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dee-dee-monster · 2 years

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Then Out of the Aether - (Ch. 5)

Summary: You’ve had a long week, but a Friday night at Eddie’s helps brighten your mood.

Warnings: None. Zip. Zero. Just some friendly fluff.

A/N: Multi-chapter slow burn. Henderson! Reader.

< Click here to find previous chapters >

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“...what’s your damage, Henderson?” Eddie spares a glance while packing up the miniatures he’d used for tonight’s session.

Dustin shuffles back from the hallway exchanging significant glances with Wheeler. They’d been muttering at the other end of the table for a while, too. Clearly Eddie had missed something.

“My sister…”

Eddie glances toward the door but doesn’t see you. He can’t think of a reason you wouldn’t come on in.

All’s good these days.

He’s back to pestering you after school now and then, and you come in and chat when picking up Dustin like the tension never happened. You’ve even upped the ante by chatting with him before Government class…on the occasions that he actually happens to stroll in early.

“Whattcha makin’ her wait out there for?” Eddie frowns.

He likes seeing you.

You often exchange a little banter, and you’ll habitually ask about the campaign’s progress. Eddie knows you get a full breakdown from Dustin, but he gives you the highlights from his perspective as DM. You don’t pretend to fully understand how the game works, but you seem interested in the overall story anyway

It’s nice, is all.

“I’m not! She’s not here...”

He seems genuinely distressed about this fact. If Eddie hadn’t already figured that Little Henderson’s habit of hassling you was his way of showing brotherly affection, then his tone now would’ve given it away.

“Yeah?” Eddie flips his wrist up to check his watch.

Huh.

Shit.

You are late.

“It’s cool – I’m sure she’s on the way”

The two younger boys toss more looks and nods back and forth.

“What?” Eddie interrupts.

“She’s never late,” Mike supplies while Dustin huffs.

Wow.

“...everybody’s late sometimes,” Eddie corrects this catastrophizing. “Wheeler, help me put this shit away. We’ll head out and wait...”

Mike responds dutifully and takes the box of landscape pieces while Eddie grabs the models, and they head back to the small props rooms to tuck them away.

“She really is never late to pick him up,” he mutters once they’re out of the main room.

“Dude. Chill. She’s eighteen – she’s going to be late sometimes. That’s the way it is…”

Little brothers aren’t always going to be priorities. Eddie isn’t sure how best to say that given Wheeler, too, is a little bother.

“She’s nineteen,” Mike corrects him, as if this makes all the difference in the world. “She had to repeat a year in grade school...”

Aw, looky there! Something the two of you have in common: being held-back.

“Jesus, Wheeler – my point still stands”

Maybe that one year sounds like a lot when you’re an itty-bitty Freshman, but Eddie knows it’s only a number and they’re all just figuring shit out. Everyone is their own little mess sometimes.

Dustin is still sour and antsy back at the table. This attitude soon as him stomping down the hall with agitated purpose, which really straddles the line between amusing and annoying.

That seems to be Dustin’s usual brand.

“She’ll get here, she’ll apologize, and everyone will live,” Eddie mutters on the way down the hall. “On the off chance she doesn’t, I’ll take you home…”

“She’ll be here,” the younger boy snaps.

Uh. Yeah. Isn’t that exactly what Eddie had just said? Jesus.

He opts to keep that thought to himself, lest he get one of the little lectures Dustin is prone to when he gets on a roll. Sometimes Eddie wonders if he’s rubbing off on the kid, but you’ve assured him that Dustin has always had a small flare for the theatrics and that he’s been a smartass for ages.

And really? Those are all reasons Eddie’s fond of him... “What the…” Dustin scrambles off at a run when they round the corner and see you sitting out front on a bench.

He bursts out the front doors, and Eddie and Mike watch him gesticulate wildly at you. You appear pretty calm about it.

This must happen a lot.

When they step outside, Eddie can hear you reassuring him.

“...I’ve been right here the whole time. I figured you’d come out eventually…”

“Well how was I supposed to know that!?” Dustin’s arms are crossed in a defensive way, and Eddie can’t decide if he’s feeling silly for having worried or if he is still legitimately upset with you.

“...by coming out here, I guess?”

“...what’s the matter with you today?”

Dustin reaches out to poke the top of your head, but you swat him away before he can.

“Rude”

“I’m a little brother, that’s my job,” he dismisses you and then moves straight on. “Keys?”

You fork them over with very little griping and let Dustin hop-skip across the parking lot with Mike at his heels.

“Some. One. Was. Laa-aaate,” Eddie sings, scuffing his heels as he strolls over.

You still haven’t gotten up off the bench and are draped back against the brick wall of the building.

“I was early, actually…”

“But you only made it this far?”

You shrug.

“Probably one of the last descent nights we’ll have…weather-wise, I mean…”

That is probably true enough.

Buuuuut.

Hmmm...

Eddie thinks Dustin was onto something. He doubts very much that Dustin realizes he’d been onto said something…but you do seem off tonight.

Slouched.

Muted.

Not showing overt investment in either Dustin’s happiness or his worry – not on brand at all.

That’s a thing about hanging with these younger dudes. It doesn’t always make Eddie the smartest in the room – which he is totally fine with – but he is more… aware, he supposes. He can contextualize and move in better.

“...hey, you okay?” he kicks at the underside of your bench.

“Yeah,” is your perfunctory answer.

Eddie leans to the side, head tilting and wide-eyed to convey his skepticism. This draws the tiniest grin from you. An almost-grin, really.

“I’m good”

Eddie sniffs.

Then takes a longer, deeper inhale.

Then another short, quick sniffle.

“...I peddle bullshit all the time. You think I don’t know the smell of it?”

You roll your eyes, chuckling.

“I’ll be fine. How about that?”

“...little bit better,” he grades you. “What’s up?”

You roll your neck back and forth a little.

“Just a long week”

“Alright…” he believes you – ya know, like just a little bit. He thinks for a moment and then drops down to sit next to you. “So what does a chauffeur do after she ferries her brother home?”

“Tonight?” you consider. “I don’t know. Nothing, really.”

“M’kay. Wanna come over?”

Eddie expects to feel a pang of regret, of wanting to take that back. But he doesn’t, not even a little.

“... the guys all coming over again?”

Right. Fuck. They’d invited you along with them once and you’d declined. Although, unless Eddie’s memory is faulty, you hadn’t sounded entirely against the idea. you’d just seemed a little flustered. Surprised, maybe. In fact, you had said maybe you’d be interested next time.

Welp.

Looks like it’s next time.

“Nah. They took off…”

He wonders if that makes his offer more or less inviting. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. You’ll come or you won’t, and that’s that.

You weigh your options. Chewing on your bottom lip and looking him over while you perform some kind of arithmetic evaluation or…whatever you do.

Or you’re trying to decide how to turn him down tactfully. That’s always a possibility.

“...okay.”

Eddie blinks.

“Really?”

“...unless you had other plans.”

“Nope…I mean, I might want to smoke or something,” Eddie looks you over. “But you look like you could use some, too.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs. “...you know where Forest Hills Trailer Park is?”

“Mmhmm”

You don’t show any other reaction upon hearing this. Eddie watches for it because, based on his experience, some people have thoughts on trailer parks. A lot of thoughts.

“Alright,” he fishes a pen from a side pouch of his Jansport and picks up your hand so he can jot their number along the inside of your wrist. “My van will be out front.”

“...okay,” you stare at his scratchy handwriting for a few moments and look up with a ghost of a smile.

Dustin pulls up – faster these days — and Eddie stands.

You follow.

“We’ll smoke or drink or throw in a movie or – whatever,” he figures he doesn’t have to prescribe the night. “Actually, bring some music…”

He sees you eyeing your car.

“...gonna be able to shake little brother?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“Mike is spending the night. They’ll be in their own little world…”

Eddie finds he is glad to hear for a fact they’re hanging out. He knows full well he shouldn’t be spending all his free time with minors – as if people don’t talk enough! – but he also wouldn’t want them to feel purposefully excluded. That shit happens enough. But it’s good they have their own shit.

“No Sinclair?”

That part doesn’t sound right.

You sigh.

“He has some basketball clinic in the morning”

“Oh, shit. Flirting with the dark side….” Eddie shakes his head.

A damn shame.

“Do not encourage them,” you elbow him, and he doesn’t much mind.

“What? I’m being serious. Jocks?” Eddie shakes his head. “Not my jam.”

Surely they aren’t yours, either.

Parish the fucking idea!

“They’ve been complaining about Lucas being busier with basketball stuff, now …I keep trying to tell Dustin that Lucas can be more than one thing.”

Okay.

“Well. Yeah.”

Theoretically speaking, anyway, but the brainwash is real around here.

“It doesn’t matter what he’s into. If he starts blowing them off, that’s one thing. But they should support him if he’s just having some fun…”

Ugh.

Fine.

If you’re going to go and be reasonable about it.

“Alright, alright…”

He is picking up what you’re putting down. Don’t give Sinclair shit. Or…at least not too much shit. Eddie will always dole out something.

“See you in a bit, then,” he bids a quiet farewell.

“Mmhmm”

Eddie continues to his van and clambers in trying to think if he has any cleaning he ought to do. They do alright and all, but…well, he and his Uncle aren’t professional cleaners or some shit. It’s probably fine, though.

…maybe he’ll hurry home anyway?

Not that he needs to impress you, he thinks. It’s just the courteous thing.

There’s nothing happening, but he does like you. Mostly. He thinks. You know, as a person. Just in general…or whatever.

He’s not trying to chase you off, is the thing.

So. Yeah.

Maybe he’ll just take a critical eye to the living room when he gets home. .

As predicted, it’s simple to leave the house once you drop the boys off. You have a track record for behaving, so your mom doesn’t ask many questions. (Plus she’s hosting the Bridge game tonight, so she’s maybe a little distracted).

You stop at Bradley’s for a couple snacks to contribute for the evening because it seems… polite? You’re not sure what niceties Eddie expects, but he’d invited you over and that was kind enough.

You’re appreciative.

You’ve just …it really has been a long couple weeks.

Lindsey has missed more school lately. Her house is in some upheaval with the contentious divorce, so you don’t blame her or anything. You imagine you’d be stressed, too, and would hole up at home if you could.

On the other hand (the more selfish one, you know), Lindsey is your best friend. You don’t talk to a lot of other people – not really – and while you’re okay with that…it can get exhausting being lonely.

So tonight will be nice.

You hope.

You’ll make sure of it. You feel slightly less confident when you pull up to Eddie’s trailer.

It’s the right number, his van is parked outside, and the light over the door has been left on. All signs point to this being the right place.

But as you cut the engine it hits you that you’ve never just hung out with Eddie. You’ve never been in a situation that had no clear end– certainly not at one of your homes.

Before you can think too hard on these facts, you grab your grocery bag and throw open the car door. “Come on in!” you hear shouted to you after you knock.

You feel a little funny stepping inside, but Eddie is hurrying down a hallway to your left to greet you

“Hey…”

His wide, easy smile releases some of the tension in your shoulders, and you smile back. He doesn’t look at all shocked or disappointed that you’d followed through on his invite.

