#Deep Cut may have lost but it won my heart

[littlestarcafe]

DO NOT TALK TO ME IM CRYING

[mossy-chaos]

These are all of the codes I could find in the Book of Bill!

The order is decoded message-page-type of cipher

Spoilers under the cut (for those of you who decode yourselves):

Black and white-back of the cover jacket-authors cipher

Even his lies are lies-inside the front cover-theraprism cipher

Praise the fallen angle-first actual page-Cipheric (this is the only time Cipheric is used for some reason)

Olaf was here-same-rune (not sure what this is a reference to)

Remember us-same-Bill's cipher

Let him in and break the seal between what's fiction and what's real-books new master-Bill's cipher

The Axolotl thinks he's won but Ciphers games have just begun-handprint page-color cipher

Irregular-fake covers(very top)-color cipher

The one who writes the codes-about me-Caeser cipher

Glotto/slotheny-Magazine cover(7 new sins)-Bill's cipher (I love the new sins lol)

Not a phase-Stanford pines here(on the goth moth)-Authors cipher-love the jack skellington reference (if thats what that is lol)

Warning/Folding this card may/result in crossovers-the universe is a hollogram-rune (Maybe that's how we finally get an owl house/gravity falls crossover)

My optometrist never saw it coming-What is a human-Theraprism

Paper is book skin/Shave your grandma-Skin-Bill's cipher

Love pain-Bill's tattoo knuckles-Same

Lies-How to trick everyone into loving you-same

Regrowing limbs is Axy's art/but can he regrow a ripped out heart-How to cheat death-Bill's cipher (he must really be mad at the Axolotl)

Eye doctor of a different kind/who wants to make his patient blind-silly straws-caesar

The doctor says/three sips a day/will make the visions/go away-Same

Fussy eater/baby Billy/wouldn't drink/unless it's silly-same (love how this implies that he only drank out of silly straws)

Mason-Embarrassing memories-Bill's cipher (love seeing Dipper's real name again)

Booberry-the meaning of life(popsicle stick)-Bill's cipher

One eyed king-the early years-theraprism

Suck it-The good times(liscense plate)-Caesar

Can warp narrativity/protect fourth walls-Alert from time baby-A1Z26

Lone survivor of the Euclidean massacre-Rune (I wonder what happened during that event and what that event actually is)

Tantrum-Bill's Cipher

Which henchmaniac ratted me out-The shaman-Theraprism (I find this one funny)

Titans blood-the dark ages(Wizards hat)-Rune (Love the owl house reference here)

Suck it Merlin-Never trust a wizard-Rune

Daryll-Cipherstitions(lobster lord of the deep)-Theraprism (love how that's his name)

Curse Wittebane-Witchcraft-Rune

It's all made up-America(the dollar)-Caesar

Countries aren't-Bill's cipher

Rubberhose-Animation-A1Z26

Bill cipher-top secret file-Same

Six fingered freak-Lost in the woods-authors cipher

Stanley would have made her laugh-same (he just rolled better charisma dude)

If lost return to Bill-my muse and me-Theraprism (love how he said this means wise one and also more billford hehe)

Forget the past-A voice from the past page 2-Bill's cipher (this implies that Bill wants Ford to forget Stanley so he won't get in the way)

Hopefully F's gloves will hide what Cipher has done to my hands-I was wrong about everything page 2-Author's Cipher (I love this one <3)

Ouroboros-Wakey wakey here's a snakey (on the snake)-Bill's Cipher (I guess this is the snakes name?)

Miss you-try to forget (on window)-bro's secret code

Have I been too harsh all along?-Should I contact S-Bro's secret code

Hotxolotl-Dimensional authority call transcript (on the sauce packet)-Bill's cipher

I can write codes too it's not that hard!-Dipper's page-Bill's cipher (he do be flexing his intelligence there)

(What a buncha) Love ya bro-Stanley's letter-Bro's secret code (love how this shows that they both still remember the code they made up as kids)

Just fit in (repeated)-SSSSTANNNNLEEEYY-Rune

Holy mackerel-color cipher

AXOLOTLLOTAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLOTLAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLOTLAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLO-Theraprism

Wellwellwellbeing-message from the theraprism-A1Z26

Spheremonger, Eternalor, Bill cipher, The Logicube, Paingorious, Jessica, Shadorg, Mr Silly, The beast-recent inpatient names-Theraprism (the hallucination dog is still creepy lol)

Justice for Scrimbles/Remember Grembley-inside Back cover-Theraprism/Rune (JUSTICE FOR SCRIMBLES!!!!)

Those are all of the codes that are in this book! (Or at least that I could find lol)

[liv2post]

Serenading Him

CHAPTER 6: Respite (FINAL CHAPTER)

Prev Chapter

AO3

Severus groaned softly as a gradual brightness roused him from what felt like to be a deep slumber. The fleshy color of his eyelids could no longer replicate the facade of darkness as he slowly fluttered his eyes open. He was first met with a plain white ceiling with a slight popcorn texture to it and something soft beneath his head and cradling his body. The second thing he registered was a fuzzy feeling in his head and throat.

The snake. Voldemort. He—

His hand shot to his throat as he attempted to swiftly sit up, but immediately regretted it, a heavy dizziness forcing him back down against his propped-up pillow with a groan.

“You’re awake,” a voice said softly.

His eyes flicked over to the side and landed upon you. You were slouched in a chair, head propped up by your fist with a tired expression on your face and watching his form with a gentle smile. He was alive.

“…Y/N?” He rasped out.

“Hi, Severus.”

He blinked dumbly at you before slowly scooching himself up more in a sitting position, glancing about the room. He had an IV in his arm and some magically powered machines keeping track of his vitals. He was in a hospital room, St. Mungos most likely. You were the only other person in the room except for the people who passed by on the other side of the blurred privacy glass.

“I died,” he stated, still thinking this may not be real.

You nodded lightly. “You did, but I brought you back. A little after you died, Voldemort called a one-hour armistice. I flew down from the tower to see how everyone was fairing and I overheard Harry and Hermione talking about you, how your “body” was in the boathouse. When I found you, I apparated us to the Potions classroom, healed your wounds, and got your heart beating again, and uh,” you blushed, “more or less stowed you away in my room until after the battle was over.”

His eyes widened. “Did we…?

You smiled fervently. “Yes, we won. And Harry is officially two for two in surviving the Killing Curse.” Your smile dropped a little. “We lost some people though, but the teachers are alright. Harry got you pardoned by the Ministry. Only a select few people saw whatever memories you shared with Potter to have your name cleared, but Kingsley is Minister now, so you have him on your side in the future. Unfortunately, you’ve become Rita Skeeter’s next target.”

Any words after the word “curse” fell deaf on his ears. Severus didn’t care. It was over. All of it. A slow exhale left him and you swear he probably got five years younger from the stress that seemed to leave his face.

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“You’ve been in a medically induced coma for almost a week now. The poison that circulated in you had done a bit of damage to your insides, so they needed to treat that. You hardly got any new scars though…except for the neck. The doctors said whatever special poison the snake possessed made it impossible to treat the scarring, but it might lessen naturally over time.”

The pads of his fingers lightly touched the raised skin on his throat. He summoned a hand mirror and grimaced at the sight of his neck. He could make out very clearly where his throat had been cut as well as the angry tearing and puncturing caused by Nagini. There was a yellow glow around his skin though, which meant you had applied that spell of yours. 

“I can take it off if you’d like.”

He shook his head with a sigh. “No, leave it,” he uttered and with some effort shifted over in his bed. “Come here.”

You pushed off the chair and quietly moved to the bed as Severus shifted into a sitting position to push off the edge, but noticed him wince a little as a pain radiated from his stomach to his chest.

“Don’t push yourself, Se—”

“Shut up,” Severus adjured, standing now as he wrapped his arms around you. He buried his nose in your hair, taking in your form as you sunk into his hold. Your hands slowly ran up and down his back, your touch soothing him through the cotton hospital clothes more than any potion or spell could. The two of you just stood there holding one another, your breathing falling in sync. You were both here. Alive. Despite having known him for multiple years, the days you spent together over the break were vital. It established an indescribable level of trust and had the war taken him, it would have eaten you up inside knowing he had so much on his shoulders.

He eventually drew you back towards the bed, a quiet gesture to keep you close to him. As you sat up against the metal frame, Severus wrapped an arm around your waist and laid against your side while you slinked an arm around his shoulders.

“Thank you for all you’ve done. I’m glad you are alive,” Severus murmured.

“I should be the one saying that to you . Your magic worked brilliantly. I think it got about fifteen Death Eaters in total before Harry dueled Voldemort.”

“Good…” he hummed, his eyes tiredly scanning his surroundings once more until they landed on two fuzzy silhouettes behind the glass exterior of his room. “Are those…guards by the door?”

“For your own safety, yes. Quite a few Death Eaters fled when they realized Voldemort couldn’t kill Harry a second time.” You grabbed a newspaper off the bedside table. “You being pardoned was the headliner two days ago. Since you weren’t on the toll list of those who died in the war, they know you’re alive. Also, you got a letter from Draco’s mother.” You opened the newspaper and out fell a tan envelope with a red wax seal with the name “Narcissa” scrawled on the front.

While he fumbled open the letter, you read the copy of the Prophet to give him some privacy. Based on the despondent sound he made, he was not pleased by the contents inside.

“My home was destroyed,” he muttered aloud.

You made a pained noise of sympathy and gently rubbed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Severus.” 

“Some books were saved, but there was a Dark Mark. Aurors convinced the locals it was a gas leak, but…” he trailed off. Truthfully he knew this would happen should he have escaped the war alive. He’d be hunted relentlessly by anyone who became aware of his true loyalty and his betrayal of Voldemort which was now, thanks to the Ministry, the entire Wizarding World.

“Y’know…I still plan on relocating, but not to America anymore. ‘M gonna use some of the money my parents left me to get a place out in the countryside. Probably Yorkshire. Or maybe Ireland.” You tilted your head toward him. “You could come with me if you’d like.”

He was silent, neither verbally accepting or declining your offer, but the way his weight pressed slightly further into you and his hand squeezed your waist was somewhat of an indicator of his feelings on the matter.

Your fingers began playing with the length of his hair. “You’ve had some visitors, too. Harry and his friends came on your second day here, as did Hargid… Draco tried , but I wouldn’t let him in because he was drunk and waving his wand around like a knife. Professor McGonagall came yesterday to see if you had woken up. She is… adamant in having a conversation with you,” you chuckled.

“I know what she’s going to say. I don’t wish to speak to her yet,” Severus grumbled.

“Everything in its own time,” you declared smiling and pecked his head, bringing a light smirk to his face. “More importantly, you are in dire need of a trim.”

[purebredmaltfics]

Sugoma Amogus

Seto Kaiba has just won the latest Battle City tournament against second place challenger, Bart Simpson.

Seto walked out of the arena. "I have very little patience for bullies" he said to himself. "That will teach the twerp to have respect for the cards".

Seto walked through a secluded hallway in the building. He was going to go to the Krusty Krab for a victory krabby patty. Seto jumped forward, a line of hot pain raced across the back of his neck. He spun around to see a man with a red tipped blade, blood dripping from the end.

Seto had jumped just in time. He reached to the back of his neck. He could feel warm wet blood run over his fingers. The cut was deep but not life-threatening.

Who was this man that tried to assassinate him? Was it a man at all? It wore a red space suit with a single bright glass visor. Seto had heard of these. This was one of the amogus, elite assassins, but who could have sent them?

It didn't matter. Seto was prepared. A card flipped between his fingers as he raised it towards the amogus. "OBELISK THE TORMENTOR", Seto screamed.

Seto released the card, summoning the Egyptian god monster spirit. The blue-skinned giant appeared, launching forward with his Fist of Fate.

The amogus dove out of the way. It was fast, even quicker than Obelisk the Tormentor. The amogus rushed down a side hallway and into a stairwell, disappearing into the darkness. It had escaped, but it was not unscathed. Obelisk had at least grazed it with his fist of fate.

"You dare face me. I will always be the victor, you fool" Seto said.

He confidently strutted away returning to his journey. He was not confident though. He was cautious and kept a card in between his fingers, ready to go.

"That was close" Seto thought, "If i were a moment too late, I would be gone."

Seto kept careful attention to the environment as he walked to the Krusty Krab in the dark of night.

"They made an attempt on my life. The audacity of sending assassin. Who even hired them?" Seto thought. "They should all fear me, for I have the Heart of the Cards".

The event replayed in Seto's mind. He was lost in his own thoughts. The amogus were impressive. He had never seen one, and to imagine one got that close without him realizing.

Seto appreciated anyone who was a master of their craft. He almost admired the amogus. It meant Seto still had room to grow. There were still opponents out there that he could surpass.

He thought of the retreating amogus. His mind trailed off. He thought of the two bulbous cheeks of the amogus's strong ass as he ran away in his tight spacesuit.

His mind snapped back. Why did he think of that? It didn't matter now. He had arrived at the Krusty Krab.

Seto walked confidently through the front doors. He made it no farther than 10 feet before he heard it.

"I thought I told you not to step foot in here unless you win the Battle City tournament" shouted Mr Krabs.

Seto grinned smugly and raised a card high into the air. It was The Winged Dragon of Ra. Only the tournament winner could receive this unique card.

Mr. Krabs gasped. "It's not possible. You won?!!"

Seto laughed. "Can you feel it now Mr. Krabs?"

Mr. Krabs slumped down into a chair. He was disappointed, but a deal is a deal. It's just business he thought. Mr. Krabs waved a hand a Squidward and sullenly said "Give him what he wants Squidward."

"Whatever" Squidward said. He looked at Seto. Squidward didn't care who they served. He never minded Seto. Squidward just wanted to get home to his clarinet and away from this minimum wage job. Maybe someday he would be able to leave this wretched place for good.

Squidward rambled off the same phrase he uttered a hundred times a day. Now he didn't even think about it anymore.

"Welcome to the Krusty Krab. May I take your order? Please order something that is actually on the menu" Squidward rambled.

"I'll have a Krabby Patty, and also one Krabby Patty for everyone in the restaurants, on me. We're going to celebrate this victory tonight" said Seto.

"...so three Krabby Patties. Got it" Squidward replied.

A family walked in. A small fish child ran over to Seto.

"Are you the Battle City winner?" the child asked.

The fish child reminded Seto of his own younger brother.

"Sure am" Seto said, flashing The Winged Dragon of Ra card.

"Can I have a picture?" the child asked.

Seto obliged, taking a picture with the child.

"Thank you Mr. Kaiba" the child's mother said.

"Squidward, another round of Krabby Patties for my friends here" Seto barked.

"Ok" Squidward replied, already bored of this interaction.

Seto sat down with his Krabby Patty. Something red dashed outside of the window of the restaurant. Seto jumped and reached for his card.

It was just another child though. Not one of the amogus. He was on edge. He reached to the back of his neck. Seto could feel the dried blood. Again he thought of how close his life was to ending. Who would have done this? Perhaps it was one of KaibaCorp's rival. Maybe Schroeder Corp.

His heart fluttered. Why did he feel this way? He was scared but he was also excited. He felt alive. It was after all the first time he had been touched in a year. No one could get that close to Seto. This amogus did. In his tight red spacesuit, he was able to get close enough for a kiss.

Seto imagined the face under the spacesuit. Lucious red lips appeared in his mind. Two kissable pillows.

"Are you okay?" Spongebob asked.

Seto hadn't even heard him coming. He was too distracted.

"Fool. I'm always okay" Seto snapped. "Well no" he paused.

Seto continued "I suppose I am thinking of someone that I can't be with".

"Why is that" Spongebob asked.

"I think they might be my enemy" Seto replied.

"An enemy is just someone you haven't figured out how to be friends with" Spongebob said.

"You're a fool Squarepants. Enemies are enemies. They can only be defeated" Seto said snidely.

