“Shut up!” Mike exclaims again, because Nancy and Jonathan are walking up. Jonathan gives Eleven his jacket and the two say that they have something to do. Then they're gone, and it's just the four of them at the middle school, alone. Dustin goes out in the search of chocolate pudding, Lucas following after him.

“We should go.” Mike tells El. “We probably shouldn't split up. Besides, you can eat whatever Dustin finds.”

Eleven nods, musters up her strength, and gets to her feet. Her first step is wobbly and Mike reaches out to steady her, his heart pounding when she takes his hand. Dustin yells when he finds the chocolate pudding, and Mike leads Eleven down to a cafeteria table.

“Are you feeling any better?” Mike asks her. She gives a little half shrug, then fixes him a more curious look.

“What’s ‘putting’?”

Mike chuckles a little, a small, warm feeling in his chest at the question.

“Pudding, it’s… It’s this chocolate goo you eat with a spoon.”

Eleven makes a face, Mike realizing how gross the description was. He tries to reassure her that when this is all over, she won’t be reduced to eating junk food all the time. She’ll eat real food, and sleep in a real bed. His parents could take care of her. She’ll be able to come home like she’s supposed to, because Will will be back and they won’t be fugitives and she won’t be a secret anymore. She smiles when he tells her all this, about her having a proper family, with his mom as a mom and Nancy as a sister.

“Will you be like my brother?” She asks, and Mike can’t shake the idea away fast enough.

“What? No, no.”

Eleven doesn’t understand, and he gets himself tongue tied trying to explain.

“I was thinking… I don’t know… Maybe we can go to the Snow Ball together.”

“Snow Ball?” She asks back. He tells her about the cheesy school dance, and that you definitely aren’t supposed to go with your sister. You’re supposed to go with someone you like, and he likes her so, so much.

“A friend?”

“Not a friend.” She doesn’t understand, looking a little put out with how much he’s contradicting her. “Someone like a…”

He doesn’t know how to put his thoughts into words, the sense of belonging he has when he’s with her, the happy feeling that spreads through his whole body when her eyes meet his own. So instead he moves forward, across the cafeteria bench, and presses a kiss to her lips.

He’s got a whole garden’s worth of butterflies in his stomach when their lips touch, and he pulls back quickly, nervous for her reaction. She’s surprised, but she meets his eyes again and seems to understand what he was trying to say, a little smile growing on her face.

“Like… A soulmate.” He manages out. The sound of a car driving up reaches them and Mike assumes it’s Nancy, but when he goes to check, it definitely, definitely isn’t. It’s the bad men, and they have to run. Mike takes Eleven’s hand without hesitation and she holds it so tightly that he can feel how afraid she is, running through the dark school halls. They’re cornered, and just as Eleven said before the bad people are all holding guns, and all of their guns are pointed at them. Fear closes around Mike’s throat, Eleven gripping his hand even tighter, staring down the blonde woman in front of them. Colors flicker and begin to fade, and as they watch, blood begins to run from the bad peoples’ eyes. They drop to the floor all around them, dead, El’s hand ripped from his own as she falls too, her eyes closed, her body completely limp. Mike’s stomach twists and he drops to his knees next to her, because she isn’t moving, she isn’t waking up, and all the colors around them are going grey. She needs help.

“Leave her.”

The male voice is commanding, an older man stepping down the hallway towards them, completely disregarding the mass of dead bodies as he walks. Mike tries to defend Eleven, to tell him to back off, Lucas shouting for them all to eat shit, but guards jump them from behind, and Mike can only watch as the man sits Eleven up. He promises to take her home. Eleven knows who the man is, but she whimpers when he touches her, cradling her head in his hands. Mike thrashes, every fiber of his being fighting to be there, to help her, but the guard holding him is too strong.

“Bad.” Eleven’s voice is broken and weak, the word causing the old man to freeze. “Bad.” She begins to struggle weakly against him, looking over, meeting Mike’s eyes, looking exhausted and helpless. “Mike, Mike.”

Then the lights begin to flicker, and the demogorgon is here.

The guards all drop their grip as the creature bursts through the wall, pulling out their guns and firing and they spare no time, scooping Eleven off the ground and running. They make it to a science classroom in the back of the building, setting her down on a table. Eleven grabs for Mike’s hands and holds them tight, so tightly it almost hurts, despite how weak the rest of her is. Fear is coursing through Mike’s entire body so strongly that he feels sick, tears stinging his eyes. He needs to keep her safe. He has to. He can’t lose her.

“Just hold on a little longer, okay? He’s gone. The bad man’s gone.” He tries to promise her the future, trying to smile, and she smiles back just a little. Color returns to the room, grey around the edges but bright when he looks at her. “We can go to the Snow Ball.”

“Promise?” She asks. Her whole body is shaking.

“Promise.”

The demogorgon bursts down the door, everyone yelling as Lucas fires at the monster with the wrist rocket. It’s all flesh and teeth and death, advancing on them, and some part of Mike already knows that they can’t use rocks to stop it. It’s too big. It’s too strong. It’s going to get them.

Then it’s slammed into the chalkboard, screeching as it’s held down to the wall, and Eleven is on her feet, blood flowing from her nose as she advances towards the creature. She’s trying to save them, but she’s too weak; Mike can’t let her do something like this. He rushes forwards desperately but she flings him away and he lands hard on the floor, his back against the cabinets.

She reaches the monster before turning back to them, and there’s a sick dread heavy in Mike’s chest, because he can feel that no matter what, this won’t end well. He feels tears on his cheeks as she meets his eyes, colors fading around the both of them as El’s power drains her.

“Goodbye, Mike.”

The last thing Mike sees is her face, her scream echoing in his ears. Then his world snaps completely to black and white, and he’s left alone.

#myfic #mileven #mileven fic #mike wheeler #eleven #stranger things #soulmate au

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