“Hi…” you close the door behind you and start toeing off your shoes.

“Oh, you don’t gotta do that…”

“S’fine”

“Here,” Eddie leans in and liberates your Bradley’s bag.

First you think it’s because of manners, but given how quickly he starts rifling through it…you think maybe he’s just hungry. You’re glad to know you’d made the right call on snacks.

Oddly, he then starts looking you over like he expects another bag.

“...what?”

It isn’t like you’d taken requests and forgotten to get him something.

“...thought I said to bring music,” he waves at you even as he moves to the kitchen to set the food down.

“Yeah…” you realize, following after him. “You did. I just figured any of my tapes you would like are ones you already have, so…”

Eddie rolls his eyes like this isn’t completely reasonable of you.

“I mean, yeah, I have preferences,” he concedes in what you think is a vast understatement, “but I’m not completely one-note. Ain’t like I wouldn’t let something else play in my presence,” he puts on that hoity-toity voice he sometimes says mocking things in. “I’d listen to whatever you got …you know, as long as you’d listen to my shit, too.”

“Oh…”

You hadn’t realized. You feel like you kind of ruined some whole plan of his.

“Oh,” Eddie echoes in a little chuckle. “Besides, aren’t you a mood listener? We couldda listened to whatever you’re in the mood for.”

He’d…he’d remembered that? That’s. It’s. Hmm. For such a throwaway conversation you’d been having at the time, you’re touched he’d remembered what you said about yourself.

“Sorry. I guess I didn’t realize what you wanted t–”

“S’okay,” he waves you off and pops open the can of Cheez Balls. “Next time, yeah? Oh…is this alright?” he stops after ripping the seal and points to the now-opened food.

“Yeah, yeah, go on,” you urge him. “I didn’t bring it all for myself…”

He grabs a handful and then holds the can out to wiggle it at you. You pluck a few out, a little more focused on the fact he’d already said “next time” than you are on the snack food.

It’s a pleasure hearing he’s comfortable having you there. That he doesn’t regret this already.

Damn, is that pathetic?

It’s just…you can’t help it.

The last time you had gone to a new person’s house had been Chrissy Cunningham’s to work on a class project last Spring. It had been awkward to say the fucking least.

“Can I be honest?” you distract yourself from the bad taste that evening had left in your mouth – this is not that.

“Yes. Always,” Eddie answers around a fresh pair of Cheez Balls in his cheeks.

You smirk at his brief likeness to a chipmunk.

“...I half expected there to be some party going on when I got here…”

He nods slowly. Adds another ball before chewing and swallowing it all down.

“...that kindda what you were hoping for?” he asks, fingers drumming on the edge of the canister.

You consider how you’d been nervous to come in. Would it have been easier if there were more people?

“No,” you decide. “I’m not a huge party person…”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised by that…” Eddie decides of you as he nods. “Guess I was really asking if you got halfway here and realized you’d agreed to come hang out with the Hawkins Freak,” he makes a little face.

You tutt and pluck a Cheez Ball from the can just so you can fling it at him. Eddie catches it after it hits his shoulder, and he tosses it in his mouth to chomp on gladly.

“I thought we covered that I don’t buy all of that…”

“Sure,” he pops one of his shoulders in a shrug. “Doesn’t mean you don’t walk in here with some …preconceived notions or whatever.”

Fair enough.

You’ve both been victims of those.

“I just meant that I picture you as someone who has things to do on a Friday night…”

Not the parties out in Loch Nora, certainly – those weren’t the kids who would want to call up Eddie Munson. But. Just. Something.

“... dark and depraved kinds of things?” he wiggles his fingers at you.

You go for the snack can again but Eddie yanks it out of reach from the other side of the counter.

“These should be treasured!” he declares. “Not thrown around carelessly as ammunition against innocent young men!”

You laugh and lean forward to prop your forearms onto the counter.

“Not dark and depraved stuff, just…I guess you struck me as someone who doesn’t want to stick at home…”

Is that rude?

Shit, you’re the one ruining it! You’re not just supposed to tell people what you think of them. Or insinuate that you took time to wonder what he does in his free time!

Then again, he’d told you to be honest…

Still.

But Eddie doesn’t look weirded out. He looks thoughtful. Tilting his head back and forth for a moment while he continues tapping on the can in his hand.

“...nah, I don’t need company or activity,” he shrugs. “What I need is noise, but music or a movie can take care of that. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I like to get up to shit,” he smirks.

“Dark and depraved shit?” you toss back, grinning.

“Don’t be nosey,” he sets the canister back down as he lightly chides you, apparently trusting you in the vicinity of food again for the moment.

“...what’re you usually up to on a Friday night, then?” you find yourself incredibly curious. “I mean, when I don’t come crash the plan.”

“First of all, you’re not crashing – I invited you,” Eddie brushes cheese dust from his fingers before dumping the rest of the Bradley’s bag out. “And…I dunno. Usually I just come home and work on the next part of the campaign. Or might fuck around on my guitar…”

You don’t love that he had caught your self deprecating tack-on, but you hum to let him know you’d heard. Then you snatch up the licorice with greedy hands. Dustin always tries to hoard the licorice that comes into the house, but it’s a little exciting to know you’re not going to share with him. It’s your favorite, too.

“Come on – how ‘bout you? What’s your Friday night…if I don’t shanghai you?”

“Yup, really dragged me here against my will…”

“Dark and depraved, what’d I tell ya?” Eddie smirks.

You roll your eyes, then get back to the question.

“...I dunno. Read? Hang with Lindsey and her cousin sometimes. Usually working on a project,” you recite and wonder how boring you sound – but it’s the truth. “Maybe a movie night with Dustin. He’s getting into slasher flicks, though,” you narrow your eyes at Eddie.

He lifts his chin.

“I don’t know what that look is for…” he gazes imperiously at the ceiling.

“Uh-huh …you’ve never made a recommendation? Or two?”

Accusation is clear in your tone, and Eddie studies your face. Maybe wondering how much Dustin has actually said verses how much you’ve assumed. You let him make those calculations unfettered and dig out a couple strings of licorice.

“...okay, yeah. Sure,” he finally gives it up. “Shit won’t hurt him.”

“Mmhmm, I knew it… …just like the Megadeath I heard coming from his room last week…”

“That was me,” Eddie has no hesitation over that one. “How’s it he needs my metal recommendations, though? You’ve obviously got some. Aren’t you guys close?”

He palms the candy bag from you to yank a few out.

“Mmhmm, but you have to understand…I’m his sister. That means I’m only interesting at random times,” you laugh as you spell it out. “Otherwise my opinions are suspect. You on the other hand…”

You leave this open-ended.

Eddie is way cool n Dustin’s eyes. Always. Whereas you are only cool when no one else is looking or when he is under duress.

“Little weirdo,” but Eddie’s grin is definitely affectionate.

“For sure,” your tone is laced with something similar.

“...he digs me and Harrington, huh?” he adds. “What’s the deal with that?”

Ah.

“That’s a very long story…”

“I’m cool with story corner,” Eddie mirrors you, leaning his elbows onto the counter so he can swing one of his licorice ropes around like a helicopter and try to snag a bite as it twirls by his face.

You watch his attempts for a moment.

“...it’s complicated,” you sigh. “I guess the short version is that Steve helped Dustin out with some…bullies. Looked after him.”

“Harrington?” Eddie scoffs. “We are talking about Steve Harrington?”

“Mmhmm – he’s a pretty good guy…”

Eddie’s little candy helicopter flops to a standstill.

“You’re shitting with me”

“Nope”

“... …you got a crush?” Eddie tilts his head and points one ringed finger at you. “That’s why you’re backing Dustin up?”

“No!” you laugh. “No, they just really get along. He’s… nice.”

“Uh-uh,” Eddie shakes his head and straightens up. “I do not want to believe that…rich, popular, girls like him, and he’s a good dude?”

“Mmhmm”

“Nah…there are rules of the universe, and that just flies in the face of all of them,” Eddie chops both hands back and forth through the air.

“I don’t know what to tell you…”

“This would throw off my entire Douche Chart,” he continues to shake his head like he’s just not going to let this information settle into his mind.

Uh. What’s that, now?

“...Douche Chart?”

“Mmhmm. I have one,” he taps at his head. “Unofficial but very reliable. You know…until the Henderson Siblings came along and decided they wanted to try to ruin it…”

You laugh at his melodrama.

“Explain…”

“M’kay. Sure,” he agrees. “I need to smoke, though. You want?” he holds two fingertips together and wiggles them around.

“Yeah, sure”

He nods and rubs his hands together.

“Couch out front – I’ll go grab something”

He moves off into the depths of the trailer again, and you suppose his room is back there somewhere. You grab the licorice to take outside with you. Then, in a fit of generosity, you grab the Cheez balls, too. Soon, you and Eddie are leisurely passing a blunt back and forth while he explains the running depth chart he has of your classmates based on their general shittiness.

You chuckle along as he uses examples to demonstrate the range of said chart. To no one’s surprise, Jason Carver is one of the folks deep in Fuck No territory.

“Agreed,” you tilt your head back along the top of the cushions after handing Eddie the smoke.

“He’s not an undercover friend of your brother, too?” he chuckles.

“Hell no…”

“And not a secret crush either?”

He’s still teasing. You can tell in his tone and by his smirk when you roll your head to the side to watch him.

“...awfully interested in who I have crushes on, Munson,” you tease back.

Which…after you say it you realize it sounds presumptuous. Very. You don’t have a lot of gumption to care at the moment, but you sigh at yourself internally.

“Just working on figuring you out,” he doesn’t seem bothered, draped at the end of the couch as he is.

Hmmm.

“Well, no, I’ve known Jason a long time…and he is absolutely a turd..”

Eddie chuckles at this PG slur against the jock. You join in once you realize what you’d said.

You dig a hand into the party mix that’s now also sitting on the couch between you, and accept the return of the joint with the other hand.

“...how about Marleen Kennedy?” you check and down a handful of the Chex Mix.

“...whatta ‘bout her?”

“On yer chart,” you answer around your food and promptly start choking because apparently pot has made you a real cretin tonight.

“Shit…” Eddie helpfully shuffles closer and slaps you on the back a couple times.

“Sorry, sorry…” you cough a few more times, then gasp a deep breath. “I’m good…”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie swipes the smoke back as if you can’t be trusted.

“Rude,” you grumble but grab another handful of the mix and a thing of licorice anyway. “I meant where is Marleen on your chart,” you re-ask more clearly.

“Hmm…kindda neutral,” Eddie reports. “But leans towards No-Go considering the company she keeps…”

“M’kay…” you finish chewing before speaking further. “How do I lobby to bump her up on the meter? Can I submit a dissertation to you?”

“For you?” Eddie shrugs. “Nah. Where do you want her?”

“Way out of neutral,” you flutter around your hand. “She used to give me all kinds of shit…”

Was it a long time ago and you should just be over it? Probably so. But that doesn’t seem to matter in Eddie’s herky-jerky methodology of ranking. He’s been calling it a scientific system but only, as far as you can tell, because he says so.