An older man stood up from another booth.

"I think Mr. Squarepants is right" the man said.

Spongebob was surprised. "Is that you Mr. President Joe Biden?"

"Indeed it is Mr. Squarepants"

President Biden sat down at Seto's booth.

"Mr. Kaiba, let me tell you about one of my friends who wanted to be with someone they couldn't" Biden said.

Seto was surprised. He had not expected to run into President Joe Biden of all people.

"Please go on Mr. President" Seto replied.

The president continued.

"This is a story about my good friend George W. Bush. You see, he wanted to be with someone he couldn't. He wanted to get into their pants, but he was blocked at every turn."

"Who did he want to be with?" Seto queried.

"Not really a who" Biden said. "George wanted to be the first man to fuck the world, but you see, he put his mind to it. Despite his obstacles, he did it. He pulled himself up by the bootstraps and he fucked the whole world. If you put your mind to it Mr. Kaiba, you too can overcome your obstacles".

"Maybe you're right Mr. President" Seto said. "I've been thinking about this all wrong. My enemy impressed me, but it is I who should be impressing them. After all, I have something he does not - The Heart of the Cards".

Biden stood up. He put on his signature aviator sunglasses. "Good luck kid, and.... stay cool".

Biden began to walk away. Seto also stood up with new found ambition.

"Where are you going Mr. Kaiba?" Spongebob asked.

Seto smiled a devilish smile. "I'm going to show the amogus why I'm the most feared duelist of all" he said.

The tiny hairs on spongebob's sponge body stood up. He could tell Seto was serious and he was not a man to be fooled with.

Seto marched into the dark night outside, no longer afraid for his life.

He headed towards the KaibaCorp headquarters occasionally summoning different cards to leave an obvious trail.

Seto walked into the currently empty KaibaCorp parking garage, with his sights on the breakers. He whipped open the breaker panel and shut down all of the lights.

Only some low moonlight shone into the garage now.

"You want me? Come get me" Seto screamed into the shadows.

From behind a pillar, he saw it. The reflection of moonlight against the red spacesuit's visor. Just a brief flicker, but it was enough.

"I knew you'd follow me" Seto said.

He could hear shuffling, but it was quiet. He had lost track of the amogus.

Seto spoke. "You're highly skilled, but I am the best. Few could have snuck up on me like you have. Why don't you join me? I can pay more so why don't you work for the best?"

There was silence as he awaited an answer. A card flew out from behind another pillar. It was Pot of Greed, a card illegal in most tournaments. It's a powerful card but why would the assassin need it. "This must just be a distraction" Seto thought.

It was. This time a card flew out from behind him. Seto spun around ready to counter.

It was the ghost of a Yamato-class ship. It was massive.

"The fuck?!" Seto yelled tossing down Obelisk the Tormentor.

Part of the parking garage collapsed in a giant cloud of dust. Seto took cover.

Seto had never seen a card like this ship. This was not an Egyptian card. Was it possible there were other cards out there he had not heard of?

Obelisk punched a hole through the ghost ship but it was not as easy as expected. The ghost ship disappeared.

Seto coughed in the cloud of dust. He couldn't see. This escalated far faster than he could have imagined. He dove forward. A knife blade crashed into the wall where he had been standing.

Seto ran towards the moonlight. He hopped over the barrier falling from the third floor to the ground. It hurt, but his life was at stake. He pulled out The Winged Dragon of Ra.

The giant dragon appeared and started eviscerating the garage floor by floor. Elite or not, no one could have survived if they were in the garage.

Seto stood looking into the dust and rubble. He heard the faintest noise and whipped around. There he was, the assassin, the amogus.

The amogus stood there about 15 feet away. A 9mm handgun pointed directly at Seto.

"Join me" Seto said confidently, but he was met with no response.

"If you were going to shoot you would have. Together we could do anything. Don't think I didn't notice that perfect tight ass. Together our asses could rule the world." Seto said.

The amogus relaxed a bit, but his aim did not falter. He retightened his grip on the handgun.

"I appreciate that you are a master of your craft. I am a master of mine and we both have ambition. What do you say?" Seto asked.

A long silence passed.

Seto asked again "What do you..."

BANG! The handgun fired. It was too late. Seto had already played Diabellstar the Black Witch.

"FOOL!" Seto yelled.

The bullet deflected off of Diabellstar. The Amogus threw down a card of their own. Seto dodged. Abyss Dweller appeared.

The amogus took the opportunity to fire more rounds as Seto was on the ground. Diabellstar blocked all of the attacks rushing into the Amogus. The Abyss Dweller countered Diabellstar.

The amogus backed up and raised his gun for another shot. Seto was gone. The amogus turned but it was a moment too late.

Seto was beside him. Seto had a revolver pointed directly at the amogus's chest. The amogus was fast but not that fast.

From the amogus's fingers flicked one last card. Seto fired.

BANG! The amogus fell like a bag of sand. Seto dove to the ground, but the amogus's card did not activate.

Seto sat up and looked at the card. It looked like a duelist card, but it simply said "What is amogus spelled backwards?"

The Abyss Dweller disappeared as it was crushe by Diabellstar.

Seto rushed over the amogus. Crimson blood darkened its red spacesuit.

"You could have thrown a real card. Why?" Seto asked. "We could have had everything. We could have had love".

The amogus pointed his hand towards the card.

"What does it mean?" Seto asked. "Sugoma" Seto said puzzled.

The amogus spoke faintly. It was a wet blood filled gargle as the amogus said its final words.

"Sugoma deez nuts"

"NOOO" Seto cried. "Not like this".

In the dark of night, moonlight glistened the parking lot. The amogus stared up at the bright stars taking its final breath.

[ayatos-boba-straw]

A pharaohs prophesy

This is just a weird idea that I would love to share with you!

Hello!  （*´▽｀*）

!!WARNINGS!! - none that I can think of lmk if you find any I would be happy to add them

f! reader - feel free to change it in your head

Synopsis - Egypt's first female pharaoh is named Reader. She vows to never fall in love again after a tragic event, but what if she ends up somewhere strange—perhaps somewhere from above? 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ

Y/n a wonderful woman, a powerful one at that, might I add that she is the first female pharaoh of Egypt.

She has lead wars and won them,  took the heads of her enemies, her flawless strong facade masked her private weaknesses, her beauty like never before, she had powerful men falling at her feet with just her mere presence, but no one could even compete for her love as she was taken, someone from Rome had captured her ice cold heart, he was a general manager of the Roman army, oh.. what a perfect match...

The sun was beaming down on the hot sand of Egypt you could almost cook an egg on the sizzling rocks, it had no remorse to the ones without shelter.

It was the great pharaohs birthday, people from all around, were ordered to by the pharaoh herself to bare gifts for her majesty.

And hidden between the pyramids stood a great temple. And there she was, people were fanning her with leafs and feeding her dates one by one, people in a line handed her gifts, but her favourite was her lovers, it may have not been the most expensive or extravagant but it was one that made her heart thump, although it was just a simple bar of lavender soap, that he got from a merchant, she was so lost in her deep love, that it was expensive and extravagant in her eyes.

————

But all good things must come to end.

"What are you doing?!" Y/n spat out in displeasure, horrified by that sight that lay upon her, eyes glazed over she saw a blurry image of her partner and a commoner in bed sharing love that she had refused to share with him.

"You wouldn't give me it so I got it else where" he said angry, spitting venom with every word he spoke. "Guards take her away to be slaughtered" he smirked smugly at the teary eyed women, she sneered at him ".... Why would you order such thing?" She yelled hopelessly, clutching the cloth that covered her chest. "I never loved you-" he began but was shortly cut off "you fool!, have you forgotten? I'm the pharaoh and we are not yet married" she was now the one smirking, the only difference is she had tear stained cheeks.

She shook her head "Guards take him away to be slaughtered" she repeated, head hung low.

"What about the girl" the guard spoke up, the commoner looked up at stared at her "you!..." the pharaoh paused and sighed "you can leave.., but I never want to see your face again" the girl in the bed scrambled to get up, gathering her clothes she apologised like a bird chirping, high pitch and whiny, she run out seemingly ashamed.

When everyone was gone the pharaoh hung her head low...and fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands 'I'm so weak, three people saw me cry, I knew it wasn't worth it getting all soft, over a man non the less' "never again" she sobbed out "I'm never falling in love again..". And although the her mood was dark the light of the sun shined as bright as ever.

———— It was like any other day in the desert, warm colours filled it, the warm colours were coming from the boiling sun that hung up above, it made the sand hot to the touch.

"Be a dear and fetch me some water to put in my bath, I plan to bathe" the powerful woman spoke, with the elegance of a swan. Although she was deeply hurt she would never show it, and she most definitely wouldn't make others pay for it, in no way would she be rude to someone due to her own heart ache.

"Yes, your majesty" a maid bowed with respect, a small smile etched on her face but it was unseen to the naked eye. The sound of the maids feet leaving, echoed against the marble floor. A sigh escaped the pharaohs soft lips, head held high she let her eyes scan her surroundings, the gems that dangled from her head piece blocked some of her vision. 'May the gods give me peace', she prayed.

The same maid came rushing back in to the throne room "your bath is done" the maid let out before hurrying off, her giggles were heard from down the corridor. Reason to why was unknown, but the great pharaoh brushed it aside.

When the pharaoh arrived at her headquarters she closed the door and slid off her white cloth and gold head piece, walking to her washing chamber she felt uneasy, she felt as if the paintings in her room we're watching her closely, she felt the eyes pierce her delicate skin.

Shrugging it away she had got there, she started to emerge herself into the hot liquid, letting a groan of pleasure bubble out of her throat, joints clicking in the process. closing her eyelids, she stayed there for awhile before deciding to wash up and fall into a deep slumber.

Eyes now open, she spotted a table of soaps and food resting on a table, that stood next to the bath. Her eyes widened like saucers, eyeing her now deceased lovers gifted soap, a sinister smile played on her face, rolling her eyes she decided to use it, what harm could it do, she lathered it on before washing it of. Purple particles floated around in the now creamy water. She fell back asleep, little snores filling the quiet room.

———— "What are we to do with this pathetic mortal!" A booming voice shook the temple, but no one grimaced in the slightest. "Calm down, a decision needs to be made" Athena hit Ares head.

There lay a mortal on a table that was caged by chairs, holding the most important of people of the Greek gods.

Snarling Zeus spoke, with the venom of a snake "we should just get rid of the creature" Hera spoke up and glared at him, making Zeus cower in silence "we will most certainly not be doing that" Hephaestus cleared his throat, "we should let them free?" He suggested, "my love, we best not do that" a angelic voice interrupted, Aphrodite. She was jealous of the mere human on the table, she battled her beauty and she did not like it one bit. "I say we feed her to Cerberus" Aphrodite then continued.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ                           sorry if this is bad I have not proof read 😭

[pyxisfelixhaven]

scandal — for the single-word drive!

Holding hands.

That's all it was. So many people do this every day, and not always in a romantic fashion; parents keeping an eye on their children, friends making sure they don't get lost in crowds, or even just strangers offering a helping hand to a lost traveller.

So why was Pyxis kneeling straight backed on their living room floor, looking up to the disapproving eyes of a pacing Miqo'te, having listened to their rambling lecture about doing such a thing out in public for all of Eorzea to see - at least, according to his words?

"Ri'se-" Pyxis attempted to interrupt the white haired man for what was probably the fourth time now, but his rant continued. "Not to mention that just because we all know about how this relationship came about does not mean that someone walking past you both understands it," Rilo'sae continued, tail flickering each time he had to turn around to continue pacing during his extended lecture. "I understand that, but-" "You saw first hand how bloodthirsty the political field can be, not just in Ul'dah but especially so in Ala Mhigo, and he was a prominent figure on both of these struggles," he continues yet again, either not hearing Pyxis' words or just outright ignoring them at this point. "So for two people of such high standing in the eyes of the public to be doing something so openly politically charged-" "There's nothing political about wanting to hold my boyfriend's hand!" Pyxis finally raised their voice, picking themselves up off the floor and blocking Ri'se from taking another pacing step.

Eyes pierce into each other. Ri'se's eyebrows soften as he watched Pyxis' face turn a deep crimson as the words they interrupted him with suddenly sink in. Still early enough in their relationship to still be embarrassed to calling Raubahn their boyfriend, especially at their ages - it felt like more of a teenage romance to be 'boyfriend and girlfriend' rather than partners - and still early enough for it not to be common knowledge. Pyxis is the first to look away, or more aptly place their heated face into the palms of their hands and turn away.

"You know I mean well, Pyxis," Ri'se sighs, arms still folded but his tail slowing down to an occasional twitch behind him rather than a constant agitated swish. He gives enough pause for the purple haired Au Ra to reply, but with how tense their shoulders are and how fast their own scaled tail is swaying behind her he knows that a response wasn't coming any time soon. "We all mean well. You've both been through a lot to get to this point and… You're right. You should be able to be able to walk hand in hand wherever you want to go.

"The world isn't always kind enough for that though."

Pyxis' shoulders drop. He was right too. No matter how selfish she wanted to be, even for just a moment, any little thing could cause dissent in the wrong places. To see the commander of the Ala Mhigan army hand in hand with the Warrior of Light may have been heart-warming to some, but could be seen as taking sides to others. No matter how few those others may have been, for it to be seen the wrong person…

"I know."

A longer silence envelops the two as they stand frozen in the centre of Pyxis' home, neither of them unsure how to proceed. Pyxis didn't want to apologise for their actions, even though they knew the dangers that they risked by being so public with their affections for the Commander, and Ri'se didn't want to apologise for his tirade upon seeing the pair out and about. They were both right in their own ways. Not that it was an argument to be won anyway.

"Just… promise me you'll be careful, alright?" Ri'se's voice cuts through the tension, his hand resting on a now relaxed and still shoulder. "I'll try."

[pastelskyewrites]

GIRL Magazine ft Yamamoto Asami [3/3]

"I wanted to do something along the lines of 'heroine becoming the villainess' for my last two programs. For my short program, where I wear the lilac dress, I was the heroine waiting for her prince to come to her after saving the world. But he didn't, he found someone else whilst I was busy fighting for the greater good. For the kingdom.

My love interest thought I'd fight for him after finding out. That I'd do whatever it took to win back his heart.

Instead I become a villainess in my Free program, when the person he chose over me supposedly only used him to get hold of the crown. I, the supposed heroine expected to step in and stop her, became the villainess for enabling it... because I watched the whole kingdom burn instead."

Asami gives us a deep dive on her last two programs as she recounts on her last season as a figure competitive skater

More under the cut

The story behind her short program

Short program: In the Middle of the Night

The heroine waited, and waited and waited, but the prince never came. Growing impatient, the heroine took her shoes and decided to head out by her window.

"What are you doing?" the villain whispered. The heroine gasped and took her sword out , holding it to his throat. The villain laughed, pushing her blade to the side with his finger. "You may have won the war but you definitely lost something... or rather, someone," the villain's green eyes glowed under the dark moonlight.

The heroine glowered and sighed. The villain's powers were successfully taken away, he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone at this point. She knew she was better off just ignoring him, but there was something in the way he looked at her confidently that made her want to find out more.

The villain, of course, knew he had the heroine's attention and decided to go further. He held out his hand with a wicked grin, "why don't you follow me and find out."

Hesitantly, the heroine took the villain's hand, shocked by how smooth and warm it felt in hers. The villain whispered something with his eyes closed and soon enough the heroine found themselves teleported into the prince's room.

The heroine gasps as she saw the prince carrying someone else into his bed- the bed she always wanted to lay one but could never because the prince said it was only for someone of noble blood. The villain raised a brow and frowned after feeling the heroine's grip tighten.

