#i can see it being a bad habit to mess with your lip ring

[madwcman]

Mess It Up 2

wc: 1.3k | miu masterlist

cw: second chance romance, shy! reader, plus! size reader

“I keep thinking maybe if you let me back in, we can make it better, breaking every habit.”

Avoiding Remus seemed to be quite difficult. His eyes always seem to be on you. Whether it was sitting down at the table or getting drinks his eyes seemed to follow you. It was a little nerve wracking. But thankfully the night was coming to an end. As everyone was leaving one by one, first Lily and James, then Sirius, then Peter. It was just you, Mary and Remus. After a second of some uncomfortable silence you decided it was your time to go. You give Mary a goodbye hug, and a rush goodbye to Remus. You feel the cool air the night brings you as you leave the pub. You let out a relieved sigh, it was over.

“Y/n! Wait!” You internally groan in your head, of course Remus would follow you out. He wanted to talk. You weighed your options. It was either ignore him and let him keep calling out for you or get this over with. You heaved another sigh turning around.

“What can I do for you, Lupin?” Remus comes to a full stop. And he frowns a bit. “We’re on a last name basis? Ouch.” You glare at him. “What do you want?”

He’s silent for a second, debating in his head on what to say. He knows you’re still upset with him. He settles with a pitty smile. “You know we’re going to have to talk about this at some point, right?

“Right, of course.” He smiles now, a real smile. He’s smiling with his teeth, you look down to his bottom lip, his small scar stretches. You slip a small smile but quickly relax your face and narrow your eyes hoping Remus didn’t notice. “What are you smiling about?” You snip at him, you’re trying your hardest to be a little mean.

“Nothing,” you look at him skeptical, he shrugs as his smile turns more sheepish and shy. “This is the most you’ve talked all night.”

Oh, you didn’t realize. Your face goes blank. You have no quick response to Remus.

“Oh, you guys are still here?” You both turn to see Mary. Your face feels hot, your body tenses, you internally scream. “Yeah, me and y/n were just catching up.” Mary's eyebrows furrow with confusion. “y/n and I went to school together.”Remus quickly explains, Mary turns to you, you shake your head confirming what Remus just told her.

“Well- it was good to see you Remus,” you lie through your teeth and quickly turn to Mary. “Want to walk back with me?”

“Yeah!” You and Mary lived at the same apartment complex. You were relieved that you always had Mary for company. And even more relieved and thankful she saved you from this conversation with Remus. After Mary’s quick goodbye to Remus, you start your stroll back home.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You promise your friend, softly. Drained from tonight.

“You seem tense when Remus is around.” You curse at your friend in your head for being so observant. You softly hum, offhandedly looking forward not wanting to look Mary in her eyes as you lie to her. “I didn’t notice.”

“Right, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Then it’s quiet for the rest of the walk. You don’t know what to tell Mary. It’s not like Remus did anything wrong, or bad but, what he did wasn’t exactly good either. Even though Remus hurt your feelings back when you were friends, you still have a feeling to protect him. You don’t want Mary to have an opinion on Remus before she actually gets to know him.

You both made it to the complex, you turn to Mary and wish her a good night. Entering your apartment you head straight to your room. You’re exhausted, but you still have your nightly routine. You groan. But you shuffle across your apartment getting ready for the night. A few minutes later you fall into bed sleeping alone.

Waking up to your phone ringing wasn’t ideal. It was actually annoying. You quickly grab your phone and answer the call. “What?” It comes out rude, slow and a little sleepy.

“Hello to you too.” You hear the amusement in his voice but you can’t help closing your eyes, you feel the dreadful feeling taken over when you hear his voice. “How did you get my number?” You grumble into the phone.

“You seem so happy to hear from me.”

“Well, of course! What girl doesn’t love speaking to a guy who ripped her heart out?” You sass back, your sarcasm voicing out. It’s quiet on the other line. You feel as if you overdone it. “I’m sorry, Remus.”

“No, it’s fine.” There’s a beat of silence, that’s awkward. But Remus clears his throat. “Anyways, I need your address.”

“What?”

“I need your address. We’re hanging out.”

“No we’re not.” You resort, you’re not hanging out with Remus Lupin.

“Yes we are.”

“Remus, no we’re not.”

“We need to work this out.” He’s stubborn and firm on his decision. But you are too.

“No.” You hang up the phone, not wanting to hear Remus out.

The dreadful feeling is back an hour after the phone call, when you hear a knock at the door. Walking over to the door you look through the peephole, you see Remus.

“You’ve got to be joking.” You hope that if you're quiet enough that Remus will leave.

Another knock on the door. You stay silent, you even go as far as holding your breath. “I know you’re here.” Your hope is crushed. You let out the air you’ve been holding as you open the door “How’d you find me?”

“Lily,” He shrugs his shoulders, as if it was nothing. “Okay, get ready. We're going out.”

“Where?”

“The park.” you’re definitely not going to park with him, no matter what.

You’re mad with yourself. You are currently out at the park with Remus. He bribed you outside of your apartment with lunch and a trip to the bookstore. It’s embarrassing how quickly you folded. It’s shameful.

You’re both seated at a bench. You find yourself a little speechless at the moment. You're waiting for Remus to say something to break this awkward silence.

“I think we should become friends again.” You stare at Remus as if he’s crazy. He says it as if becoming friends again will be easy. He laughs at your facial expressions. He knows it’ll be harder than it sounds, but he’s determined. He misses you. “I’m serious, you know.” He stops laughing, moving his body towards you. You look up to him, he does look serious, there’s not a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m still not sure.” You say skeptical, Remus knew this was going to happen. You had every right to be skeptical. But he’s going to prove it to you.

“I know, but I think we can do this.” he’s trying to reassure you, His large scarred hand grabs yours, holding it.

“Maybe,” you’re still not sure, but you don’t want to make anything awkward or weird for your friends. “I'll think about it.” You snatch your hand back from Remus and scoot away from him.

“I’m okay with that.” He scrunched his eyebrows a little, he was a little hurt that you snatched your hand back, but he does understand. “I think we should skip out on the book store and lunch.” You offer, you feel awkward and a little bad for offering this suggestion. You just need to be alone for a bit. “No, come on let me treat you!” Remus has always been nice, that’s a problem for you. It’s always been hard to tell him no.

“I’m sorry, but not today.” Your voice is soft, you have to set a boundary. “Just let me think about this.”

“Okay.” Remus smiles at you, it doesn’t stretch all the way. This smile doesn’t really stretch any of his scars on his face either. It’s not a real smile.

You grin at him, politely. And then stand up, you decide to head home and to think about what Remus asked. To become friends again, it wasn’t going to be easy. Not when you still miss Remus more than a friend, but you think you could put this aside and work it out for Lily. You’re not going to mess it up.

tag list: @amatoanima + if you want to be added feel free to ask!

[moonlesslights]

Like you saw him.

Summary: Being the owner of a little bakery brings you closer to Mr. Scrooge. Seeing him every day is an habit by now, so it is obviously concerning when it is almost closing time and he hasn’t shown yet.

A/N: This man is big, and his big shoulders can crush me any day. Still, I let you here with some fluff and just a little bit of sexual innuendos. Enjoy and lots of love!

…

You saw him everyday.

Most of the time, by morning; when he walked through the bakery doors to ask for the new recipe you manage to create every week. Some other occasions, when work was tough, he would came by when the sun was already setting, asking (rather demanding) for the weekly and most expensive bread you had.

Today is one of those days.

There are only five minutes left of working hours before you close the shop like every other night. You know your parents will grow worried if you are late to home again, and by that you know that there had been only two occasions where you didn’t arrive home at time. Last christmas night, when a complete family showed up out of nowhere to buy tons of bread but keeping you for almost another half an hour; and the time when you sprained your ankle on your way back and weren’t able to walk much more from there.

Neither of both scenarios assure you your father wouldn’t leave home immediately to look for you if you spend a minute more sitting here. But you just can’t go with your last and traditional delivery still missing.

Your eyes dart at the clock in the back of the store, sighing. Just two minutes to nine. Just two minutes and you would be forced to leave.

Trying to distract yourself for the intimidating clock hands moving on an unstoppable pace, you continue your writing on your little notebook, adding quick annotations, encircling keywords and underlining some others to remember your future self to read that right and not miss any step (again). Your next work is almost done, at least in what theory respects.

Nine o’clock.

It was over.

You purse your lips, felling uneasy as you reach for your coat and scarf, slowly scanning the freezing and lonely streets that awaited for you. You frown. What if something happened?, what if he didn’t like this weekly bread as much as the past ones?, oh my, was it your fault?

No. Wait. And why should you care?, it is his goddamn business if he doesn’t think your cooking is good enough. He can look for another bakery if he wishes so, let’s see if they save a damn peace alone just for…

Ding.

Your neck almost cracks when the doorbell rings and you turn to see the entering figure with a bad, if at all, dissimulated surprise covering your features.

And there he was. Covered in snowflakes and leaving a snowy mess all over the shop floor. His dark coat seemed to be little for the sharp cold city tonight, but you couldn’t catch a single hint of shivers running through him, not even when his gloveless hands wiped off some more white dust of his clothes. Rather than that, he appears to have been in a hurry with his reddened cheeks and unfazed breathing.

And you knew you shouldn’t have, but you smiled, sincere, almost relieved to see him there.

He had always had that effect on you. You never knew why, why did the most hated man of this city caused you to do nothing but relax in his presence, why did everyone despised him, why didn’t you. Safety is the usual word that come across your mind. You feel safe with him. He may be grumpy, serious and alarmingly rude, but you don’t think he could ever hurt you (as long as you're not indebted to him).

“Good evening, Mr. Scrooge.” Your greeting goes unanswered as he moves towards you, still trying to catch his breath. “Do you feel unwell?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” He does answer to that.

You nod, watching how his eyes travel along all the remaining bread of the afternoon and, as always, waiting for his usual request.

However, one thing goes unplanned.

“I believe I arrived a little too late. Goodnight.”

As unpredictable his appearance was, his return to the exit doors was even more. His back was facing you before you could even register what had happened and his steps were hurried towards the cold streets again.

You frown, turning your gaze to him and to what he was watching a second ago with your mouth wide open. Two times until it hits you: the little wooden shelf where you kept the weekly creation was totally empty.

“Wait!” His hand on the handle, his body stiffens at your sudden call. He only gives you a sided look, refusing to let you see more of him. “You are here for the new bread, aren’t you?”

Another unanswered question.

You huff, shaking your head.

“Y’know, everything would be resolved if you just told me what you want…” You state while looking down and taking a paper box with one of your hands. Sighing, you place it on top of the counter. “Voilà.”

Slowly, he returns his face to you. Suspicious, he wrinkles his nose, asking you with a single lifted eyebrow what was that.

“Bread. The bread. The last one. Only for you.” You say almost in defeat. “Now, could you please take it?, it is already really late.”

You look up at him and he receives you with an unusual expression on his face. So much that it takes you by surprise.

His eyes are wide open and his mouth remains unclosed. Now both of his brows are slightly lifted as you can hear him almost gulp. You have never seen his pupils light up like this, almost like a tiny star trapped in there. His lips parted, you can see as one on the corners of his mouth fight to remain pointing down.

Screw you, Mr. Scrooge, you find yourself thinking as you watch closely his salt and pepper hair covered still in small snowflakes, his crooked nose and big shoulders underneath his clothes, making me lose my time, getting on my nerves… I don’t know why I still-

“I want you to come to have dinner in my house.”

Now, what?

“What was that?” You ask, suddenly snapping out of your trance.

He looks at you for a solid second before stating again:

“I want you to come to have dinner in my house.” This time he repeats every word with a considerable separation between each of them.

You tilt your head, remaining quiet for quite an unreasonable amount of time just trying to figure out the words coming to your ears. He has left you astonished and you can hear a little you mocking your saying of always having something smart to say.

Well, look at you now…

“Eh, mhm… Why?” You find out that was the only thing able to be formed by your mouth.

Little did you know, your companion was, if not more, falling into nervousness at the same time as you did.

What the hell had gotten to his mouth?

What was he even thinking?

“Because I want to.”

Your mouth falls open. Blinking slowly in his direction, you find yourself fighting to process the very conversation you were having right now. 

“Because you want to?” 

Ebenezer clears his throat, putting on his most confident face. 

“You told me to tell what I want.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I want that. I want you to join me to dinner.”

You blink again, and suddenly, his words snap in your head. Yes, you did tell him that, but you could have never believed he would have take it this literal. In less than a second, a smile takes over your lips, bringing a bursting laugh to your throat. 

“Are you serious?!” You ask, even more excited that you would’ve had like. 

Ebenezer nods, big open eyes with confussion looking at your reaction. You laugh again, giving him a big toothy smile and... He could have died right there. 

You just gave him that smile. The smile you gave when you were really happy, the smile he only had seen a few times, never to him, never in his direction. And maybe someone else would have scolded you for your lack of decency in that thunderous laugh, but him... He was fascinated. If you just stopped in the middle of it you would’ve had caught his bright pupils and the smile threatening to cling onto his own lips. 

“I would love to, Mr. Scrooge.” You finally take him out of his trance, welcoming him with another warm smile. 

“Ebenezer.” He rushes to say. 

Your eyes soften even more, nodding. 

“I would love to have dinner with you, Ebenezer.” You conceed. “When?”

“Christmas.” He bursts out, taking you aback. Well, that would be a hell of a long talk with your parents to be absent on that day, but still...

“Sure. That sounds amazing.” 

He smiled. 

A year has passed and looking back on that day, you can’t believe how much things have changed. 

Now, after a beatiful wedding only two months ago and another dog, you finally moved in to his house. Both have made a lot of remodelations and bought a lot more of decorations. In his words: The house came to life when you first set a foot on it. In yours: He was just a little careless. 

Now he is the first one to taste your weekly creation after, as always, trying to “help you” cooking. He and the two dogs usually are just there to make a mess and, every time, you end up with several hand marks in flour covering your hips, waist, belly and sometimes other places. 

Now he takes as an excuse how messy you both are after cooking to take you to the bath with him. He always insists to undress you, taking his time to caress your body, softly, before insisting again in washing your hair when you get into the bathtub. Then, sometimes, he gets cooky as he unbuttons his shirt, smiling when he catches your gaze on his exposed skin; some other times he just uses this excuse to bury himself in you, slowly, spilling water all over the floor everytime he pushes. 

Now he waits for you to fall asleep every night before he does. Taking you in his arms, your breath lulling him to sleep. Easing his hearth. And every day, his eyes, full of love, wish you good morning as he playfully pecks your lips. He makes breakfast, meals are usually out, when he takes a break from work and takes you to different restaurants all around the city; dinner is on you. He sets the table and you spoil him with a homemade food made with the groceries he always insist on shopping with you. 

Now, he might still be the most hated man in the city. But your love for him remains as untouched as the one that started growing in you since the very first day you saw him. 

[harrywavycurly]

Summary: What’s the point of having a bestfriend if they won’t act like your fake boyfriend from time to time? Except this time it’s you being asked to be Eddie’s fake wife…at a wedding.

A/N: I don’t know why this exact scenario came to my mind but here we are I also don’t know if they are in love or not yet but I hope y’all enjoy, this is based off of these posts✨

-For more fake dating content look here!

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” You smooth out the top of your dress as Eddie looks around seeing if he recognizes anyone. “This is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.” You mumble as you reach into Eddie’s jacket pocket so you can grab your lipstick.

“I think the time we almost caught Harrington’s pool house on fire is still the winner for stupidest thing we’ve ever done.” You roll your eyes as Eddie smirks at you while you reapply your lipstick.

“We? That was all you Munson.” You argue as you put your lipstick back in his pocket. “You’re the one who dropped the cigaret onto the stack of towels.” You explain as you look over Eddie’s shoulder and see people gathering around the doors of the reception hall.

“You’re the one who asked me for a smoke you asshole.” He states as he messes with the collar of his dress shirt, you know he’s uncomfortable so you just reach over and unbutton the top two buttons making him let out a sigh of relief as if he can magically breathe again causing you to playfully roll your eyes.

“I still can’t believe you told her we were married.” Eddie just shrugs as he runs a hand through his hair as you fiddle with the skull ring that’s on the ring finger of your left hand. “Why couldn’t you just say we were dating? Why’d you instantly go full on marriage?” You ask as Eddie reaches over and tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

“She asked how we were doing and I just kinda blacked out and said we were doing good.” He answers as his hand lands on your hip, something you’ve gotten used to over your decade of friendship with Eddie is how unaware of personal space he is so him having a hand on you at all times feels more normal than him keeping them to himself. “She got so happy when I told her we were together. Said something about how she always knew we’d end up together or some shit so next thing you know she’s inviting us to this because it’s a celebration of love and all that bullshit.” You lightly smack his hand when he tries to bring it up to his mouth to chew on his nails, one of his nervous habits.

“Celebration of love? It’s a fucking wedding Eddie. We are at Chrissy Cunningham’s fucking wedding pretending to be married. Do you hear how crazy that sounds?” You feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back as he moves to stand next to you as the announcement that the bride and groom have made their entrance.

“We act like we are married all the time what’s the big deal?” He asks as you shoot him a glare.

“Not in front of people we actually know.” You snap as his hand slides a little lower making you smack his chest. “Now is not the time Edward.” Eddie just chuckles as he gives your ass a light pat before he pulls you closer into his side.

“We know exactly one person in this room sweetheart and it’s the bride so I think we’ll be okay.” You let out a huff as you feel his lips press into the side of your head, you know to everyone watching this little interaction looks like a cute moment between a couple, not two bestfriends.

“Isn’t this weird for you? You’ve loved her since like middle school and we just watched her get married and now we’re about to eat horrible food and get drunk off cheap booze at her reception.” You lean into him a little as you wrap your arm around his middle. Eddie just laughs and shakes his head making some of his hair fall into his face.

“First off it was a crush don’t be so fucking dramatic so no, it’s not weird and secondly the food might not be that bad.” You just laugh as the two of you watch Chrissy maker her way through the crowd of people, slowly getting closer to the two of you.

“So how are we playing this then? Are we newly married and still grossly in love? Or have we been married for like five years and everything you do annoys me?” You ask as Eddie’s grip on your waist tightens as Chrissy smiles at the two of you as she heads straight for you.

“A mix of both? I’m annoying but you love me.” He answers as he leans over and places a kiss to your cheek making you smile.

“I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see the two of you together.” You just smile and look at Eddie who’s already staring at you with a small smirk on his face.

“Well you know everyone has their breaking point and I think after the tenth time he asked me out I finally just had to give in to the begging.” You feel Eddie’s fingers dig into your waist as you reach over and pat his chest making Chrissy laugh.