“Yeah?” he catches your wrist and slips the joint back between your fingers.

It’s low by now, so you handle with care.

“Mhm,” you nod. “She was hell in junior high, and freshman year, she…” you shake your head. “Maybe she’s changed…”

“No, fuck her!” Eddie smacks the back of the couch while you inhale again. “She’s with Carver.”

You laugh and hand off.

“Who else? … …who would I be surprised is on your good side?”

This whole list is probably petty, but you’re into it. And why wouldn’t you be? People like you or Eddie hadn’t gotten to help write the social hierarchy that everyone at school seems to operate in, so why not have your own version of it in private?

Eddie’s a genius, maybe.

You’ll tell him so later.

Right now he’s busy rattling off the usual suspects.

“...I said who would be a surprise,” you remind him.

He grumbles and thinks.

“...Nancy Wheeler,” he decides.

“Yeah?”

“Mm…we aren’t friends or anything, but she’s on the yearbook committee,” he rolls his eyes there. “And she had to photograph and get some information on Hellfire. She was actually super nice.”

“...she is,” you agreed.

“Mmm. You and her aren’t pals because of your brothers?”

“...we aren’t not friends, but,” you waffle a hand back and forth. “We just didn’t have a lot in common as we’ve gotten older. We get along and everything but…”

Eddie nods and offers you the smoke back.

“I’m good…”

“‘Kay…also Miss Keith,” he announces and takes a few last puffs off the end of the joint.

“Miss Keith!” you sigh, nodding as a smile wraps itself up onto your face. “I liked her…”

“Right?!” Eddie bounces a little on his seat thinking of it. “She’s like…the one cool teacher. I’ll fucking die on that hill, I swear. She recommended some fantasy books to me once she saw what I was into…”

You think of your art teacher and how she offers extra support to your interests.

“That’s sweet of her,” you simply state.

You and Eddie share a fond, understanding smile, and go quiet for a little while. “...how about me?” you finally ask. “Where am I on the chart? I can take the truth, I promise…”

Eddie snorts.

“You’re not on it…”

Your eyebrows raise and you lift your head off the back cushions.

“...told you,” he shrugs. “I’m still figuring you out.”

“Hmm…”

That doesn’t sound horrible, you suppose.

“You’re doing alright, though, don’t worry – I invited you over to the castle, didn’t I?” he gestures about generously and knocks a knuckle on the outside of the trailer.

You chortle.

“El Castillo de Munson, hey?”

“More like The Tower of Saint Edward,” he adopts a deep baritone for said announcement.

“...Edward?”

He thrusts a hand out and places a warm finger over your lips.

“Shh…you heard nothing…”

You laugh and, shortly, he joins. Since you had failed to bring music – “A fucking travesty, She-Henderson!” Eddie reminded you – you wind up on the inside couch with a movie. Snacks are lined up between you, of course.

Bickering had ensued over what to watch. You’d been the one to mention slashers earlier, so Eddie blamed you for putting it in his head that he wanted something a little gory and a lot murdery. You reminded him that you were the guest, and shouldn’t that count for something? You enjoy Sci-Fi, after all, and made sure to tell him so. He agreed that’s up his alley, but —

“Uh – Tower of Saint Edward, remember?” he’d waved his arms all around. “Does that mean nothing to you?!”

“...okay. Sure. Edward can make the decision…”

Your plan had backfired because, in light of your concession, Eddie decided it was fine to be Edward for the moment.

Your own fault, really – the plan had been high-risk-high-reward.

So you’re watching ‘My Bloody Valentine’ with Eddie’s assurances that he’ll “protect you if you’re scared” (insert waggling eyebrows here).

“Whatever, Munson. Next time, I pick…”

He’d agreed, and while he’d got the VHS set up you had privately marveled over the idea that you’d now both insinuated there should be a next time. You’re both enjoying. This is fine.

This is fun.

Easy, even.

Imagine that. It doesn’t even bother you when he comes back to the couch, shoves the snacks around a little, and sits a little closer than he’d been while you were debating the merits of one movie versus another.

“Just in case,” he throws his arm up over the back of the couch and nods to the open space under it.

You both laugh.

And he doesn’t actually seem to care either way, which is reassuring. He picks at the snacks along with you the same as he had when you were out front, and that’s that. Turns out Eddie is someone who is willing to humor talking during movies, which is helpful. You both offer commentary, so it’s easier to ignore some of the splashier moments on screen.

About halfway through the film you’ve got your knees pulled up onto the couch as if they’re going to shield you from all of the "ugh" onscreen. You aren’t going to lose sleep over this movie or anything, but murder towns? No. Not your favorite.

“Spooked, Henderson?” Eddie smirks, eyeing your position.

You shake your head, but his grin feels knowing.

He pats your ankle, which is a little patronizing but you both laugh anyway. When Eddie gets up a couple minutes later, muttering about using the bathroom, you feel sure he’s going to find a way to scare you when he returns. You’re not sure how since you can see the hallway to the bathroom, but it’s dark and seems like something Eddie would enjoy.

No dice.

He comes back to the living room, dives into the couch to rearrange himself, and hauls your feet up onto his leg by the cuff of your jeans. He pats them again, grinning.

‘I’ll protect you if you’re scared…’ he had teased earlier.

Your inclination is to laugh and pull your feet away. Maybe claim you’re ticklish. Or just say nothing at all about it. That’s your prerogative.

Only…it's warm.

And it feels oddly nice besides.

You leave them even though you feel heat flushing your neck. You ignore the bloom and focus on the stupid movie.

A corner of your mind (the one where you have a tendency to be a little mean to yourself) is telling you that this is just what kids your age do. That it’s nothing at all. That hanging out with new (or new-ish) people is normal. Doing new things, finding boundaries…flirting with those boundaries, maybe. It shouldn’t be strange or exciting.

…you’ve avoided these things a bit, though. So maybe you’re behind, maybe you’re the strange one here.

Or…

You chance a glance over at Eddie, who is chewing on a Cheez Ball and has the next one poised in his hand ready to go. Maybe you’re fine. Maybe you can just let this be what it is. That’s what Eddie seems to be doing. Rolling with it. Enjoying it. He doesn’t seem to think you’re strange …or if he does it’s not in a lame way...

“Alright?” He flicks the bottom of your foot lightly, and you realize he’s watching you back.

“Yeah,” you laugh at yourself.

He accepts that.

You like that about him.

“The weed might just be wearing off I guess…”

“Need more?“

“No,” you decline and nod at the TV. “I’ll probably have to head home after this…”

“Got you…” “What’d you think?” He checks after the killer is revealed and the ominous ending is wrapping up.

“…will I offend you if I answer honestly?”

He snorts.

“No…but I’ll judge your taste…”

“That’s fair — I’ve already judged yours…”

“Ooooof,” Eddie makes a show of flopping himself against the cushions. “Guess that tells me all I need to know,” he gives one of your feet a squeeze.

“Guess so…”

“Thanks for at least braving through...”

“Hey, I’m not scared,” you defend yourself. “It’s just …gross.”

“Okay, so you’re not going to creeped out driving home tonight?” Eddie challenges you.

“No”

Truth.

“…not going to have a tight grip on the wheel, waiting for something to just appear in the middle of your lane?” He leans in, speaking low and grandious like you’ve heard him during a D&D session.

“Nope”

“…and you won’t be watching the tree line to see if something leaps out ?”

Well…now that he mentions it…

“No,” you deny and kick his knee lightly before you pull your feet around and get up to start clearing your snack bags from the old coffee table.

“Then you’re definitely not worried about a murderer in your back seat…”

Okay, okay, that is spooky!

Asshole.

“Shut up,” you hide your shudder in a laugh and an attempt to smack his shoulder.

He dodges the hit by flattening himself on the couch. Laughing, he springs back up, takes the food from your hands, and whisks off toward the kitchen.

“You want to take these?“ he rattles one of the bags around.

“No, help yourself,” there’s not much left anyways.

“You sure?“ he points to the grocery bag still on the counter.

You wave off these manners. He’s hosted, so he’s welcome to whatever is left.

“Not even to give to your brother?”

“Nope … …don’t tell Dustin though…”

“Hah!’ Eddie tosses his head back, hair flying a little. “Cross my heart, or what the fuck ever,” he doddles his finger over his chest in estimation of such a promise.

You start stepping into your shoes, and he shuffles over to join, hands slid into his back pockets.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sure there’s not a murderer in your back seat…”

“Oh thanks,” you laugh. “But, uh, seriously…thanks for having me over. I had fun — movie choice aside.”

“Cmon cmon, I said I’d let you pick the next one,” he defends himself.

“So you say…”

“I, Eddie Munson,” he raised a hand in an all new pledge. “Hereby swear—“

“Oh my gosh…”

“To sit through any movie you choose with a smile on my face…or suffer the consequences…” he doesn’t break character even in the face of your shushing.

“Any movie?”

“This I do solemnly vow,” he nods. “… …but please have mercy upon my soul,” he then crosses himself entirely incorrectly.

“Dramatic, Munson. But you’re on.”

He shrugs and pushes through the door to walk you out.

“Thanks for coming — I had fun too. Movie tastes aside…”

Eddie offers to check your backseat for pickaxe-wielding psychos, but after you shove his shoulder he stays on the little wooden deck. Just bobs on the balls of his feet and tells you to fend for yourself.

And…despite yourself, you glance into the backseat when you unlock the car. You know there’s not going to be anything there…but also, uh, you don’t know that.

You close your car door to the sound of Eddie’s laughter.

Which isn’t so bad, really. You keep thinking about it on the way home – his laughter. His smile. He’s full of that kind of lightness, and you would be a liar if you said it isn’t a little surprising.

Of course you’d known he wasn’t what people said – freak, cult leader, dangerous.

But knowing what he wasn’t is not the same as learning what he is. From actual experience. Up close and personal.

You’re not comfortable around a lot of people…or maybe people aren’t comfortable around you? But Eddie isn’t trying to pull you in any direction; rather, it’s like he’s finding ways to meet you where you’re at. Like when he says he wants to figure you out, he means it. Suffice to say, you hope there really is a “next time.”

...

Next Chapter >>

#Eddie Munson #eddie munson x reader #henderson!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x fem reader #Eddie Munson slow burn #slow burn #moving in the right direction though

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dreamy625 · 2 years

Text

Nicotine, that’s for remembrance

Words: 810

Content: Something for Sad Steve Day. Remembering Steve ten years after his death.

—-----------------------------

“Hey! You can’t smoke that here!”

The woman sitting cross-legged on the grass squints up at him. “I’m not smoking it, I’m just holding it.”

“Well you can’t do that ei… What? Why?”

“It’s not for me. It’s for him.” She gestures at the gravestone next to her. “He’s been down there ten years. I can guarantee he needs a cigarette, and a drink.” She raises the silver flask held in her other hand.

“He gets plenty of that, the number of cans and bottles I have to clear up.” grumbles the groundskeeper.

“I promise I won’t leave a mess. Just a few drops. It’s vodka, it won’t stain. I thought about adding some cranberry juice. That’s his favourite. Vodka and cranberry. But I thought, wasps. Co-op didn’t have any anyway. Not much call for it apparently. I hope he doesn’t mind. Not that he… obviously…” The ramble ends with a crack in her voice.