Her hand shook as her supposedly beloved started to passionately kiss the girl on his bed. Soon, tears started to roll down her cheeks. The villain tried to shake the heroine's hand off him but couldn't. His original plan was to see the heroine hurt and leave her there to lash out on the prince- but after seeing the heroine cry, he knew he couldn't.

"Let's get out of here," the Villain whispered something again before teleporting them back into the heroine's room.

Completely broken, the heroine dropped to her knees as she bursts into tears. "Is this what you wanted to see? Now that you've seen me completely broken just leave me alone," the heroine managed to say through her tears. The villain could only sigh and kneel to meet the heroine's gaze.

He lifted her tear-stained face up so she would look at him, surprised to see that he was sorry.

"I was expecting to feel happiness after seeing you lose. Instead, I felt happiness knowing I no longer have to share your attention with that dim-witted prince," the villain chuckled as he wiped the heroine's tears. "As you can see, I never lost my powers. I only made it seem like it knowing you'd finally be seen worthy of him."

The heroine couldn't believe the words coming out of the villain's mouth. She could only look at him as if he grew another head.

"But after seeing how he repaid you by saving the kingdom from my wrath, I figured you should know," the villain stood up and started heading for the window. "I might start wreaking havoc again, so please recover fast," he smirked and prepared to jump off.

The heroine screamed for him to wait, and so the villain did. "You tried to destroy the entire kingdom because I had feelings for someone else and pretended to be defeated by me knowing it'd grant me a marriage offer from the prince?" the Heroine gripped onto the villain's cloak, just to make sure he didn't go anywhere until he answered her question.

Sighing, the villain looked at her and nodded and for a moment there she swore she saw hurt in his eyes just recalling the moments they fought in the last battle. "You deserved better, but better wasn't what you wanted, you wanted the prince," his voice was laced with pain. The villain tugged his cloak from her grasp and turned around.

Acting on impulse, the heroine pulled the villain back by the arm and swirled him to face her. "What if I want 'better now'?" she whispered.

And before the villain could answer, the heroine wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a passionate kiss.

Asami's choreographer, Elise Cha, shared this on her blog a few days after Asami won the gold medal for the second time. Asami also later went through their thought process when it comes to choosing their songs, her dress and etc.

Asami: At first I chose this song because it's extremely catchy. It didn't help that it was a piece my contemporary instructor chose in one of my classes that time.

However, as my choreographer and I tried to develop a story around this song, we started with a princess waiting for her prince... in the middle of the night [chuckles]. It wasn't until a few weeks later my choreographer pitched the idea of me being a heroine waiting for her prince to come to her after saving the kingdom. The short story she posted on her blog was the same one she sent to me to read. I was sold immediately, I even wanted her to continue writing the story because I was so in to it.

Asami mentioned how after that she started to read a lot of novels that had the enemies to lovers trope in it, and it also helped her try to show the expressions she wanted to show after being betrayed by the prince.

Asami: The heroine we had in mind was someone who was graceful and soft. So I held a lot of my moves- my cantilevers, my spirals- I held them a lot longer than I usually would. There was also a lot of ballet on this one. Think Odette from Swan Lake kind of energy.

This piece was definitely more challenging for me in my opinion. Because for my free program, I had a lot of momentum to work with but for this one it was all about flowing gracefully, like water. pretty much what ballerinas do- look pretty while doing something extremely hard.

Many skater fans also noticed that despite the piece looking extremely easier to do, they were proven wrong after attempting the piece themselves. It had some of the harder transitions- like a needle to a 3A, and she had to always pay attention into ensuring her movements were flowy and soft.

However, the piece that trended was her Free program- mostly because she managed to skate clean with 5 quads in her program.

The story behind her Free program

Free Program: House of Memories [at playback speed 1.25]

The villain and the heroine ended up together a few years after the prince's betrayal. They stayed together in a cottage just in the outskirts of the kingdom.

The villain was making the heroine's favorite- hotcakes with syrup. He happily hummed as he stole glances at his now-wife who was still sound asleep. He smiled at himself, feeling proud as he kept her up all night only capable of saying his name.

There was a knock on the door, unfortunately waking his beloved wife up. "I'll get it," the villain placed the last pancake on the plate and wiped his hands on his apron, approaching the door. The heroine shook her head and told him to stay put.

"Yes?" the heroine answered after opening the door. It was one of the palace guards.

"W-we need your help- the new queen, after marrying the king she- she..." the palace guard sighed, unable to continue his story out of fear. "She turned into a dragon and flew away with the King! The crowned prince is only 3 years old, we need your help in defeating the queen and getting our king back please," the palace guard knelt, begging.

The heroine sighed and shook her head. "Go back, I'm not interested. I'm living happily here," the she nodded towards the path behind the palace guard. The palace guard's face switched from desperate to shock.

"D-don't you love him?" the palace guard tried again. The heroine could only laugh. Soon enough the villain joined her at the door. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling him towards him. The palace guard didn't recognize the villain, considering he looked completely different when he was setting everything on fire four years back.

"I did," the heroine replied. "But now I'm with someone better," the heroine replied coldly. The villain chuckled, picking up on the reference in her reply. "Please leave, before I lose my patience," the heroine warned. Defeated, the palace guard's shoulders dropped as he turned around.

The heroine sighed and closed the door, turning around to see her husband with his arms crossed across his chest. She raised a brow, wondering why.

"Are you really not going to save the kingdom again, heroine?" he flashed a wicked grin. The same grin he showed her the night they first kissed. The heroine found herself throwing her head back laughing. She took his hand and led him towards the hotcakes the villain worked so hard on.

"I think I'm ready to tell you everything in detail; the good, the bad and the ugly," the heroine started. "Better yet, let's get the best seats in the kingdom as we watch it fall," the heroine added.

The villain smirked as he chewed on his hotcakes, "from the outside, I suppose?"

Fans immediately jumped on the bandwagon and started writing their own version of the story based on Elise posted on her blog. Asami also acknowledged it by reposting some of her favorite ones

Asami: this, this was my favorite out of all the programs I did. It went through the most amount of revisions as well [chuckles] The first version didn't have a story behind it, it was choreographed with my retirement one day in mind. So it's just me on my feels as I reminisce the years I spent in competitive figure skating and the last time I ever compete.

But now with the heroine-turned-villainess story arc behind it? It gave the program a fresh breath of life. It wasn't just me reminiscing about the past anymore, now it's me looking forward stronger than ever too [smiles]

Many fans consider this program to be the best way to close her competitive career in figure skating- with a banging story, a song that went well with it and a world record that's still unbeatable till this day.

[pulseofthestars]

Below the cut as promised are headcanons I’ve thought of for Kamille’s Pokémon verse

As noted on my verses page Kamille comes from Kalos and thus this was the first region where he went through the League Challenge, albeit he had no interest in the title of Champion, simply content to have gotten his eight badges and the Kalos Elite Four. While he did have a match with the Kalos region champion (Whether that be Diantha or another potential champion) he’s not particularly interested in going into if he won or lost said match and afterwards he would begin traveling from region to region, exploring, meeting new people and Pokémon, and taking on the League of each region.

While he has a main overall team as indicated as well on the verses page Kamille, as a way to test himself, also tends to comprise teams of mons native to the region he’s in. After he completes the League he will often send his team to relax with the other Pokémon he caught in the region go and switches back to his main team though he might swap out teammates either to try new combinations or just to spend time with his other partners.

When it comes to his home region Kamille is painfully aware of the controversies surrounding Mega Evolution and its effects on adjacent Pokémon. Notably during his challenge of the Kalos League he refused to Mega Evolve any of his team that could do so, even after acquiring the adjacent Mega Stone and once he left Kalos he removed his Mega Evolution bracelet and keeps it and the stones he gathered aside. He hopes that he can gain support to where when he returns home there can a push for change in regards to to the usage of Mega forms or at least fund research to treat the negative consequences of the form.

That being said Kalos, for its flaws, is still his home and he has little patience for any insults directed towards it or the notable names who hail from the region, even risking getting into trouble by nearly getting into actual fights with people over it.

Despite this he is deep down a kind person who cares for both people and Pokémon and when on his journeys will often find time to spend with his partners outside of their Poké balls.

He’s a big fan of rock and in turn is a big fan of both Roxie and Piers, leading him to geek out a bit when he meets them during his challenges of the Unova and Galar Leagues respectively. He may or may not have gotten a Team Yell inspired outfit in the latter region during his time in Spikemuth, because he’s a nerd at heart.

He also has an interest in the culinary arts and admires gym leaders who also work in the restaurant scene like the Striaton triplets and Kofu, even hoping to have a chance to learn from them should the opportunity present itself.

[elizabeth-dicewielder]

Invi had… lost. 

After defeating Gula, her friend and fellow union leader, (and some other guy she didn’t know), she had lost to a member of her own union.

She bit back her frustration and regained her composure. She could be happy for Elrena. No, she was happy for Elrena. She would still be representing Anguis in the semifinals. And really, if anyone deserved it, it was her. In the time that Invi had known Elrena, her power had grown immensely and Invi couldn’t be more proud of her progress.

Invi walked from her spot on the bracket to meet Elrena already standing at the winner’s line.

She extended her hand. “Congratulations, Elrena.”

Elrena gave a shaky laugh and took her hand. “Thank you, Master Invi. I couldn’t have gotten here without your training.” She paused. “Um. Do you think I’ve done something wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, last time I won there was cheering.”

Invi looked around at the crowd of bloggers. Elrena was right—people had cheered when Invi won, too, but right now they were met with silence. “I—“

Invi was cut off by the admin’s voice. “She’s cute, ok the girls can tie.”

A door came crashing down behind Invi with a loud thunk, blocking her into the winning slot with Elrena.

“What just happened?” Elrena asked.

And then the cheers began.

“I think we both won,” Invi said with a growing smile.

Elrena grinned and a subtle spark of electricity ran through her teeth. “Onto the next round, then.”

Their opponents slowly materialized before them, with the label Team Daybreak Town.

“Strelitzia?” Elrena and Invi both asked.

“Hi Master Invi! Hi Elrena!” the girl called.

A taller boy with pink hair moved closer to her, almost protectively.

The other person crossed her arms and winked at them, her star earrings and she/they pronoun pin glinting in the light as they tilted their head. “You guys ready to lose?”

Elrena laughed. “You wish!”

Invi, however, was more concerned about the other side of the bracket.

If she and Elrena lost, then so be it. Strelitzia and her friends would represent them in the finals. But once the finals began that was another story.

Invi studied the left side of the bracket.

There were two outcomes.

First, that Team Blue Hair & Pronouns would win. Blue Hair & Pronouns? That meant going up against the trans community.

Second, that Repliku would win. Invi didn’t know who that was, but she had heard that he was a fan favorite and that election fraud had been committed in his favor 

Neither outcome looked good for them in the finals.

She glanced back towards the other keyblade wielders, all deep in heated debate, and she knew what she had to do. 

Invi cleared her throat loudly, and the four of them looked towards her.

“My friends, look at the other side of the bracket.”

They looked, and their expressions were grim.

“No matter who wins today, I worry that we won’t make it to the finish line. Let’s face it: our game just isn’t as popular.” She paused to let that sink in. “But I have a plan.”

She beckoned them closer and they walked towards her.

“We’ll join together this round as a team, just as we all have before. Then, we might have a chance.”

Elrena bit her lip. “Do you really think so?”

“I do.” Invi put her hand on Elrena’s shoulder. “We’ll have the support of the lesbian community.” She looked at the boy with pink hair. “The gay community.” She turned to Strelitzia. “The bi and pan community.” She gestured to the pronoun pins on the jacket of the one standing next to Strelitzia. “The trans community.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “And the aroace community.” 

She summoned her keyblade and held it to the sky. Her heart lifted as the others did the same. “We’ll have the support of the queer Kingdom Hearts community as a whole, and the support of KHUX fans everywhere. As a team, I know we can win this.”

She looked out at the bloggers and the admin. Please. Help us tie.

“May our hearts be our guiding key.”

Underrated KH Blorbo - Round 4 Match 2

Team Girlboss - These girls are so sweet and so boss, they both got bribery! Look @ them and feel that warm fuzzy feeling and be full of joy <3

VS

Team Daybreak Town - They are the power of freindship manifest! Sailing through the polls because they're just that awesome! Their friendship grants +5 to all your stats just by being in proximity to them <3

[smileysuh]

The Salesman

🌙 staring. Johnny x afab!Reader

🔮 synopsis. you're is approached by a handsome salesman, and after getting a taste of you for himself, he decides to offer you something you can’t refuse.

cw/ tw. dom/sub themes, pain kink, bondage, smacking, big dick, contractual/consensual bdsm, oral (m receiving), mirror sex, deep throating, dirty talk, degradation/praise, sir/master/daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, taunting, multiple orgasms, spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, anal, butt plug, squirting, sadism/masochism, unprotected sex, passing out from sex, power play, etc…

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.6k

🍭 aus. Squid game au

☀️ mlist + an. originally this was supposed to be potentially part of a 3part mini series but as of May 2023 it has been discontinued. You don’t have to know much about the show other than the fact that Gong Yoo is the salesman originally, and Johnny gives daddy like he does 😂

Prologue:

Your cheek sears red hot, and you take a deep breath as the tingles of echoed pained pleasure wash over you. There’s a slight metallic taste of blood in your mouth from where your lip has split, and it takes you a moment to recover.

When you open your eyes again, straightening and removing your fingers from where you’d pressed them to your face, covering the spot his own hand had just made contact with, you find the gorgeous businessman watching you with blown pupils.

The affect you’re having on him is obvious, and you’d be lying to say it’s not making you just as excited-

For what feels like the billionth time since he’d approached you, you wonder why he’s even doing this.

You’ve had men come up to you for all sorts of reasons before, but no one has ever offered to play a kids game with you in return for money- and no one’s ever looked you down the way he had, stating pointedly, ‘you can pay me with your body’ when you’d inevitably started Ddakji at a loss.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s hit you now - unable to keep track of the blows the same way your wins are marked by the bills in your hand - Maybe you should start counting, you think maybe he’d like that.

The alleyway feels very quiet even as the man in the suit flips your blue Ddakj again, and despite the cars and people passing meters away near the mouth of the liminal space, when he lifts his eyes to look at you, you have no need to run or escape. You take what he gives you, willingly, one hand gripping the money you’ve already won, while you dig your nails into your palm with the other, a slight distraction from the blow that never comes-

Instead, your chin is gripped between his thumb and forefinger, and the gorgeous businessman looks down at you with a hunger swimming in his deep brown irises that is making you confusingly needy and embarrassingly wet- 

“Forget the opportunity I offered you earlier. Enough with these games,” he states. “Come home with me and I’ll give you all the money in the world.” 

“And what do I have to do for you in return?” you ask, your heart racing wildly in your chest at the notion. 

He lets out a low hum and slips his thumb into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue as leverage to tilt your head and get a better look at your lightly bruising cheek. 

“You just have to keep taking what I give you” - he swipes the pad of his finger over the cut on your lip and you gasp in pain - “like my good little whore.” He watches you carefully, “Can you do that for me?”

You swallow thickly, responding with a “yes, sir” that has the man in front of you grinning in triumph. You have no clue you’ve just jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, but nothing in the world feels like red hot pleasure, and you’re ready to be burned.

One:

The hand between your shoulder blades gives a harsh shove, pushing you chest first against the wall of the elevator as it rises to the top floor. Your wrists are ensnared near the small of your back a moment later in what you identify as the rough bite of leather, and you hear a belt buckle when the man behind you fastens the impromptu binds in place.

He does this while reciting personal information, your personal information, from the top of his head, and with each detail, with each rough tug and manhandle, your heart races harder. 

It hadn’t been a coincidence he’d bumped into you in the alley behind the bar you work at for shit tips that don’t even pay rent- he’d known who you were before you’d even laid eyes on him.