“But look at us now honey.” You internally cringe at the petname making Eddie smile as he looks from you to Chrissy. “Happier than ever.” Chrissy just claps her hands together and lets out a little squeal and before either of you two can react she’s throwing her arms around you both.

“I just knew you two would end up together. It’s always been so obvious how perfect you two are for each other.” She gushes as she pulls away, you toss a glance over at Eddie seeing how he’s handling the situation and you feel yourself blushing when you see he’s looking at you with a small smile on his face.

“Speaking of perfect for each other, you two make a gorgeous couple. The ceremony was just lovely.” Chrissy just smiles at your kind words as she looks over her shoulder at her husband.

“He’s so cute isn’t he?” She jokes making you chuckle as you rest your hand on Eddie’s chest giving her a nice view of your ring.

“Oh he’s the cutest.” She just laughs at Eddie’s teasing and you realize she really hasn’t changed much since high school she’s still the giggly sweet girl who used to let you cheat off her in chemistry.

“Well I’ll be sure to catch up with you two later. I’ve got to finish making the rounds.” You and Eddie just smile and nod as Chrissy heads off towards another guests.

“Begging? Really? The beginning of our love story is that I begged you for a date?” Eddie asks as you both drop your arms from around each other. You mindlessly reach over and brush some of his hair out of his face as he looks around for the bar.

“What would you have preferred I said honey?” You watch a smirk take over his face making you roll your eyes, he knows how much you hate that petname.

“I don’t know maybe that you couldn’t resist my charming wit or my devilishly handsome good looks?” You bring your hand up to cover your mouth to hide your laughter as Eddie just glares at you.

“You’ve been reading too much Nora Roberts.” Eddie playfully swats your hands away as they come up to try to pinch his cheek making you laugh. You move so you’re standing in front of him and loosely wrap your arms around his neck. “If you get us some drinks I’ll be nice and tell everyone at our table we met and fell in love in a super cute cliché type of way.” Eddie’s arms snake around your waist as you try to bargain with him.

“Love at first sight?” He asks as he raises an eyebrow at you as you roll your eyes.

“Sure I’ll tell them you fell in love with me the moment you saw me.” You tease as you play with the hair at the back of his neck.

“You’re such an asshole.” He mumbles as he leans in and places a kiss to your lips. “Oh fuck sorry I didn’t warn you. This couple was staring at us so I just figured they’d look away if we were being-“ You cut off his rambling with another kiss making him smile as you pull away.

“You talk too damn much Munson.” You bring your thumb up to his mouth and wipe off some of your lipstick making him huff. “Now go get some drinks and I’ll meet you at the table.” With that his arms fall from around your waist as he scans the room looking for the bar.

“Double vodka and water?” He asks making you just nod as he reaches into his jacket pocket for your crystal light packets and lipstick.

“If this food sucks we are getting pizza on the way home.” Eddie just chuckles as you take your things from him.

“Whatever you want Mrs. Munson.” You just huff as he leans in to place a kiss to your cheek before he turns and heads for the bar and you head to your assigned table ready to put Nicholas Sparks to shame with the level of cheesiness you’re going add to the fake story about how you and Eddie met and fell in love.

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part thirty-one

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

you keep going. you have to keep going.

a/n: so I haven’t been on here in a hot second BUT I’ve been writing this story like a crazy person, lots more to come, thanks for all the love 🤍

word count: 7.2k

warnings: lil smut for your saturday, big emotions, ellie and liv forever 🤍

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

Joel knows that he’s dreaming.

He hasn’t let himself dream for a long time now. Every night, he’s feigned sleep, while you insist on taking watch, Ellie even offering herself up a few hours at a time. It’s partially a conscious decision, partially not. There are nights when he wants sleep, wants to drift off just for a few hours, but his body won’t let him. He lays there with his eyes shut, trying to keep his memories at bay, but it always takes more effort than he expects, and before he knows it, the sun is rising once again.

But right now? Definitely dreaming.

It’s a strange sensation, being conscious of a dream while you’re in it. But it’s the best dream he’s had in years, so he begs his body to stay asleep a while longer, just so he can see how this plays out.

He’s home. Back in Austin, not your shared apartment in Boston, but his old house, his old bedroom. More specifically, sprawled on his bed, mid-morning light filtering through the curtains. The mattress feels so real beneath him, the springs creaking as he moves, but it’s only a backdrop to what’s really happening.

You, wrapped in his arms, back pressed to his chest. He swears he can feel how sweat-slick your skin is, smell the scent of your hair, hear the rapid thunk of your heart beneath his palms. He’s buried in your body, deep as he can go, your back arching with the force of him, whines falling from your lips as you beg him for more.

“Please, Joel,” you murmur, one hand reaching back to fist the hair at the back of his head. “Oh my god, please, I’m—”

Never one to deny you, waking or asleep, he lets one hand drop, skimming the curve of your stomach and finding your clit with ease. You keen as he draws little circles, burying his face in your neck, kissing at your throat.

“C’mon, baby,” he rasps, teeth scraping your jaw. “Lemme feel it, lemme—”

A crashing sound rings through his ears, making his whole body jolt, and the dream vanishes, his eyes shooting open.

“Fuck!” you curse, and Joel turns to see you crouched near the old desk in the corner of the watchtower. One of the drawers has fallen to the floor — obviously the source of the noise — and you’re trying to scoop the contents back in; maps and notebooks and random photographs. Joel groans as he sits up straight, lifting his body off the mattress, and you look at him over your shoulder, brows shooting up to your hairline. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” The drawer literally collapses in your hands and Joel has to stifle his laugh as he gets to his feet. You groan at the mess on the floor, head dropping back on your shoulders.

“S’okay,” he tells you, reaching for your arm and pulling you up to stand. Your stance is sure now, but it’s old habit for him to support you, though your leg has healed. You’ve been in the tower for two and a half weeks now; the first two had you laid up in one of the mattresses, Joel and Ellie both refusing to let you up unless it was absolutely necessary. Your leg is still wrapped in a bandage — fresh ones from the first aid kit you found in the tower — but there’s no blood bloomed through, and it looked almost completely healed when Joel checked it last night. You’re out of the woods, and he knows you need to get going soon. You’re antsy, and he can see it. He’s just as bad.

You sigh into his grip, reaching up to drape your arms around his neck. “But you were sleeping,” you say with emphasis, and he knows you’ve been watching him just as much as he’s been watching you. “I didn’t want to wake you at all.”

Joel shakes his head, leaning forward to tuck his nose into your neck, lips grazing your jaw. “Slept enough, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you close to him. “Just interrupted a dream I was havin’.”

“A dream?” you repeat, and he hums, grabbing your hips and pulling yours flush with his. He’s hard, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, his whole body nearly shaking with need. Your lips part softly, a quiet inhale that makes him even harder. “Was it a good dream?”

“Lemme show you,” he replies, reaching for the button on your jeans. “Where’s the kid?” 

“Downstairs,” you tell him, tilting your head to the door. “Told her to stay down there, to let you sleep.”

“Well, I’m done sleepin’, baby,” he grits as he unzips your fly. He brings his hand to his mouth, sucks two fingers past his lips, then slips them down the front of your pants, right past the band of your underwear. “Fuck, when’s the last time I touched you like this, huh?”

He watches your face, the way your bottom lip quivers, and right when he thinks you’re actually going to answer, he pushes his hand lower, curls his fingers up and into you. You squeak, nearly collapsing in his arms, and Joel can’t help the satisfaction that roils through him.

You clench around his fingers as he pushes deeper and your knees waver, your hands clinging to his shoulders. “Fuck,” you curse again, moaning when he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer, getting a better angle. “We need to be—” You cut yourself off, eyes rolling back when he finds that spot, the tips of his fingers rubbing circles. “Faster, Joel.”

“Faster, huh?” he almost taunts, but gives you what you ask for. “You want it just like this, huh? Y’know, I was dreamin’ we were back home, that I was fucking you in our bed. You were beggin’ me so pretty.”

“Please,” you gasp, your hand fisting the front of his flannel, pulling him close enough to make your noses brush. “Fuck me, please, baby.”

You whine when he drags his fingers from you, but he doesn’t waste any time, turning you around and pushing you against the table in the middle of the room. You plant your hands, bending over the edge as he shoves your pants down, just enough to see the shine of slick against the inside of your thighs, the evidence you need this just as badly as he does. He doesn’t have time to strip you down completely, but one of these days, he’ll—

“Joel.”

He frees himself from his jeans, his cock aching and leaking as he kicks your legs wide and lines himself up. Your whole body stutters as he drags himself along your heat, coating himself with your wetness. His other hand finds your hip, digging his fingers in hard. You call his name again, your voice a rasp in the air, and he pushes into you, breathy exhales filling the space between you as he fills you to the hilt. Just as fucking tight as he remembers, just as hot and perfect and…you.

The need and the desperation get the better of him, kicking his pace into high gear the instant he’s buried to the hilt. He can feel the shift, gripping both your hips, and your hands cover his, keeping him in place. Your head turns slightly, eyes meeting his, big and wide and just as full of lust as he feels. 

He gets you impossibly closer, keeping his hips tight to your ass and thrusting so hard your boots nearly lift off the ground. It pulls the most delicious sound from your mouth, your hand shooting back to dig your nails into his ass. “Jesus Christ.”

Joel hauls you up, banding one arm under your chest, his lips at your ear. “Yeah, baby? Tell me how good it feels.”

“So fucking good,” you babble, squeezing his ass, canting your hips back into him, driving him deeper. “Missed you — ah! — touching me like…like this.”

He had more words, more dirty things to murmur in your ear, but you take his mouth for your own, squeaking against his lips when he moves his other hand between your legs, thumbing at your clit. You clench around him, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard he’s sure you’ll draw blood, confirmed when he tastes iron a second later. But he doesn’t care, too engrossed in the way you twitch in his arms, thighs quaking around his hand, the breathy moans that fall out of you. 

How is it possible to miss someone who’s been right beside you the entire time?

It hits him like a ton of bricks as he works you through your orgasm, his movements sharper, trying to draw out your pleasure as much as he can. Your body goes lax, your lips still kissing his, both of your mouths smeared with his blood, but Joel doesn’t care.

His own body goes tight, pleasure creeping up his spine, slithering through his aching bones. The pain in his chest hasn’t made an appearance since you found the watchtower, and in this moment, he doesn’t even remember what it felt like, too preoccupied with how good you feel, your body wringing pleasure from his the same way he did to you.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see his face, darting between his bloody lip and his eyes and back again. You kiss him again, sucking his bottom lip between your own, laving your tongue along the curve. His hips snap against your ass, that peak growing closer and closer with every touch you offer. He sees the recognition in your eyes, the spark of knowledge as you tighten your grip on him.

“Baby,” you murmur, your gaze softening, the corner of your lip curling up as his pace stutters. You cover his hands with your own, squeezing your fingers around his wrists, pushing your body back into his. “You fuck me so good, love me so good.” You steal another kiss. “Love you so goddamned much.”

His brow furrows, hands tightening on you, fingers curling against your ribs. He growls into your mouth, nerves set alight, the feeling barrelling up and down and side to side, making his toes numb in his boots. He cums with a shout, one you catch with your own lips as he staggers, nearly losing his grip on you as he spills himself deep. It makes you hum, your grip going tighter, and now it’s you holding him upright, your lips all over his cheek, one hand lifting to brush through his hair.

Once he’s caught his breath, you let out a little breathy giggle, your arms still around each other. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat as he slips out of you. “I just…needed that.”

You reach up, running your thumb over where you bit his lip. “You definitely don’t need to apologize for that, Joel. I’m sorry for biting you so hard.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I liked it.”

As you clean each other up, finding spare rags to clean the mess between your legs, wetting another to dab at the blood on Joel’s lip, he forgets, just for a moment. Forgets about the world outside, the terror and the violence that seem to follow you all around. For a moment, you’re just two people in love, as desperate for each other now as you were when you first met twenty-two years ago. You’re just…you.

You pull your jeans back up, inspecting your bandage after you do. Joel steps close to you. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, a relaxed smile on your face. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw you look like that — relaxed.

As you straighten, he pulls you back into the circle of his arms, fitting his arms around your shoulders. Your hands slip under his flannel, palms flat against his skin. He tugs at your hair, lifting your face until his nose brushes yours. Your lips part, words on the tip of your tongue, but he beats you to the punch.

“I love you,” he whispers, well aware that his hands are shaking. You nudge your nose against his, pulling him closer. He drops his jaw, capturing your lips again, but softly this time. He adjusts his grip, hands lifting to cup your face, thumb swiping across your cheek. The cut on your face has also healed, a thin scar left behind. Joel traces it as you deepen the kiss, your tongue touching his.

Ellie clears her throat in the doorway and you both jump apart, you covering your face with your hand while Joel braces his hands on his hips, staring at the floor. She doesn’t say anything at first, stepping into the tower and tossing her gun onto the table in the middle — the table he’d just—

“What happened to your mouth?” she asks suddenly, brow furrowing at Joel. His head snaps up, brows rising.

“Huh?”

“Your lip is bleeding.”

“Oh.” He lifts his hand to his mouth, feeling his cheeks heat. “Uh—”

You stifle a laugh, turning away with a guilty look on your face, finding something in the corner of the room infinitely more interesting.

The kid’s eyes dart between the two of you, and then she makes a face. “Gross.”

+

One month later, on the outskirts of Cody, Wyoming…

You’re all dragging your heels. 

Ellie’s asleep on her feet, and Joel is so overtired that his senses are in overdrive. You can see it in the way his head swivels on his neck, eyes flitting every direction, coasting over where you’re stood on his bad side, bat over your shoulder, gun in hand. He’s still carting the rifle, knife at his hip, and Ellie has her not-so-secret gun. You feel better knowing she’s armed and feel shitty knowing how fucked up that thought process is.

Since you left the tower, winter has caught up with you. The snow came and left, then came and stuck, and it was very quickly apparent that the jackets you’d carried with you from Boston weren’t going to cut it. The chill in your bones had you detouring through neighbourhoods, reminiscent of your smuggling days, picking through houses over the remnants of people’s lives. You make Ellie and Joel keep watch most of the time, wanting to keep them safe from whatever horrors might be lurking behind closed doors.

You get lucky. You find a thick leather coat for Joel, wool-lined and worn in. For Ellie, what you think might have been a boy’s winter jacket, but it’s heavy enough to keep her warm and fits her fine. For you, one of those ridiculously patterned flannel-sherpa monstrosities you’re sure your mother had six of back in the nineties. It’s almost not warm enough, but you manage to find a few more layers to wear underneath and it works. 

You find a few hats — one of which you have to all but force onto Ellie’s head — and leather gloves to match Joel’s jacket. It’s easy enough to find boots for you and Ellie, the tall, lace-up kind that hug your calves and keep the snow out. For Joel, every pair you find isn’t the right size, or the soles are worse off than the ones he’s been wearing. What you do find is duct tape, and he wraps his boots in it, waving you off when you try to help.

Part of you wishes you’d stayed in the watchtower. It wasn’t the perfect place — it got drafty as hell once the temperature started to drop — but you had a good vantage point. The supplies you found would have lasted a bit longer, and you could have gone back to Omaha to look for more. 

Part of you wanted to stay, but a bigger part wanted to go. Once your leg was healed, you just wanted to keep moving. Whatever this is, you want to see it through. You’ve lost too much since leaving Boston, you refuse to tuck your tail between your legs and just give it up. 

Another part, a part that’s small sometimes, and so big sometimes you think it might swallow you whole, that part doesn’t want any of this. It wants to find a place, somewhere safe, somewhere far from FEDRA and the Fireflies and the past you left behind, just for you. For you and for Joel and…

And for Ellie.

You can’t deny the protectiveness you feel for her. Right from that first night, you just had to keep her safe, had to keep her as whole as you possibly could in a world that wants the polar opposite. You look at her, remember what you’ve agreed to do, to just hand her over to the Fireflies. What will they do with her, what will they…?

Never mind your own feelings, but you’ve seen her and Joel lately, since you left Kansas City. Something’s changed, shifted. You know Joel will be the last person to admit it, but there’s a kinship, a kindness between them that didn’t exist before. He’s still your gruff old man, through and through, but his edges that were once soft only for you have smoothed out for her, too. It’s little things — passing a can of soup back and forth, Joel making sure she’s got a good grip on the warm metal before letting go — and the bigger ones too. When you first left the watchtower, shortly after the first snow, Ellie had nearly tumbled down the hill, but Joel had been closer than you, and he’d grabbed her before she could fall, hauling her back and onto steady feet, keeping her pressed to his chest until she caught her breath again.

You saw the flicker in his face when her arms wrapped around his middle, and the twinge in his expression when she let go, giving a shaky laugh and stepping away from him.

They’ve gotten closer, but Joel’s different on his own. He still has those pinched expressions when he thinks you’re not looking, looks of pain that he forces mild when he catches you looking. The closer you get to Cody, potentially to Tommy, the more antsy he gets. You know he’ll never admit it, but you know exactly what’s going on in his head. You’ve come all this way, and what if…

What if you don’t find Tommy?

Or worse, what if you do find him and—

No. You cut the thought short. You can’t let yourself think like that. No good will come of it.

You’ll find the Cody Tower. You’ll find Tommy and he’ll help you find the Fireflies, and this will all—

“Liv!”

You’ve only just reached the outskirts of the city. Wrapped in your own head, your mind going a million miles a minute, you didn’t realize you’d gotten close to the buildings, the flattened cityscape that looks like something out of an old Western. Joel grabs you from behind, clamping a hand over your mouth and wrenching you backwards, your boots scuffing against the pavement as he drags you, stifling your surprised noise when you see the sight before you.

Off in the distance, the control tower is plain as day. Your mind paints a taunting image of Tommy perched on the top platforms, speaking into a radio, talking to you and to Joel, telling you where he’s gone, what he’s doing. 

The town below is less taunting, more nightmare.

Clickers, everywhere. 

As far as your eye can see, wandering and twitching their way through the streets, tripping over abandoned cars and cracked hunks of pavement. The odd screech reaches your ears, sending chills down your spine. You let Joel drag you back, your body going willingly, pushing yourself back into his arms as you go. Ellie is frozen in place as you pass, her eyes glued to the sight before you, and you grab the hood of her coat as you pass, pulling her along with you.

Joel doesn’t release you until you’re back over the hill you’d just crested, until you’re out of earshot, out of sight. Your heart is racing, thumping against your ribs, and you get your bearings, letting go of Joel enough to grab his hand and Ellie’s, pulling them off the road and into the forest lining the road.

But Joel doesn’t move.