“You knew him then?”

“Yeah. A bit.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from round here?”

“No. I’m from London. I worked in a pub in Chelsea when I was at university. He used to come in sometimes. Quite a lot. If none of his mates were in, he’d sit at the bar. Bit like this really.” She looks down at the grave and the corner of her mouth quirks up briefly. “Only with bowls of peanuts instead of plastic chrysanthemums.”

“He’s a popular fella. More visitors than all the rest put together.”

“He was then too. Everyone loved Steve.”

“It was his birthday last week, there were loads of people here.”

“He’ll be glad he missed it, he hates crowds. Hated… crowds.”

The caretaker gives a half-laugh half-grunt, “Well don’t you stay too long, young lady. You’ll catch your death, sitting on that damp grass.”

Lucy smiles at this demonstration of gruff Yorkshire kindness mixed with graveyard punnery. “I think I’ll stay a bit longer. Just ‘til someone else gets here. I don’t want him to be lonely.”

As he shuffles away she turns back to the headstone, raising the flask in a melancholy salute.

“I know ‘good health’ is traditional but that seems a bit redundant at this point. So, cheers, I guess?”

Solemnly she pours a measure of the liquor on the ground before taking a swig herself. After checking that the groundskeeper is now out of sight, she surreptitiously lights the cigarette and balances it carefully on the edge of the plinth.

“I hope none of this is blasphemous or anything.” she mutters. “That’s the last thing either of us needs, the wrath of a slighted deity.”

Offerings made, she sits back down, unsure what it is customary to actually do when visiting the deceased. Glancing around, the few other mourners seem to have mostly opted for silent contemplation, though one is seemingly carrying on an animated discussion with their dear departed, and another is vigorously scrubbing at some engraving with a toothbrush. Lucy watches the cigarette burn down, trying to think of some meaningful statement appropriate to the occasion, but no suitable epitaph springs to mind.

“We missed you, y’know.” she eventually blurts out. “The pub wasn’t the same without you. I left that summer. I’m told it’s a brasserie now; you’d hate it!”

She takes another gulp of the vodka and sprinkles a few more drops on the grave.

“You know what else you’d hate? The music now. God, it’s fucking awful. You missed grunge, and Britpop, they were okay I suppose. But now there’s just a lot of drum machines and beeping, and do not even get me started on NSYNC!”

She pauses, suddenly remembering that this can only be a one-way conversation and feeling a renewed stab of loss. Steve had been, still was, the only person she’d ever really bonded with over music. He knew everything, all the early Bowie, and Zeppelin, and T. Rex that she’d missed through the misfortune of not being born until 1971.

“Oh I do miss you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut - she’d promised herself she wouldn’t be a cliche fangirl and blub all over the gravestone. Opening them, she spots a couple of newcomers in the distance, dressed in denim and black, looking lost but purposeful and heading, more or less, in her direction. Not wanting to make a spectacle of herself, she takes a deep breath and concentrates on the things she’d wanted to say to her departed friend, the reason she’d felt compelled to come here in the first place.

“I wish I could have known you better. I wish you knew how much you were loved. I wish there was something… that would have made a difference.” And finally, “I wish you were still here.”

Standing up, Lucy presses her fingers to her lips and then to the carving of Steve on the headstone.

“Sleep tight, sweet boy.”

#steve clark #steve clark fanfic #steve clark fanfiction #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #one-shot #sad steve day #death

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homeahoy · 2 years

Text

Black Coffee & A Smile

Warnings: Fluff, talk of abusive exes.

Chapter 2

Mike had kept his promise, he made his appearance just after the lunchtime rush making it much easier to speak to Bill. When he had said he would return the favour and take him out to dinner he had meant it to sound like he was hitting on him but deep down he knew he had been and the surprise lunch had been a perfect excuse to ask him out. Wait what if Bill just thought he was being nice? No, no he was pretty sure the young man would know that he had been flirting with him and this was a date. If not it would be pretty obvious by the end of the date. All that didn’t matter anyway he had to get him there first and the key part was making the arrangements. Mike inched towards the counter and immediately caught Bill’s eye. Smiling he said “ Am here to arrange our date, sorry dinner” that smile still playing on his lips as he spoke. “I was thinking about Friday around seven, at the nice little French place down the street? I can pick you up or meet you there? I’ll also need your phone number”

So this is actually happening and it’s definitely a date, he said it was so it must be the tall blonde thought to himself. “Yeah seven is fine. I’ll meet you there, I don’t want you going out of your way for me. Here give me your phone and I'll put my number in.” Bill replied, flashing that bright smile of his, the smile that tugged at Mike’s heart, one that he was pretty sure that he would never get sick of seeing. Quickly they exchanged numbers before Mike Smiling whole heartedly back he closed out the conversation with “I better get back to work before Dave comes looking for me but I'll see you Friday at seven.” As he leaves he gives a little wave as the bell of the bakery door tinkles overhead.

“So it's definitely a date,” Eoin says as he round’s the counter and comes towards Bill. He had heard the whole conversation as he had been clearing tables nearby. “Seems so” Bill says with a shy smile, heck this is what he wanted but why was he so terrified at the thought of going on a date? Maybe it was because in the past he hadn’t had much luck. The dates had either gone terribly with him and the other person not connecting at all or the person had just been wanting to sleep with him. Bill wasn’t like that; he preferred to only be intimate with someone he had a connection with. Not that he hadn’t ended up in some terrible relationships, his last had been the worst. His ex had been a shade taller than his own six foot one frame, muscular and with a nasty temper. A temper he had taken out on Bill and despite his six Bill had submitted to the treatment. He was a sensitive soul, a soul who liked baking, snuggling and reading books in bed. It had been nearly a year and half and he hadn’t been near anyone since. Maybe it was because he was afraid or that he just wasn’t ready but now he was willing to try, try for the man who had him daydreaming nearly every day about what it would be like to kiss him.

By the time Friday had come Eoin was pretty sure he was going to have to scrape Bill off the ceiling with the amount of nervous energy he was giving off. They had closed early so Bill could go home and get ready for his date. Eoin was about to suggest some dutch courage but thought that Bill might accidently take it too far and show up blind drunk and any way he was a big boy he was sure he could handle himself he just needed to bite the bullet and get it over with. Like ripping a bandaid off. Eoin was privy to Bill’s last relationship and knew that this was what was causing the anxiety and stress. He had a feeling that this would go much better than that, Mike didn’t seem like the kind of guy who ruined people’s lives and if he turned out to be? Well Eoin would set Paddy on him, because no-one I repeat no-one got to break his friend’s heart, not ever again.

Bill stood outside the restaurant hoping he looked okay. He was worried he didn’t look good. He had opted for black jeans and a white shirt rolled up to his elbows, and shoes, a blazer draped over his arm in event the weather turned colder. It was different to his normal attire of t-shirts, cosy jumpers and flannels. With doc martens normally adorning his feet. His ex had always hated the way he had dressed, which made him a little bit paranoid. It was around five minutes after he had arrived that he saw Mike striding up the road. God he looked good in a relaxed fit suit and black shirt that was open at the collar. Mike waved towards Bill when he saw him and when he drew close enough, “Hey there hope am not late I had trouble getting parked anywhere near here” “No right on time” Bill smiled back. “Good, shall we then?” Mike asked as he pulled open the door to the restaurant. Bill walks inside and waits at the host stand until Mike comes to a stop beside him and says, “Reservation for two under the name Sadler” “Ah yes, Follow me” The young female host says and then leads them to a quiet corner when a perfect cosy little table is set up for two.

As soon as they are seated they pick up the menus and begin to read through them, making small talk about work and how things are going with their respective businesses, Only stopping when the waitress comes and takes their orders. Leaving them to talk until the food arrives. “Can I ask you a question?” Bill asks. “Sure, go ahead” Is the answer. Bill takes a deep breath, he is pretty sure Mike likes him but he is wary and needs reassurance that he isn’t reading this whole thing wrong. “Did you mean to ask me out on an actual date or is this just like a friends thing?” he winces as he says it, got could be any more awkward. Mike lets out a little huffing laugh before saying “I was thinking date, date.” He watches as he sees the tension go out of Bill like he’s letting out a sigh of relief. He had spoken to Paddy who was also privy to everything Eoin knew and knew that the cute awkward man across from him was nervous. He found it adorable. What he didn’t know was about Bill’s past, Eoin and Paddy had kept that secret feeling that he would tell Mike in his own time if this went anywhere.

“Go.. good, I was hoping that” Bill said, as he spoke he fiddled with the cutlery on the table before looking up at Mike. There was a distinct blush across his face, a blush that MIke couldn’t help have certain thoughts about, like how it would look on his face when they slept together, but that was far off if it even happened. Reaching across the table Mike steady the fidgeting hand with his own, gently stroking his fingers over Bill’s. The light touch stopped Bill in his tracks and he felt that familiar feeling of butterflies again. He had never really had that feeling before with anyone, not even when he had his first kiss. It was new and exciting. The feeling stopped when their food came and Mike took his hand back.

They ate and talked about all the things they liked, finding common interests and talking about what plans they had for the future. Mike wanted to travel more and find someone to settle down with, Bill wanted to discover new ways of baking, to own a nice little house somewhere that would be filled with laughter and love. They both found out they liked the same kind of music, had a love for the city of Paris, and both hated cats but loved dogs. The gentle probing and gathering of information lasted until they finally came to settle the bill. Mike kept his promise to treat Bill to dinner and settled the bill.

They left the restaurant just outside. “Thank you for dinner,” Bill beamed. It went well. He didn't know why he had been so nervous. Okay he did know, Mike was insanely good looking but he was as it turned out incredibly sweet. It was almost at odds with his job, where you expect a burly manly man who was grumpy and a bit of a nightmare. He hoped there would be a second date, third even. Mike was having similar thoughts about Bill. He knew he was sweet and cute, if anxious and sensitive but it was what he liked about him the most. That and he seemed like the caring kind of guy who was without pretence. “It was my pleasure” Mike replies to Bill’s thanks. “Do you need a lift home?” he added. “Um if it’s okay.” Bill answered shyly. “It’s not trouble at all,” Mike said, grinning at him. They made the quick journey to the car, their hands and fingers occasionally brushing but neither being brave enough not just quite yet to take hold of the other’s hand. No being brave would come later on, when the time was just right.

The journey to Bill’s was a quiet one, with him giving directions when needed. It was a relatively quick journey too. When they pulled up Bill turned to Mike and said “Thanks again for tonight I really enjoyed myself” One hand still on the steering wheel Mike turned to face Bill with a devastating smile and said “Me too, i’d like to do it again” Bill smiled at this and blushed that of so appealing blush of his before turning to leave the car, as he did so he felt an hand on his arm and Mike say “Wait” turning back to face him, he was shocked to feel Mike press a kiss to his lips. It was gentle, sweet and filled with what Bill could only describe as love. While it was only a mere brushing of lips both would have told you they felt electricity pass through them. Pulling back Mike muttered a hasty “Sorry, but you just look so cute when you blush” “It’s fine” Bill answered back.