Even now, as he flattens against you, boxing you in like a predator with his prey, he relays details he shouldn’t know- voice dipping when he notes, “You like it best when you’re tied up completely, unable to do anything but scream from it hurting so good-”

“How do you-” your words are cut off with a gasp that he forces from you with a curt pinch of your hip, and you hold your breath, understanding - in a distant corner of your mind - that you’ve just broken some sort of unspoken rule, and that when this happens, you’ll be punished accordingly. 

“You were chosen to be tested, and the people who told me about you… well, lets just say-” the man behind you brings his lips to your ear, “they do their homework.”

You feel him smile after a shiver runs through you, and you’re reminded by how much this man seems to enjoy your body reacting to him in these ways- 

“I was supposed to offer you this,” he continues, and suddenly there’s a card held in front of your face. A simple design of a circle, a square and a triangle make your brows furrow, but before you can ask another question, you’re commanded to “open up, gorgeous” and the card is placed between your lips, effectively silencing you.

“It’s an invitation to a game, a series of games really, with cash prizes,” his hands smooth up and down your body, one teasing over your breast and making you moan- “But watching the way you bounced back from each hit today- you can’t blame me if I’m not intent on sharing you any time soon. Besides… there’s no guarantee you would have won those games, and where would be the fun in losing such a pretty little thing like you.” 

He pulls away from you only to tug roughly at the leather wrapped around your wrists, forcing you to take a stumbled step backwards- 

You realize you’ve reached his penthouse, and he’s all but dragging you after him by the hands that are tied behind your back with his own belt- 

One more yank has you falling, ass making contact with a soft faux fur rug in the living area. 

Despite the small cushioning, your collapse still hurts, and with your hands twisted behind you, the position is awkward- made even moreso when you have to angle your chin up just to meet the eyes of the man who’s had you at his mercy time and time again today-

“On your knees,” he instructs with a stern voice that has you scrambling to complete his command. 

You can feel your skin blooming with heat and embarrassment as you struggle just to maneuver your legs under your body without the help of your hands, and it takes a few moments of obvious hardship before you’re settling into place with a sigh of effort. 

“It’s cute how pathetic you look,” the man muses, reaching down to pat your head- “and pretty girl did it all with her pretty little mouth shut,” he grasps the card still held between your teeth, “but it’s time to open up again and go over some rules,” he slips it from your mouth, replacing the card with a thumb that once more finds the split in your lip, “because I’m nothing,” he continues, applying just enough pressure to have you whimpering in electric pain, “if not a man who upholds clear standards.” 

When his touch leaves you, you miss it; the warmth, both gentle and searing. 

You watch him eagerly, hanging on for his next word, but the man takes his time. He matches your gaze, then looks past you at the darkening skyline outside the floor to ceiling windows for a moment before returning his attention to you. “Be a good girl and stay seated and quiet for daddy while I go grab something, ok princess?” 

An ‘okay daddy’ threatens to tumble out of you, but you catch it, instead giving a quick nod, doing your utmost to follow through with the ‘quiet’ part of his instruction. 

The man in front of you returns your motion before heading into the room on your right. 

You’re not sure how long he’s gone, because seconds feel like minutes and minutes feel like hours with your hands behind your back and your pant clad knees digging into white furs.

Your heart is thundering loudly in your chest, and you swallow thickly, trying to even out your breathing, but when the man returns, your pulse takes off again.

He’s discarded his suit jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing strong forearms and veins that make your pussy throb at the thought of what his cock must look like-

“You know what this is.”

It’s a statement, made while holding a page of paper mere inches from your face.

It’s a true statement, you realize, as you scan over the document, and you nod in the affirmative.

“Speak,” he instructs.

“Yes sir,” you say quickly. “It’s a BDSM contract.”

“That’s correct pretty girl, and when you’re correct, you get rewards.”

He pulls a bill out of his pocket and tosses it down at you, watching the way it lands on your chest and slowly slips down off your breasts to the floor. There’s a moment of silence while you wiggle in the belt ensnaring your wrists, and then the man in front of you says, “Is there anything out of place in this contract? Anything… you’d like to discuss?”

The contract contains a general opener, and when you reach the duties of servitude, you pause. 

“Read it out loud,” the man in front of you prompts. 

You swallow thickly before following through with your clearest voice, trying to keep it steady even as your heart leaps to your throat, “Above all, the primary duty of this submissive is to please,” you start. “Personal duties include: attending to the physical and emotional needs of Mister Suh,” you stutter a little on the name written there, enjoying the taste of it, “behave in any manner he wishes, offer physical comfort, be obedient, honest and loyal, and” your voice cracks, “to be a conduit through which Mister Suh can release any and all emotions, be it anger or otherwise, while knowing that Mister Suh will be a fair and generous dominant in return.”

“You scared, baby?” he clicks his tongue, petting you like he had before, and this time, you can’t help but lean in to his touch, which makes him laugh, pulling his hand away. “I thought you wanted to be my good little pain slut. I thought you wanted to take everything I can give.” 

“I do, sir, I just-” you whine, pouting up at him with your best doe eyes, “you’re going to break me, aren’t you?”

Mister Suh smiles like the cheshire cat. “Of course I am, but don’t worry, I’ll pick up all the pieces, put you back together, then I’ll do it all over again- and trust me angel, you’ll love every second of it, I promise.” 

Your core throbs with need at the notion, and you press your thighs together, shifting on your knees desperately, lips parting-

“And if you don’t, you do have safe words, I’m not a complete animal,” the man in front of you says, tapping his finger near the bottom of the page where a simple ‘green, yellow and red’ safe word system is included in the contract. 

“If you agree to these terms,” he says while your eyes scan the entirety of the contract again, “sign here,” he taps a blank line with the tip of a pen he’s procured from his pocket, and then he holds it out, cap end first, towards you.

You’re desperate at this point, needy and wetter beyond belief, so you eagerly grab the pen between your teeth, leaning forward and balancing in an attempt to sign the paper without using the hands still bound behind your back-

A bark of a laugh sounds above you. 

“Never sign one of these without reading the fine print, pretty girl,” he says, tearing the pen from between your lips. “This is the first act of kindness I’ll show you as your dominant” he warns. “We’ll go over the contract in detail later, and there’s a whole form of kinks to go through, but for now, I’ll sign, as a show of... let’s call it good faith.” 

He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your head to the side, and then he flattens the paper against the skin just below your collarbone, using your body as a backer for the pen that glides across the signature line. 

“There,” he says when he’s done, setting the paper on the coffee table before returning his attention to you. “Now, what does the little whore sitting so patiently on her knees for daddy want first, huh?” He cups at your jaw, the pad of his thumb smoothing over your cheek bone. “Pain? Or pleasure.”

“Both,” you respond immediately, skin tingling with excitement.

He pulls his hand away from you and you watch the appendage, focused in on long, thick fingers- his palm alone is sized something like a ping pong paddle, and your heart jumps at the memory of how it had felt to be hit by him in the alleyway. 

Mister Suh lets out a low sigh, and he shakes his head. “Look at you, getting all excited for this, what a pretty little pain slut.” 

His hand makes contact with your cheek suddenly, and you gasp at the shockwaves that run through you-

Sharp heat blossoms on your skin-

“Open your eyes,” fingers grab at your chin again, and when you lift your lids - after relishing for just one moment longer in the pain - you find Mister Suh crouching in front of you, looking at you with an intense gaze. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you-”

You’re hardly able to whimper out the words before the beautiful man is smashing his mouth to yours, and once more, you’re overwhelmed by the contrasting feeling of pain and pleasure.  Your lip stings where it was split earlier, and the man kissing you does so roughly.

His digits dig into your jaw, and his tongue invades your mouth, exploring, and forcing out a moan that leaves you uncensored.

The sound makes your new dominant grin, teeth grazing your lip unexpectedly-

A jolt runs through you, and the familiar metallic flavour of blood tinges on your periphery while you struggle in the belt bindings behind you, a wanton whine escaping your throat-

“Such a pretty mouth,” Mister Suh pulls away from you, standing once more to his full, towering height. “As soon as I saw it, I thought to myself, ‘huh, I know of at least one thing this whore’s pretty lips will be good for,’” he swipes a finger across the cut and you shiver, “I’m not wrong, am I, angel?”

“No sir,” you respond quickly, nearly tumbling over your own words, “you’re right- I’m such a good girl with my mouth- please let me show you how good I am-”

“I’m not stopping you,” the man above you grins.

And with his hands at his sides while your own are bound behind your back, he’s not going to help you either. 

You shuffle forward on your knees, ignoring the friction of the carpet against your skin; you’re much too eager to get at Mister Suh’s cock to care about a bit of rug burn. 

You’re not even really sure how you’re going to accomplish your task, but you launch into it with full determination, latching your mouth onto the button of his pants, fiddling with it between your  teeth- 

The man above you laughs, fingers threading through your hair, and the familiar feeling of warm shame washes over you, but you keep on, pressing your face into his lower abdomen like a wild animal trying to get at it’s prize-

When you get the button undone, a sound of triumph escapes you, and you practically burry your face in his crotch, searching for the zipper with your teeth-

“What a fucking cock whore,” the words are said with a groan that goes straight to your core, and you let out a whimper of affirmation while dragging his fly down- 

“Oh my god-” you let out a choked sound when you realize just how big the man in front of you is- he’s straining against the front of his briefs, and you hurry to bite at the waistband, attempting to tear it down- but the briefs won’t budge- you whine desperately, thrashing your head- 

“I’ve never seen anyone so eager to get her mouth stuffed,” the handsome man notes, giving a sudden, harsh push to your forehead that has your kneeling form nearly falling backwards, pain shooting up your arms as you struggle in the belt that binds your hands behind you.

You’re able to steady yourself, spreading your knees so you have a lower center of gravity, and when you look up at your dom again after your scramble, you find him holding his long, thick member out for you.

“Go on,” he prompts, shifting so his foot is between your legs, “and if sucking my cock is enough to have you almost gushing, you can use my shoe to get off. I won’t hold it against you.”

You try to sink down further, to reach the stupid, black, squeaky clean leather- but your pants pull tight across your thighs.

To make matters worse- you realize that if you were to grind on his dress shoe to reach an orgasm - that’s already embarrassingly close even though you’re mostly untouched - Mister Suh is so tall, you wouldn’t be able to reach his cock properly at the same time-

A deep laugh goes straight to your core, and it makes you think he knew the offer was a Catch 22 - a lose/lose - to begin with. 

“Guess not.” He removes his foot, and with it, the notion of getting to cum. “Say ‘ah’.” 

You think it must be the first time you see him really smile.

He looks down at you fondly while you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to await him. 

Mister Suh takes a moment to simply tap himself against your wet muscle, eyes fixated with interest on the saliva beginning to coat him.

You’re in something like a lust fuelled haze, skin raising in temperature to match the increasing heat of your core as you accept the beautiful man’s cock past your lips. 

A groan leaves you involuntarily at the mere size of him.

You close your eyes and try to open wider-

“While your mouth is full and your hands are tied, one noise from you will be a yes, and two will mean no or that you need to breathe, got it?” 

You’re shocked by how smooth and unaffected his voice sounds while you suck on his cock, and you scramble to make one small whimper of affirmation-

“Louder.” 

A hand grips the back of your head, holding you in place, and you let out a strangled whine that sounds clearly despite the fact that your mouth is stuffed full.

You open your eyes to look up at your dom and a tear of needy, pleasured, desperation rolls down your cheek. 

“Look at you, taking me like a pro,” he grins down at you, beginning to thrust his hips, “and already crying from how good it feels, isn’t that right, gorgeous?”

You groan, eyes closing as a wave of pleasurable shame hits you the same time he hits the back of your throat-

“I hate to tell you this, baby,”  the petname sends tingles erupting through you, and Mister Suh suddenly pulls you off his cock, leaving you sputtering and drooling- “but only little sluts cry for cock,” he sets the heaviness onto your tongue again, “so does this make you a little slut, baby?” 

You’re teased by the near ability to talk, hindered only by what is now starting to feel akin to a paperweight of sorts on your tongue-

It’s the most you can do to let out your neediest whine of the night.

He laughs and you think he must be the prettiest man you’ve ever met. You’ve never seen someone transform so completely with a smile- and you want to do anything possible to get him to laugh like that again-

“You’ll agree to anything I want you to, won’t you, gorgeous?” he asks while slipping himself just past your lips again.

You moan, pushing your face forward in an attempt to get more of him in your mouth only to be tugged back by the hand still threaded in your hair.

“Remember your place, pretty slut, behaviour like that will cost you.”

The sudden shift in his energy has you grasping for a way to make it better, and you let out a whimper, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Yeah?” He looks down at you, amusement flashing across his features again. “You wanna see what happens if you do that again? If you touch or take without asking?” 

You seal yourself into your own fate with one noise, and a moment later Mister Suh is tucking himself back into his pants and hauling you to your feet roughly by one arm. 

Without any means of catching yourself, when the hard dom pushes you towards his couch, you end up nearly faceplanting, only half saved by the two hands on your waist.

Now in a somewhat supported bent over position, your pants are easy to tear off-

And they are; roughly. 

“Step out of these,” he instructs, tugging at the fabric just as you’re getting your feet from being tangled-

Once again, you nearly fall flat, face pressed uncomfortably into the couch now. A gasp of effort leaves your lips as you struggle with your bound arms, and you can see your breath on the black leather cushions. 

Pain sears through your limbs momentarily when you’re hauled to standing position again. The man behind you seems to enjoy using your bound wrists as a means to manuever your whole body, and each time, it hurts a little more.

The leather that enwraps your wrists is loosened before dropping off completely, and your heart thunders in your chest at the sudden freedom.

The massive man behind you turns you in his arms, and despite all the reasons he’s more of a restricting force than the belt, none of that matters, you’re completely lost in him- lost in the feeling of wanting to please, of needing him- lost in his brown eyes- so completely lost of any thought other than: want.

You latch onto the front of his shirt with a newly freed hand before you can even help yourself, shifting onto your tiptoes while looking up at him in an attempt to get closer-

He cups the side of your face with a warm palm, and it slips to the back of your skull, angling you just right for the lips that meet yours.

His other hand finds the small of your back, dragging you close and forcing you to arch your back while he kisses you firmly-

His teeth nip at the cut you keep forgetting you have, and you yelp, tearing away from him- but Mister Suh keeps you in his grasp, arms wrapped around you.

He grins, pulling away from the kiss, and then, brown eyes look deep into your own. “Didn’t I just tell you: no touching or taking without asking permission first?”

You feel like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on you - heart lurching in your chest at the realization you’d grabbed him for a kiss- and you immediately open your mouth to apologize- but your dom gives a small shake of his head. 

“Don’t apologize just yet, pretty thing, or maybe I'll give you another five for speaking out of turn. Besides, there’ll be time for that soon enough.” He lets go of you, shifting his focus to your chest while taking a seat on the couch, “remove your tshirt then come lay over my lap.”

You’ve never taken a piece of clothing off so fast in your life, and the next thing you know, you’re laying your body down across his knees, teeth gnawing on your lip as you await what’s next.

“Ten slaps,” he tells you when warm fingers begin to knead at the flesh of your ass, exposed by the panties you’re wearing, “and you will count each slap before saying ‘I’m sorry, John.’ Do you understand?”

Your body shudders at the first mention of his name, and he notices, squeezing your ass harder in one of his large hands, reminding you that you need to respond-

“Yes, daddy-” you gasp, having grasped at straws for what title to give the man who’s already referred to himself in a number of different ways since you’d both arrived at his penthouse.

The low, satisfied hum you get as a response tells you that you’ve chosen well, and he gives you another firm squeeze before his hands removes itself from your bum. 

You brace yourself for the first impact, and when it comes, you’re quick to recite “One! I’m sorry, John!” 

There’s no verbal response, but you can hear him smile-

Another slap.

“Two! I’m sorry, John!”