He’s still as a statue in the middle of the road, the hill stretching below, a straight shot through Cody. Even at a further distance now, you can hear them, those awful noises, like some kind of demonic birdsong. Ellie grips your hand tightly and you put yourself between her and the town below. “Joel, we need to move,” you say, tugging on his wrist. Nothing. “Joel—”

“He was in Cody,” he murmurs, his voice nearly carried away on the wind that sweeps through, ruffling your hair and his, making goosebumps rise on your skin. “He was there. D’you think that he…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. The rifle falls from his grip, hanging against his shoulder, and his hand flies to his throat, boots sliding as his body tilts. He’s white as a fucking ghost. You pull your hand from Ellie’s, reaching for him. He grunts as you move in front of him, bearing his weight, trying to keep him upright.

“Liv—” Ellie starts, but you cut her off.

“Go to the trees,” you tell her, giving her a pointed look. “Go, and don’t move till I say, you hear me?”

She nods, her face nearly solemn, and heads for the tree line.

“Joel,” you call, and he gives you no response, his hands on your shoulders and his breath wheezing out of his chest. It’s coming fast, his entire body shaking with every inhale, every exhale. “Joel, honey, I’m right here.”

“What if he…” He trails off again, his eyes moving past you, back to the town. “Tommy…”

“Tommy’s alive,” you say, making your voice as stern as you can be, ignoring the panic rising in your own chest. “He’s alive and he sure as hell isn’t down there. We need to get someplace safe, okay? We need to figure out where to go next.”

“But he—”

You grab his chin in your hand, force his eyes on yours. “Your brother is a smart man, Joel, much as you hate to admit it. And he left Boston a long time ago. He wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to get caught up in something like that. He’s alive, and we’re going to find him. You hear me?”

His chest is still rising rapidly, his hands shaking as they move down to your biceps, squeezing so tight you feel it through your jacket and sweater. “I don’t know what…” He shakes his head, some of the colour returning to his cheeks. The wind howls and his eyes finally drop, pinched shut as he relaxes slightly into your grip, his breath starting to come a touch slower.

“I know,” you tell him, pressing your chest to his, hoping he’ll feel your even breaths, that his body will respond and try to match them. “I’ve had that thought more times than I care to admit. We have to believe he’s alive, Joel, and that we’ll find him. We will.”

His shoulders sag and he pulls you against him, his temple against your forehead as he exhales slowly. “We will.”

+

“We’re lost.”

“We’re not fuckin’ lost,” Joel grumbles, swinging his bag from his shoulder. He pulls out the map, shoves it in your direction, and you give Ellie a glare as you unfold it, the lines and dots instantly giving you more of a headache than you already have.

“Really?” she quips, and you let your eyes flutter shut, pushing the map back at Joel. “Then where the fuck are we?”

He gives you a pointed look, brow raised, but you ignore it, scrubbing your gloved hand over your face. It’s fucking cold. You feel like you haven’t slept in three days — realistically, you know that’s not completely true, but the little sleep you have gotten hasn’t been nearly enough, and the thrum in the back of your mind has been near constant. You’re burning out, desperate for some real food, water that hasn’t been hastily boiled over a campfire, and at least eighteen hours of sleep. Hell, even eight would do the trick.

You’ve been walking since sunrise. Almost three days past Cody. You walked through (past? You can’t be sure…) Yellowstone a day and a half in, and you’re all dragging each other along. The roads are hell, covered in snow, the blanket of white a welcome repaint to the landscape, but it helps hide the things that go bump in the night. Infected aren’t the only things you have to worry about in the mountains.

Joel furrows his brow at the map, yanking his gloves off to trace the path he’s after. You’ve been following the map, using whatever landmarks you can to find the next town. Joel mentioned Jackson, you thought maybe Yellowstone would have a camp of some sort — the park was big enough they could have put up some sort of outpost or camp when the outbreak came — but your path proved otherwise. Whatever had been set up in the park’s boundary was long gone.

There’s a marked path Joel’s been trying to follow, but the snow is not helpful. You think you’ve been sticking to it, but with every step, you feel more and more unsure. What if you’re going in the wrong direction? You trust Joel, you know he’s good for this stuff, that he wouldn’t risk it — risk you — if he wasn’t sure, but after his episode outside Cody, your worry for him has only grown stronger. 

But you have to keep going.

It’s Ellie, that spots the cabin off in the distance. Small, tucked behind a wooden fence you’d guess is about chest height. Smoke pours out of the chimney. The relief that floods you is tinged with wariness, but it’s the first sign of actual living human life since you left Kansas City, and part of you wants to grab onto it as tight as you can.

The other part knows you can’t be stupid about this. You have to be careful.

By the time you get close enough to scope the place out, night has nearly fallen, and you make camp just inside the trees, out of line of sight from the cabin, but still able to keep an eye out. Joel insists on taking the majority of watch, and you let him, honestly too tired to fight with him otherwise. The little sleep you get is fitful, too many noises in the forest keeping you awake, Ellie’s murmurs in her sleep putting you on high alert, listening closely for any sounds of distress. You huddle close on the sleeping bags, keeping each other warm while Joel paces the small camp you’ve made.

You’re up with the sun, feeling like you barely got back to sleep when you’re being pulled out of it, and Joel has a plan. “It’s an older couple,” he informs you, scratching at his forehead, passing you a cup of coffee. You’ve rationed what you found back in KC best you can, but you’re getting down to the dregs and the grounds are more and more stale. But it’s caffeine, and you’re grateful all the same. “Husband looks like a hunter. I say we wait it out, wait for him to leave, then get in there. Get the wife to point us in the right direction. Figure out where the hell we are, if they’ve ever heard of Tommy, if he passed through here.”

“What if she doesn’t want to help us?” Ellie asks, and the waver in her voice pulls at something in your chest. You stare down into your coffee.

Joel pulls his gun out of his pocket, bare fingers curled around the handle. “We make sure she does.”

“Joel—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“We’ve been walking for days, Liv. I know you’ve been thinkin’ the same as I have. This is the first real thing we’ve found; I won’t walk away until we’ve found all we can.”

You swallow hard, the coffee bitter on your tongue. “Okay,” you nod, “but we ask politely first.”

His jaw ticks. “Yes, dear.”

Florence lets you inside with little issue. She actually laughs at Ellie’s whispered what the fuuuuuuck when you step into the cabin. The warmth that floods your body nearly makes you crumple on the spot, but you keep upright, taking in the log interior, the animal skulls and all manner of tools and equipment hanging from the walls.

Joel pushes ahead of the two of you, gun raised, scanning the space. “Anyone else here?”

“Just me,” the older woman says, almost smiling. “You waited until Marlon left.”

“He looked like a shoot first, ask questions later type,” Joel says, and she laughs again.

“He is.”

Keeping the gun at hand, Joel steps through the cabin, poking around doors, heading up to the loft to make sure it’s empty too. You and Ellie stand there awkwardly, teeth chattering as your bodies get used to the warmth.

“Sit down, girls,” Florence instructs, getting out of her chair with some effort. “I’ll make you some soup.”

“You don’t have t—” you protest, but she waves you off as she heads to the kitchen area.

“It’s cold out there.”

Joel comes back down the stairs, satisfied with his search, and Ellie sinks down on the couch, clearly unable to resist a soft seat. You’re tense, and Joel stands beside you, one hand in the middle of your back, the other still holding his gun aloft.

“Joel,” you start, but he shakes his head again, just like he had.

“Where is she?”

“Making soup,” Ellie answers and his brows shoot up. 

It’s a good few minutes of quiet, and you sit down beside Ellie, every bone in your body creaking as you hit the cushion. Joel puts himself between the two of you and Florence, her back to you, the clatter of dishes the only sound.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Joel says, “just need to know where we are.”

The woman nods as she turns back, two bowls of soup in her hands as she walks back toward the couch. You and Ellie accept them with mumbled thanks, and she goes back to get a third bowl for Joel before sinking back into her rocking chair, regarding the three of you.

“You got a map?”

About an hour later, the bowls are empty, you can feel your toes again, and Ellie’s cheeks are not nearly as rosy as they’d been when she woke up this morning. The map sits on the table in front of you, and your eyes are trained on the spot Florence had pointed to. Joel is still rigid, pacing the cabin with the gun in his hand, ignoring you when you tell him to put it away.

Florence is still in her rocking chair, and she pauses mid-rock, head turning toward the door. “He’s back.”

“Ellie, upstairs,” you say, and she shoots you a wide-eyed look, but you press. “Now.”

She sighs as she darts upstairs, like she’s annoyed to not be in the line of fire, and Joel pulls you up off the couch, bringing you with him into the kitchen, out of sight of the front door.

The man you assume to be Marlon steps through the front door a beat later, unzipping his coat and setting a hunting bow down on the nearby table. Florence just watches, rocking back and forth in her chair, but you don’t miss the way her eyes meet his and then flick to the pair of you tucked to the side.

Marlon takes a step forward, and Joel moves at the same time. “And the gun, too.”

Your brow lifts. You hadn’t noticed the holster at Marlon’s belt, but Joel had. “Who the hell are you?”

Joel steps around the room slowly, his own gun lifted and pointed at the older man. “Just someone passin’ through.” You stay where you are, watching the scene unfold before you. Joel stops, gestures to Marlon. “Take the gun out, two fingers only, put it outta reach.”

You have to admit the thread of power in his voice makes a shiver race down your spine. And it’s not from the cold.

Marlon does as asked, pulling the pistol out almost mockingly, shaking it in the air before setting it down — out of reach, like Joel said.

“Why didn’t you shoot ‘em?” Marlon asks, jutting his chin at his wife.

“Gun’s all the way over there,” Florence replies, looking toward the kitchen. You realize she could have — when she went to make you all soup, she easily could have grabbed the gun and started shooting. Three against one wouldn’t be an easy fight for the woman, but it would have been something. “He didn’t hurt me, by the way,” she tacks onto the end, her voice almost sarcastic.

“Yeah, I got eyes,” Marlon grumbles, and steps a little closer, gesturing at the table in front of the couch, your empty bowls of soup and the map. “You made him soup?”

“Yeah,” Florence replies, “I did. It’s cold out.”

Marlon sinks down into one of the empty chairs, and you can see Joel’s patience wearing thin. “I’m lookin’ for my brother.”

The old man scoffs, pulling his hat off. “Well, I ain’t seen him.”

“I haven’t told you what he looks like,” Joel retorts, matching his tone.

“He look anything like you?”

“A bit,” Joel answers, and you can’t stop yourself from stepping forward.

“Not really,” you say, and Marlon’s brows shoot up as you make yourself seen, your own gun dangling from your hand. “Darker hair, a bit shorter, more mustache than beard.”

Another scoff. “I ain’t seen him.”

“They’ve got a girl with them,” Florence says, lifting her chin toward the loft.

“Can I come down?” Ellie’s voice floats down, and Joel bristles.

“No,” he calls, his voice stern, and you both look up to see her lean over the railing.

“Ellie!” you call, trying to strengthen Joel’s command, but it doesn’t work. She comes bounding down the stairs, gun rattling in her hand.

“Ooh-wa,” Marlon grumbles, and both he and Florence start laughing.

“What did I just say?” Joel grits and you sigh, rubbing your hand over your forehead.

“Joel, come on,” Ellie retorts, almost rolling her eyes. “They’re like, a thousand.”

“Who’s this little psycho?” Marlon asks, gesturing to Ellie, looking between you and Joel. “Your daughter?”

“She’s—” you start, but Joel cuts you off.

“Never mind her,” he says, stepping forward and poking at the map on the table. “I need you to tell us where we are.”

“If you got a map, why you lost?”

“Must have missed all the street signs in the enormous fucking forest,” Ellie bites out, and you grab her shoulder, yanking her backward and beside you.

“Ho-ly,” Marlon laughs, and Florence chuckles. The whole scene is making your head hurt. It’s like whiplash.

Joel gives you a pointed look as the older couple laughs. Your jaw goes tight and you shake your head ever so slightly, gripping Ellie’s shoulder as he leans in again, pointing at the map. “We’re somewhere here. Exactly where? And your answer better be the same as your wife’s.”

Marlon stares at Joel for a long moment before his eyes cut to Florence. “You tell him the truth?”

“Yeah,” she says, still rocking back and forth.

“You tellin’ me the truth?”

“Yeah.”

Another glare from the old man before he leans forward in the chair and pokes at the map. Exactly the same spot Florence had pointed out. Middle of fucking nowhere. You can feel Ellie’s eyes on your face, but you can’t bring yourself to look in her direction.

With a sigh, Joel tucks his gun away. “Well, you found a great place to hide, I guess.” He sinks down onto the couch, putting his head in his palm.

“Hide?” Marlon laughs. “Came here before you were born, sonny. Get the hell away from everybody.”

“I didn’t want to,” Florence interjects, and despite it all, you laugh. 

Marlon waves her off. “Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you about your brother, but if you’ve come this far, then you know what’s out there. You’ve seen Cody?”

At the mention, you step away from Ellie, to the other side of the couch, hovering near Joel’s shoulder, reaching out and curling your fingers in his coat. Ellie sinks onto the corner of the couch and answers for you. “Yeah, got close enough. It’s crawling with Infected.”

“Yeah, Laramie and Wind River Reservation,” Marlon tells you, his eyes flitting from Ellie to Joel to you and back again. “Anywhere people used to be, you can’t go there no more.”

You can feel Joel tensing under your hand like a drawn bowstring. “So you haven’t heard the name Tommy? Tommy Miller?”

“Nope.”

“What about the Fireflies?” you ask, finding your voice.

“We get those in the summer,” Florence answers innocently.

“Not the bugs,” Ellie bites out, “the people.”

“There are firefly people?” the old woman asks and the pair starts laughing again.

Ellie has more to say, but you call her name, your voice as stern as Joel’s had been, and this time she listens, shrinking down onto the couch.

“You got any advice on the best way West?” Joel asks, and you can feel his shoulders going tighter and tighter.

“Yeah,” Marlon answers, “go East. But you never go past the river here.” He points at the map, not far from where he’d pointed before. “Ever.”

“What’s past the river?” you ask, stepping around and sitting on the arm of the couch, your hand still squeezing Joel’s shoulder.

“Death,” Florence says, and an icy chill shoots through you. “We never see who’s out there, but we see the bodies they leave behind. Some Infected, some not. If your brother’s West of the river, he’s gone.”

Joel deflates. You feel it beneath your hand, the slump to his shoulder, the defeat that starts to roil through him. You know him too well not to see it for what it is. He’s giving up.

And Ellie is staring at you. You let yourself meet her gaze, and see your own fear mirrored in her eyes. But despite it all, what comes out of your mouth is, “You aren’t gonna scare us.”

“Scared him,” Florence says, chin lifted toward Joel.

Marlon laughs again and Joel snatches the map up off the table, moving out from under your grip and getting to his feet. “We need to leave.” You move to follow, grabbing Ellie by the shoulder again. You grab your bags from where you stashed them near the stairs. Joel swings the rifle over his shoulder and as he steps past you to get to the door, you hear the wheeze in his breath. Without another word, he steps out of the door, Ellie following.

You turn back to the older couple. “Thank you for the…hospitality.”

Marlon gives you a strange look. “Don’t get yourself killed out there, girl.”

You give a curt nod before turning on your heel, following Joel and Ellie. Ellie is nearly running to keep up with him, a dead rabbit hanging from her grip — where the hell did she get a dead rabbit?

“They don’t know anything,” she’s saying, like she’s trying to reason with him. “Never heard of the Fireflies.”

They’re at the fence by the time you catch up, your boots nearly slipping through the snow. Joel’s stock-still, one hand reached out, gripping the wooden fence for support.

“Joel, are you okay?” Ellie calls, and you hear him grumble at her to shut up. “Holy shit, are you dying?” She whirls, panic in her eyes as she stares at you. “Liv, is he dying? This is the second time.”

Joel shakes his head, the movement almost frantic, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m okay,” he wheezes, and you step past Ellie, moving beside him. “Okay, okay, I’m fine.”

“Joel,” you call, your voice soft, reaching for his free hand, threading your fingers through his. “I’m right here.”

“No, no, but are you okay?” Ellie continues, her voice climbing. “Because just a reminder, that if you’re dead, we’re fucked.”

“Ellie, stop it,” you snap, squeezing Joel’s fingers as your head whips in her direction. The anger that spikes through you is there and gone in a flash, but you see it flicker across her face all the same.

“I’m fine,” Joel repeats, lifting your joined hands to his chest, rubbing your knuckles against his sternum. “Just the…cold air, all of a sudden.” He’s still panting, his breaths still wheezing, and he bends slightly, still gripping the fence for support.

Ellie’s still staring at you. The guilt is immediate as she ducks under the fence, putting distance between the pair of you. “Alright, uh, so let’s go and find Tommy and the Fireflies.”

Joel straightens, taking a deep, even breath, and you relax slightly, turning your attention to him fully. His lips form the words I’m okay and you wish to God you could believe him, but his eyes tell a different story. One you don’t have time to hash out here and now.

“It’s gonna be easy,” Ellie is still carrying on, nearly crawling up the hill that leads away from the cabin. “All we have to do is cross the River of Death.”

PREV | NEXT

[f1xmalereader]

One Last Kiss

Sebastian Vettel x Male Reader

Warnings: ANGST, slightly toxic

Words: Just under 1k

A/N: Sad story, I don't know where it came from but enjoy.

GIF by s-vettel

Twisting your engagement ring around your finger, you sat on your sofa, staring at the front door. Sebastian is meant to be back soon, but you feel you've been waiting forever. Your arse is going numb, and your finger is starting to feel raw. Blinking several times to regain focus, you reach for your phone. It's now been an hour since he texted. Thoughts overwhelmed your mind; what if he crashed or broke down? What if he was just being Seb and had pulled over to help someone? Maybe a fan had stopped him—the what-ifs kept playing through your head. You knew it was foolish, but something in your gut told you something horrible was about to happen. That all the what-ifs were nothing, and you'd be faced with something worse.

You let your mind wander for a while until you heard the door unlock, the clicking echoing around the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in your ears. Sebastian pushed the door open with little force, dragging himself into the house. He looked dishevelled; his hair was a mess like he had been running his hands through it constantly, and his eyes looked exhausted, letting you right in. His anxiety had gotten the better of him, all his habits shining through. Dropping his bag with a thud on the floor, he nudged the door shut, his arms tired.

“I’ve been thinking.” You shook your head. The words broke the silence, bringing you back to reality. 

“Whatever it is, we can fix it, right?” Pleading with him was the only thing you could think about. You knew this would end; you wanted to delay the inevitable. To spend more time with him.

He swallowed. “This can't be fixed, love.” 