When both of them finally made it inside their respective homes and into bed they both fell asleep with a smile on their faces and making mental plans for more dates.

#sas: rogue heroes #sas modern au #modern day au #mike x bill #fanfaction #fluff

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theblackace · 6 months

Text

Set The Fuckin' Tone

Summary: NHL debut! These hands are rated E for everyone!

Game: Ottawa Senators @ Buffalo Sabres

Warning(s): F bomb (as one does)

Notes: This took a minute largely due to work being busy and my brain Not Wanting To. I'm aware Kyle Okposo has since been traded in actuality, but this isn't meant to be 100% accurate. I mean it's EA for fuck sake, team roster accuracy isn't a strong point of theirs in this mode anyway! I intend to add spiciness to this, but unless I hear otherwise (asks are on, don't be a dick), I'mma just tack that on to the AO3 upload. Title is unapologetically taken from an episode of Shoresy.

Finally. The season opener and his NHL debut. It being an away game worked in his favor, because he wouldn't have the hometown crowed in his ear and he could focus more on his playing. And there's something to be said for away games leading to an easy routine, for exactly the fact of there being no distractions. He taped his stick the same way he'd done in Norfolk, opting for no frills black tape, Japanese lo-fi hip hop coming from his ear buds. After that, stretching, followed by the pre-game meal; he always opted for a pasta dish.

"Relax, enjoy the moment, but most importantly, play your game. That's what got you here in the first place," coach Martin had told him.

The wait for his first NHL goal was three minutes. Three minutes into the game, Senators winger Tim Stützle delivered a crisp pass right on the tape, which made for an easy wrister top shelf on the goalie's stick side. The atmosphere in the celly huddle with his teammates as electric, the only thing that'd make it even better if it had happened during a home game.

Of course, no rookie season would be complete without an opposing player trying to take liberties and "welcome" the rookie to the NHL. His was no different. He just barely heard the ref's call as he lay on the ice trying to get his breath back and taking stock of his body.

"Buffalo, number 21, two minutes for charging."

Get up, you're alright.

It seemed to take forever to get back on his feet, but he did, and skated to the bench for a needed rest. "I'm good, just got the wind knocked out," he told the trainer.

21. Okposo. OK.

In the second, he'd laid a clean but big hit on a Buffalo player, and naturally, a teammate took exception. That teammate being Okposo was all the excuse he needed to get out the frustration for being charged at in the first. Devin dropped his gloves and squared up, quickly grabbing a handful of jersey in his left hand and wailing on Okposo with his right. It was a quick bout, his opponent only getting in one solid hit.

He barked at Okposo as they were both escorted to the box. "Oh yeah, you thought you were doin' somethin' there with that hit didn't ya? Hey, hey, you just got your ass handed to ya by a fuckin' nobody!"

Chirping, like fighting, wasn't a major part of his game, but he also wasn't one to take shit from anyone. He sighed, pleased with himself, as he sat in the penalty box and took a drink of water. Safe to say the first game jitters were gone now; first goal, first fight, and he'd put the league on notice.

Buffalo tied the game two apiece in the third, leading to overtime. As tempting as it was, he didn't focus on the game winning goal, but rather playing smarter and focusing more of his defense. He managed to block some passes and a shot or two (thankfully not with his body). Overtime ended with no goals, and he was thankful he hadn't been put in the shootout rotation. He didn't need that sort of pressure on his shoulders in his first game. That glory went to Brady Tkachuk, and the bench went nuts.

The locker room was buzzing with excitement of starting the season with a shootout victory on the road. At first, Brady Tkachuk was given the Ottawa Fire Service helmet as the player of the game, but he quickly passed that honor to the rookie. "I may have won the game for us but I gotta pass this on to Devin; first goal in your first NHL game, hell of a fight, that was a great game you played. It's yours tonight," he explained, clapping Devin on the back as the team's new addition put the helmet on.

"It looks good on me," he joked, before giving his own speech. "It's uh...it's been a hell of a ride for me, happy to be a part of this team and even happier I could contribute to the win tonight." Claps and cheers erupted as his photo was taken with the puck he scored his goal with, wearing not only the fire helmet but the biggest grin he could manage. His beer was gonna taste mighty fine tonight.

#it is 2024 and we are living vicariously through Chel #hockey fanfic #hockey RPF

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mountain-high-philolsophers · 11 months

Text

October 31 - First Period Assembly

Whispers and stifled laughter came from the boys (*teacher sorted) of the first period auditorium. They knew today was a day that would be going down in school history, the legendary school assembly to kick off the month of No Nut November. Mark Settledown, president of the Mountain High PhiLOLsophers Club, and Jackson Hardy, school principal, sat together at a table on the stage, each trying to look in charge.

Mark grinned brightly from the stage as his presentation began. He grinned a lot. "Good morning, penis havers!" he said.

"Boys," corrected Mr. Hardy, from beside Mark. "This is the boys assembly."

"Yeah? And could you define 'boy'?"

Mr. Hardy sighed. This was going to be a long month. The manual sent to his office included an enormous list of official definitions, debated and approved of by the best politicians Texas could elect, and after months of legal struggles, his opinions on its contents no longer mattered. He rubbed his eyes and said, "A boy is anyone born with a penis."

"So good morning, penis havers!" repeated Mark, even more enthusiastically. "Tonight at midnight begins a game we will all be playing for the next month, one I'm sure you've heard of, called 'No Nut November'! For anyone who isn't aware, here are the general rules. Save your questions for the end, please..."

The rules were familiar to everyone, they'd been on the news for months. Don't cum, simple as that, and it applied to girls (*everyone else in the school) too. No one could put anything in their cooch or their ass, and none of the boys (*people who didn't want stuff in their butt) were nervous about it. Nervous laughs came from the boys (*penis) in the audience.

"...which brings me to the reason you're all here. This..." he said, whipping out a small package for everyone in the assembly to see, "...is a special condom, issued to everyone in this room. Everyone should have one..."

"And only one," interjected Mr. Hardy.

"...so make sure you get one one before you leave. You will notice it has our school mascot on the outside, and on the inside..."

He tore open the condom and grabbed his water bottle, making a show of fumbling with the condom for a bit before finally putting it on. "Ah!" he said, finishing, "You have to find the right side up and roll it all the way down." Mr. Hardy looked at him, annoyed, as Mark continued.

"On the inside are a series of markings, whose purpose is officially a mystery." He looked at Mr. Hardy, furiously disapproving. "Now remember, you only get one, so make sure to hold onto it until the end of the month. Are there any questions?"

Students raised their hands, and the first question went to a shy student in purple glasses. "I don't really want to talk to anyone about whether or not I jack off," he said. "Is there really no way to opt out?"

Mark shook his head. "Not really, but as long as you give a number, any number, then no one is allowed to bother you about it. Just say one day, you're allowed to lie, dude. No one is going to check. You don't get punished for losing, and you don't get school points for winning. If your friends don't care, then no one will care.

Mr. Hardy clarified. "While legally students may not choose to opt themselves out of class activities such as this one, 'one day' is considered an official non-answer, meaning nothing. However, without a note from your parents, you cannot say 'not playing'. You must either give a number, or say still going."

"But...!"

Mark sighed, and said, "The one day rule gives you a way to be within the rules without actually playing. It's a plot device so the story can be about high schoolers awkwardly attempting to be sexy without technically being forced into anything except social awkwardness. If you don't like the genre of story you're in, get a note from your parents. Next question."

The next questioner was Rodger Harwell, a bully who had at one point punched Mark in the face for breaking the fourth wall. "If it's not graded, then what makes you think anyone will play this stupid game?"

Marked laughed. "It's not graded, but it is a real game, with real winners and losers. Some of you will want to win, and some of you are losers." He made a L with his fingers on his forehead. "Are you a loser, Harwell? Can you even go a whole day without touching yourself?"

Mr. Hardy got mad, and question time moved on.

The next few questions were largely procedural. "What if I get a wet dream?" (As long as it was not a lucid dream), "Are there free passes if you really need to?" (No), "When does the game begin?" (Exactly at midnight), and "Is there a way for readers of this story to ask their own questions if they're confused?" (Yes, send this blog an ask).

The last question before the bell rang was directed only at Mark. His best friend, Abbot Costello, asked him "Do you think you'll make it?" And Mark grinned, and said, "Absolutely. Go Wildcats!" The auditorium yowled, and first period assembly ended.

#no nut november #nnn #nanowrimo #mountain high philolsophers club #mhpc #mark settledown #jackson hardy #go wildcats!

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dadbodosamu · 3 years

Text

only you || part i

Stepdad Osamu x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: pseudocest, stepcest, cheating, wombfucking, semi-public sex (in an alley), extremely light dumbification, breeding kink, spit kink, Osamu has a dick piercing

4.5k words. thanks to @waka-chan-out and @vanilleswtmacaron for beta reading this and reassuring me that it doesn’t suck lol

ao3 link here (aha its not too long mobile just sucks!!) part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || part vi || extras || only you, too

You sighed as you tapped your fingers on the table. Your mom had decided it was high time for you to meet your new stepdad, who you had put off meeting for the past three years. You smiled as you remembered the perfectly timed appendicitis that had you missing the wedding. You couldn’t have planned it better if you tried.

Your dad had only passed away a little under four years ago, leaving your mom to remarry only six months later. You’d opted to live with your grandmother, citing her health as a reason to live with her on her farm. Your plan had worked perfectly, and you hadn’t had to meet Osamu for three years.

Now though, with your grandmother in the hospital, your mom thought it was a great time for you to come and visit and finally meet the great Osamu.

“Osamu should be home any minute,” your mom said, smiling happily over the takoyaki she was making. “He’s bringing your favourite!”

“Yay,” you said, unenthusiastically. You glanced at the time on your phone. You were almost wishing Osamu to be here so you wouldn’t have to spend another awkward second with your mom.

You and your mom hadn’t been close to begin with, you always being a daddy’s girl from the day you were born. And after remarrying so quickly, you’d drifted even further apart. At this point, you had nothing to speak to her about.

“I’m home!” Someone called. The door slid shut behind them and you glanced around, waiting for them to appear in the kitchen. “And I brought umeboshi onigiri!”

The man who stepped into the kitchen nearly knocked you out of your seat.

He was handsome. Devastatingly, heartachingly, handsome. He was tall, with brown hair and deep grey eyes, and thick. His t-shirt was pulled taut over his broad shoulders and his thighs in his shorts were almost indecent.

The next thing you noticed was that he was young. Probably only a handful of years older than your twenty-one, definitely closer to your age than your mom’s.

God, why had you put this meeting off? Had you known your mom was married to an actual god, you would’ve actually visited.

“Hey, honey,” your mom greeted, smiling at him. Your stomach twisted as she leaned over, puckering her lips for a kiss. Osamu pecked her lips quickly and turned towards you.

“Hey, I’m Osamu,” he greeted, smiling widely at you. Your heart skipped. “I heard ya like umeboshi onigiri so I made you some.”

“Th-thank you,” you stuttered. “I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to finally meet ya,” Osamu said. “Was starting to think ya were avoiding me!”