“For what?” he asks while his hand comes down on your stinging flesh.

“Three!” you groan, letting your head fall forward, eyes closing while you wiggle on his lap. “I’m sorry John- for touching-”

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” 

Smack-

“Four! I’m sorry John, no, I couldn’t-” 

“How many times should I make you cum as punishment?” his voice is teasing, but his palm is like a paddle and has you jolting in his lap a moment later.

“Five!” you nearly shout from the impact, and your entire body flushes with heat at the realization at what he’s just done, what he’s just made you say and agree to- “I’m sorry John, I-”

“Are you sure five is enough? It’s my first night with you after all- how about we make it…” 

He pauses as if he’s contemplating a number, but his hand makes contact with your ass and you fill in the blank for him with a whimpered, “six, I’m sorry John-” that has him chuckling. 

“I guess I have to make it six for my pretty little whore,” he says, kneading the stinging flesh that he’s just battered raw. 

“Thank you,” you gasp, the words coming out on impulse while your toes curl with pleasure.

Warmth spreads through you from where he’s continuing to roughly grip at your sore skin. His palm is so large, and it’s hard not to think about his cock, which is poking into your side while you sit on his lap-

“You really are an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” 

“Seven!” The slap had come unexpectedly, and you shiver at the sudden contact. “I’m sorry, John- yes, yes I’m so needy for you-”

“And you’re soaking through your panties,” he sounds amused, and then he rubs you through the fabric, making you mewl- “How embarrassing.” 

This time, when he smacks you, it’s not your bum he hits. 

Your entire body jolts at the foreign sensation of his hand impacting your pussy, and your legs quiver, closing instinctively-

“Ah ah ah,” John tuts, pinching at your inner thigh, “keep these open, and since you didn’t count, I’ll have to do this again. I hope you haven’t forgotten your place angel,” he teases, “or you’ll have to start from zero.”

When his hand slaps at your center, the first thing you do is bellow “Eight!” slumping your body over his legs and swallowing thickly from how good this all feels- “I’m sorry, John.” 

“You took more hits than this earlier, gorgeous.”

You nearly moan at the way he continues to hit your core- “Nine, I’m sorry, John!”

“Honestly, sweetheart?” he laughs, hand coming down on you again, “your pussy says otherwise.” 

“Ten!” you’re tingling with need, excitement running through you at the thought of what comes next, now that you’re done- “I’m really, terribly, horribly, extra sorry, John.” 

You start to sit up in his lap, but a palm clamps onto the back of your neck and forces you down while the other massages your ass, which is still stinging.

“I didn’t say you could get up.” 

Fingers moving to drag up against the sticky fabric keeping him from you. 

A whimper escapes your lips.

You arch your back, pushing your ass up- 

And you are rewarded by a soft groan, then your your panties being tugged to the side. 

Two long digits sink into your wet heat, and you shift again in his lap, feeling the poke of his cock into your side once more.

“Sir?” you moan, torn between focusing on the fingers inside of you, and the cock that you wish was in their place. 

“What could possibly be more important than this,” he asks, making emphasis by working you up even faster, curling his digits until you can hear your own wetness- 

“I wanna touch you-” you gasp, balling your hands up into fists to resist grabbing at him-

“Well you have to wait,” he pulls his fingers out of you to smack at your ass. “A reward for my little pain whore,” John explains, “one slap to say good job for asking before grabbing at me again.”

“one- i’m sorry John- thank you John-” you whimper dumbly, resting your face against the leather couch and arching your back while his fingers work you achingly close to an orgasm- “Daddy!?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I cum?” Your toes are curling in an effort to hold off the waves of pleasure threatening to wash over you, and you dig your nails into your palms- “please-”

“You can cum.”

Your walls clamp down on rough fingers that are unrelenting, making you nearly scream from pleasure, trying not to writhe on his lap while he works you though a mind shattering release. 

When he removes his hand from your core, there’s a moment of reprieve before it’s slapping down on your pussy again, causing shivers of overstimulation and heated pleasure to run through you-

“That’s one of six,” he says, putting your panties back in place. “Get up.”

“Daddy-” you whine, trying to follow through with his command only to end up on wobbly legs.

“Look at you,” he coos, pulling you between his knees and assessing your form from his seated position. Large hands smooth past your curves, and he traces your silhouette, paying close attention to the way you quiver when his fingers brush past the stinging spots on your ass. “You have no idea how pretty you are? Do you?”

“No sir,” you shake your head, emotion swelling in your chest while you shift from one foot to the other, skin blossoming with heat of another kind. 

When John stands, you have to tilt your head just to look up at him, and he lets out a sigh, cupping your face with one hand and running his thumb over your cheekbone. “Guess i’ll have to show you.”

In one quick motion, the large man throws you over his shoulder, palm coming down on your ass with a smack when you wiggle in his grasp. “Relax,” he tells you, “i’ve hardly even started with you yet.”

You can’t believe the effect this man has on you, and you go limp in his arms, allowing John to carry you to his bedroom, where he sets you down on the foot of his bed.

The first thing you notice, as the tall man leaves you to grab a chair, is the massive mirror a few feet from the foot of his bed. 

Your eyes find yourself, and you quickly assess the dazed out expression on your face before averting your gaze, embarrassment bubbling inside of you at how fucked out you already look-

“What’s wrong baby?” your dom asks, taking a seat in the chair he’s pulled up near the foot of the bed. “You don’t like looking at yourself like this?”

You fidget with your hands in your lap, swallowing thickly. “I just- I look so-”

“Needy?” he suggests, “perfect like a little, slutty, doll?” 

You can’t help the small scoff that leaves you at his words, and you know you’re in trouble as soon as you’ve done it, because John reacts immediately, sitting up straight and narrowing his eyes. 

“Open your legs,” he commands. 

“Sir-”

“Don’t make me ask twice.” 

You pull your knees apart, leaning back slightly against the bed for balance, and await your next instruction with your breath held. 

“You’re going to sit there and touch yourself until you cum, and you’re going to watch yourself while you do it,” John tells you.

He relaxes in his chair.

Part of you wants to protest, but you remember what he’d said about asking twice, and you turn your gaze to the mirror.

“Lean back, and lift both of your knees closer to your chest, I want to see everything.”

You can’t help the small tremble that runs through you when you bring your fingers between your legs, gently running your index across your clit, and your lips part to release a sigh that has the man in front of you inching his chair closer. 

“How’s it feel?”

“Good,” you rub yourself harder, eyes threatening to close from the pleasure that courses through you- 

“Slip a finger inside,” he prompts, and you’re quick to follow through.

A groan leaves you and you pout, shifting your gaze from the mirror to the man next to it, “I’m so small compared to you-”

“I know baby,” John smiles, “if one finger isn’t enough, add another.”

Even with two fingers buried inside your cunt, you’re left missing the feeling of larger, rougher hands, and the annoyance you feel at only being able to enjoy your own, small digits, is written on your face.

A grunt of effort leaves your lips when you shift to allow your second hand to join the first, and you turn your wanton gaze to the man who’s watching you with blown pupils. “I want-” your voice catches as you collect the wetness that dripped from your core, pads of your fingers rubbing the fluid across your lower hole-

“You’re that desperate to be filled?” John clicks his tongue, eyes dark, then he stands, “go ahead baby, get that pretty little ass ready for me, and I’ll grab you something you can stuff it with.”

Your skin tingles at the idea of what’s to come, and a whimper escapes you when you slip the tip of your finger into your ass. 

You have to admit, the visual is an exceptional one, and you find your eyes glued to the mirror as you begin thrusting your digits in and out of both of your holes-

John’s returned from the walk in closet, and instead of taking his seat next to the mirror, the large man easily situates himself behind you. Calloused hands find the back of your thighs, pulling you back to his chest while also spreading you out for the eager eyes that eat you up through the mirror. 

Slotted between two fingers is a shiny metal buttplug, and you narrow in on the toy, lips parting to release a moan-

“Do you like this, gorgeous?” John asks, releasing one of your thighs in favour of bringing the plug just in front of your face.

You nod, leaning forward to capture the cool metal between your hot lips, and the man behind you relents, releasing the toy in favour of running his hand up and down your leg. 

“Dirty whore,” John muses, pressing a kiss to the column of your throat that heavily contrasts the harshness of his words, and you add a second finger to your ass, stretching out your hole so it can accommodate the plug-

“Look at you,” he continues, gripping your jaw and forcing your face forward, “you’re not going to even need lube if you keep dripping like this, kitten,” his breath is hot against your neck and the two of you let out sounds of pleasure while you watch the glossy, wet coated fingers you’re so desperately pushing inside of yourself-

Your drooling around the butt plug wedged in your mouth, and a glob of spit lands on your chest, making you moan even louder.

The dominant behind you lets out a chuckle, pressing a kiss to your shoulder while his hands find the clasp of your bra. 

“Cum for me baby,” he instructs as he pinches your newly exposed nipple, tweaking it deliciously, “cum on those pretty little fingers of yours, and then you can have your plug.”

You throw your head back against John’s shoulder, muscles straining as you finger fuck yourself over the edge. Sounds of pleasure escape you as the man behind you continues his onslaught of your boobs, large hands anchoring you while you writhe against him, orgasm washing over you like harsh waves of a sea storm. 

“That’s two of six,” John hums, voice sending vibrations that go straight to your core as he wraps you tighter in his embrace, trapping you to his chest. His lips are almost gentle as they press kisses here and there, one on your pulse point, and one directly below your ear before nippling a little at your lobe. “Are you going to take your pretty little fingers out of your pretty little pussy or am i going to have to remove them for you?”

A small “oh,” leaves your lips, and a you adjust the plug into your cheek, pulling your hands away from your core. 

Your right wrist is caught in a tight grip, and with his other hand, John grasps the jewelled plug, tugging it from your mouth. 

“Here,” he brings your slick covered digits to your lips to replace the toy, “clean yourself off for me.”

You groan as you accept your fingers past your teeth, tongue collecting your essence while John adjusts you in his lap. 

“Look at you,” he coos, eying your nude form through the mirror while dragging the butt plug through your pussy lips, coating the shiny metal in your slick, “my good little whore.”

The tip of the plug circles your lower entrance, and you moan with need, sucking harder on your own fingers while you watch your reflection. The cool metal of the toy sends a shiver of delight through you as John plays with your hole, stretching you out until a small push on the jewel has you gasping and the metal plug sinking into your heat.

“There you go,” John breathes, pressing two fingers to the hilt of the plug and applying pressure that has you gripping onto his knee with your free hand while you moan around the digits in your mouth. 

“Give me this,” the man behind you is quick to grap your wrist again, pulling your fingers away from your lips to join his at your core.

His palm practically envelopes the back of your hand, and his middle and ring finger apply pressure to your own, pushing all four digits into your wet heat-

“Daddy-” you mewl at the feeling, mewl at the fact that he’s showing you how to finger fuck yourself- and damn, when he crooks his fingers, forcing your middle digit into the spot that has you gasping, you practically scream from the realization that he’s going to make you cum like this-

“Feels good?” the man behind you is smiling, you can hear it on his voice, even as he pushes your fingers into your core, his pinkie stretching down to apply pressure to the plug wedged in your ass while the other hand flattens on your abdomen, keeping you from wiggling too much-

All you can do is moan, whimpering “i’m gonna-” as a warning that only seems to spur John on, his free hand slipping down just enough for him to press to fingers to your clit-

“Cum for me.”

He makes it sound so simple… and with him, it is.

Your walls clamp down on the two sets of fingers, and the plug in your ass sends extra stimulation that has you nearly shaking from pleasure, legs threatening to close as waves of ecstasy wash over you.

You can’t even help the way your fingers continue to fuck into yourself, moved not by you, but by Johnny, who’s digits reach deeper than your own, stroking past the spot that keeps you on edge longer than you thought possible-

“John-” you whimper, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks while you remain trapped in hot pleasure-

“Did I say you could call me by my name?” he pulls his hand away from your core and your legs twitch at the loss, your eyes opening and your chest lurching with realization that you’d made a blunder.

“I-”

“No, daddy,” he growls, palm making sharp, stinging contact with your inner thigh. 

“No, daddy,” you repeat, wiggling in his lap and pushing your chest out, eager to be touched again-

The man behind you pinches your nipple, earning a gasp while you lean against him, resting the back of your head on his shoulder-

“Daddy-” you whine louder, lips ghosting along the underside of his jaw-

“Tell me what you want, princess.”

“I want-” you grind back against his crotch, able to feel his cock pressing up against his pants- “i want you to fill me up-”

“Like this?” his hand is between your legs a moment later, two fingers easily slipping into your wet core, crooking up and making you gasp-

“No-” you whimper, “I want-” you bunch your hand in the fabric of his pants by his knee, rubbing your ass against him-

“I’m not sure you can take me just yet,” John breathes, hot breath running over your neck and leaving goosebumps in their wake, “look,” his eyes latch onto your core through the mirror, “you can barely take three fingers-”

It’s true, you’re still sensitive from three orgasms, and your pussy immediately tightens around the third foreign intrusion, squelching around John’s digits in a way that leaves your skin searing with embarrassment. 

“I can-” you insist, which only earns you a rough crook of John’s digits, drawing a sinful moan from your lips.

“You’ll cum like this to prove it to me,” John tells you, shifting at your back. 

He keeps his fingers buried in your cunt while he removes himself from being behind you, coming to stand in front of you at the foot of the bed. “Lay down,” he instructs, eyes taking in your form hungrily while his digits continue to move in and out of your sopping hole.

While his right hand works you close and closer to another orgasm, his left palm flattens on your lower abdomen, anchoring you to the bed right before John’s motions pick up speed. His fingers thrust into you at a pace that has you nearly screaming, legs attempting to close around the man solidified between your thighs.

Deep, brown eyes watch you intently when you fall over the edge for a fourth time, muscles clamping down on digits that expertly work you through a body numbing high.

You can feel the wet on your skin, and with your eyes closed and waves of pleasure coursing through you, a voice in the distant corners of your mind is telling you what John confirms a moment later, “you squirted, pretty girl,” fingers pull away from your cunt only for his hand to land on your pussy with a loud, wet, slap a moment later, “should we see if you can do that again?”

“Daddy-” you whine, legs closing only for them to be torn open again by John’s large, rough hands. “Please-” you writhe on the sheets while the man towering over you begins to undo the buttons on the front of his dress shirt.

John is big, but nothing could have prepared you for the ridges of hardened muscle that await you as soon as his shirt is removed, and your jaw goes slack just looking at him. 

“Well that shut you up,” the beautiful man muses.

“You’re so-” you make an attempt to sit up, reaching out for the waistband of his pants only for John to push you back down against the bed.

“I’m so what?” John teases as he pulls his thick cock out, fist wrapping around the shaft and pumping it a few times while his eyes eat up your form.

“Big-” you gasp when his left hand makes contact with your inner thigh, grasping at your flesh before dragging you down the short distance to the foot of the mattress, “and sexy-”

The silky sheets of his bed are bunched beneath you, captured under the body your dominant manhandles with ease- 

John’s large hand smooths against your inner thigh, pressing your leg closer to your chest, spreading you open for him. His thumb finds the base of the plug wedged in your ass, and he applies pressure to the small jewel, shifting the toy and earning a moan that spills out of you.

“I still don’t think you’re ready for me,” the massive man muses, pushing his hips forward so he can drag the head of his cock through your pussy lips. 

“I am,” you insist, fighting the urge to grab at him. “Can I touch you? Please, daddy?”

John lets out an amused grunt. “You can touch.”