“Don’t. If this is how it's going to go, don’t. No pet names Seb. Don’t do the whole; it's me, not you. I can’t, Sebastian.” At this point, tears threatened to spill, and your throat went dry. You took a shaky breath in, staring at your ring. He wanted you to look at him to see the hurt in his eyes, but you couldn’t. Unavoidably he would hurt you, and you wouldn’t let him win.

“I’m sorry, I just–” He stopped to take a breath, skimming his hands through his hair. “I’m just going to tell you the truth. And I know it's going to hurt. Mien Gott, you’re probably going to hate me. So before I do, I just want one thing. Please.” This made you look at him, making eye contact for the first time since he walked through the door. His eyes were pleading, begging you to listen, and you couldn’t say no. You never could, so you nodded, allowing him to continue. “A kiss. It’s all I want. One last kiss.” 

It was a big ask; he was about to destroy your whole world and dared to ask for something. But you couldn’t deny him; deep down, you wanted one so bad. You’d been craving him all day, thinking he would come home and you could cuddle on the sofa, watch a movie, and maybe order takeout. So you stood up, coming face to face with him. Your faces were incredibly close, you could feel his breath run over your face, and you melted. He had you in the palm of his hands. Closing the gap, he softly met your lips. It was slow, but he still had control; your hand came up to the back of his neck, gripping the hair at the nape. You let him in, letting him win as he ran his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for permission. It was still slow and passionate; he was savouring every bit of you as if he would never see you again.

You both pulled away when you ran out of breath, and now tears were rolling down your face; you couldn’t stop them. Seb’s hand came up to your cheek, the pads of his thumb wiping away a couple of tears. You had given in to the hurt and let him win. 

“I love you and always will, but I can’t do this anymore.” He was still holding your face in his hands, stopping you from pulling away.

“Is there anyone else? Another guy? A woman?” You had to ask, had you not been good enough. Had he turned to someone else?

“No, there’s no one. It’s me. I need time and space; I just need to think.” He spoke softly; he didn’t want to scare you away; he needed to ensure you listened to him. He wiped away a couple more tears and continued. “You can keep the house; I’ll still support you. You can watch me race still; I just need some time.”

“I don’t want to have my life on hold for you, Sebastian. I need to know you’re coming back. You have to promise.” Pulling yourself free from his hand, you tried to set some boundaries.

He didn't try to make eye contact again, too scared he would break if he met your eyes. “I can’t promise that.” 

“Then it’s over, I guess.” You pulled the ring off your finger, glad for the relief, and held it out to him. He stood there shocked, refusing to take it, so you pulled his arm from his side, shoving it into his hand. This time the control had been handed to you; you would have the last say. 

You gave him one last look, capturing him in your mind, and you made your way to the front door. He made no move to stop, not even flinching when you pushed the handle and swung the door open. You left him in the dust, slamming the door behind you. He heard your car drive away, and he dropped onto the sofa. Head on his knees, the tears now falling from him. His facade slipped away, breath by breath. 

[guard-kotonoe]

@nanbas-noise-problem the thread trimming still doesn't make sense to me soooooo, here we go. Before it’s 100 miles long on a dash. -Mun))

“Join the obsidian coffee club! Or Hell coffee. Either way; sane thing.” She said with mock enthusiasm as she lazily raised a fist in the air. On her face was etched a sheepish grin as she peered up at him from where she had tightly recurled into the large chair. A quick realization came to her and she gave an embarrassed chuckle when she looked at the smaller seat he was on. “Mitsuru, do you want your chair back?” Kotonoe questioned as she shifted up into a sitting position. “I really hate to make you uncomfortable.” She added as she gave a small gesture twords the chair she sat on.

“I’m glad I’m on time with my work though. I needed to catch up.” She said with a tired grumble. “If I had to play catch up one more day I might die of sleep deprivation.” Kotonoe chuckled with a shake of her head. The purple haired guard clicked her finger on the side of her now empty much as she did so before setting it on the ground to move before she left- granted, that was if she remembered and she thought she would. “I think it’s pretty quiet today though.” She replied to his question as she straighted up, still leaning forward if he said he wanted his seat back from her previous offer. “You probably have the most tongue piercings out of all the guards in Nanba. Some on top, tip, and bottom.” She commented absentmindedly as she as she catches him messing with his lip ring. Realizing that it may have sounded rude she tired to explain herself somewhat better: “sorry, that was kinda blunt, right? I really like your piercings actually. That’s what I meant.” She said in a bit of an embarrassed hurry. Trying to correct herself in case it was actually rude.

[golatcxr]

“Sorry, wrong button.”

You had long developed a crush on your fellow text buddy, Heizou, as he was also you duo gaming partner. Provided that you two were both familiar with each other for a long time, he didn’t mind your constant clumsy habit of sliding onto the call option whenever you were going to log out. One day, Heizou was finally fed up with those small incidents.

Genre: fluff, no tw

<3

“It won’t happen again I promise!”

.

And here it was again, your already hung up call in the middle of nowhere. Heizou stared at his phone screen, only to see his face on the top right corner and your ceiling. It seemed like you didn’t notice the dial tone nor his ‘hello?’ earlier. Normally, he would end the call immediately knowing that you probably wouldn’t be present or wait until you came back to scare the shit out of you if he had time for that.

However, he just kept staring, thoughts clouding his mind. He didn’t feel like pranking you at that moment but he couldn’t help but hold the call for longer. As a deductive guy himself, Heizou overthought from time to time, yet there were times he’s sure about what his guts told him.

It was your clumpsy nature, not not your feelings. Disappointed, he felt. Sometimes, he really wished you were just messing with him to get his attention, he anticipated every rings he got from you and endlessly receiving false calls. Heizou was undeniably talkative but he absolutely adored your voice. Everytime you two were voice-calling during rank time, he would turn the game’s volume down to almost the lowest, just to hear you better.

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

The next morning, you woke up to a text message from Heizou.

“You free at 9? I wanna do a custom match”

“Sure” your fingers hurrily replied him back, contented for that he invited you to join a match with him.

It was Saturday, so you had nothing much to do. You decided to log in game right after your breakfast to not let Heizou wait. You put on your headphone and rearranged the stuff on your desk slightly. Opening your phone to look back at the messages from him, you turned it off not knowing your hand had clicked on the phone icon once again.

“Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo”

The long greeting caught you off guard, you could only see your phone screen still being black but you recognized the voice.

“Miss me already?”

A blush crept up your face upon Heizou’s flirty remark. You reached for your phone and turned it on. You didn’t show your face though you could clearly see him in bedhair. That was so cute, you thought. Smiling to yourself.

“Come on now (Y/N), at this point I can just redraw your ceiling’s texture perfectly.” He joked.

“There was literally nothing up there”

“That’s why, now show me your face so that I can blackmail you with your morning pics, hehe.” His heartfelt giggle never failed to get you, your face was practically heating up.

“Nah, I accidentally pressed the call button again, Heizou. See you later in game.” You were actually proud that you made that out smoothly, couldn’t have let him see you in that state.

Heizou’s brows knitted into a frown, he rested his chin on the back of this left hand.

“You know, sometimes I just wish these calls weren’t accidental.”

“Hm?”

“By that I mean, I want you to call me on purpose and we have proper conversations like this outside our gaming time together.”

His words taken you aback, you were so confused you didn’t  believe your ears.

“I thought you have a busy schedule-“ you covered your mouth to hide your awe.

“No one is too busy for the one they love, sweetheart.” Heizou smirked as a sigh escaped his lips. Endearing your stunned feature.

At that point, you completely forgot about his game invitation, never thought your bad luck made you struck gold.

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

Author's note: This happened to me a lot ToT and God told me I must write this immediately. Although I didn't have much time to kinda double check it xD Enjoy anyways btw I'll try to make the cuts with my own drawings in the future if I had time sksksksks

[wallflowerimagines]

Could you maybe write something with an s/o that is super hands on? Like, if they wanna see Moreau's cool teeth or Heisenberg's scars they'll really get all up in their business, grab their faces and take a look? They're not mean, just curious and handsy

PS, this Anon sent an update for all 4 Lords plus The Duke!!!! So first time duke imagine add on, let's get handsy!

Alcina Dimitrescu

Please keep your hands out of her mouth, Darling.

Alcina is... barely tolerant of this behavior, but also a little amused. You are fascinated by her canines, despite the fact that they aren't particularly sharp or pointed like you keep assuming they are. You have this image of "vampires" I your head, and while Alcina is close to certain stereotypes, she doesn't meet all of them-- specifically the sharp teeth. You cannot seem to get over it, no matter how hard you try.

She will occasionally indulge this little habit of yours, but it's mostly because she loves you. Keep your hands clean and your nails clipped, or else she'll flick your fingers away.

Still, as much as she loves you, Alcina does have her limits when being poked and prodded.

She will only let you do it in private. Alcina won't let you stick your fingers in her mouth in public-- it's not appropriate or befitting of her station.

If you're too enthusiastic, she will playfully nibble on your fingers as a warning, and lick up the small bead of blood that comes from the cut. Is that vampiric enough for you? After all, you taste divine, Darling.

If you're so fixated on the fact that her teeth aren't as long as they are "supposed to be", well, Alcina is happy to show you the error of your ways💕💕

She will definitely use your fixation as an opening excuse for intimacy. I hope you're ready for it...

Donna Beneviento

Not okay with it.

Donna's veil isn't just for mourning-- she's also cripplingly self conscious of the scar on her face, and the Cadou mutation did not help her self esteem at all.

If you try to run your hands over her mutation, especially without warning her first? Donna will just shut down. Normally Donna and Angie will both chat and spend time with you, but after this Donna will completely back away from the relationship, and let Angie take over for her completely.

Angie is her safety net, after all. And you've just crossed a boundary she was not ready for, or even aware that you wanted to cross.

You have to explain that you mean no harm, but even then it's not a great scenario. Donna regresses almost completely if you don't warn her beforehand. You're back to communicating through Angie until you give her a genuine, meaningful apology.

You really need to push the idea that 1) you love her unconditionally and the scar will not affect that, and 2) you were only interested in touching it because you love her so much and you want to be familiar with every part of her.

Essentially: Always, always ask for consent with Donna before you go poking around. She can be alright with it in specific circumstances, but never assume, and never engage unless you have explicit permission. She needs to psych herself up beforehand.

(Still, if you ask and then press a kiss to the writhing mass that she hates so much, she will absolutely cry. There's something about that gesture that really gets across how much you adore her. It's... reassuring. Safe. It makes Donna feel adored, unconditionally. You love her to pieces, and this a gesture that reaffirms that.)

Salvatore Moreau

You... want to mess around inside his mouth? That's a little--WAIT HOLD ON NOT YET!!!

You have to warn him first, for your safety.

Moreau's mouth is full of acid, and as much as you want to get all up in there to check out his neat chompers, you have to warn him first so he can make sure you can examine him safely.

He's proud of his mutation, to a certain extent. The fact that you love him not only despite it, but because of it? It strokes his ego a little bit.

Still, he wants you to be safe. No sticking your hands in there without warning! Moreau would never forgive himself if he hurt you, so do give him a heads up if you want to take a dive in his mouth.

If he's feeling brave, he might actually use this as an excuse for intimacy like Alcina. He might wrap his tongue around your fingers or pull you in for a kiss if he wants too. You've got this focused expression on your face, and it's entirely centered on him... Salvatore couldn't resist even if he wanted to 💗

If you choose to mess around with the growths on his back, it's a little less romantic. They are very painful some days, and unless you are giving him a massage he will say no. It's not because he doesn't trust you! But Moreau needs to manage the pain, and depending on how bad the pain is on that specific day, that means you can't touch his back. Just remember to ask beforehand, and you're golden 💛

Karl Heisenberg

Hell YES

Heisenberg isn't self conscious about his body at all, to be honest. Sure he has scars, and while not All of them have good memories associated with them, he has a surprisingly healthy mindset about them. The scars are there because he's alive. He survived everything life threw at him, and he's still going strong.

While he won't tell you all the stories behind his scars, he will share the more palatable experiences. Some are from dumb mistakes he's made while doing metalwork, and he's more than happy to tell you the less painful stories when you have your hands all over him.

Because, yes, that is the best part about this whole thing. You cannot keep your hands off of him, and it is EXCELLENT. Karl loves it. He's a pretty handsy guy himself (to the point where you're starting to suspect he's a little touch starved), so he does not mind that you return the favor.

You trace his scars with this focused expression that's just so entirely absorbed, so fascinated, Karl gets hit with this weird mix of fondness for you and pride in himself. Seeing you so absorbed in him and his body makes him really want to do the same with you. He wants to return the favor.

The light touches you give his torso are so delicate... It makes him feel important and valuable to you.

Honestly, it's almost intoxicating. Heisenberg will absolutely trail off in the middle of a sentence if you run a hand across his chest. The feel of your hands on his body is so, so good. He likes physical contact with you, but if you specifically trace his scars? All bets are off.

9 times out of 10 he just can't hold back and pulls you in for a make out session. The last 1 out of 10 has a tendency to... escalate😈

The Duke

More than happy to indulge your impulses.

You being handsy is something that the Duke actually really enjoys. He likes to keep you nearby, and when you seem so obsessed with running your hands all over him it's much easier to keep you close and safe💖

You're the most focused on his hands and fingers because...uh...whoo... something about him with all those rings just really does it for you???

It's really nice to weave your fingers in between his, giving little kisses to the inside of his wrist or the tips of his fingers, and the Duke is always happy to oblige.

It's very charming, watching you coddle his hands like they're something precious. He feels a little overwhelmed by the reverence in each gesture, so he does his best to repay the favor.

The Duke will definitely smooch the tips of your fingers to reciprocate any affection you give him, and the kisses will continue up your arms, past your shoulder, and climb up to your mouth. It's a half silly, half romantic, but 100% genuine.

He loves you, and it's always entertaining to watch you squirm in anticipation as his kisses slowly approach your eager lips. The waiting is half the fun💕

[lilac-5ky]

Hello, I gotta request. Idk if you’re completely comfortable with this, but can you do dating headcanon for a poly relationship with Hijikata/Gintoki?

Poly relationship with Hiji/Gin Headcanons

warning: it doesn't get nsfw but the theme of poly relationship might trigger some? idk im insensitive and nothing bothers me lol

Hijikata and Gintoki in a poly relationship actually sounds like the funniest thing ever, as well as a recipe for disaster.

They are both the kinda guys who aren't overly open about their emotions and only truly open up after they put some time and commitment in a relationship.

I wouldn't be surprised if in their attempt of keeping things casual, they ended up in an open type relationship with someone. Like you know, casually dating and seeing the girl without putting a ring on it.

After all, if they really are to give their heart to someone, then they'd better get to know them first before making up their mind. That's their reasoning, but in reality, they are just too tsundere to admit how whipped they are this early on.

Naturally, their S.O. ended up misunderstanding their intentions and while she was dating one, she found herself dating the other, which isn't surprising if one considers their similarities.

She was upfront about two-timing, just not quite as to who that other person was. Neither Gin nor Toshi were particularly elated over the news, but what could they do? It was their fault for not being clear from the get-go.

To get out of this mess, they would both wanna meet the other person, thinking that if she got to compare the two of them, then she'd obviously know who the better pick is and choose them. They are competitive like that though this was no competition, not when the winner was predetermined.

Or so they thought... until they got to see who the other guy was.

Oh man, their faces! Their initial reaction would be to excuse themselves for sitting at the wrong table, only to come back a minute later completely aggravated.

"Oi, Y/N, why is that mayo freak with you? Did you commit a crime or something?"

"The only one committing crimes here is you, Jouishishi. Y/N, don't tell me you are acquainted with this sugar maniac."

Lots of growling, glaring, collar grabbing and near fist fighting would ensue, until you step up and properly introduce one another as your boyfriends.

This is a literal nightmare for them. Having to politely sit by your side without having at each other's throats for once is enough to kill them, yet they both tolerate one another.

Perhaps after they order their food, they each try to feed you some of it in an attempt to assert dominance and be "cute". But even that turns into a contest over whose special you prefer, spoons of mayo and anko flying past your lips one after the other.

In the end, you ended up throwing up, calling it quits for the day. They both felt bad, even if their first instinct was to blame the other for shoving unhealthy things in your mouth, until eventually, they realized that this wouldn't do. If you were to be happy, then they both needed to work together.

And so, the preferred ,be it intolerable route, was settling with dating you at once.

Of course things weren't that easy and they both had ulterior motives. Instead of opening up about their feelings and requesting exclusivity, they'd prove to you how lame the other was. A direct comparison would easily show who the better choice was and that's how they started putting forth their best selves.

Gin would take you on rides around town with his scooter, share his parfait with you and even save enough money to take you on a proper date rip paying rent. He'd try to refrain from picking on his nose and being improper, showing you how charming he could be if needed.

Toshi would take you on dates to the movies, barely catching that late night screening with you (his work habits could get in the way of your schedule), share his mayo and even cook for you. He's the type to bring flowers and act romantic when he wants to, so expect him to be extra gentle and thoughtful while trying to impress you.

Dating the two would be a blast, considering how they each showed a side of them they don't regularly show to others. It would make each moment feel special, though the same can't be said about the time you get to spend together as three.

Most likely they would avoiding the other person's presence, settling for the few unfortunate run ins around town. If they meet one another, they "not so casually" ask how you guys are doing, trying to evaluate their own progress. Of course they both overreact and end up making things look bigger than they actually are.

Gin could claim that you have gotten intimate with one another, even if that's a blatant lie. Hijikata would probably panic and exaggerate things himself as well, hinting at a wild sexual adventure you never had. The result would lead to them being jealous over stuff that never happened, each pushing towards the consummation of your relationship.

This is where I have to mention that I don't see either of them willingly partaking in a fully functioning poly relationship. Other than their little competition over who gets to win the girl, they wouldn't stand for their woman sleeping with the other.

As Gin stated in Patriot Reunion Arc, he isn't a fan of the whole Eskimo Brothers concept. If he found out Hiji and you slept together, he'd probably never speak to either one of you again and the same goes for Hiji. It is a red flag for both.

Okay maybe they wouldn't want to speak to you or the other guy, but you must know that if you ever found yourself in a trouble and came to them, or they just so happened to be passing by, they'd still put their life in the line to save you. Just because things are over, it doesn't mean they don't care about your wellbeing, and would probably think of you from time to time even if they act as if they don't.

In the end, the one who gets to sleep with you first, will be the ultimate winner. Neither of them would choose to go on after being aware of the fact and would terminate the relationship. They are too prideful to keep on chasing after someone who's already made their decision.