“More like she was avoiding me,” your mom said. “She was always a daddy’s girl.”

“Oh?” Osamu asked, looking at you. Your cheeks burned. “Well, I’d never try to replace yer dad, but if ya ever need some daddy/daughter time, I’m here for ya.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something stupid.

“I really appreciate that,” you said.

“Oh, I’m so glad you two are getting along already!” Your mom squealed. She carried the takoyaki to the table and smiled as she sat down. “Dinner is finally ready.”

“Itadakimasu,” you mumbled, already loading your plate up with onigiri and the other food on the table.

“So, how is university going?” Your mom asked.

You shrugged as you slurped up some noodles. “It’s going. Made nationals.”

“Oh? What sport do ya play? I don’t think yer mom ever mentioned,” Osamu said. You rolled your eyes. Of course she hadn’t mentioned volleyball, it wasn’t like you’d been playing since elementary school or anything.

“Volleyball,” you said. “I was on the Niiyama girls team in high school. Hoping to go pro after uni.”

“Volleyball? I played in high school! My brother, Atsumu, and I were on the Inarizaki team,” Osamu exclaimed.

“Not Miya Atsumu, right?” You asked, excitedly. “MSBY Black Jackals Miya Atsumu?”

“The very one!” Osamu said.

“No way! They’re my favourite team! I have a signed poster in my room, it’s my prized possession!” I exclaimed. “I heard a few members are going to the Olympics this year.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me she plays volleyball,” Osamu said, glancing at your mom.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” your mom said.

“We should go to a game sometimes,” Osamu said. “I can get an extra ticket to the MSBY, Adlers game later this week.”

“That sounds great!” You said, smiling widely.

Your mom ate in relative silence as you and Osamu traded stories about your volleyball times, only ever inputting something every once in a while. After dinner, Osamu found a Sendai Frogs match.

“I’m currently in the nation’s top 3 setters,” you said, proudly. “I’m number two behind Takao Michi.”

“I’ll have to start coming to yer games,” Osamu said. “See ya in action.”

“I’d like that,” you said, honestly.

“Why don’t ya come to work with me tomorrow? I can introduce ya to a few of my friends that are in town,” Osamu said.

“Absolutely,” you said.

“Don’t get me wrong though, I’m putting ya to work while yer there,” Osamu said. Your mom yawned.

“You all have me worn out from all this volleyball talk,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

“Night, mom,” you said as she stood up.

“Osamu?” She questioned, turning back to glance at him.

“Oh, we’re going to stay up a bit longer,” he said. “The Schweinden Adlers have a match after the Frogs.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. You could hear the disappointment in her voice.

Osamu waited until you heard the bedroom door click shut before speaking.

“I know this is probably too much information about yer mom but she must think I’m some sex robot,” Osamu said, huffing. “A guy can only do so much.”

You crinkled your nose. “Gross, I did not need to know that.” You tried to hold steady but laughter bubbled up through your lips. Osamu laughed loudly and you joined him, holding your gut with how hard you were laughing.

“We need- we need to be- to be quiet!” Osamu laughed. “She’s trying to- tryin’ to sleep.”

You giggled a few more times before quieting down.

“So, how old are ya?” Osamu asked, standing up. “Old enough for a beer?”

“I’m twenty-one,” you said. “Old enough for a beer.”

“We got wine coolers if ya would rather have that,” Osamu said, stepping into the kitchen.

“Please,” you said. “So, how old are you? Can’t help but notice you’re quite a bit younger than my mom.”

“Twenty-five, twenty-six in October,” he said, grabbing a beer and a wine cooler out of the fridge.

“Follow up question,” you said, “and I don’t mean any offence, I’m sure she’s great in some ways, but why my mom? I mean, surely there’s no shortage of people your age that are wanting you.”

Osamu took a long drink from his beer before answering. “Ask me after I’ve drunk a few of these.”

You pursed your lips and took a sip of your fruity drink. “Fine,” you said. “Then let’s play a game. Every time the Adlers score, I’ll ask you a question and every time the Tachibana Red Falcons score, you get to ask me a question.”

“Deal,” Osamu said.

“Oh! Score!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “Another untouchable spike by Ushiwaka!”

“Shush, yer mom,” Osamu giggled. You rolled your eyes and chugged the rest of your fifth drink.

“You shush, it’s my turn,” you said, plopping down on the couch next to Osamu. “So, now tell me,” You hiccupped. “My bad. Now tell me, why my mom? Why not someone your age? Because I’m gonna- I’m gonna be honest, you’re hot and my mom is, like, she’s not, like, ugly, but, like, she’s, like, fifty.”

“I could just like cougars,” Osamu teased. You rolled your eyes and popped the top on your next drink.

“Tell the, the truth, ‘Samu,” you slurred.

“Fine, but this stays between us, as best friends,” he said.

“Bee ef efs,” you slurred.

“Yer mom helped fund my restaurant,” he said. “So, I felt bad. She’s so nice and sweet. So, I married her.”

“Now you have a step kid that’s only four years younger than you,” you said.

“Yeah, she didn’t really mention ya before we got married,” he said. Osamu leaned in close to you. “She didn’t mention how attractive ya were either.”

Your cheeks flushed. You turned your head away from him, looking back to the television.

“Oh, Falcons scored,” you said. “It’s your turn to ask a question.”

Osamu took a sip of his beer before speaking. “Why have ya been avoidin’ yer mom?”

You took a large gulp from your drink. “I haven’t been avoiding her,” you lied. Osamu blinked at you slowly.

“Fine, fine!” You exclaimed. You sipped from your drink, then responded, “Mainly because she remarried so quickly after Dad died. And to someone only four years older than me. But we’ve never been close. She and I never really saw eye-to-eye. She was the love of my dad’s life and he was just another guy to her. Not to mention, she’s never been remotely interested in anything in my life, she’s always been so self-absorbed. I doubt she even knew I still played volleyball, that’s probably why she didn’t mention it to you.”

Osamu stayed silent as you chugged the remainder of your drink.

“I know it’s probably not comforting, but I’ll be there for ya if ya need me,” Osamu said. “Even if yer mom and I separate, I consider ya a friend now.”

Osamu’s words were oddly comforting. You nodded as you reached for yet another wine cooler.

“I’m oddly comforted,” you said, popping the top easily. You fiddled with the top, thinking of what to say next.

“Another Falcons score,” Osamu said. “My turn again.”

“Question away,” you said.

“Can’t think of any,” Osamu said. He yawned.

“Tired already?” You teased, elbowing him in the side. “Old man.”

“I’m twenty-five,” he argued, yawning again. “But I am going to bed. Let’s call a rain check on our game.”

“Deal,” you said, raising your bottle to him. “Might as well go to bed, too. Night, Samu.”

“Night, Y/n,” Osamu said, standing up. He stretched out before padding down the hallway to your mom’s room.

You sighed loudly once you heard the door click shut. You gulped down your drink. “Good going, Y/n. You finally found a guy you like and he’s your stepdad.”

You finished your drink before gathering all the empty bottles and cans, throwing them in the recycling before walking towards your room. You collapsed onto your unmade bed and passed out before your head hit the pillow.

“Two salted salmon onigiri,” you said, placing the plate in front of the professional volleyball player. “And onion soup.”

“Go ahead and join them,” Osamu said, placing a few plates on the same table. “I’ll bring you out some umeboshi onigiri.”

“Thanks,” you said. You could barely contain your excitement as you took a seat between Miya Atsumu and Bokuto Koutarou.

“So, yer a setter?” Atsumu asked, taking a bite of his onigiri. You nodded.

“Number two in the nation,” you said.

“She’s better than you were, Tsumu!” Hinata Shoyo exclaimed. You smiled widely.

“In high school, I was ranked number one under nineteen in my second and third years,” you said. “I even got to play in the junior Olympics in high school. We only won silver, though.”

“We’re playing the Olympics this year,” Bokuto said. “And a few of our friends from the Adlers.”

“Kageyama Tobio, Ushijima Wakatoshi, and Hoshimiumi Kourai?” You asked. “I’ve been keeping up with everyone considered for the Olympics.”

“Maybe you’ll be playing in the next Olympics,” Sakusa said.

“That’s the goal,” you said, smiling. Osamu set a plate in front of you. “Thank you.”

“So our little star setter is here for the next week,” Osamu said, placing a strong hand on your shoulder. “We should play a game while she’s down, see how good she really is.”

“I’m game!” Bokuto exclaimed. “I wanna see those number two in the nation skills!”

“Probably nowhere near the level of you guys,” you said.

“We do have a few years on ya,” Atsumu said, ruffling your hair.

“Literally only four,” you said, fixing your hair.

“Leave the kid alone, Tsumu,” Osamu said.

“Hey, she’s my niece now, I reserve the right to tease her,” Atsumu said.

“Uncle Tsumu,” you teased.

“That’s right, Uncle Tsumu and Daddy Samu,” Atsumu said.

Your stomach flipped as the MSBY boys laughed. Osamu looked down at you and winked. You clenched your thighs together.

“All right, quiet down before ya disturb my payin’ guests,” Osamu said.

“Lunch on Samu-kun!” Hinata exclaimed. Osamu rolled his eyes.

“Once yer finished, I want ya back in the kitchen,” Osamu said. He rubbed your back before walking into the kitchen.

“So, you plan on going professional after university?” Bokuto asked.

You nodded as the table fell into casual conversation.

“I already have offers to go play in France and Brazil,” you said, taking a bite of your onigiri.

“Brazil is fantastic,” Hinata said. “I played there for a while.”

“You liked it? I’ve been debating back and forth between the two. Can’t decide which one I would enjoy more,” you said. “Does Brazil have good food?”

“The best! Unless you’re looking for Japanese food,” Hinata said. “There’s no good Japanese food.”

“Noted,” you said, smiling.

“What are you studying in school?” Sakusa asked.

“Education,” you said. “If volleyball doesn’t work out I want to teach Japanese in another country.”

“Smart,” Sakusa said.

“So, any boyfriends? Girlfriends? Significant others?” Atsumu asked.

You laughed. “With what time?”

“Oh, come on, there has to be someone!” Atsumu exclaimed. “We all find time for a lil’ somethin’.”

“There was a girl,” you admitted. “On my volleyball team, but we both cared more about volleyball than each other.”

“Any crushes?” Bokuto asked. He winked at you and flexed his arms playfully.

You pursed your lips. “And why should I tell you if I do?”

“Because we’re all best friends now!” Hinata shouted, slamming his hand on the table. He ignored the looks from the other customers.

“There is this guy I have my eye on,” you said. “He’s tall, nice, and beefy as hell.”

“Ooo, tell us more,” Bokuto said.

You shook your head. “No use talking about him. He’s strictly off limits.”

“He’s gay,” Atsumu said, nodding his head.

“What?! No!” You laughed. “He’s taken.”

“Ah, university relationships aren’t always serious, you can probably still get him,” Hinata said, waving away your worries.

“He’s married,” you said. The boys all hissed in sympathy.

“Ask for a threesome,” Atsumu said. Your face must’ve shown your disgust because the boys all laughed at you.