You immediately go for the biggest prize in the room, fingers wrapping around his shaft, only for you to find them unable to meet due to his girth- 

You whimper desperately, hips wiggling, deciding to cup his cock to your core while you look for friction again-

One small thrust has John’s cock sliding through your wetness to nudge your clit, and more sounds of needy pleasure escape you-

He repeats the motion, looking down at you with an amused expression while both hands apply pressure to the backs of your thighs, spreading you out-

“You like that baby?” the cocky man asks, gaze shifting to the view of your small hand cupping at the cock he’s rocking past your hole- “Look at you,” he laughs, “still so fucking wet-”

You are. So embarrassingly soaked- 

And in your lust driven brain fog, you decide to show John just how soaked you are: this time, when he thrusts, you apply the slightest bit of direction with your slick covered hand, angling your hips up just so- and his cock drives straight into your needy pussy.

The sound that escapes you is something between a whine, moan, and scream, bubbling out of you at the sudden stretch- 

You grasp onto John’s forearms, and the man above you is an anchor, keeping still while your walls struggle to adjust around him.

“Told you you weren’t ready,” he tuts, shifting his hips-

Another noise of struggled pleasure leaves you and you dig your nails into strong, veiny forearms- “daddy-”

“Little pain slut,” he says, in a shockingly affectionate manner, his thumb finds your clit while he pulls nearly all the way out of you only to press back in, “I keep forgetting you like to be broken.”

You can’t form words, can only whimper in affirmation, grabbing at the sheets to twist them into knots to match the feeling building in your stomach-

“My pretty girl,” he says in a patronizing tone, “nearly cumming and i’m not even fully inside of her yet.”

You moan loudly, looking down to where your bodies connect, and you find he’s telling the truth.

“You still think you can take it, princess?” your dom laughs.

He just makes you want to prove you can take him even more- and you swallow thickly, nodding. “Yes- John, please-”

“John?” At first his expression is stoney - this is the second time you’ve made this blunder after all - then he laughs, “okay.”

His next motions are quick, he pulls out of you and flips you over, getting you into a doggy position while joining you on the bed, which dips under his weight. 

“If you wanted to be fucked like a whore, you should have just asked,” he says, rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance while his thumb finds the jewel in your ass. 

“Please-” you whine, pressing your face into the sheets and bunching the fabric in your hands, anticipating the pleasure to come-

A slap echoes through the room, and the searing pain on your left ass cheek has you whimpering. 

“One, I’m sorry, John,” you say instinctively, remembering the script he’d given during the spanking earlier. 

“Sure you are,” comes his dry response, and then he pushes into you, hands grasping your hips in a vice grip that tells you you’re finally about to have what you want-

And John doesn’t disappoint. The pace he finds is fast, powerful, and honestly? A little brutal; hands pulling your hips back to meet his own with each hard thrust. 

Skin on skin is a sound that’s so sinful, and it fills your ears, along with low grunts that are driving you crazy-

Every near pull out makes you feel so empty- only to be filled again, and each time, you’re just as shocked at the sheer size of the man behind you-

“Fuck,” John groans, “I can feel this cute little butt plug every single time I-” he adjusts his hips slightly, giving you a shallow thrust that makes the toy inside of you shift-

“Daddy!” you scream, pussy throbbing- “you’re too big-”

“Are you going to cum like this, princess?” the condescending smile is audible at this point, “like a dirty whore? Struggling on my thick cock while I play with this toy in your ass?” 

Another smack has you reeling, reciting “two, I’m sorry, John,” before confirming, “I’m sorry I’m a dirty whore-” you groan, cutting off your own blabber when he presses on the plug, “struggling- struggling on your big cock- God-” 

“There’s no God here baby,” he thrusts into you even harder, “just me.” 

Your pussy clamps down on his length, a strangled scream torn from your chest while John tears your orgasm from you. 

“So full-” you gasp, writhing in your dominant’s grasp-

You feel pressure, and a moment later, there’s a tug on the butt plug that removes it from you, giving you a moment of reprieve from the feeling of intense fullness- 

But then John is pushing - what must be at least eight inches - back into your core, flattening his body over your back while growling, “lay flat,” in your ear. 

You do as you’re told, sinking down onto your stomach, and he fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, each thrust making the bed shake, your form crushed under his own.

And when your pussy finally stops fluttering around him, he slows. 

You’re so overwhelmed by five orgasms that all you can do is lay there, trying to catch your breath.

Behind you, John pulls out of your core, adjusting your legs closed-

“Fuck,” two hands land on your ass, squeezing and making you gasp, arching your back- 

“Daddy-” you gasp, breathless and a little light headed-

“I know, gorgeous,” you’re shocked by the feeling of his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your stinging flesh- and a moment later his teeth sink into your skin, making you squeal- “I still owe you one more,” his voice is low and he steadies himself over you again, lining his cock up with your entrance. “And this position,” he kisses your shoulder while pushing into you, annunciating each of his next words with a thrust, “is going to make your cute little pussy feel even fucking tinier-”

“Oh my god!” You practically squeal at the feeling of his large cock sheathing deep into your core, and the hand pressing into the small of your back keeps you pinned to the bed, unable to do anything but take everything John is giving you-

“Feels good, right, baby?” he applies more pressure to your back, and your arch your ass up towards him in response; which only helps him drive into you even deeper-

“Tell me,” the man behind you growls, pace becoming rougher than you’d ever thought possible-

“Feels so good-” you blurt out, panting with your face half buried in the sheets, “holy shit, you’re so big-”

“That’s all you can keep saying, huh?” he chuckles darkly, and a moment later, two large fingers are being shoved between your lips, thumb pressing against your jugular while he uses your jaw kind of like an anchor-  “Big.”

“Mmmm,” you moan loudly around his digits, nearly intelligible; “yes, daddy!”

“And you’re gushing around me already,” John clicks his tongue, flattening himself across your back while his cock glides in and out of you-

In you delirium, you’re reminded a little of a slip and slide… if the soaked skin of your inner thighs and walls of your pussy were the slide and Johnny’s large cock was the thing having a ridiculously lubed joyride-

“So big-” you find yourself repeating, reaching behind yourself to grab at your ass, spreading yourself so John can dive his cock into entirely new depths- 

“Fuck-” his loud groan contends with your scream of pleasure- “just like that-”

His hot mouth finds the place where your neck meets your shoulder, both hands grasping your hips now as he pistons into you with a vigour like never before-

It’s the most you can do to let out increasingly pitchy noises of pleasure- teetering just on the edge of what you know is going to be your biggest orgasm of the night-

“Cum for me baby,” John’s teeth graze your skin and you twitch at the stimulation, “squeeze my cock like a good little cock whore-” 

The feeling that washes over you when you cum is overwhelming. It tingles from the tips of your toes to the top of your head and has you grasping at the bed sheets, eyes clenched shut-

It doesn’t help that John continues to fuck you through it all, despite your cunt thrumming around him, squeezing so tight-

He lets out a deep groan when he follows you to cloud nine, pressing all the way into you before his hips stutter, jerking at the intensity of his own high-

Everything is too much, the weight of him on your back, the heat of his skin and the wet feeling between your thighs-

Your body is exhausted from six orgasms, and in the wake of John’s, it gives up: your eyes closing as much needed rest takes you.

Epilogue:

You look down at the salesman’s sleeping face. He’s handsome, especially when he’s peaceful like this, and with his chest exposed in the moonlight, part of you wants to lick him instead of leave him-

But the invitation card in your hand is too enticing, with its circle, triangle and square on one side, and a phone number on the other.

A way to earn money through games like the ddakji John had played with you-

The sleeping man had been so sure of his control over you, that he’d slipped up; the unsigned bdsm contract is proof of the hole in his seemingly perfect dominant exterior.

All it had taken was a bit of blundering, a bit of pretending to be eager to sign even if he made you sign with the pen in your mouth because your hands were still bound- and he’d forgotten all about the legalities of the binding contract. He’d taken the cock drunk look of desperation in your eyes as confirmation that he owned you, piece of paper be damned.

But a man like him should know - as he’d been smart enough to know initially by offering you money in the first place - that you’re eager to make something for yourself, and he should have realized, that no matter how attractive a man he was, you were going to choose game money and freedom over the captivity and by-proxy wealth he’d offered you. 

Besides, he’d fucked you real good... you’ll be back after the games with enough cash to feel more secure- he can stand to wait a while, and you’re kind of excited for whatever punishment leaving will bring. 

with one final look at the odd card in your hand, your mind is made up, and you leave a note for the man asleep in his room explaining that you’ll be back.

While exiting his home, you can’t help but consider what would have happened if John had held the reigns a little tighter last night and cuffed you to the bed- or if he’d been maybe lighter sleeper and caught you as you’d crawled from under the warm duvet-

but as the elevator takes you down to the lobby, where a masked man meets you outside and helps you into a van, none of the what if’s matter anymore, because your path has been chosen, and you’re locked in tight to your seat before the cab fills with smoke, and for the second time in twelve hours, you’re passing out.

✘ thanks for reading :)

✘ if you enjoyed my work, please consider tipping me through kofi or paypal :)

✘ m.list 

© smileysuh — all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any fic, reaction, or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed

[skywardstruck]

unbreaking lullaby

Summary: Balan, in hopes of comforting Finrod and reminding him of the time they still have together, gifts him a lullaby passed down among his people. The memories of the Elves are unfading, Balan knows- as long as Finrod remembers, Balan will continue to live.

Rating: General Words: 335 Relationship: Finrod/Bëor

Ao3 link

I’ve always been attached to mortal/immortal ships and Finrod/Bëor is no exception. I really wanted to have Bëor give Finrod a gift to remember him by. Since Finrod is very much associated with music, I thought a lullaby would be perfect- it will never fade over time, as long as Finrod remembers it. I started writing this during a roleplay with @daegred-winsterhand​. In the roleplay, Finrod is in the forest of Lórien, singing the song and accompanying himself on the harp; Beleg, who has also lost a mortal lover of his own, hears Finrod's singing, and the two of them find comfort in each other. This was a challenging rhyming scheme but I'm glad I stuck to it and finished it!

(As a side note, my friend @jee-eun​ has coined the ship name Balanóm for Finrod/Bëor, and I am really hoping this catches on, so please consider spreading it!)

Poem is below the cut.

The moonlight glows for our repose. The world is harsh, the journey long. But as time slows, cast off your woes So you may sleep, I sing this song.

The trees they sway, as here we lay, The leaves, they fall upon the pond, You bid us stay, we lose our way Along the road to Nargothrond,

For I did swear, to join you there. More than the knowledge you impart; Your face so fair, your golden hair, And singing voice have won my heart.

I traveled west, and I was blest To hear your song 'neath starry sky. But now unrest lies in your chest, So I must sing this lullaby:

Across the creek, o’er mountain peak, ‘Round rolling hills and valleys wide, Through flatlands bleak, a light we seek The stars above serve as our guide.

The cricket cries, the black crow spies, And though the night air brings a chill, You would be wise to close your eyes, And let your worried heart be still.

Drift off to sleep, to dreams so deep Of mem’ries fond and futures bright, No blight shall creep to make you weep, In love you lie, this peaceful night.

May your dreams be the most carefree, May nightmares fade and shadows die, May darkness flee away from thee, May rest you find as here you lie.

For when you wake, the day shall break Our journey will begin anew, Your hand I take, to not forsake, The loyalty I have for you.

It is quite clear what you most fear, Our time together is too brief. But I am here right now, my dear, The hour has not yet come for grief.

The Powers' grace, we all must face, Though I do not have long to live, I find my place in your embrace With all the love I have to give.

So in this plea, across the sea, Across time's reach, this I will send: A memory, a melody For you, my love, my dearest friend.

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it    

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow. 

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito​ & @kugutsuu​ for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!  

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on. 

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class. 

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date. 

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings. 

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’ 

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away. 

Fuck. 

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors. 

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students. 

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now. 

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.” 

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess. 

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously. 

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number. 

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago. 

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class. 

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too. 

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing. 

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you. 

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall. 

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine. 

He’s watching you. 

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms. 

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness. 

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass. 

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his. 

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either. 

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged. 

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied. 

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class. 

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his. 

Wait. Sexy? 

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you. 

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit. 

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium. 

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race. 

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed. 

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.  

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips. 

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon. 

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares. 

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs. 

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.” 

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare. 

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God. 

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA. 

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces. 

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips. 

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door. 

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves. 

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you. 

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence. 

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea. 

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright. 

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk. 

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line. 

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow. 

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression. 

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult. 

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name. 

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again. 

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question. 

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.” 

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move. 

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands. 

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin. 

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him. 

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him. 

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin. 

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead. 

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.” 

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that… 

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.” 

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side. 

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.” 

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand. 

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.” 

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin. 

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes. 

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully. 

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath. 

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences. 

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed. 

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter. 

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice. 

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back. 

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips. 

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.  

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs. 

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold. 

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”  

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” 

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless. 

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you. 

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements. 

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.  

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis. 

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N). 

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet. 

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright. 

“What is the cell membrane?” 

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain. 

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance. 

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer. 

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you. 

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin. 

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.” 

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.  

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips. 

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior. 

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.   

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine. 

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus. 

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision. 

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather. 

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait… 

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper. 

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.  

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade. 

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise. 

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts? 

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit. 

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.  

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg. 

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by. 

“Hold still,” he commands. 

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit. 

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form. 

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?” 

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face. 

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you. 

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance. 

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think. 

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–” 

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips. 

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass. 

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need. 

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness. 

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice. 

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head. 

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again. 

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms. 

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good. 

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face. 

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting. 

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips. 

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release. 

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs. 

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders. 

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you. 

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy. 

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​, @libiraki​ <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here. 

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

[loveislattes]

1 + 10 = Dark and Primal (Predator/Prey) Kink

Summary: Exactly what the title says!

Warnings: Reader is gender-neutral but does own a vagina, primal kink roleplay, semi-public sex, dom/sub, squirting, multiple orgasms, and dirty talk. Ye have been warned!

A/N: This is the first fic drabble to come from the number prompt game!

Tag List:

@when-the-sun-goes-dark

@underthedark13

@fruitypieq

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations/tips and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

“Tell me something,” A deep, rich voice spoke suddenly, “What’s a darling thing like you doing out here, all alone, so late at night?”

Instantly your head whipped to the side, eyes narrowing to scrutinize the tree line for any sign of the stranger, but found nothing other than darkness in return. You were about ready to continue on your trek and blame it on the sleepless night when the intruder let out a rumbling chuckle, the noise echoing around you in every direction.

Hairs now standing on end, you clutched your bag tighter to your body and asked nervously, “Who-Who’s there?”

“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

Your lips suddenly felt too dry, the night too cold, the lamp posts too dim, as you belatedly realized that you’d not seen another person on this sidewalk for way too long. It was just you and this stranger.

“I-I’m just walk-walking,” you stammered pitifully.

Dread pooled in your gut and the sense of being utterly alone and helpless intensified egregiously as one by one all the lamp posts in your line of sight flickered out.

“Ooh fuck,” you whispered.

Finally, your self-preservation instinct kicked in and you took off running. It was a dark night, the moon a sliver in waning crescent and providing almost no light. Every slap of your shoes on the ground felt like a league farther from the man. Even as your heart pounded in your ears and your lungs burned with the taste of blood, you didn’t dare slow down. How far would you have to run? Did you dare take your chances hiding out in the woods?

As soon as hope started to rise, it was quickly dashed back down.

“You humans, so fragile.”

The whispered voice in your ear tore a frantic scream from your throat, fear locking up your legs, sending you tumbling forward. Of course you would fall! It wasn’t until he laughed, a smooth luscious sound, that you realized you were braced tight for an impact that hadn’t come.

“What the…”

When your eyes finally opened, you saw the concrete of the sidewalk uncomfortably close to your face but not touching. And then you were lifted. Darkness shrouded your view as arms tightened around your torso and brought you back to your own two feet. A cool gentle breath caressed the shell of your ear seconds before you felt the familiar shape of a nose against your neck.