Now if you ask me who gets to win, that entirely depends on you. Either Gin or Toshi would make great partners, emotional baggage or not. They'd go on great extends to protect you and would make sure that as long as you are around, there is always a smile upon your lips.

Just make sure you don't end up breaking either one's hearts. Even if they never admit it, their feelings for you are legitimate and precious to them.

[goldengoddess]

dating loki as thor’s best friend

pairing: loki x reader and platonic thor x reader 

request: hc for dating loki and being thor's bff? also vice versa? (two different hc) also, for both can the reader be short? and the reader is an avenger and human. ty!

a/n: yes yes yes yes FINALLY some marvel content for me <333 im just going to do loki and being thor’s bff bc im a loki whore (also i have no idea HOW this became so long omg)

warnings: cursing, some suggestive jokes, mention of drinking

you didn’t know how it happened 

you just knew there was no way of stopping it once it had begun 

the moment thor joined the team

you knew he would become immensely important to you

he had the same happy spirit as you

always prepared for a good time

always loyal

always a ray of sunshine

just like you

the two of you were known as the “never shut the fuck up about how great everything is” duo of the team

always the optimists

you taught him about earth and your favorite things to do

from karaoke to bar hopping

and he made fun of your shortness whenever he could

“i understand that i am a god, and everyone is smaller than i am, but you, you are simply tiny”

the two of you were fast and forever friends

thor’s brother, on the other hand, presented a challenge

he was everything you weren’t

and thought it was never that he was unkind, you always had the feeling he was judging you

always watching you with those intense eyes while you talked with thor

perhaps for being too optimistic or joyful

you’d gotten those kinds of reactions before

but loki turned out to be an unlikely ally

one bad night

you sat on the floor of the kitchen in the avengers compound

hugging your knees to your chest, staring at nothing at all and trying not to cry

the sadness had come for no particular reason and it wouldn’t go away

you didn’t realize loki was standing a few feet away from you until he cleared his throat

you’d tried to plaster on a happy grin but he’d seen right through it and opened his arms to hold you for a little while

a reluctant but kinda great friendship was formed

when you were hurting and needed an outlet you went to loki

when he needed your usually overflowing happiness, he came to you

it became a habit to sneak into his room at midnight just so he could hold you 

“loki?” you would whisper into the darkness

“come in sunshine, i don't know why you bother tiptoeing, im up waiting for you anyways”  

after many nights spent in each other’s company without thor you were leaning on his balcony to get some fresh air, your head on his shoulder

 “why do you come to me?” he asked

you moved away from him so you could look at his face 

he was paler than usual 

“what do you mean?”

he sighed and moved his body so he was totally facing you

“you come to me. when you feel bad you come to my room. when you need someone to listen, you come to me. why? why not thor? he’s your best friend. i need to understand, why me?”

his voice had cracked

loki’s voice never sounded that way 

“because,” you started, “because”

“because what”

“because you’ve become my person” you whisper yelled at him

 it took two seconds before loki had grabbed your face and pressed his lips into yours

and how could you not kiss back this beautiful boy in front of you 

from then on it was kisses in hallways

squeezing your thigh under the table for support during tony’s long rants

leaving little notes in your lab when you worked late

him making fun of your height

it scared you how much you had grown to depend on loki how his presence felt as natural as thor’s

oh thor

sweet sweet thor

he was beautiful and smart and you loved him deeply

but he could be a little oblivious considering you and loki practically undressed each other with your eyes every-time you were in the same room

and he never noticed

but then you made the mistake of drinking with thor

and accidentally letting it slip that you were helplessly in love with his brother

the next morning

after a lot of coffee to sober up ofc

he’s dragged the two of you to a table to “chat”

you were worried he’d yell at you

tell you that if you hurt loki he’d zap you so quick you couldn’t even get a witty remark in

instead

his eyes narrowed at his brother

“loki, if you mess this up,” he growled, “hurt y/n in anyway. i’ll end you.”

loki’s shocked face matched yours

but quickly loki’s face morphed into amusement

he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and kissed your forehead

“i don’t plan on it brother”

thor had grinned at that

and thought that moment had taken ten years of your life, you were relived your best friend knew

thor loved to joke and make slightly inappropriate comments

“hey loki i found this ring i thought you could give y/n next time you-”

“brother! do shut up?”

or even better

“hey y/n i was wondering if i could- OH MY GOD PUT SOME CLOTHES ON THIS IS PUBLIC SPACE”

but thor was still your best friend

and you loved to tell him about how much you loved loki

how lucky you were to have two beautiful men you could be emotionally vulnerable with

and thor could see how happy you made loki

how his step had a little more spirit in it

how he used his magic to make sure your flowers never died

how he stole your perfumes to spray on his sheets in his own room

and kept your coffee warm whenever you forgot and left it sitting around

his brother was happy

his best friend was happy

everything had fallen into place

thor was your number one shipper

coming up with ship names

basically planning out a future for the two of you

loki pretended to hate it

“sunshine, frankly it’s embarrassing! would you want your brother to have baby names picked out for you?”

but loki loved it secretly

loved that he had you in common with thor

and he did appreciate the baby names

and hoped he could use them in the future

it was challenging at times

balancing a magic boyfriend

and a god best friend

but you wouldn’t change it for the world

because it was never a dull moment with these two brothers

and now you had not one, but two, asgardian boys making fun of your short height

[idy-ll-ique]

Do Your Job.

Pairing: Chris Evans x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Requested: Nope

Warnings: None

Summary: Y/N doesn't know how to say no. And Chris doesn't like that.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Angry!Chris in this fic, kind of Naive!Reader... Enjoy

---

Chris watched with a clenched jaw as the woman winced upon hearing her boss. He didn't like her boss, at all. "Y/N! Why haven't you made my coffee yet?" he screamed at her, despite standing only a few feet away from her. "I-I was… I was helping Peter…" she tried saying and Chris' hands balled into fists when the man took a few steps towards her, pointing a threatening finger in her face.

"Does he pay you? Huh? Are you his assistant? Now get lost and get me some coffee, fast! No excuses!" Teary-eyed after being screamed at, Y/N whirled around and walked out of the room. Chris wanted nothing more than to just grab that asshole's neck and squeeze until the life poured out of him. "Hey, everything okay?" He snapped out of his thoughts and turned to his co-star, Michelle Dockery.

"I, uh, yeah… yeah, I'm fine, why?" Michelle didn't miss his grumpiness. "Come on, you were sitting there like you were imagining someone's murder," she snorted, plopping down on the couch next to him. "His," Chris huffed, nodding his head towards Y/N's boss who was speaking to one of the extras on set. "What did he do?" Michelle frowned and turned to look as well.

"That man does not know how to treat his assistant."

It was the last week of filming Defending Jacob. Y/N had caught Chris' eye on his first day at work; she had him wrapped around her finger in the first week. She was super beautiful, very polite, kind and helpful. She cracked funny jokes and whenever she entered a room, it seemed to get a little brighter and livelier. Chris wanted to ask her out, but chickened out whenever he tried to approach her.

They hadn't talked, ever. Sure, sometimes he'd catch her looking in his direction during breaks and in-between shoots, but he never thought anything of it. He was Chris Evans, people were gonna stare. But, in the first month of filming, Chris realized that the woman had a bad habit— she didn't know how to say no. Ever. She never, ever said no to anyone. And that annoyed him.

Y/N, can you come here for a bit?

She would get up without question, and follow the voice. He once saw her sitting down for a quick lunch and she had only had one bite before someone called for her. And he had watched as she kept her lunch away and walked towards the person. That had made him unbelievably angry, because even after her work, she didn't eat. She gave up on lunch. He had come very close to talking to her that day.

His pent up frustration increased day-by-day, as more and more people started using Y/N's overly helpful nature to their advantage. He noticed how she ran around from place to place all day, how she'd practically collapse on a seat the moment she got a break and would softly groan when she heard her name not even 15 seconds later. And the worst part? None of the people she helped were polite.

Once, he saw Y/N helping someone with her dress and the moment the job was done, the other woman had walked away without a word, talking to some of her friends. He saw how Y/N had just stared at the woman, blinking, expecting a thank you but receiving nothing in return. He noticed the disappointed sigh she heaved after and left to do her other work. That incident had just made him want to hold her and never let go.

That brought them to today. Chris and Michelle dropped the topic and chatted about something else until he saw her from the corner of his eye. Then he turned to see her fully, watching as Y/N handed the cup of coffee to her boss. That man had the audacity to give her a glare before he walked away, sipping on the coffee. This time, even Michelle noticed, and her jaw dropped.

"What?! That bastard!" she exclaimed as a teardrop rolled down Y/N's cheek. Chris' heart broke at the sight, his eyes closing when someone behind him shouted her name. Her hand instantly flew up to wipe her tears and she smiled to herself before turning in his direction. And for a brief moment, their eyes met. She gave him a quick smile before jogging past him towards the person who asked for her.

He couldn't even smile back.

---

"Cut! Break time."

Chris eased out of his tense position and rolled his shoulders before walking away, trying to find a seat. His feet ached from standing. He soon found a seat and sat down, taking out his phone. He went over some texts, until he heard her name being called. Then his head snapped up, because the person who had called for her was her boss. He glanced around until he saw her a few feet away from him.

She had her headphones in and was holding her phone horizontally, which made him realize that she was either watching YouTube, a show or a movie. And she was on her break. "Yes?" Y/N replied, taking out her headphones. "Get me another cup of coffee," the boss mentioned offhandedly, "It's my break." Chris glared at that. Make it yourself, asshole.

"But sir, it's my break too…" Y/N insisted softly. And without knowing, Chris' feet carried him towards the two. "So? I pay you, Y/L/N, there's no need to be such a brat. I'll have you fired in no time, you— Mr Evans?" Everyone around them froze as Chris placed his hand on Y/N's shoulder, darkly glaring at her boss. "She told you she's on a break," he spoke coldly. "Mr Evans—"

And the knot inside him finally broke.

"She's on a fucking break! Let her get some rest! She has been running around all day, doing things for your lazy butts—" he addressed everyone loudly, "—and none of you even thank her! Do you know what an angel she is? She continues helping you even after you treat her like scum! It's just some fucking coffee, if you're on a break, make it yourself! For God's sake, leave the woman alone! All of you, if I ever, ever hear her name being called around here again, it's over. I'll make sure you're off the set before you can even say sorry. Now get lost!"

He didn't mean to be so loud, nor so angry. But it just happened, months of frustration, months of anger released all at once. Y/N's boss stared at Chris for a few seconds, blinking, before muttering a quiet sorry and leaving. Everyone silently got back to work as Chris took in some deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. That's when he felt a small hand covering his.

He looked down and saw Y/N smiling at him, tears wantonly running down her cheeks. "Thank you so much," she whispered and his heart raced. "Absolutely no problem, darling. They were the assholes, using you to their advantage like that, so fucking disrespectfully… You have got to learn how to say no," he chuckled, dropping his hand from her shoulder. "I do, don't I?" she hummed, her lips twitching in shame.

"We'll work on it, I promise." He gently cupped her cheeks, wiping away her tears. Y/N gulped, trying her best to hide the effect his touch had on her. She had a crush on him, but like, who didn't? "How? It's the last week of filming," she pointed out with a small, sarcastic laugh. "It doesn't have to be the last week of us talking. How about we have dinner tonight, 8?"

Was he actually asking her out?!

"Yeah, yeah 8 sounds good," she replied near instantly and he gave her an amused smile. "Great. I'll meet you later, okay?" As he started walking away, she called out, "Mr Evans! My number!" And he walked back to her. They exchanged numbers, sent each other "hi" to make sure they had the correct number and Chris walked away again, ready to film the last scene of the day.

He was in an unusually good mood, having finally asked her out. She said yes.

He was also pleased at the end of the day, not having heard Y/N's name being called out even once after his outburst. Sure, after her break, some people had requested her assistance but they talked politely to her, saying thank you when she was done and smiling. Chris approved of that, after all, it was her job.

And, in the blink of an eye, it was 7:30 pm.

Chris was at home, fixing his hair. They had agreed to meet at his place, not wanting the media to find out. There, he had already ordered some pizzas and had beer ready, a movie paused on the TV. Chris finished messing with his hair and went downstairs, quickly patting Dodger's head. He sat on the couch and waited, busy scrolling through Twitter until he heard the doorbell ring.

When he opened the door, he saw Y/N. And his breath caught in his throat; she looked absolutely stunning dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a cute little smile plastered on her face. "May I come in?" she laughed a bit when he just stood there, staring at her in awe.

It turned out to be a really good date, the perfect start to a perfect relationship.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave a like if you enjoyed!

[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

[dienamights]

A Reverberate Lullaby | K.Bakugou

✎ The echoing howls stalk you, a ghost hunched on your shoulders, wailing like a child calling for rescue, who cries with no tears. Chanting for a hero that is willing to pick up the pieces of its soul and being, yet it is only left to wither. For the ghost has lost faith that such others exist and can only be cured by finding them, for you are the ghost of your world and love is the only true exorcist.

✎ Protagonists: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 4.1K

✎ Category: hurt/comfort, Implied Mature Content MDNI, Prohero!au, Established relationship!au

✎ Caution(!): Implied Mature Content MDNI, mention of depressive state, toxic family, toxic coping mechanism, mention of reader’s weight gain and thoughts about self worth. Please keep in mind while every person’s reaction to depression is different, don’t belittle anyone’s battle when you don’t understand it.

✎ Author’s notes: Hello! Hope everyone’s taking care! Still on hiatus BUT I’m here to post my contribution to the Mental Health Awareness collab by @doinmybesthere​ ! This has been in the works for a while because I kept scarping ideas for triggering me lmao. This piece is very personal to me and I’m glad I am able to share my experience with you all, I hope that it might help anyone out there in reaching out and asking for help because I know how difficult and scary it might be! Please check out everyone’s contribution that they worked so hard for! kisses kisses take care!

OOH ALSO! Thank you so much for 900 followers aaaaaah! You’re all so amazing and if anyone has suggestions for an event to hold in June lemme know! I’ll also think of some ideas

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

The morning sun barely rises and peaks through your blinds, sunshine starting to kiss at your cheeks as you squint at the light, the room welcoming the warmth that is being brought into it after the evening’s chill that made you curl tighter in on yourself, clasping whatever heat you could muster than to turn around and find it in the heating pad of a body that lays next to you. 

An alarm only just rings before quickly being shut off, followed by the creaking of the bed when the person behind you shifts, shifts again, another time, before getting up and stalking to the bathroom, after letting an elongated sigh when they sit at the edge of the bed, not acknowledging your presence accompanying theirs. The door clicking closed before the trickling of water fills the quiet room.

Your clock reads 5 am when you squint at it, and you blink at the time before you go on with your routine, setting up breakfast while your boyfriend gets ready to go to work. 

Oddly enough, you don’t really quite remember when you started working on the food, all that you could see in front of you is nothing but a scene that looks like it’s out of a broken TV - there’s just so much static. The voices are distorted, as if they’re coming from a defective radio.

“Listen, this ain’t about me, this is about you and how you-”

“What about me? Huh? That you see me as nothing but a burden? No, you can say it-”

“You wanna hear me fuckin’ say it then fine! This is about you sitting on yer ass all day obsessing over her while she wouldn’ give you the time of day y/n. When will you fuckin’ realize that?”

The scene blurs and sways, and you feel your mind run at a speed you didn’t know it could muster, and you’re unable to keep up with it. The knife in your hand shakes vigorously and barely misses your fingers when you bring it down to cut the vegetables.

The sound of the bedroom door shutting closed alerts you, straightening your back when you hear the drop of your boyfriend’s gauntlet by his chair at the dining table. Katsuki approaches you with careful steps, his still ungloved hand circles your waist before pressing his lips to your temple, a gruff greeting of a whisper laced in between.

“G’morning.”

The familiar scent of caramel mixed in with his aftershave welcomes you, wraps around you and cradles you, promising everlasting safety and happiness. Yet, your heart wrenching sobs and muffled crash of your laptop against your floor that rings in your ears tell a different story, shrieking at you, roaring about your failures, mocking your entire existence.

“Made gohan, should be ready in a minute.” you mumble back, posture stiff at the close proximity of Katsuki and you feel the curl of his lips in displeasure pressing into your temple from both not reciprocating his greeting and your choice of meal for the morning. “You don’ eat gohan,” 

“s’why I’m making it.” The quick retreat from your figure is like a slap to your face, and you barely stop yourself from reaching out and forcing his arms back around you. Because it's the bite in his voice that halts your movement. 

“You’re still going?” you finally turn to take a look at him, the garnets in his eyes shifting, bleeding from hurt, betrayal, confusion, you really weren’t sure. And by God you had no energy left to try and figure out. “Yes I’m still going Katsuki, they’re my-”

“Yer really listenin’ to the bullshit spillin’ outta ya? This isn’t about em being your family y/n, we’ve been through with it already.” the space between you two feels like endless miles, pieces of the broken bridge you both worked so hard to build the only evidence of it ever being there, the rest crumbling into the valley in between your bodies.

“No, you’ve been through with it, I just wanna make things right, m-maybe I can fix it”

“It ain’t yours to fix y/n, when will you realize that?”

“No!” there you go again, sobbing pathetically. “W-why can’t I have a family, huh? Why- why can’t I, fuck, have a family that just loves and supports me a-and just doesn’t- ” your voice croaks, not failing to notice how Katsuki stepped away from the wreck in front of him. Probably having had enough of you, had enough of how troubling and bothersome you are, probably wondering how he got roped with all your shit and got dragged into your mess of a life.

His hands feel like scolding fire when they’re placed on your shoulders, halting their shaking as you cry into the palm of your hand to muffle the sobs, a habit Katsuki has been working so hard on to help you overcome, saddened to see you try and hide your vulnerability from him.

“Because they never made an effort, so why should you?” The tugging at your heart burns, the swallowed sobs feel like needles prickling at your lungs, making breathing feel like an impossible chore. You can’t help but feel restrained whenever you’re presented with the truth, especially unfiltered and unsugarcoated like right now, you know he’s right, you’ve known he was right a long time ago, but admitting it out loud just felt borderline impossible. 

So you do what you do best, push him away, all the strength you can muster barely budges his figure, the meal forgotten on the counter as you run and lock the bedroom door on yourself.

Your footsteps feel heavy, dreading the topics and scenes you’re bound to relive. The grip on the strap of your shoulder bag tightening as you push the glass door open. A sigh escapes past your lips again as you enter the restaurant, half-heartedly smiling at the hostess before making your way inside to look for them.

It’s always the same scenery, the kind that always makes you want to run away to the other direction instead of being dragged down into whatever hell this is. And you pause to question yourself, again, why you actually agreed to put yourself out there.