“She must be ugly,” Bokuto said.

“We don’t get along the best,” you said. You sighed as you looked down at your empty plate.

“Better get to work before Daddy Samu grounds you,” Atsumu teased.

You rolled your eyes, but stood up.

“It was nice meeting you guys,” you said. “I hope we can get a game together before I leave.”

“Oh, we definitely will,” Bokuto said.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said, smiling. You waved bye to them as you entered the kitchen.

Osamu was leaned over the stove top, stirring a large pot of soup.

“Have fun?” He asked, wiping sweat off his brow with the towel thrown over his shoulder. You nodded.

“They were all super nice,” you said. “I feel like we’re actually friends now.”

“That’s good,” Osamu said, smiling at you. “Ya wanna start putting together a couple of onigiri?”

“No problem,” you said, washing your hands quickly.

“We need five salted salmon and three umeboshi,” Osamu said. “And then out to table three.”

“Got it,” you said.

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly and smoothly. It was finally around midnight when the last customers finally left and you and Osamu could close down shop.

“Come into my office and I’ll show you how to count all the money,” Osamu said, locking the main doors.

You followed him into his small office.

“Okay, whenever you count the money, make sure the door is closed and locked behind you,” Osamu said, closing the door behind him.

You held your breath as he slowly slid past you, your chest brushing against his.

“A lil’ cramped in here, sorry,” Osamu said, sitting at his desk.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, sitting in the folding chair next to him.

“So, d’ya have a good day?” Osamu asked, casually thumbing through bills.

You nodded. “It was good! It was nice meeting your friends. I really liked them.”

“Ooo, any of ‘em catch yer eye?” Osamu teased. You rolled your eyes.

“I already have my eye on someone,” you said.

“Oh?” Osamu questioned.

“He’s taken though,” you said. “Strictly off limits.”

“Ask for a threesome,” he said.

You laughed loudly. “Funny, Atsumu said the same thing. But no, I don’t get along with his wife.”

“Wife? That sucks,” he said, placing a wad of cash in an envelope.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Well, I, for one, think yer a catch,” Osamu said, sealing the envelope. “Anyone would be lucky to have ya.”

“Thanks, Samu,” you said, face burning. He patted your thigh.

“Anytime, princess,” Osamu said. You clenched your thighs together at the new nickname. “Well, we’re all done here, let’s get home.”

You trailed after him like a lost puppy as he double checked all the appliances were off and flipping the lights off.

You shivered as you stepped into the cool, night air.

“Cold?” Osamu asked, already peeling off his Onigiri Miya hoodie.

“Yeah, a little,” you said, gladly taking the hoodie from him. You tugged it over your head and breathed deeply. “Smells good. Half expected it to smell like onigiri.”

“It will soon,” Osamu said, smiling. “It’s new. Just got the shipment in last week.”

“I’ll have to get one,” you said.

“Keep it,” Osamu said. “Ya look cute in it.”

You blushed deeply. You bumped his shoulder with yours gently.

“It’s like, way too big,” you said.

Osamu shrugged. “Oversized is in. Besides, I thought girls loved to steal guys’ hoodies.”

“Yeah, guys they like,” you said.

“Well, ya took it from me,” Osamu said, bumping your shoulder. “Ya must like me a little.”

“Whatever,” you said, cheeks burning. Osamu laughed.

“Someone has a crush!” He sang.

“Shut up! I don’t have a crush on you,” you said.

“Ya did call me hot last night,” he said.

“I was drunk, so it doesn’t count,” you said. He rolled his eyes obnoxiously.

“Ya have a crush on me, just admit it,” Osamu said. “I won’t tell anyone, pinky promise.”

“You’re my stepdad, in case you forgot,” you replied. “That’s basically incest, isn’t it?”

“So ya admit it?” Osamu asked. You shoved him playfully.

“I actually have a crush on Atsumu,” you said. “He’s the hotter twin.”

Osamu pushed you into an alley and caged you against the cool bricks of a building.

“Oh?” Osamu said. “Ya think Atsumu is the hotter twin?”

You nodded slowly as Osamu looked down at you.

“It’s the hair,” you squeaked.

“Oh, yeah, forgot that girls love a guy who doesn’t know what toner is,” Osamu said, leaning down. “I think yer lying.” His nose was nearly touching yours.

“I’m not,” you mumbled. Osamu’s hands moved from either side of your head to your hips.

“You are,” Osamu whispered, lips brushing against your ear. You shivered.

“And if I am?” You asked.

“I don’t like bad girls,” Osamu said. “Lying is grounds for punishment.”

“Punishment?” You asked.

“I’d bend ya over my knee and spank ya until ya begged for mercy,” he said. You sucked in a sharp breath.

“It’s a good thing I’m not lying, then,” you said. By now, Osamu’s lips were nearly against yours, so close you could feel the heat from his breath on your lips.

Osamu ground his hips against yours, firmly pressing his hard on against you.

You bit your lip and glanced down. His cock was straining against his jeans, eager to be released.

“Tell the truth and I’ll think about not putting ya over my knee,” Osamu said, lips softly brushing against yours.

“You’re the hotter twin,” you said, putting your arms around his neck. “And I have a crush on you. And I want you to fuck me in this alley.”

“There we go,” Osamu said. He finally kissed you roughly, like he wanted to devour you. You moaned as he ground against you.

“Samu,” you moaned, pulling back. He wasted no time, kissing down your neck, sucking and biting at your sensitive skin.

“Been thinkin’ about pushin’ this lil’ skirt up all day,” he growled, pushing your skirt up around your waist, revealing the pretty pink lace of your underwear.

“Please,” you gasped as he shoved his jeans and underwear down, releasing his cock. You nearly moaned at the sight of it, long and thick and leaking precum from the swollen tip.

“Gonna wreck this cute little cunt,” Osamu said, tugging your underwear down and letting them fall to the ground. He dragged the tip of his cock through your wet folds, teasing your clit and hole.

“Is- Is that a piercing I feel?” You asked, feeling cool metal against your warm folds.

“I’ll give ya a closer look later,” he said, teasingly pushing the tip in and out of your hole. “Wanna be in ya now.”

“Fill me up, please, Samu,” you begged, digging your fingernails into his skin. Your walls fluttered around nothing as he lifted you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Good girl,” he muttered, lining his cock up with your hole. “Beg for my cock, princess.”

“Please, please, please!” You cried. “Want your cock in me, need it! Please, Samu, want you to fill me up.”

“Of course, baby girl, anything for my princess,” Osamu said, kissing you softly. He rutted his hips up into you, stretching you out suddenly.

You moaned loudly and let your head fall on Osamu's broad shoulder.

“So big,” you moaned. “Hurts.”

“Shh, shh, yer takin’ me so well, baby,” Osamu said. “Squeezin’ me so tight, wanna bust just bein’ in ya.”

You whimpered as Osamu slowly pulled out. He pushed back in slowly, giving you time to adjust to each inch. Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper until the swollen tip was kissing your cervix.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Gonna ruin ya.” Osamu pulled out until just the tip was in and slammed back into you.

You gasped loudly as his cock breached your cervix, going deeper than anything had ever been in you and stretching you more than anything ever had.

“Samu!” You cried, throwing your head back and digging your nails into the nape of his neck. “Fuck, harder, please!”

“Feel that, baby? I’m so deep in ya,” Osamu said. “Fuckin’ past your cervix, yeah?”

You nodded as you bit back your moans as Osamu pounded into you. You buried your head into his shoulder and bit down, quieting your too loud moans.

“Next time, ‘m gonna have ya somewhere ya can be loud as ya want,” Osamu grunted. “Wanna hear yer pretty, little moans.”

You let out a soft moan in his ear and he snapped his hips up harder into you.

“Ah, Samu,” you moaned, struggling to keep your volume down. “Gonna cum.”

He pinched your clit as you gushed around his cock. You looked down to where your bodies met and watched as your juices leaked down his cock, dripping on his heavy balls. You moaned.

“Gonna fill ya up, baby,” he growled lowly. “Come ‘ere.”

He pulled your head up by your hair and squeezed your cheeks until your mouth fell open, tongue lolling out. He gathered spit in his mouth and spat it on your waiting tongue.

“Don’t swallow,” he said. He kissed you deeply, licking into your mouth and sucking your tongue. He kissed you messily, spit running down your chin and a thin strand of it connecting you two when he finally pulled back.

“Such a messy, little slut,” he said, slamming his hips against yours. “Taking my spit so well. Gonna take my cum like that?”

You nodded, unable to speak beyond gasps and moans as his cock abused your cunt.

“Can’t speak? Fucked ya dumb, huh?” Osamu asked. He chuckled. “My cock makin’ ya dumb, little baby?”

You whined. God, you wanted him to fill you up so bad.

“Cum. Inside.” You gasped out.

“Oh? Want me t’ breed ya? Make ya big and swollen with my baby?” Osamu asked, hips moving faster.

You nodded furiously. He rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles.

“Cream ‘round my cock one more time, baby,” he grunted.

“Samu!” You exclaimed. Your stomach tightened as your walls fluttered like crazy.

“Yeah? Gonna cum again for me?” Osamu asked. You let out a high pitched moan as the coil in your stomach snapped.

“Fill me up, please!” You moaned as you came. Osamu’s hips stuttered as he pushed into you deeply before painting your womb white. You cried out, letting your head rest against his shoulder as he moaned.

“Fuck, yer still so tight around my cock,” he hissed. Your walls fluttered. “Perfect little cunt, princess. Milkin’ me dry like a good girl.”

You whimpered as he slowly pulled out. Your legs went limp, falling from his waist.

“Can’t stand,” you mumbled, legs shaking with the weak attempt you made. Osamu held you up as he pulled his pants back up and pulled your panties back on.

“Come here, baby,” he said, swooping you up bridal style. “Let’s go home, princess.”

You nodded lamely as he carried you. You must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing you heard was Osamu talking to your mother.

“She was practically dead on her feet,” Osamu said. “Fell asleep while I was counting the money.”

“You could’ve called, I would’ve brought the car,” your mom said. You felt Osamu shrug.

“It was no problem,” Osamu said.

“Well, go lay her down in her bed,” your mom said. “Then maybe she’ll be out for the rest of the night.” You frowned at her suggestive tone and cuddled deeper into Osamu’s chest.

“I’ll go lay her down,” Osamu said. He carried you down the hall and entered your bedroom carefully.

As he laid you down, you grabbed his arm and whined, “Don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I gotta go to my own bed.”

“Don’t- Don’t fuck her,” you mumbled. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” he said, softly brushing your hair out of your face. “It’s only you from now on.” You nodded. Osamu kissed your forehead before leaving you alone.

You blinked once, twice, before you were asleep.

#cai writes #samu thoughts #tw cheating #miya osamu smut #osamu miya smut #haikyuu smut #timeskip miya osamu #miya osamu #osamu miya #tw:incest

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dienamights · 3 years

Text

Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s): Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.”

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to-

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?”

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now.

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her.

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week.

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No! He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.”

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario.

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,”

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-”

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.”

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight.

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it.

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?”

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high.

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly.

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you.