“I’m giving you one last chance,” he huffed bemusedly, “Think fast but run faster, little fawn, for it will take all of your abilities to escape me.”

“W-Who are you?!” you gasped out.

As the darkness left your vision and the hands retracted from your sides, he purred almost imperceptibly, “I go by Dark, but you may call me sir.”

Then all at once, you were alone. You hesitantly looked around, eyes wide with fear.

“RUN!”

A fearsome screech of terror scratched your throat raw as you stumbled and took off as quickly as possible. You knew if you stayed on the paved path he’d only catch you just as easily as before. You had to chance the forest.

No matter how quiet you tried to be, it felt like every noise you made called out to him thricefold. Your breaths sounded like alarms in your ears and the forest floor cried out like little spies with every timid step you made.

“Oh little fawn, where might you be?”

“Shit,” you whispered in shock.

How were you ever to evade him? It was obvious he wasn’t human. There was no possible way a human could catch up to you without making noise, could track you so perfectly in a nearly pitch black forest. Of course there were also the insane reflexes, catching you so close to the ground, and his ability to speak clearly to you while being nowhere in sight.

Oh so slowly, you let your guard down as you shuffled carefully through the heavily wooded area and got lost in your thoughts; finding out what he was, felt as important as hiding from him. A soft noise of triumph escaped your lips as you spotted a rather large hollow in the base of a giant tree. Your eyes darted around one last time to make sure you didn’t see anyone before you ducked into the wood shelter.

Just as your back pressed up against the trunk, you heard a twig snap outside. The forest was uncannily quiet, no sound of animals nor wind to impede noises made by either you or him.

“A smart little thing you are, aren’t you?”

Your breath caught as fear slammed your heart into your ribcage like a drum. His voice was close, too close. Another crunch of branches and leaves drew your eyes to the right of your hollow. Even in the darkness of the woods, his black pants stood out against the greens and browns. Your assailant was wearing… suit pants? Despite the silliness of the situation, your nerves only increased as he crept closer and closer to you.

“Where are you?” he sang out lowly.

Hushed humming graced your ears delightfully as he passed you, hands clasped behind his back as if simply taking a nice stroll. You couldn’t control the way your stomach fluttered as the beautiful cadence of his voice filled the hollow. Someone so dangerous shouldn’t sound so inviting.

A quick rush of air released from your lungs as he continued on without incident and relief filled your veins. Head falling back, you let your eyes close and took deep slow breaths.

“It’s adorable that you think you’ve won, my little fawn.”

There wasn’t a word deep enough to describe the bone-chilling terror that flooded your body at the sound of his voice so close. Slowly your eyes fluttered open, only to discover a pair of legs standing in front of your only exit.

“Come out now, admit defeat, and I might even be gentle with you, darling,” he offered slyly.

“Fuck you,” you grit out.

Before you could second guess your actions, you bolted forward, right into his legs. While you were sure you didn't harm him, your actions surprised him enough to allow you the room to shove by. You had made it only a couple feet when hands were on you, one gripping your shoulder while the other pinched around the nape of your neck. A cry of shock and pain fled your lips as he shoved you face-first up against the nearest tree and pinned you with his body. Escape was looking more and more like a fool’s dream and yet you didn’t stop wiggling, trying your hardest to break free to no avail.

“Mmm, I do love it when my dinner puts up a fight, makes you smell all that more delectable,” he purred as his thigh slipped between yours, “And don’t fool yourself into believing I can’t smell just how aroused you are.”

Mortification burned up your face and you bit your lower lip hard to contain the distraught noise that threatened to break forth as he leaned into you. The pressure of his thigh served to further argue his point, your panties soaking up the slick between your thighs.

“P-Please,” you whispered shakily.

“Please what?” he mocked, “Please let you go? Now, you know I can’t do that, darling. I’m absolutely ravenous and you’re ripe for the taking.”

Teeth gently grazed the tender flesh of your throat and sent goosebumps across your flesh.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had such a sweet little human to play with,” he groaned quietly.

Fingers teased the sliver of skin poking from beneath your top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with languid little strokes; teeth mimicking the action against your neck.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this, darling. I’ve smelled your interest since the instant you started to run,” he whispered, giving another gentle roll of his hips.

Before you could contain it, an excited little squeak escaped as you felt the hardening bulge grind against your ass.

“There it is. Give in to me,” Dark murmured, “I promise this will be an experience unlike any other.”

You didn’t dare give an answer. The words felt too wrong on your tongue despite the sudden urge in your body demanding an agreement. As terrifying as he was, there was something about his presence that intrigued you. It felt like there was a war going on in your head as you gingerly wiggled your hips back against him and tilted your head to the side, allowing him full access to your neck.

The moan he gave in return made your knees weak.

In one rough movement, you heard the tell-tale rip of your shorts being ruined and then your hips were lifted in the next.

“Ooh, look at the mess you’ve made of yourself, little fawn,” he cooed mockingly as a finger danced across your lips, “It will be all the easier to make you mine.”

That was your only warning before his cock was lined up against your cunt, thick head breeching every so slightly before he slammed in. Tears sprung up into your eyes and you buried your face harder against the bark as a pathetic cry warbled out. It was devastating and heavenly all at once. When he didn’t follow up immediately, you couldn't help but arch back into him.

“What a needy little thing you are,” he chuckled, “I’m going to have so much fun with you before I destroy you.”

Never in a thousand years did you think you’d find yourself in this position, being hunted down and fucked in the middle of the forest, and yet there wasn’t a place you’d rather be in that moment.

Dark’s pace was brutal, the position even more so. Every thrust of his cock rocked you up against the tree, bark scraping and digging at your skin. Every attempt to move back sunk him deeper inside you. It felt like a never ending sea of desire. It wasn’t long until you were begging for more, until the sting of the micro cuts on your skin was just another layer to the destructive pleasure coiling in your core.

“You want more? You want to come? Then touch yourself,” he ordered huskily, “Rub your clit and make yourself come on my cock while I claim you as mine.”

His meaning came through loud and clear. He intended to mark you in the most primitive of ways, in ways no one had before. You’d never let any other come inside you, too afraid of the risks.

“N-No, don’t-”

Fingers dug into your wrist and jerked your hand down between your cunt and the tree, forcing you where you wanted it most.

“It’s no use, darling, it’s too late,” he snickered, “You’re already in the lion’s den and there’s no escape. Not anymore. You belong to me now.”

You could feel his teeth bared a wicked smile against your skin before they clamped down around your throat. Pain exploded and pulsed through your veins with every beat of your racing heart, and yet it pervertedly only urged you faster. Your fingers shook under the duress of all the sensations assaulting your nerves but you worked them nonetheless, too lost to the desire.

His moan rumbled through your very being as you tightened uncontrollably around him, teetering just on the edge of bliss.

“Mine.”

That one word was spoken with such conviction and punctuated with absolute abandon, all sanity lost as you seemingly became a means to an end; a prey to claim and fill.

“Mine! All mine,” he snarled against your shoulder, “Give yourself to me, now!”

His hand came to cover yours and joined in the efforts, frantically abusing your sensitive nub until finally it all snapped.

“Ah f-fuck, D-Dark, oh my god!”

Your ruse slipped as his name spilled from your lips, but you couldn’t care less as everything coalesced with a vengeance. The pain, the pleasure, the emotions. It was all worth it as your pleasure drenched your thighs, a sob falling from your lips in debauched relief. Pulse after pulse of ecstasy rocked through your core as he fucked you through your first climax into another, and then another.

Stifled grunt and moans shifted gradually into full blown snarls of bliss as he threw your hands up against the tree, pinning both with one while his other arm wrapped around your waist and held you in place.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Shot after shot of hot cum filled your core, palpable with every throb of his cock, and you couldn’t resist melting back into him. With a final few thrusts, he released your hands only to pull you in close and hold you upright as he turned, putting himself between you and the tree as you both came down from the high.

“Holy hell,” you giggled, head tilting back to look up at him.

Dark gave a little chuckle and cupped your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks and directing you up into a gentle kiss.

“I promised the full experience. Was anything too much?” he asked.

“Mm-mm. It was perfect,” you whispered.

As best as you could in the awkward position, you snuggled back into him and pulled his arms around you.

“You can hunt me any time you want,” you admitted cheekily.

[abbatoirablaze]

Heaven's Demons, Chapter 34

Word Count:  2k 

Warnings:  angst, mentions of death, mentions of going off the deep end. 

“Five more minutes,” she whimpered, feeling the bed dip from the weight being pressed to its corners.  No one responded and Sweetie clung to the pillow that smelled like Jake.  She gave a relieved sigh, burying her nose into it.  But she froze when she felt his arms wrap around her waist.  He pressed a series of small kisses along the juncture of her neck and across her shoulders, “Jake…”

“The boys are eating breakfast if you want to join them,” he answered, his voice muffled between the kisses that had moved across the back of her shoulders and to her spine.  She shivered and shifted in his arms until she was facing him.  He had a silly smile on his face, “or…you know…we could stay in bed…I do love a good breakfast in bed.”

She sighed, pushing Jake lightly away from herself, “the last time you brought French toast in he-“

“I was talking about eating you,” he said simply, cutting her off with a firm kiss to her lips.  She all but melted into his touch as the biker’s hand reached up and stroked her cheek, “you’ve worked so hard to take care of us, Sweetie…”

“I told you; Steve would help me out…” she said in a small voice.  Jake gave her a sad look and she reached up, grasping his chin, “he said you’re out…and that it’s fine, Jake…Steve-“

“Is your ex,” he reminded her, “he’s probably still not convinced that Dylan and Mikey aren’t his.”

She looked away from him and Jake’s eyes widened, “they’re not his, are they?” 

“It was a foursome, okay?” she said quietly, looking away from him, “I always just assumed that they were Lucas’ because they look like him.  I mean, that was the reason that we broke up.”

“Mikey and Dylan don’t look like him…they look like Steve…” Jake said softly, “that’s probably why he helped…I mean…with Cairo and Lucas they looked like him.  Identical little versions…your boys don’t even look identical.”

“They’re not…” she said softly, “I mean, sure…okay.  They look like Steve a little.  They have the same eyes as him…but the hair color could have been from my side.”

“How much of a chance is there that those kids aren’t Fonzies?” She refused to look at him and he sighed, ”Sweetie?”  

“A good chance…but Lucas didn’t care…he wanted to call them his boys…and he helped me raise them.”

“So, you mean to tell me that those twins might be the president of the entire club?” he asked, his eyes suddenly wide, “no wonder we don’t have to fucking hide out in the safehouse.  I’m surprised he didn’t gut me on arrival.”

“You just don’t know Steve like I do…”

“Ell…Steve is fucking dangerous…”

“Steve and I have an understanding,” she reminded him, “he knows his lines and I know mine.  He doesn’t want to be a dad, and he was cool with Lucas claiming them as his own.  Just like he is cool with you walking away from the club…especially when Andy was pushing that shit into your system.  Steve may not be all there all the time, but he has a moral compass.  He won’ hurt us.”

“He’s gonna kill me, isn’t he?” Jake asked nervously, no longer lost in the sensual moment from just minutes ago.  His hand carded through his hair as he felt his anxiety rising in his chest, “it was way too easy to-“

“Jake…it’s fine…trust me…”

“Baby…he won’t let us-“

“I have something he wants, Jake…trust me.”

“I trust you….I jus-“

But Jake was cut off by a loud slam from the front door, and a few pieces of glass breaking. 

“WATCH WHERE THE FUCK YOU THROW SHIT!” an authoritative voice yelled, “CAN’T YOU GOD DAMNED IDIOTS SEE THE TODDLERS IN THEIR BOOSTER SEATS?”

Jake shot up, his heart going a mile a minute.  He looked back to Sweetie who gave a heavy sigh, “he was supposed to come around noon…”

“ELLIE! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

“COMING STEVE!”

She rolled her eyes, getting up out of bed.  She didn’t stop to look back until she reached the door.  Jake was still in the bed, shell-shocked to his spot next to where she’d been laying.

“Are you coming?”

“Sweetie…I need to know what’s going on…right now.”

“ELLIE!”

“DAMN IT, STEVE!” she yelled, opening her bedroom door.  Steve longingly stared at his ex-girlfriend.  The biker pushed a few strands of the dirty blonde hair that had fallen in front of his face backwards. 

Mikey and Dylan looked between their mom, and the bikers that had gathered by the door and in the kitchen.  While bikers weren’t an odd sight for them, they were looking to her for direction on how to behave.  Cherry had wild eyes as one of them had her cornered near the stove. 

“Brock, back off…”

The man chuckled and took a few steps back, “got yourself a nice little nanny for the boys there, princess?  Cap footing the bill for this too?”

“Steve’s not paying for her, Brock.”

The man gave her a sideways glance before chuckling and taking a few steps towards her.  He was quick to wrap her up in his arms, “good to see you, sis…”

“I wish I could say the same,” she smirked, punching her older brother’s arm, “I swear…you get uglier every time I see you.”

“No worse than you…”

She smiled, and he backed off, looking to the kids, “you guys remember me?  You were itty bitty when I saw you last…”

“They look healthy,” Steve commented, nodding to the twins.  Sweetie shrugged, “got somewhere we can talk about the situation?”

She nodded and Steve made a gesture for his guys to stay back, while he followed Sweetie to the bedroom.  He sneered when she opened the door and he saw Jake inside.

“Gearz…”

“Cap…”

“Get the hell out,” he grumbled, “I need to talk to Ellie…”

Jake was quick to get up, but Sweetie grabbed his arm.  Steve shot her a look and she shook her head, “He’s my old man, Steve…and he can give you details on what Barber and Butcher have been doing to run their chapter into the mud.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, but he sat down on the bed, looking expectantly at the couple.  When Jake didn’t speak, he glared at him, “Ellie told me he’s pushing drugs…but not the ones I’m supplying him with for the prisons…”

Jake nodded, “something up from a place called meth mountain.  I don’t know all the details, but it’s one of the club members exes that runs the suppliers.   He’s a-“

“He?” Steve scoffed, shooting Ellie a look before turning back to Jake, “fuck…we’re okay with this being out now?  When I fucked Buck back in the day our dad’s nearly beat us to hell’s doorstep and back.”

“…yeah…. Charles is a junkie…well, was a junkie.  But he was sober,” Sweetie said sadly, “he set up a plan for us to all come to the safehouse an-“

“Then where the fuck is he, Ellie?”

“I think Andy got him hooked once he realized Jake and I disappeared,” she admitted, “probably gave him back to his ex-boyfriend Nigel when he went up to meth mountain to get a friend that had gone back to using.”

Steve gave a heavy sigh and shook his head, “that all you know?”

“Cherry ran away with us,” she replied quickly, “she was originally supposed to be Bucky’s old lady, but she told us she made a deal with Levi…. but she didn’t want to stick around.  Not after she saw what Barber and Butcher were doing to Gearz…”

Steve nodded thoughtfully, “okay…”

“Steve…I wouldn’t have approached you for nothing,” she said quickly, “you know that…but I promised you when the boys were born if I ever felt like they were in danger I’d leave.  You told me you would protect them even without the paternity test…that town is about to be a blood bath if it isn’t already one…and I didn’t want anything happening to Dylan or Mikey…”

Steve nodded his head, deep in thought, and Jake realized that her not knowing the twin’s paternity was what she had on him.  And while Steve Rogers never expressed any interest in being ‘tied down’ or having an official old lady, those he treated like family were untouchable.  It’s why he personally never had an issue with Junkyard Dogs.  It’s why he ran half the Eastern and Western seaboards. 

“And he’s out?”

Sweetie nodded, “I want him out…”

“But do you want out?”

Jake felt the anxiety bubbling back up as he looked between Sweetie and Steve.  He swallowed the lump in his throat, and he nodded. 