There they are, seated in the four person table, with two empty seats, one for yourself and the other for the sibling your mother always hoped to have instead of you.

Your mother’s pursed lip could be seen from where you stand at the entrance, the clicking of her tapping foot sounding as bad as grinding metals in your ear, you hate it, despise it

It’s the same clicking you learned to memorize, to anticipate, to fear, when she passed by your room, the clicking that made you smother your face in your pillows and swallow your sobs, because the sound of you crying brought her more distress and annoyance than concern for her daughter.

With another tug at the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, you approach the table, hugging your father when he stands up and nodding to your mom when she eyes your figure.

“Good morning mother. It’s good to see you.”

“What’s wrong with your hair?”

Here we go, you breathe out before tugging at a strand of hair, spitting out your words “nothing’s wrong with it.”

“Then why does it look awful like that?”

There are times like these where you are left to question your reasoning for accepting whatever invitation you received from your parents to have brunch with them after all those months, a moment of weakness deceiving you into believing it was better than to spend it in your empty apartment, with the silence that ate away at your sanity every second. The only evidence of life in it other than yours was the recently cleaned dishes and the note thanking you for the meal, the promise of cuddles and movies tonight making you gain just a little more patience, barely.

You refrain from answering, your response is to lower your head, drag the dining chair before plopping on it, a dreary sigh escaping your lips as you scoot your chair closer to the table. Your mother never changes, it’s been a while since you were able to move out of her home, and while your father tries to tell you that these brunches are a way to reconnect with them, you yourself know that it’s merely a chance for your mother to nitpick at everything you ever did or are doing since you left.

“How have you been y/n.” your father smiles at you, both of you ignoring the sound of your mother kissing her teeth when her attempted jab at you is ignored. “Uh, I uh I’ve been good, I just wrapped up with my exams and so far things have been-” 

“How is your hero boyfriend?” 

For a second, you contemplate whether to ignore her question and keep conversing with your dad, dreading the questions that are to be pushed your way regarding Katsuki, of which will be used as bragging material for when she meets whatever group of friends she associates herself with, but you know better than to ignore her with the way she gets when she isn’t fed with attention. 

“He’s uh, good.”

“Why isn’t he here today? What, too good to meet us?” your mother nags, and for the love of God, would that fucking clicking ever stop?

“No, he’s doing his job of, you know, being a hero.”

“Is he now? Well, what about you, hm?” She cocks her head as her nails tap the table. ”Did you think your father and I wouldn’t figure out you got fired?”

“How-” the gritting of your teeth is deafening at this point, your jaw clenching so tightly as you and your mother stare each other down. “Your dad pulled some strings, it isn’t that hard. So tell me, you like leeching off of him after you were done with us?”

“This isn’t, I just- I was- I, I had a lot of university work piling up a-and I couldn’t make time for my shifts and I just, it was just so hard for me to get out of bed these days and I.” why are you doing this? Why are you explaining yourself to people that don’t deserve it? Why are you feeding off of their acceptance, knowing damn well you never got it, and that thing was never gonna change. 

“Oh, I don’t wanna hear about you not getting out of bed, you’re here now aren’t you? This is all in your head y/n. You need to stop talking nonsense, what’re people gonna say about you, about me, when they hear you?” 

It feels just like yesterday, your figure standing and facing your full length mirror, your reflection eyeing you with identical vacant eyes. Fingers running through your bed head, a wince escaping you at the movement. Bringing your hand up and catching a glimpse of a slight swollen purple bruise along your wrist and the dried blood on your knuckles, the skin stretching upon rotating your wrist and causing notable pain.

Alas, that pain paled in comparison to when your mom barged into your room, blaming you for the way you were acting and belittling your reasoning. Beckoning your father over to replace your broken vanity and for your house maid to disinfect the space, the place sparkling clean and void of any evidence of what had transpired the day prior. 

The shattered glass was picked up and thrown out, the splatters of blood were wiped clean, and whenever you brought up, what your mom refers to as ‘the temper tantrum’, you’re ignored by both your parents as they continued about their day, fearing the shame it would bring upon their name if the event was to catch others’ attention. 

“Good morning! I’ll be your server for the day. What can I get you?” the foreign voice sounds more comforting than your own mother’s, and you almost laugh at the irony of it, but you only return her smile and take a look at the menu. Lighting up a smidge at the name of one of the dishes, while your parents place their order.

“Can I please get the soufflé pancake?” you look up to catch the horrified look on your mother’s face, followed by her clicking her tongue and shaking her head as if your choice of food was shameful. 

“Certainly-”

“Uh, no she won’t be having that. Get her the Honzen Ryori,” your mother eyed your figure -whatever was visible to her from across the table- before turning to face the server again “maybe cut down on the rice, God knows she doesn’t need the extra calories.” and waves her off, disregarding your protests and tapping her nail against the table top, her annoying method in demanding your silence, which you subconsciously react to, snapping your mouth shut when the sound reaches your ears.

“What was that for? You know I like having sweet breakfasts,” was fuming even close to what you are feeling? Probably not. “Yes I can clearly see that, you’ve let yourself go as well. Do you think that boyfriend of yours will stick around when you start putting on even more weight?”

At a loss for words, you turn to your father, who has been quiet this whole time, for any sense of support when it comes to his wife. But the way he presses his lips together tells you all you need to know, how just because he isn’t bad as her, doesn’t make him that great of a parent. That standing by while you have been bullied your entire childhood and well into your adulthood is just as bad as being the cause of it. 

“God forbid he realizes how much of a train wreck you really are and throws you on the side of the street, because you know damn well we won’t be here to pick you up.”

It began as a whispering in the air. The day had been beautiful -well, as beautiful as it can be with the kind of day you’re having- and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun. People quickened their pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. The postcard-perfect sky started changing. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade merged in with the flaming orange and mesmerizing purple as the sun sunk deep into the horizon, before beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of cloud start to form, blocking out the old-gold color of the sun.

The first splatter of rain hits you when you’re halfway across the street, dismissing the need to take shelter under the roof of the buildings like some passersby are doing, hoping to see out the shower. Droplets of moisture begin to drip onto your head, sprinkling onto you like a gardener’s hose. It was well after your meal with your parents, and you had spent the last few hours walking aimlessly through the streets, making sure to avoid those covered by your boyfriend during his patrol. Hoping, praying, that something will clear your head, will help your poor jumbled mess of a mind forget about this entire nightmare of a day.

Should’ve listened to him 

The rainfall intensifies, the drops drumming against the hood of the cars that you pass by, there is so much rain that the sound blurs into one long, whirring noise, reminding you of the blades of the fan that you stuck your finger in, that one time when you were left alone in your house when you were only five years of age. Eventually, they fade into a musical chime as you push your drenched hair away from your face and feel the vibration from your phone as it rings the ninth, maybe tenth time. 

He told me so. 

Tall apartment complex building; you couldn’t see its end from where you stand. You shiver as you approach it, the doorman - bless his heart - running and placing his umbrella to futilely shield you from the rain, and you just laugh and tell him that you’re already drenched and just waiting to go back home.

God forbid he realizes how much of train wreck I am

Not wanting to dampen the people at the elevator and make them uncomfortable, you take the stairs up to your shared apartment, you usually don't mind the exercise but with how heavy you feel after the rain and day spent up on your sore feet, all you think about is locking yourself in your room and discover what kind of new façade could you try and fool Katsuki with when he reaches home.

Just how I trick him into thinking I’m not with him to leech off of him

Eventually and with a struggle, you make it to the door, dreading the sight you might come to face, almost hoping for a black hole to emerge and swallow you whole.

What would people say about me? Do people think I’m crazy?

With a forced exhale out of your lungs, you fetch the key from your bag to unlock the door, but it’s wrenched open before you have a chance to insert your key.

“Where the hell have you been?” 

Your eyes meet the beautiful rubies of Katsuki, and despite his anger that always overcompensates his worry, you smile and throw yourself on him. The shivering ceasing when he wraps his warm arms around you and that loving caramel scent engulfs you, in spite of how your hair is drenching his shirt and how you sniff against his neck.

“You need a shower, you’re shivering.”

“Take one with me?” you look up at him through your lashes, and he blinks at your uncharacterized boldness but agrees nonetheless, helping you out of your clothes and turning on the hot water before stepping in with you.

It is a struggle to help you clean up when all you do is grab at him, whether they’re your hands on his shoulders to lower him to kiss you, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your breasts against him, or palming his hardening cock as the poor man tries to shampoo your hair.

“Would ya knock it off? I’m tryna help you here shitty woman” you frown and squint your eyes when the shampoo gets close to them. “I wanna have sex.” 

“Yea I can fuckin tell, just lemme-” you bring his arms down and press his palms to your boobs, letting go of his wrist when he starts squeezing at them. “Do you not want to?” he gulps, his dick twitching at the feeling of your soft mounds in his hands, your nipples covered up by the suds from the shampoo, as your finger traces the underside of his cock. “Yeah, I uh, fuck, I do, just- you need to wash up so you don’t get sick, alright?”

“Do you not think I’m pretty anymore?” you pout childishly, tears threatening to escape your eyes, and they burn as you close them when he washes the product out of your hair, a deep frown on his lips when you open your eyes back again. “The fuck you on about? That rain really fucked with ya?”

“Are you gonna get rid of me when you realize how much of a mess I am?” you whisper, your voice muffled under the sound of the shower above you, and you keep quiet as he helps you scrub your body, but your boyfriend is observant, he isn’t fucking dense.

“What do you want, right now?” he lowers himself to your level when he’s done, his hands stroking your cheeks as he eyes the way the water droplets cling to your lashes, but still not missing the red rimming around your eyes.

“I just wanna for- I uh, I wanna have sex.” you mumble, a plea hidden underneath your words, a plea to help you forget, to help you bury this day behind you and pretend it never happened.

What you don’t expect is the way that Katsuki pulls your naked wet body out of the bathroom and drops you on the bed, feeling your bodies dampening the bed as he hovers over you, no words are spoken between you as he kisses and nips at your skin. Marking it up and down as he all but worships your body, strands of his hair tangle between your fingers when you run your hands through it, arching your back at the feeling of his tongue tasting your slick.

He doesn’t let up until you cry out, and not in pleasure, your sobs far beyond those he loves to hear when he’s denying you an orgasm. No, they’re sobs that wreck your whole body, kicking away at his shoulders as you curl in on yourself and wail into the sheets. Sitting on his haunches on the floor, Katsuki’s eye soften at your figure, the way your shoulders are shaking and how -yet again- you’re trying to muffle your cries with the sheets this time, pressing your face against the mattress in an attempt to lower your noise, as your mother would call it.

“Hey, look at me” you feel his lips grazing your ear as he kisses it, pressing his lips against your temple, fingers unwrapping your fist against the sheet and digging into your hands and pressing kisses against the nail marks in the palm of your hands. “There she is, there’s my girl.” you hear when you lift your head from the bed, sight blurry from your shed tears but still easy to distinguish Katsuki even between billions of people.

You sniff when he kisses at your lids, groan when he chuckles and calls you ‘snot the naught’ when you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, beaming when he hears you let out one weak chuckle at the way he teases you. Still pressing his lips against any surface of skin he can reach.

“You don’t have to talk about it you know, to me at least” he mumbles to you when you’re both dressed in your sleepwear and are cuddling on the dry side of the bed, opting to change the sheet the next day. “Maybe, maybe we can get someone who can help you, you know.” you press your face deeper between his neck and shoulder, shuddering when his warm palms rub your back from under your shirt. 

“I can make some calls, get in contact with someone.” you lift your head. “But I can’t afford-” he tuts and frowns at you “None of that.” 

“Remember what I said when we agreed to move in?” you do, you just love the sound of his voice when he says it, feels like he’s making all these promises all over again. “Tell me.”

“Told ya I’d be whoever you want me to be, whoever you need me to be. I’ll be yer mom, even better than that bitch, I’ll support and love you unconditionally.” you sniff and tighten your hold against him as he presses his lips against your cheek. 

“I’d be better than yer pussy dad, you can rely on me any time and I’ll live up to all your expectations. And callin me daddy is always a plus” he tangles his legs with your own when you wiggle away from him, laughing and giving you no chance of escape, not that you are even thinking of it. 

“I’d even be yer genius fuckin nanny that taught you to tell yer mom to go fuck herself when you were four,” your suppressed giggles lights him up and he can’t help but chuckle as well. “I’ll be anything and everything you’ll ever need, baby. I’ll be your goddamn hero.”

The sun comes out again, casting slanted beams of light across the buildings. Steam rises slowly from the greenery. It rises up eerily and drifts mist-like towards the molten-gold sun, right before it escapes into the abyss. The image is so vivid that it stays with you for as long as you remember. Because on this exact day, the shrieking that follows you everywhere you go, haunting you and mocking you, suddenly is nowhere to be found. And all you can hear is the comforting sound of Katsuki as he hums you a lullaby to sleep.

aaaah I hope you like it!

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), smut/masturbation (implied/mild), cursing, abandonment, infatuation, alcohol, cheating, violence?, mild housewife kink? 

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room. 

A/N: I’m terrible at writing summaries and I’m so sorry about that! I don’t think I would consider this a dark!fic, but it does cover a lot of themes, and topics that are darker than I usually write about- but I think that comes with the territory of writing about Lee Bodecker. I’ll make sure to update the warnings for each chapter and do not read if you are underage. I also ignored canon for this one.

There are no tags on this one, because no one has specifically asked to be tagged on smut fics and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable!

I hope you all enjoy!

Tags and Requests are OPEN

“Get out of here Lee,” you spat, pointing to the door he just walked into the bar from. “You swore to Janie you wouldn’t touch a drop.” 

“C’mon (y/n),” he said sitting at the bar anyways, a smug grin on his face, making you scoff. 

“I ain’t having anything to do with you breaking your promise to that lovely woman,” you say confirming your point. You wipe your hands on the towel that was hanging from your apron. 

“Jack and coke?” He asks, looking at you with eyes that would be endearingly puppy dog if it weren’t Lee Bodecker. You shook your head. 

“A coke it is,” you say and he gives up trying for now. He regrets telling you on his last visit he’d be swearing off drinking cause Janie finally threatened to throw him out. 

You slide a glass bottle of Coca-Cola down the length of the bar to Lee and he grinds his teeth slightly. The sugar was always his temporary fix. You also sent down his way a small bowl of roasted peanuts, feeling bad for the mess of a man. 

“She’s gonna leave me anyways,” he grumbles and you shake your head, picking up on his attempts to illicit sympathy to coax you into giving him a drop of anything. 

“Stop giving her a reason to Lee,” you point out, gesturing with your hands to emphasize that he was in the same small bar on the edge of town he always wandered into on weeknights. He’d tell Janie he was on duty but he’d really be down in this little box of a building getting drunk as a stunk. 

“She’s the one who gone and cheated,” Lee said in an angry tone, not towards you, just at his situation. “That Miller fellow living a few miles down from me. I see his truck parked outside my house plenty of times to know he’s not just being neighborly.” 

“I’m sorry Lee,” you say with a genuine tone of sympathy. You felt for him and his pain. You knew the stress of the job he led and the pain of knowing the love of your life don’t love you. 

“She’s going to leave me,” he says, staring intently at the condensation on the bottle in front of him. “I’d been trying so hard for her and our marriage and she’s two timing with the neighbor when I’m out working.” 

“And the thing is I don’t even care if she cheated,” Lee continued, “I’d look the other way if I knew she’d be staying with me. But it’s cause I know she don’t love me anymore. That’s what’s hurting me most.” 

“Maybe y’all can work through this-“ 

“This was inevitable,” he says, cutting you off. You don’t point it out, cause he’s clearly distressed but normally you’d have no problem saying to Lee ‘Fuck you, let me finish Sheriff.’ 

“Do you got somebody?” Lee asks you. The question takes you back cause it wasn’t like the Sheriff to ask your about anything personal. He would come in, and you’d shoot the shit, exchange small talk, maybe some harmless flirting for a larger tip, but that was the extent of it. 

“No, not anymore,” you say, having recently broke things off with your boyfriend. “I was seeing Arvin Russell for a couple months, but we just broke it off.” 

“You’re too good for him anyways,” the sheriff scoffed at the mention of the Russell boy and took another swing from his bottle of pop. “How old are you anyways, sweetheart?” 

“Twenty-one,” you respond, not thinking too much about the nickname. He had a habit of frequently using names like that when he talked to the women in this town. You think it started out as a tactic to win re-election and then it just stuck. He nodded. 

“Yeah you two are around the same age,” he said, more so thinking out loud than it being a statement directed towards you. “Why’d you break it off?” 

“Beat up my brother,” you answered, “Granted, the little shit had it coming. Can’t blame Arvin after I heard how the asshole was bothering that sweet thing Lenora. But he just took it too far. Almost killed the kid. The boy saw red so I got myself out of the picture. You can’t be with a boy who does that to your kin.” 

Lee nodded understandingly. You didn’t interpret his actions or questions as genuine concern or interest in you, but that he was just asking you questions to distract from his marital woes. 

“I’d do so many things different if I could be your age again,” he chuckled in a self-deprecating tone. “I’d sure as hell love to turn back time and have myself go down a better path.” 

“It’s not just you, Sheriff,” you reply after collecting money another man sitting at the bar. You nod as a goodbye to the man, and then curse under your breath when he doesn’t tip you. “Asshole,” you mumble, tossing the few pennies into the tip jar. You walk back over to the sheriff and prop your elbows on the bar. “I’m sure everyone is this town wishes the same thing,” you say, trying to make him feel better. 

“I’d love to just be your age again,” he says with a sigh, and then pops a small handful of the peanuts in his mouth. “Young, got your whole life ahead of you.” 

“I’m not sure working in a place like this is setting me up for great things, Sheriff,” you chuckle moving to wipe the bar in the area where that other customer left. “A woman working as a bartender is equivalent to just being a whore according to the eyes of the Lord... at least in this town,” you laugh, using the towel from your apron to wipe the rings left behind on the countertop from the glasses. 

“Arvin didn’t think so,” Lee countered, trying to make you feel a little better about your position. “I don’t think so. Hell, people in this town are so uptight about things that aren’t their business. You’re young, you need a job and you have one. It’s that simple.” 

“I wish more people in this town thought that way,” you reply with a smile. “That new preacher last Sunday-“ 

“Don’t listen to that asshole,” the Sheriff scoffed, and chuckled when your eyes widened at his derogatory words towards the preacher. “He’s a showboating son of a bitch and he’s as phony as they come.” 

“Those ruffled shirts are the most pretentious thing I ever seen,” you say, letting out a big laugh thinking about when he is giving a sermon in what looks like tacky prom attire. 

“Pay him no mind,” Lee said, bringing the bottle to his grinning lips as he looked at you. “You’re a better person than he is.” 

“I appreciate the sentiment,” you chuckle. 

“Have a goodnight hunny,” another customer at the bar says dropping cash on the table as they leave. “Goodnight Sheriff,” the older man tips his hat and then walks out. 

“Have a goodnight Marvin,” you call after him, “Give my love to Loretta!” You clear the empty glass and drop the cash off in the register. 

While you’re moving around, Lee takes a moment to actually look at you. Any man with eyes knew you were pretty, but he ain’t never noticed before just how attractive you were. His eyes lingered for a moment at how the canvas waist apron extenuated your figure. He couldn’t believe this stunning young thing was stuck in a place like this with a dead end job talking to a deadbeat like him. 

“How long you staying for Sheriff?” You ask suddenly, pulling him out of his trance. 

“Uh, not sure,” he says, looking up at the dingy Luger Beer clock that hung on the wall. “Why sugar?” 

“Seeing as though your sober I was hoping I could trouble you for a ride home?” You ask shyly. 

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “No trouble at all honey.”

“Thank you, Lee,” you say with a smile, making his heart skip a beat. 

He’d talk to you most weeknights and never had this feeling. Maybe he had but he was too wrapped up in his own troubles to notice it. You were such a sweet girl, and he realized what an injustice it truly was for you to be stuck here. 

The thought crossed his mind very quickly about if he wasn’t married- even though he knew divorce was coming around the corner any day now. If he had met you at a different time in his life if it would’ve been better. Instead of meeting you as an overweight, deadbeat of a sheriff which a drinking problem- he’d met you when he was fresh out of school, same age you are now. You all coulda fallen in love, started a family, and that would’ve been enough to keep him from taking up drinking in the first place. 

He knew from the beginning Janie ain’t ever loved him. Hell, he’s not sure if he ever loved her thinking back on the whole relationship. Lustful, without any sort of promise behind it and they both were users. They used each other. He knew he treated her poorly as poorly as she treated him. He definitely had loved her, that much he knew was true, but now she’s cheating- something Lee never thought of doing at all no matter how many fights they had until the early morning hours.  

As you maneuvered around behind the bar, locking up the liquor and wiping down the machines getting ready to lock up for the night, his mind played little tricks on him. The canvas apron was instead a pinafore, and the bar was his kitchen. He’d loved the sight, thinking about coming home to you instead of what was soon to just be an empty house. 

Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he’d even be the one to keep his house. The idea of finding a new house- buying one for you, and being able to start over sounded like a dream life. Hell, he’d run away from this town right now if you said the word. He’s sure he could secure an election in another town, he had the connections to make it happen. 

“I just got to lock up the office and I’ll be ready to go,” you say, untying your apron. He gulps and nods as confirmation. You disappear in the back room, cash drawer in your arms to lock away in the safe. He heads behind the bar to dispose of his empty bottle and the cardboard tray his peanuts were in. 

You come back, your peacoat buttoned and the sash tied around your waist in a bow you had made. You had a small handbag in one hand, and your work apron in the other. Suddenly, he was nervous and didn’t know how to carry himself around you. Undeniably, the Sheriff was developing a crush. He couldn’t shake the feeling. He wanted to ask you out on a proper date, but he knew with his age and reputation- it wouldn’t be fitting. He was moving way too fast in his own mind to keep up with. Just daydreams, he thought to himself, suppressing the thoughts of a future with you for now.

“Okay,” you said, giving the place one more once over to make sure it was all set. “That does it.”

“After you,” he said, holding the door open for you. You giggled, and once you both were outside, you used your key to lock the front door. He held the door open for you to take the passenger seat in the cruiser. As you buckled your seatbelt, he walked over to the driver’s side and then slide into his seat.

You were a little nervous. You weren’t sure why. This wasn’t the first time you’d asked for a ride home. Usually, it’s never this late. When you close, you usually walk home alone. You definitely didn’t live that far, but again that was more dangerous than getting a ride home.

You realized that you were worried about nothing. You thought maybe some would accuse you of something scandalous, getting a ride home from a man so late. However, this was the Sheriff and the streets didn’t have another car on it at all. The town knew where you worked and if anyone were to see you, they’d know you were closing shift and you asked for a ride to avoid walking home this late alone.

“Thank you again,” you said, starting up a conversation as the sheriff was backing out of the tiny lot that was next to the bar.

“Oh, don’t mention it, hun,” he said, “It’s my job to make sure you get home safe. Your house is the white one at the end of Birch?”

“The very one,” you say, looking out the window. There aren’t any street lights, and the only light for miles is coming from the headlights of the cruiser. You don’t catch Lee stealing glances at you as he starts moving forward.

“How’s your ma doing?” He asks, making conversation.

“Oh, she left,” you said nonchalantly, and it makes Lee’s eyebrow raise in confusion.

“Wait. What?” He asks looking over at you for a second before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Oh, I thought you would’ve heard,” you say softly, your façade of indifference torn down. “She left us about a month ago. Met a man from Columbus and moved in with him. The whole town was talking about it for weeks.”

“So, is it just you and Tommy now?” he asks, wondering what kind of a mother leaves her girl to take care of her high school aged brother on what she makes at the bar.

“Oh, he went with her,” you explain, “House is all mine. After the whole thing with Arvin, she decided to pull him out of school and he goes to school in Columbus now. She wasn’t gonna bring him but after that, she changed her mind.”

“They just left you?”

“I chose to stay.”

“No offense but why would the hell would you chose to do that?” he jokes, making you laugh a little.

“It’s all paid off, and my grandpa left it to me and not her anyways,” you explain. “House has been in my name for three years now. And if we sold the house, she’d just piss the money away. Besides, would you move back in your mother now, Sheriff?”

“No, I can’t say I would want to,” he chuckles.

“So, I’m just supporting myself and that ain’t too bad,” you shrug.

“Sounds lonely,” he comments and you nod in agreement.

“It can be,” you admit, as he turns down your street.

“You ain’t worried living alone?” He asks.

“You tell me, Sheriff,” you joke, “If I got something to worry about it sounds like you’re not doing your job.”

“Ouch,” he says and holds a hand clutching his hand to his heart dramatically. It made you laugh, and it made him smile that he made you laugh. God, he loved your laugh.

“Thank you again, Lee,” you say sincerely, quickly kissing his cheek when he parks in front of your house. The gesture takes him back, and he’s relieved you can’t see how red his face is. He’s almost angry at how flustered you make him and you have no idea. “Have a goodnight,” you say.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he says, a little shakily. You get out of the car, and he watches you walk up to the porch, your hips swaying naturally, and he bites his lip. He groans, but at his disappointment in himself for staring again. You disappear behind the front door and he hits his palm on the steering wheel, trying to shake whatever feeling this was.

He reluctantly drove home, not wanting to have to talk or see Janie. He knew he was just heading home to a fight for being out so late, even though he knows she takes full advantage having fucking Miller over. His jaw is locked, angry about a fight he hasn’t even had with her yet. His cheek still tingles from your touch, and he thinks about if he should just leave Janie. He could just leave, get an apartment nearby or something. He doesn’t even care if she gets the damn house. He’s bracing himself for another night of fighting as he pulls into his own driveway and heading up to his own house.

He fumbles with his keys in the dark. He thinks he had the right one, but it doesn’t work. He tries another that is the same shape, still doesn’t work. He intakes a sharp breath and tries the first key again- he’s positive that’s his house key. “Fucking Christ,” he mutters when the key won’t even go into the lock. “Janie!” he shouts, pounding on the front door. She changed the locks.

“Fuck,” he exclaims, stomping down the front steps and walking around to the back door. He tries his keys again with no luck. He pounds into the door hard and incredibly loud. He knows she’s there, upstairs in their bed, ignoring his knocks. He tries the kitchen window, but it’s locked. Every window on the first floor is fucking locked. He curses again and heads back to his cruiser. He slams the door shut and his grip on the wheel is turning his knuckles white. Does she expect him to sleep in his car in the driveway?

He doesn’t even think about where he’s going to go, but he knows damn sure he’s not going to give her the satisfaction of sleeping outside of his house in his cop car for the whole town to talk about. He just pulls out of his driveway and starts driving. He isn’t even thinking about what route he’s driving, it’s like he’s driving on autopilot while he screams out every curse word in existence.

By the time he calms down, he realizes he’s driving down Birch again. His muscles in his body tense, and he thinks back to your conversation when he dropped you off. Your mother and brother were gone, meaning you have two spare bedrooms. He knows he shouldn’t but the temptation is way too overwhelming. He has nowhere else to go. If someone saw his car… well, he’d worry about that tomorrow. Your house is two miles away from your nearest neighbor, settled back at the end of a long dirt road. Someone knowing he was there was unlikely. He had people who could save your name. It was all innocent. Janie kicked him out and he knew you had an extra room. Hell, he’d rent a room from you- Wait. That’s perfect. That solved all of his problems and yours. He knows you were downplaying how hard it must be to keep up with the house and by him paying rent, you could take care of the house. It was a win-win.

He felt so confident now and he was so proud of himself for devising this plan. He parked his car out front and then walked up to your front door, knocking gently. The sound of the knock made him now incredibly nervous. He didn’t want to scare you or for you to think he was trying to take advantage. Granted, there would be a lot more than financial benefits to being able to live with you, which he knew were selfish, but the idea of being able to see you everyday was overwhelming. It was the closest thing to the dream he was wrapped up in back at the bar. He could live out his little pretend domestic bliss, and you’d get the money you need for the house. He knew he was insane and this was probably wildly inappropriate, but he knew you were too kind to turn him away.

You opened the door with a small yawn, a yellow bathrobe secured over your nightgown fully, to keep yourself decent when you answered the door. You were going to call the Sheriff when you heard the rapping at your door so late and ignore the knocks, but looking out the window of your bedroom you saw it was Lee’s cruiser parked outside.

“Lee?” you ask quietly, sleepiness very evident on your mumbled voice.

“Janie kicked me out,” he said softly, “Changed the locks on me. Darling, I’m so sorry for intruding but I have no where else to go.”

“Come in,” you say sympathetically, the news waking you up quite a bit. “Lee, I’m so sorry. You can take my mom’s old room; it’s got an attached bathroom you can use too.”

 “Thank you (Y/N),” he says quietly. You close the door and secure the lock and the chain again as he looks around the house.

“Don’t worry about it,” you insist. “I can take you there. Follow me.”

You walk up the stairs, Lee following closely behind and he’s ashamed that he took the opportunity to just openly check you out again. At the top of the stairs there was a hallway lined with photographs in mismatched frames. You point to the door at the end of the hall.

“That’s the master,” you explain, “There’s a bathroom attached inside if you want to clean up or anything. There’re clothes in the dresser if you want pajamas- should be in the bottom drawer.”

“Okay, thank you,” he replies, looking down at you as you yawn again, and he notices how your hair is a little messy. The sight drives him wild.

“Anything in the kitchen is up for the taking to,” you offer.

“Look, (Y/N),” he says, “I know this isn’t the best time to be talking about this, but I really need a more permanent plan on where to go. I know it sounds crazy and out of the blue, but could I rent that room from you? Name your price. I figured… I really need a new place, and you could probably use another source of income to keep up with the house. Plus, it’s safer than living alone…”

“Um…,” you begin to speak, but you bit your lip, showing that you’re intently thinking about his offer. Everything he said was right. You needed the money, and he was right that living alone was dangerous in this town and living with the sheriff is the safest person there was in the whole town. People would talk, of course, but no one would deny that the circumstances were just ideal for the two of you and nothing more. You were an adult, a homeowner, and it was your business who you rented a room too. “Yeah, I think that makes sense for both of us,” you agree. “We’ll sort out the details tomorrow.”

“Of course,” he says with a smile.

“Alright, um,” you say crossing your arms around your chest awkwardly. “Goodnight, Lee.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Lee responds as you head back into your own bedroom. He let’s out a heavy sigh and heads into your mom’s room- or rather his new room. He’d have to figure out how to get his stuff back from Janie tomorrow. He’d really just need his clothes and some other necessities. 

The room was fairly spacious. There was a closet and dresser. The closet still had some clothes of your mom’s left behind, and for the most part, the room looked fairly intact. It was like she up and left with just a few things. Lee shook his head, angry at how poorly you were treated by your mother. He pulls off his leather jacket, tossing it and his hat onto the bed. He opened up the bottom drawer of the dresser, and just like you said, it was filled with men’s clothing. He concluded they had to belong to the man your mom lived with now, more things just left behind.

He tosses a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt onto the bed, and then he heads to the bathroom.

In the drawer beside the sink, he finds a new toothbrush still in its packaging, that he opens for himself and drops it in the white toothbrush holder on the counter. The towels are all clean and folded neatly on the shelf above the toilet. He finds a new soap under the sink as well, and decided he needed a shower to just wash off everything of tonight off in hopes he’ll feel better.

He strips of his uniform, folding it nicely knowing he’ll need to wear it all again tomorrow morning. He steps into the shower and turns on the water. The hot water just immediately helps him to loosen the muscles that had been so tense. He lets the warm water run down his face and back, just letting himself enjoy the feeling. He lathers up his body with soap and then it finally hits him that he was here, living with you, and then suddenly he’s hard.

“Fuck,” he mutters, resting his head against the shower wall, the running down his back. He was in so much trouble he realizes. As he beats himself off in the shower, his mind is clouded with thoughts of you. The way the apron at the bar looked around your hips, and the smell of your perfume when you leaned into him. The way your body looked as you paraded yourself around behind the bar. The way you have no problem talking back to him when he walks into the bar after saying he’s off the bottle the night before, just making want to shut you up with a rough kiss. The feeling of your lips on his cheek and he imagines your lips on his neck. He thinks about how your hair looked tousled when you just showed him to his room. He lets himself slip back into that same domestic daydream. You being his wife… married to you instead dealing with this goddamn divorce. The absolute sickening sweet domesticity making him groan, as he imagines his hand is yours. Why on earth did he think he’d be able to do this?

PART TWO

[parkers-gal]

Tom x reader where reader wants to move out & live with Tom only (not with boys). Tom doesn’t want to move out, maybe Nikki has a talk with him

the one T.H.

➢ a / n | went a lil overboard, heh, but enjoy this ! sorry it took a lil while :,(

➢ wc | 2.5k <3

｡☆✼★━━ requests are closed ━━★✼☆｡

There’s too many dishes in the sink, you note. There’s so many, that they won’t all fit for one load in the dishwasher. It’s a pain, and you know nobody in this house has the patience to wait for two full loads to carry through, so you have to hand wash half of them and allow the whirring machine to do the other half.

If this were a romantic comedy, you’d have Tom standing next to you and you’d hold hands under the suds while you wash the dishes together and chat about your future. This isn’t a rom-com, though. In fact, you don’t even know where the boys are right now. You were certain they went into the den to play Call Of Duty — or whatever it is that they play — but then you thought they went into the backyard with Tessa, but now you’ve just given up on figuring their whereabouts.

Not that you’re angry at Tom for not helping, though. He did the laundry with you earlier, so you’re content with his keeping end of the deal. It’s the other four that you’re a bit fed up with. Sam had just recently joined the Holland-Osterfield-Barrett household of mates, and while you’re all the more happy to welcome him in, it also means more work. There’s a chore schedule, but sometimes someone has work in a town or a country away, and the gaps in the schedule are only ever left for you to fill.

It’s tough, considering you have your own job, but you’re content with the situation — for now. You have Tom, the love of your life, and you have the best people of your life - Harry, one of your closest confidants, and Harrison, one of your partners in crime.

There’s a lot of baggage that comes with being the only woman in a household of boys that practically grew up with each other. You love Tessa with all your heart, but it’s not like you can really gossip to her about your day.

You’re not too worried about everything, anyway. The second anniversary of your relationship with Tom is coming up; it’s only a few months away, and though you’ve been pondering the idea for awhile, you’re thinking of getting a place with Tom, on your own, without the nagging and intruding fellow in-laws (to-be, hopefully).

Six weeks, today marks, for how long you’ve been thinking about the idea, debating whether it’s valid enough to bring up to Tom, deciding when the best time to talk to him would be. He’s a hard man to navigate — getting a spot in his busy schedule is like fighting to the front of a One Direction mosh-pit. That makes it practically impossible.

But, you’re Y/N. You’re his sweetheart, his darling, his weakness. You’re the most important person in his life, and when you want to have a serious conversation with him, Tom’s all ears and eyes, attentive and caring, understanding and, hopefully, supportive.

You’re hoping it won’t take much convincing — he’s lived with these people all his life, and if it’s truly hard for him to decide, you’ll know what he really wants then.

Ringing out a few glass cups, you let them dry on a dish rack that sits on the countertop. The buzzing and whirring of the dishwasher alerts you that it’s still happily running, and you walk towards the glass sliding doors that lead to the patio and backyard. Peering out, you see all four housemates and Paddy, playing with a frisbee and wrestling with Tessa and messing around with a rugby ball on the trampoline. They look like kindergarteners on the playground, and you decide then to bring them some lemonade like a mother in summertime.

“Hope you’re all a bit thirsty,” you set the tray down with a warm smile. Sam shuts his book of poetry to smile up at you from his seat. He’s been reading for a good fifteen minutes, but you reckon he’ll hop on the trampoline when Harrison gets off. For now, he watches as the Irregulars star jumps happily with Tuwaine.

“Oh, sick,” Harry runs over with the frisbee still in his hands, reaching for a glass and taking a big gulp. Tessa’s at his feet, awaiting for the frisbee game to resume, and you pet her head for a moment before Tom runs over to you, hair matted to his forehead in sweat.

“You’re the best, love,” his hand finds the small of your back as he kisses your temple. You smile again, eyes shutting in bliss at the feeling of his lips, but his hand maneuvers you so he can reach for a glass without bumping into you.

One by one, they come over for refreshments, before picking up where they left off beforehand. Tom’s last to leave, wanting to talk to you before playing with his brothers again.

“Oh, I have to talk to you later,” you whisper, fingers tracing down his damp (sweaty) shirt with a giggle. Tom raises a brow, and you nod softly, “Just, when you have time. Now have fun,” you push him off, and though he’s still just as curious, he leaves you alone on the patio. Taking one last glance at the rowdy group of boys, you bring the tray of empty cups inside, sliding the door shut and sighing to yourself. More dishes to do.

——

Tom’s drying his hair with a purple bath towel when he comes out of the steamy bathroom. He sighs contentedly, before remembering your words from earlier. He brings it up, “What was it that you needed to talk to me about?”

He walks over to the dresser while you look up from your phone. You hum as Tom puts something away, and you shut the electronic device off, setting it on your nightstand and twisting to face his direction.