“I’ve got a house in my name…just in case anything ever happened, and you contacted me…for you and the boys,” Steve admitted softly.  He cracked his knuckles and gave her another sad look, “you did the right thing coming to me, El…”

“I didn’t have a choice, Steve…not after I saw Jake locked up in the basement…”

“They shot me up so much I barely remember the beginning of it anymore,” Jake admitted, “I-I remember it was around the time of my concussion…but I don’t remember a lot of what I did…”

Jake stopped speaking, his mind instantly going to the memory of when they shot him up and sent him out with a gun to ‘scare’ Lily and Alice.  Sweetie was quick to grasp his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“Something already happened…didn’t it?”

“Barber made me pull a drive-by on his and Butcher’s old ladies to scare them because they didn’t want to be part of the lockdown…” Jake admitted, a few tears falling down his cheeks, “I-I didn’t hit his kid…but I shot his old lady…and Butchers…”

“Butcher nearly beat him to death because the bullet grazed his old lady and she miscarried.”

Steve took a deep breath and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. 

“They say I’m fucking crazy,” he grumbled, shaking his head as he took a long drag, “you got those drugs in your system still?”

Jake shook his head quickly. 

“No,” Sweetie answered, “I’ve detoxed him…it’s been three weeks since we ran, Steve…”

“Well then…you should know that I heard from Levi…some more shit has happened since then….” He admitted, “Barber called me to come down because of conflict with the Junkyard Dogs…they cut the brakes on Fonzie’s old lady’s car…his boys weren’t wearing seat belts and died…”

Sweetie gasped, her hands leaving Jakes as they rushed to cover her mouth, “oh god…”

“Your information checks out though El…” Steve said slowly, “I’m going down to figure out what the hell’s going on…gonna take your brother and a few more guys with me…but I’m going to send Clint and Bruce with you…they’re going to make sure you, Gearz, and the boys get up to the house okay…and they’re going to stay with you until I get back…”

“Steve…we don-“

He held his hand up, effectively cutting her off, “Ellie…I told you I’d take care of you, baby.  I know what we had was just some hookups inside of a swinging relationship…but I care about you…just like I care about Mikey and Dylan…now, you know I don’t want nothing serious…can’t have that in my position, but I’m not going to let anyone hurt you or my boys.  I don’t need a fucking test to tell me they’re not Lees, they’re Rogers.  No one is going to touch you baby.  I am not going to let Barber go off the deep end and try to find any of you…”

She nodded and he stood.  She reached out and he pulled her to his chest, “thank you, Steve.”

“Wait?” Jake asked, re-thinking about the words that he’d heard Steve say, “you said me, the boys, and Sweetie…what about Cherry?”

“She’s going to be coming with me,” Steve said solemnly, “I’ve never had a problem with Buck…but he’s only the VP.  I know Cherry is their president’s daughter, and if she’s gone missing-“

“Steve…she can’t go back.”

“Sorry baby…but not everyone gets a happy ending,” he shrugged, stomping out his cigarette.  Then he looked to Jake, “you ever hurt her or my boys…a hair on any of their fucking heads is so much as out of place and I’ll end you.”

“Steve…”

“Give me a reason, Gearz…”

Chapter 35

Tag list:  @lohnes16, @elbell20-blog, @stockholmdolly, @terrormonster55, @dontbescaredtosingalong, @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[tare-anime]

13.  The pie showdown…..? (AO3)

Prompt: “You’re out of your damn mind.”

I borrow the idea for this chapter from the super talented @lacrow :D

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

The Forger parents were going on a date on one bright calm day. They were going to return home when they saw people crowding at the front of a newly opened shop in their neighborhood. 

"Oh? They opened a new bakery shop here, Loid," Yor curiously peeked through people's shoulders, "I wonder what made people gather like this?" 

"I don't know. Perhaps they're selling something hyped?" 

Loid was honestly not that interested in such things, but he was kind of curious as to what made these people gather around. 

Suddenly Loid could smell something delicious. What perked his interest was not only the "delicious" part but more of how the aroma invoked a childhood memory in him. Something that had been buried deep down inside. 

It made him longing for the warmth. 

A special warmth that he had forgotten.

Furrowing his brow, now full with curiosity, Loid peered into the stall. 

"Welcome!! Welcome!! Come and join the festivities of our grand opening, by tasting our signature pies!!" The announcer addressed the crowd. 

"This pie was made by a special secret recipe that had been lost for decades. Brought to you by our talented bakers!!" The announcer then dramatically showed the freshly baked pie to the crowd, "The mother's pie!" 

While the crowd oohed and ahhed, the announcer exaggerated how the crust of the pie sounds when cut, and showed the audience its filling. 

When the announcer added a more dramatic background story of how the recipe was rediscovered, Loid immediately recognized the shape and texture as common pie from Westalia. Something that his own mother used to make. 

Obviously, these Ostanian people wouldn't admit it was Westalia's food, for it might hinder its selling point. But by then, Loid was already interested in trying to judge whether these pies were as good as his mother's.

"These amazing pies will commence selling to a limited number of orders so place your pre-order now!" 

Loid rolled his eyes. 

Of course, they will do that.

Then the announcer smirked, "However, for those who're eager to try now, they may participate in our pie eating contest!" 

He continued, "And whoever wins this competition, will have these unique utensil set as their prize!" 

Loid's eyes widened when he instantly recognized the utensils as the herb grinder his mom loved so much. She had always ground fresh herbs to spice up their foods, and she did it with such a warm smile while telling him fairy tales of past. Loid had always cherished the memory deep down in his heart.

Once he’d thought of buying the thing for a memento. But he was always busy with WISE missions, and then ended up at Ostania, which of course would not sell any of Westalia's iconic tools. Thus he never could purchase one.

"What is that, Loid?" Yor chimed from his side, noticing the unusual soft expression coming from the man.

The blond man smiled at her and carefully answered, "It's a…. Fresh herb grinder. My mom used to own one back in the day and used it often for cooking." 

"Do you want it?" 

He chuckled, "I just suddenly remembered her and her antics when she used that thing."

"Is that so?" 

"Mhmm….. it's a very uncommon tool. I don't know where they got that," he sighed and closed his eyes, pushing those sentimental memories back inside the locket of his mind. 

"Nevermind that. Shall we go home now?" He glanced at his side to only find that Yor wasn't there. 

"Yor?" 

Puzzled, he looked around, trying to locate his wife among the crowd. 

"And we have these 10 brave contestants!!!" 

At the loud announcement, Loid looked at the stage. He was so astonished to see that Yor was among the contestants. 

The man then pushed through the sea of people to get as close as possible.

"Yor, what are you doing?!" 

"Relax, Loid. Leave it to me!" Yor just grinned and gave him a thumbs up. 

.

Against all odds, Yor had won said competition by a narrow margin. Both of them now sat down at the park bench.

Yor was sitting with her leg stretched out and patting her tummy, "Oooff.... that... was really something."

"You're out of your damn mind! 42 pies??!" Loid was still flabbergasted at how fast his wife gulped down pie after pie several minutes ago.

"They're palm-sized, and actually taste wonderful," She answered nonchalantly and then pointed to the box at Loid's hand, "Plus I was aiming for the first price after all." 

Loid was speechless. 

His mind played flashbacks regarding his life as a spy. 

A spy will never get any appreciation from others. They give all their blood, sweat, and even life, but they would never receive even a simple thank you, let alone recognition.��

But here he was holding a gift. A thing that he had always wanted in a silent wish. 

And how this woman at his side had participated in a silly competition, just to fulfill his dream.

His heart felt so warm.

He couldn't help but crack a grin. A genuine grin. A very warm and genuine big smile that split his face in two.

"Thank you, Yor. I .... I really appreciate this." 

And he would always treasure the gift.

Yor looked at him, and she felt her own face grow warm. Because this is the first time she ever saw him smiling that big and bright. A warm genuine smile. 

And she felt proud because after what he had done for her, she finally could do something to return the favor.

"You're very welcome, Loid."

They looked at each other for quite some time, before suddenly they felt awkward, and both looked the other way, faces flushed.

All of a sudden, Yor felt her stomach start to face the consequences of eating too much pie, and she felt as if they wanted to come out with a vengeance.

She clasped her mouth and immediately ran to the nearest trash bin to empty her stomach. 

Loid worriedly ran after her, "Yor!!!!"

She heaved and clutched the bin’s side to steady herself, "I'm okay…. I just….."

And she hurled once again. 

Loid rubbed her back sympathetically. 

He knew right there and then what to make with his gift: something to ease his wife's stomach discomfort as soon as they got home.

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

I can never get tired of Yor making Loid smile ^^

NEXT >>

<< PREVIOUS

MASTERLIST

[youryanderedaddy]

I like your posts, it's always cool. May i ask a yandere concept between an innocent, protected princess and a prince who obsessed with her from the first time they met, and force against her will. Thanks so much, love your writing :3

Thanks, anon, that means a lot <3 If you haven't noticed, I am oBseSSed with royalty stuff so I rlly enjoyed writing this. It's slightly different tho, but the idea is there.

Title: We all fall down

tw: female reader, non - consensual touching, obsessive behavior, coercion, implied forced marriage, war mention, abuse of power

It was cold when you woke up, terribly so. The room was spacious enough, there was bright sunlight coming from all four windows on each wall and you were sure that your sheets were warm and puffy even without looking down at them, yet it still felt freezing. You soon realized the place wasn’t simply cold, it was different too. It looked nothing like your own room back at the Southern Palace with its countless colourful pictures, books shattered all over the ground and a fireplace just across the queen – sized bed. Before you had a chance to sigh in annoyance, a quick glance to the other side reminded you of the bigger problem. Him.

“Good morning, princess.” The man greeted you cheerfully, his voice still deep and husky from the early hour. He was laying against the wooden doorframe, the sly smirk you had grown to hate over the years once again adorning his red lips. You stared at him for a moment, then rubbed your eyes to chase the fatigue away, fruitlessly so. You were too tired and sleep – deprived to play – pretend, which of course didn’t go unnoticed by the nobleman.

“You don’t look too well, princess.” He teased with a cheeky grin and walked towards the bed, stopping just before his legs hit the edge of the frame. You puffed softly, but remained quiet just so you wouldn’t have to answer him just yet. “And look at your state, darling…” The heir continued, clicking his tongue in a mocking “tsk, tsk,tsk”. “Your nightgown is a mess, I can see all of your beautiful curves.” The heir paused to lick his lips in a disgusting, suggestive way, and you had to repress the need to vomit all over the beautiful yellow sheets. “In our kingdom such appearance counts as an invitation, did you know that?” He added, smiling sharply, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, satisfied at the way his words made you embarrassed, flustered and jumpy so early in the morning.

“Your Highness, I would like to properly remind you that it was you who forced me to drink and dance all night.” You responded heatedly, all while fixing the straps of your silky dress to at least cover your cleavage. “You wouldn’t let go of my hand for a second. It’s your fault that I look like this.” You remarked, slightly offended by the man’s jokes, despite being used to his terrible humor after all those long years of shared parties and celebrations.

“If that is really so, my lady, please let me make it up to you.” The prince replied in the same smooth, carefree voice of his, the one he used before while talking to the maids and the peasant girls he wanted to bed. It made you sick to think of yourself as just another of his conquests, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth – you couldn’t stand the dark – haired male, his arrogance and absolute ignorance. “Join me for breakfast and I shall have our best cook serve your favorite meal.” The heir announced and winked at you before turning on his heels and finally leaving the room without hearing whether you agreed to his offer or not. You didn’t even have the chance to ask him how he knew what your favorite dish was or why he entered your room without permission, such a lack of manners was unsuited for a soon-to-be king. Perhaps you could use his inconsiderate behavior as an excuse to stay in bed until lunch but deep down you knew it was pointless. The egotistic little bastard knew you had no choice since you two had a lot to discuss.

---

The breakfast, if not anything else, was rich and delicious, each bite tasty and mouth – watering. The sweet aroma of cinnamon tea, vanilla and powdered sugar filled your senses with ease and a little bit of nostalgia for your childhood. The hardest part was yet to come, you wanted to deal with it fast and go home as soon as possible. As for Arthur, it was the first time you saw him serious with his brows arched and his thoughts all over the place. The uneasiness came back with full force.

“I think you know what we want, princess.” The male declared sternly after looking at the map for a while. His eyes were blue and clear, piercing in the way they were focused on you and you alone with no one else in the hall to act as a barrier between you and the monster. You understood why it had to be only you two, but these deals were always an open secret in both kingdoms, so there weren’t many reasons to keep the tradition going. “We want our territory back. We want you to surrender.” The heir hissed eerily under his breath, his pupils fixed on your frame, burning the skin underneath the thick layer of rough fabric.

You didn’t know how to respond to this – the dynasty’s requests had always been ridiculous and far – fetched, but never as impossible as this one. Yes, your land used to belong to the East centuries ago, but after several long, bloody, sacrificial wars where many of your men lost their lives, it was won fair and square. Now all your subjects lived there happily and freely, rightfully so.

“Your Majesty, please don’t dwell on the past. It will never come back.” You responded shortly after, laughing nervously at the end, hoping that would be enough for Arthur to drop the subject. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case.

“Is that so, dearest? You have two weeks then.” The prince said coldly, narrowing his eyes like a fox. You opened your mouth to speak but quickly got cut off. “Prepare your troops, train the soldiers, announce the incoming war to your people.” The man chuckled darkly and threw the map all the way across the room. “You better get ready for a thunderstorm.” He added just to mess with you some more, just to see your face turn white from the shock and the panic.

“You can’t do that!” You shouted out suddenly and stood up from your chair, feeling cornered and suffocated. You hated the prince’s constant teasing and flirty remarks but you would have never guess him to be a cold-blooded conqueror. “This is too cruel even for you!” You screamed, the tears already blooming down your cheeks, hot and wet. Arthur spared you one condescending look before moving closer and trapping your body against the table, towering over you both physically and metaphorically, as if saying “Let’s see who has the stronger mind.”

“I will get what I want no matter the cost and there is little you can do to stop me, princess.” The heir pronounced slowly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his hard gaze, full of intense yet unreadable emotion. There was nothing left of the sly cheerful boy standing against your doorframe, teasing you about meaningless little things, and you almost missed him now. “But what you can do is stop the needless violence and bloodshed, Y/N.” You despised the way your eyes lit up at his words, but, as always, your duty was above your comfort and happiness. “What can I do?” You uttered quietly, a part of you too scared to hear the answer, the other anticipating it.

“Marry me.” The prince stated in a deep patronizing voice. His eyes were dark and sharp, just like before, and there wasn’t a trace of his usual gleeful smile. He grabbed your wrists in a painful grip and pulled them up, holding them against his broad shoulders. “We can unite the kingdoms and live our Happily Ever After. No one has to die.” The man whispered surprisingly softly, his chest heaving with each passing breath. “I can make you happy, dearest.”

You gasped in shock as soon as the proposal left his lips. Every fiber in your body was frozen still, your whole being shaken up by the unexpected offer.

“Why do you want to marry me?” You asked frantically, squirming to loosen up his grasp on your hands just to feel it tighten up even more. This was going to bruise for sure. “Isn’t it obvious?” The noble exhaled slowly, staring at you, trying desperately to find the compassion and affection he hoped you had grown to hold for him over the years. His heart broke once he realized there wasn’t any, but it didn’t matter. Feelings could change in a matter of minutes.

“I’ve loved you since day one, my princess.” His attention drifted to your open mouth, especially your soft full lips. Oh, how much he dreamt of taking you and relishing in the whines and moans you would surely let out once he decided to claim you as his own. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.” The heir confessed, his face moving closer and closer to your own, forcing you to arch your back more and more until it hit the table. Before you knew it, he was pinning you to the hard wooden surface, caging you in, kissing you violently, furiously. You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t say no.