“I wanted to talk to you about… us, I guess.”

You see Tom’s movement slow, and he removes the towel from his damp curls, turning around hesitantly. You smile, waving him off, “Nothing bad, I promise.”

He lets out an inaudible “phew,” and nods. “Good.” You agree with a nod of your head, and he furthers on with the questions. “What is it, though? Is it something important?”

“I mean…” Tom places his towel on the rack before walking to the opposite side of the mattress “Sorta?” You offer, and you see the gears turn in his head. He sits down across from you, on the bed, and he smiles encouragingly, still a bit suspicious.

“Well, I’m all ears, darling.”

You smile at the familiar pet name, and with a final breath in, you admit what’s been in your head for the past few months. “I was thinking maybe we could… move out… without the boys.”

It’s dead quiet for a few beats while the words sink into his mind. You’re not sure how he’s going to react, but you watch to gauge his reaction.

His mouth opens, almost as if he’s about to say something, but then he closes it, as if he’d suddenly second guessed himself. For once, you truly can’t read him.

“I thought… I thought you liked living here?” he says softly, almost a bit saddened.

You sigh with your words, “I do! Really, I do, but…”

“But…?” He bites his lip.

“Well, I mean…” you exhale again, “We’ve been together for almost two years,” he’s still listening, “Don’t you think we should be a little more independent?”

“I mean, sure, if we were a normal couple.” He laughs at the joke, and while you do too, it’s not really genuine, but more forced for the awkward tension in the air. “I just thought you… y’know, enjoyed spending time with everyone.”

You nod understandingly. “I do, Tom. Really, I do. But… y’know, we’re not getting any younger. I just thought maybe it was time for us to get a place of our own.” It comes out as more of a suggestion, a question for him to respond to. You quietly bite your lip while Tom nods at the information he’s taking in.

He looks down at his fingers, before locking eyes with you. “Can I think about it?”

You shut your eyes softly while nodding. Tom blinks, before standing from the bed, giving you a kiss on the forehead and bidding farewell, heading downstairs for more quality time with his brothers.

——

It’s been a week since that conversation took place in your room. You didn’t think it’d go so… bad? You’re not sure if you should say that, because he didn’t exactly say “no,” he just didn’t seem enthusiastic about deciding at all.

It’s a quiet Saturday. You’re out bowling with a few of your friends, news of one of them getting engaged spreading like wildfire. She’s having a dinner party later, but for now, you’re keeping the meeting small, inviting your closest circle for the fun day at the bowling lanes.

Tom asked you if you wanted to reschedule the dinner with his family, but you insisted that arriving late would be fine. It’s only four o’clock — the Holland family likes to come for late lunch and spend the night playing games and drinking beer, until the clock strikes midnight and Paddy’s passing out in the backseat on the way back home.

At least now, only one Holland brother stays with the parents.

Somehow, someway, the conversation had shifted to you. Everyone’s gathered in the living room, scattered on sofas, couches, beanbags, armchairs, loveseats. Tom misses you at his side, but the conversation of how your work is going just reminds him of what you’d proposed a few days ago.

“How’re things with her in general, though?” Nikki, Tom’s mom, asks with a smile. The eyes shift towards Tom, and he can feel his face heating up.

“Yeah, how’re things with the lovebirds?” Harry teases.

Tom chuckles, anxiety bubbling in his stomach, twisting his. “Uh- they’re- they’re good, yeah,” he assures them, though shaky.

“You sure, there?” Harrison teases. “Did someone propose or something?”

“No, no,” Tom airily chuckles. “Nothing like that.” “Oh?” His dad picks up, “What, then?”

“She- uh…” he licks his lips out of habit. “She wants to move out. Find a place for us, she said.”

The tone in which Tom tells them lets them know that he’s a little less than enthusiastic about the whole ordeal. It’s something that raises a red flag for Nikki; it’s something that makes her brows furrow in confusion.

“Oh,” Sam breaks the silent. “I’m happy for you, bro,” he pats Tom’s shoulder.

Tom smiles, though it’s forced and a bit spaced out.

“What’re you gonna tell her?” Harry asks. “You want it too, right?”

Tom shrugs weakly. Nobody talks about his responses, his reactions. It’s all a bit unexpected, for Tom to not be on board with the next step of the relationship.

“I mean, I don’t know, really.” He confesses with a nervous laugh, running a hand through his curls. “I’d miss you all so much. I just… I don’t know, I guess I just thought she liked living here too, y’know.”

A collective number of “yeah’s” and “mhm’s” go around the room, and Tom nods nonchalantly before the conversation switches to something more exciting. For now, Nikki lets it go, just until she can get her eldest in a room by himself, and before you get home.

It’s when Tom’s getting snacks for the group that Nikki decides to offer her help in the kitchen. They’re just putting dinner in the oven and preparing appetizers, but still, any opportunity to talk to Tom.

“So,” Nikki smiles, and Tom giggles while she puts another slice of tomato on the dish they’re preparing. “Moving out, huh?”

Though her tone is teasing, Tom can’t help but get shivers. He nods, quieting down a bit. Nikki’s movements remain, but Tom stops working altogether. “I don’t want to move out.”

His mum turns to look at him, and she nods, almost as if anticipating the confession. “Why not?”

Tom clicks his tongue, looking down as if he’s ashamed of feeling this way. “I just like things the way they are right now. I know at some point, someone’s gonna move out and the clan’s gonna go our separate ways, but I don’t want to be the one to go first.”

At this, Nikki fully turns to talk to Tom, no longer making dinner. “Tom…” She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel, and Tom does the same. “You were the first to go, you know.”

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she sighs, “Your career was first to take off. You ran out that door so fast, we couldn’t keep up.” Tom laughs, reminiscing to himself. “You’re going to keep growing,” she says softly. “You can’t stop that. You can’t stop everyone from growing apart. Sure, you might not grow apart, but you won’t always be this cute little boy band from your school days.”

“Not a boy band, mum,” Tom grumbles. The two of them share a knowing smile.

“You can’t blame yourself for growing, darling,” she steps closer, grabbing one of his hands just like he had grabbed hers the day he was first born. “You can’t expect to be the glue that holds this- this temporary situation together forever. You’re not a superhero,” the two of them laugh again, but then Tom nods knowingly, and Nikki can see a faint batch of tears spring in his eye sockets.

“No, I know, mum.” He sniffles. “I guess… I don’t know, i’ve just always been afraid of never being there when everything changes. I always come back and everyone’s a different person, just…” he searches for the words, “with the same faces.”

She nods, turning back to her dinner dish. Tom keeps his eyes trained on his hands, which are planted on the countertop.

“She loves you a lot, you know.” Nikki says after a few beats. “She just wants a bit of privacy, a bit of your relationship without your annoying brothers.”

“Annoying is right,” Tom teases. They laugh again. “Yeah, I guess I just never thought of that.” Nikki hums, and the kitchen grows silent for a few moments. “Thank you, mum.”

“For what?”

“Being there.” Tom replies. “You never gave up on me, and now… I don’t know. It means a lot to me that you’re helping me with something so important to me.”

Nikki’s eyes soften, and both of them tear up. She nods, this time breaking the silence again. “I know how much you love her,” She says quietly. “One day, she’ll be yours for forever. She’s the one — I can see it in both of your eyes.”

Tom sucks in a breath and wipes his eyes. “I know she’s the one, too.” He adds in another tomato to the dish. “She’s always been it for me.”

[wolferine]

Unforgivable - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: When the reader loses their temper, it causes them to commit an act they can never take back...

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture, death

Word count: 2372

Part 1

Tags: @yeetus-thyself @phoenixofash @lilclownx @yeeterthekeeper @alessiapn @diaryoflife

AN: Please read to the end before you come after me. :)

Everything is a blur. The last thing you remember is cradling Natasha in your lap and seeing the pain of betrayal in her eyes. You did this to her. You couldn’t control your anger and now she had a bullet—shot out of your gun—in her back. You hurt her and there was no way you could ever forgive yourself for that. 

You finally let Tony get close enough to take care of her, because you realized you don’t deserve her anymore. 

You run away from the Avengers Tower, your leg slowing you down, but you don’t care. Each step feels like a knife rubbing against your bone, but even that’s not enough to distract you from the pain in your chest. It feels like someone has torn you open, ripped your heart out of your ribcage, and thrown it into a bonfire.

But you have no one to blame than yourself.

Tears stream down your face as you stumble through the streets, eventually finding some privacy in a nearby forest. Your sobs echo through the trees as you crawl hand over hand, your uniform shredding open on bushes and branches. The trickle of a creek calls to you and you dunk your bloody hands in the freezing water, desperate to wash yourself of your failures.

You can’t believe what you’ve done.

The scene of Natasha falling to the floor plays over and over in your head and you would pay anything to unsee it. You curl into a ball, wiping your nose on your knees. You deserve all the pain and misery for your actions. You’re so caught up in your head, thinking about all the ways you can punish yourself, that you don’t notice the group of men sneaking up on you from behind.

“Over there! Over there!” 

“By the creek, see?”

“Wait—that’s an Avenger?”

“Looks like someone had a bad day.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

At the sound of your name, you finally lift your head, only for the butt of a shotgun to slam into your face. Your nose breaks and blood fills your mouth. You turn away, not even interested in protecting yourself. If they killed you, you would thank them.

“Aw, come on. At least give us a reaction,” someone says.

The shotgun butt smashes against the back of your head and you wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked your skull. Someone kicks your leg where you were shot, and you bite your lip to hold back a scream.

“Well, this is anti-climactic.”

“Hey, if it makes our job easier, I’m not gonna complain.”

“I still think Hammer’s weird for wanting Y/N over the other Avengers.”

“Given the circumstances, he couldn’t really be picky—”

“Stop standing around and get to it!” someone yells. 

The men surround you, punching and kicking every inch of you. The bulletproof vest of your uniform does little to lessen the impact of their blows. You feel bruises forming along your ribs and your rattling teeth bite your lips bloody. It doesn’t take long for you to black out and the peace is blissful.

***********************************************************************

Sometime later—you have no idea how long—you jolt awake, finding yourself strapped to a metal chair in the middle of a dark, concrete room. A man in glasses and a gray suit with white gloves stands in front of you. 

“Hello, I’m Justin Hammer,” he says, offering a hand, then withdrawing when he realizes your arms are tied to the chair. “Sorry, force of habit.”

You stare at him. Your tongue pokes around the inside of your mouth and you notice some teeth are missing. There is a painful crick in your neck every time you try moving your head and every breath you take feels like a razor blade scraping the inside of your lungs.

“You’ve probably never heard of me, but I’m very familiar with you and your work with the Avengers. But the reason I have you here today is to talk about this man.” Hammer pulls out a folded photograph from his pocket and shows it to you.

It’s Tony Stark, but you have no desire to even think of that man anymore.

“Your best friend, right?” Hammer teases and you curl your lip at him. “What’s wrong? He’s the one who got you a spot on the team, isn’t he?” You look away from him. “I heard what he did to your girl,” he continues. “That must’ve felt like the betrayal of the century.”

“What?” you ask, confused as to what he’s referring to.

“I heard about what happened at the Avengers Tower. So tragic.” Hammer crumples Tony’s photograph and drops it on the floor. “Romanoff didn’t deserve that.”

“W-What are you talking about? Is she okay?” Your bottom lip quivers in fear.

Hammer kneels in front of you. “She’s dead, Y/N.”

“No, no…” You feel like he’s punched you right through the chest. “T-That’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry. I know she meant a lot to you.” Hammer stands again.

“How do you even know what happened at the Tower?” Given its security, there was no way news like that reached the public. At least not the truth of it. Maybe Hammer was just trying to mess with you.

Hammer motions behind him and a blonde woman steps forward from the shadows. Her face jolts your memory, but you don’t remember exactly where from.

“Recognize her?” Hammer asks. “She actually works for me, but she’s been pretending to be a SHIELD agent for some time now. She was right outside the door when your little spat with Stark went down.” Your mind flashes back to when you returned from the mission with Natasha. On your way to the private Avengers’ quarters, you remember passing the same blonde woman right outside the door.

“She heard everything that happened inside,” Hammer says as the blonde woman retreats into the darkness again.

“N-Natasha’s…She’s…She’s not dead,” you stammer.

Hammer shakes his head. “She went into surgery after Stark shot her, but due to the placement of the bullet, there were some complications and she coded on the table. They couldn’t revive her. That part was all over the news.”

You feel so sick you want to vomit. “I…I killed her?”

“No. You didn’t kill her. Tony Stark killed her.”

You start gasping for air, only worsening the pain in your chest. “No—But—He—I’m the one who pulled the trigger—”

“But you weren’t aiming for her. You were aiming for Stark, and he’s the one who deflected the bullet into her,” Hammer says. “He’s also the one who sent you two on that mission to begin with, wasn’t he? The reason you lost your cool and pulled your gun out? Think, Y/N. All of this is Stark’s fault.”

But the sadness of thinking you’ve killed Natasha is too overwhelming. You can’t focus on anything but your own guilt. You will burn in hell for this and you won’t even mind.

“Listen to me, Y/N!” Hammer snaps, striking you across the face. His rings cut into your cheek and blood fills your mouth. “I hate Stark just as much as you do. He’s been my business rival for years and I need someone to help me take him down. Who better than you, a former friend of his, who knows how to hit him where it hurts?”

You start crying at the thought of having to exist in a world without Natasha Romanoff.

Hammer tries getting your attention by slapping you again, but you’re unresponsive. You’re too lost in your grief to process anything he’s saying, and eventually he gives up, promising to come back another time to reveal his master plan to you.

It takes an entire month before he can even communicate with you. Your depression is all-consuming and their threats on your life have no effect. They’re startled to learn you actually enjoy the torture because you believe you deserve it after what you did to Natasha. But Hammer is relentless and finally figures out how to manipulate you into his bidding.

Six months after your capture and the accident, you finally crack. Your agony and pain turns into pure rage and hatred for Tony Stark. You can’t bring Natasha back, but you can get revenge on the man who took her life. After training with Hammer’s technology, which is almost as advanced as Tony’s, you’re deemed ready to be let out in the real world. Hammer personally asks for your help to kill Tony Stark, and it’s an offer you accept gladly.

***********************************************************************

Three months after the accident…

Natasha wakes up and looks to her right, disappointed to see the bed still empty. She’s tricked herself into believing that one day you’ll show up, ready to pick up the pieces and continue where you left off. But nothing has been the same since you left.

She sits up and turns the lights on. She scoots to the edge of the bed and carefully lifts her body into the wheelchair parked there.

The bullet had struck her lumbar spine, shattering her L1 vertebrae and paralyzing her from the waist down. Tony requested help from the best doctors he knew, but even the greatest modern advancements couldn’t repair her spine. He had personally designed her wheelchair, and she knows she should be grateful to still be alive, but she’s never felt so helpless and alone. 

After the accident, you ran off and no one could locate you. Secretly, she held onto the hope you would return one day, but she knows your guilt and shame are keeping you away. She wants to tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that she doesn’t hate you, but you’re not even giving her that chance.

Tony made the public announcement that Black Widow had retired from the Avengers. No one knew she had been paralyzed, nor that you had unofficially resigned from the team. Without you, without Black Widow, Natasha didn’t know who she was anymore.

She leaves her bedroom and goes into the kitchen. Tony arranged most of the food and dishes down to her new height but she feels like she’ll never adjust to not being able to stand anymore. She locates a bowl and a box of cereal and rolls over to the table. She chokes down dry Cheerios and pours her second bowlful when Tony walks in.

“Thank God you’re finally up,” he says. “When you’re done, I have something to show you.”

“Y/N?” She perks up.

“Uh…no…”

Natasha knows Tony blames himself just as much as she does for her accident, but it wasn’t his fault either. She wrestled between anger and guilt, sometimes blaming you, sometimes blaming him. But in the end, it’s easier to blame herself. She should have stopped you the moment you took out your gun, regardless of whether or not you pushed her. But she got so caught up in the moment she froze, and now she was paralyzed and you were gone.

“Just come down to my workshop, okay?” Tony disappears again.

With nothing better to do, Natasha takes the elevator down to Tony’s workshop. She doesn’t visit often, but when she does, she’s always impressed by his latest inventions and gadgets. She rolls down the aisle of old Iron Man suits displayed in glass cases, admiring the subtle differences in each one.

“Where are you, Tony?” she calls.

“Over here!” He waves her down from the other end. “I’ve been working on this for a while, and I know it’s a little premature, but I couldn’t help myself.” Tony stands next to another Iron Man suit, but it doesn’t quite look like it will fit him.

The suit is curved to fit a woman, black and red instead of Tony’s iconic red and gold. Natasha sees a red hourglass emblazoned on the belt buckle.

“What…What is this, Tony?” she asks, tears in her eyes.

“It’s an Iron Widow suit,” he says. “Or, whatever you want to call it. You’ll have to get in and test it out for yourself, but it’ll allow you to walk again and…be an Avenger again.”

Natasha wishes she could throw herself into his arms, but pulls him down to her level instead. “Thank you,” she whispers, wiping her face. She never thought she would be able to serve as an Avenger again, but she’ll take the opportunity if it means taking her mind off recent events.

“Ready to try it out?” Tony presses a button on the side of the suit and the suit opens up, bending into a crouched position so Natasha can get in it like a chair.

 She smiles for the first time since the accident.

 “I am.”

***********************************************************************

Six months after the accident…

Natasha is in the gym, lifting dumbbells on a bench when Tony walks in. Although she now has a legitimate excuse for skipping leg day for the rest of her life, she now has to make sure her upper body is twice as strong to make up for it.

“Look who decided to slide through my DMs this morning,” Tony says, shoving his phone in her face.

Midnight. Central Park Carousel. Come alone.

The text was from you.

“Oh, my God,” Natasha says, setting the weights down. You haven’t even texted her since the accident, and she’s a little hurt you didn’t reach out to her first. “What’s this about?”

“I have no idea.” Tony shrugs. “I know it says for me to go alone, but since it’s from Y/N, I wanted to ask if you wanted to tag along.”

“Of course.” In a way, Natasha feels like the text is really meant for her. Central Park was where you had asked her to be your girlfriend. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I’ll need you to be on your A-game. We have no idea what Y/N’s been up to these past six months. I don’t know if you’re gonna like what we find,” Tony says.

Natasha has spent countless nights wondering where you’ve been and what you’re doing. Now she has the chance to find out. “It’s going to be okay, Tony,” she says.

He shakes his head. “Just so you know, I’m praying more for you than me right now.”

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Click here for Part 3!

AN: I never went to medical school, so forgive my medical inaccuracies.