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed.

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

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my-precious-treasure · 2 years

Text

Water Boi

Genshin Masterlist | Snezhnaya Masterlist

In which Childe is lowkey a simp. Implied Fem!reader, I don’t think it’s explicitly stated. TW: Swearing

You stand in front of the mansion as music drifts into your ears. Nervously, you glance at your friend and grip your bag harder.

“This is his house?! Is it really ok to-“

“Of course! I was invited and I’m allowed a plus one. That’s you!” She grins at you grabbing your free hand. “We’re going to be seniors and you haven’t come to a single one of his parties. Actually, you haven’t gone to any parties since we entered uni. Now that I’ve finally convinced you to come, I’m not letting you escape.”

“I’m not sure I wanna do this anymore.” You attempt to back away suddenly intimidated by the sheer size of the request you’ve fulfilled. “I knew he was rich, but this is too much! Think of all the people that are going to be here! I’m not popular like you. Lumine, please.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” With a burst of strength you didn’t think your friend had, she pulls you through the door. “You damn well better believe I’m not letting you get away this time! You’re going to party and drink and have fun!”

Lumine drags you through the house, clearly having been here more than a few times, and closer to the thumping bass. With every step you hear more and more of the music and slowly, you begin to make out the chatter of dozens of people before stumbling into the kitchen.

Groups of people crowd the room in various states of dress and a number of bottles and cans litter the counter along with cups. You nearly trip over the doorway as you’re led out into the backyard. Lumine stops for a moment on the back patio and scans the open area, never letting go of your hand.

You take this moment to observe the area. The outdoor kitchen is nearly as impressive as the indoor one and the yard is enormous, filled with even more people than inside. You can only assume they’re all students who were either invited or snuck in. You doubt anybody actually kept track of that sort of thing, though.

You spot a large stone fire pit on one side of the yard and as your eyes finally land on the pool, also filled with bodies, you gawk. You’ve only ever seen pools like this one on those reality TV shows. It’s massive, split into multiple sections. Man-made waterfalls and rock formations give it a more natural look. On either side are what appear to be hot tubs and holy shit, is that a slide?

You barely even register that you’re being pulled once again until you bump into Lumine as she stops. She drops her bag on one of the open seats and turns to look at you, laughing at your awestruck face. “He lives here?! This-“ You gesture aggressively at everything “This isn’t even a house anymore, it’s a fucking resort!” She laughs even harder and a few curious eavesdroppers join her.

“Relax! It’s literally just a house. Now close your mouth, you look like a dying fish.”

“Bitch! If I so much as breathe on something wrong here I’m gonna wind up in even more debt!”

“Oh, shut it and strip already. Your suit is cute as fuck.” She opts to ignore you and you reluctantly drop your own bag on the adjacent seat. Carefully tugging off your top and bottoms, you set them aside as well.

“What the- Is that Professor Zhongli?” You glance in the direction she’s staring and your eyes go wide. “Holy shit, it is. HEY PROFESSOR!”

You gasp as he looks over at Lumine. “NO! Stop, stop it! Put your hand down before he. . .oh no. He’s coming over, why would you do that?!”

“He’s young, hot, and smart. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because he’s our professor!”

“Lumine, Y/N, it’s good to see you both. Did you just arrive?” You awkwardly attempt to hide your figure from him in embarrassment, and glance at Lumine. She only grins at you, clearly choosing to leave you hanging and forcing you to speak to him instead.

“Haha. . .yeah. Why are you here, Professor?”

“Please, just call me Zhongli outside of the classroom.” You nod. “I’m actually here because Childe is a good friend of mine, one of my GA’s, actually.”

“He is? I had no idea. I uh, don’t talk to him much. . .obviously.”

“I take it Lumine coerced you into coming?”

“Yessir, I did! She works too much and doesn’t play enough.” They chuckle at that.

“I’m honestly not surprised. Y/N is very studious.” You blush at his words and glance down.

“Oh yeah, Zhongli! Where is Childe? I haven’t seen him yet.”

“I’m right here!” A voice from behind you causes you to jump and whirl around. You make eye contact with the host of the party, Childe. You aren’t sure if anyone actually knows his real name, everyone just calls him ‘Childe.’ But damn does he look good. His tall figure looms over you and you can’t help but drag your eyes up his exposed skin. His toned muscles flex as he shifts. Realizing you’re staring, you snap your eyes to his face and take a step back. Mischief glints in his ocean eyes.

“Relax, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to?” You choke on air as your little group laughs at your reaction.

“Anyway, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. Lumine won’t shut up about you and even Zhongli mentions you sometimes. You might be his favorite student this year.”

You snort at his words, “He just likes me cuz I don’t ogle at him every lecture.” You glance at Lumine.

“Even if that is true, the fact remains that you’re def at the top of his list. By the way, you look great. That swimsuit seriously suits you.” He winks at you. During your small interaction, you fail to notice Lumine and Zhongli slipping away, leaving you and Childe alone together.

“Oh. . .I um. . .thank you,” You’rr caught off guard by his comment, “Y-your. . .uh. . . swim trunks are very nice, too.” He blinks for a moment before laughing loudly.

“Come on, we should get you a drink.” He leads you back into the kitchen as he continues to greet people, doing his best not to get dragged into too many conversations.

“You’re very popular. I mean, I know this is your party and house – which is very beautiful, by the way – but to actually see you interact with everyone. . .” You trail off unsure of what to say, “I suppose I’m a little envious.” He eyes you carefully as the two of you step into the kitchen together. You note it’s cleared out a bit as more people have moved into the yard and pool.

“It’s not all it’s chalked up to be, ya know? Gotta keep up appearances and all. Actually, I wish I wasn’t popular at all.”

“But you know so many people and have all these connections. I literally only interact with like, five people; you’re number six.”

“Maybe that’s true, but how many of these people do you think would help me if I needed it?”

“I-I don’t know. . .” You admit this quietly as you serve yourself a drink, so you don’t have to look Childe in the eyes.

“If I had to guess, at most, three.” You stare at him wide eyed. Three?

“Out of the hundreds here, there are three people I know I could count on when things get rough – Zhongli, Lumine, and Aether.”

“I see. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-“

“I’m hoping to make it four.”

“Four?” He nods at you.

“I uh. . .I know this is going to sound a little. . .odd,” you can see his cheeks flush pink as he awkwardly scratches his neck, “But I want you to be someone I can trust.

“It’s just, Lumine talks so highly about you as a friend; Aether too, although I know you aren’t as close with him and Zhongli really enjoys having you in class. And when I see them interacting with you, they just look so happy. I guess I sort of just fell for that?”

For a moment your brain stops working. Did you hear him right?

“I’m sorry. What?”

“I-I like you. I know I don’t even know you, but I want to. I want to get to know you and have you as a friend. If that leads to something more, that’d be amazing, but even if it doesn’t, I’d be content just as your friend.” He’s obviously flustered as his eyes glance everywhere but you.

You're quiet as you watch him, seeing just how much he wants this. When his eyes finally land on you again, you get lost in the blue for a moment, lost in his ocean eyes.

“You know what? I think I’d like to get to know you, too.”

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe #genshin childe #tartaglia #genshin tartagalia #implied female reader #fluff

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palbabor-writes · 4 years

Text

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.

“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

#shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #reader insert #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #bnha smut #9 to 5 collab #bnha degeneracy server #collaboration #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: teacher/student #tw: dubcon #tw: bribery

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silentmoths · 2 years

Note

Hey <3 I’m not sure if you’ve ever written anything with albedo but can I suggest him x afab, taller, slightly older reader in a modern-ish setting 🤭

Y'know, love that boy, havent written him yet, but I hope I can do him some justice!!

Albedo x Afab reader, College AU, underclassman!Albedo, fluff.

Having to ask an underclassman for tutoring was.... well there was no other word for it except for embarassing.

honestly, a tragedy.

and yet here you were, sitting in the library, waiting for your apparent tutor to show up, trying not to throw up from shame and anxiety.

you just desperately needed to pass chemistry, and this guy had come recommended to you by the professor, despite being a year under you. "Excuse me, are you Ms. (l/n)?"

Immediately you look up from your textbook and meet-

oh no, he's cute.

You wanted to touch his hair, but all you can do is smile politely and nod.

"Y-yeah that's me...you must be Albedo?"

Your underclassman, Albedo, nods, you expect him to seat himself across from you, but instead he opts for strolling around to sit beside you in stead.

"So. Tell me what it is you're struggling with." Well, atleast he was straight to the point, enough so that it's easy to break out of your oggling.

----

After your first tutoring session with Albedo, you knew exactly why he was the one your professor recommended.

This guy was a goddamn prodigy. How he hadn't already been bumped up to your year or hell, higher, was beyond you, and a crying shame honestly.

You'd walked into your first session full of shame and anxiety, but you'd left it feeling infinitely more confident in your own skills, and actually looking forward to your next meeting with him in a couple of days.

Your professor had only organized four sessions however, and when those were up, he handed you a card with his phone number on it, offering a (as far as you could tell) very rare smile.

"I've enjoyed working with you (f/n), if ever you need my help again, please don't hesitate."

of course you fucking hesistated.

Right up until you having a panic attack about the upcoming exam was a very near thing.

Good hunter, huh? you'd heard some pretty good things about their food, but had never actually gone yourself...seems like now was your chance.

----

Oh, he actually worked here... that explained a little bit, but still, it was a bit of a shock to have Albedo walk up to you, dressed in a white dress shirt and black trousers, looking entierly too handsome for your own good as he offers a small smile.

"Thanks for coming (f/n) come with me, Sara said she doesn't mind if we use one of the booths in my section."

"Thanks Albedo...this means alot, really." You sigh with relief as he leads you back.

It's not until his manager, the aforementioned Sara, appears with a plate of stucky honey roast that you have the feeling that perhaps this was a little more staged than you'd first thought.

----

When you pass the exam with a 98%, you text him again.

Your jaw near hits the floor.

but of course you accept. Some people might tell you it's a little strange, going on a date with an underclassman, but Albedo was...different...he was kind and patient, a wee bit eccentric, and as you'd learnt, more than a little chaotic when he wanted to be.

Saturday night rolls around and you hear the telltale knock at the door, and for the first time since you'd met him, your stomach twists with anxiety.

Sometimes you forgot that you were the taller out of you both, especially as you open the door, he was standing on the step below you, dressed sharp and smart, and gods you still wanted to play with his hair.

He smiles at you, blue eyes twinking with fondness as he offers his hand.

"Good evening...you look wonderful."

"H-hey...so do you."

You felt horribly underdressed next to him, and yet his presence puts your mind at ease. It was rare for you both to speak about anything other than chemistry during his tutoring sessions, but as it turned out, Albedo was a wellspring of information on a wide variety of topics, and even when you both weren't chatting, the silence was comfortable, cozy...you were already used to him sitting beside you.

Even now, on an actual date...this felt...natural.

And boy, you'd been on a few dates in your life...but Albedo sure knew how to plan one... a lovely dinner at a small, locally owned resteraunt you'd never even heard of, and a beautiful walk by the lake in the moonlight. No pressures, no expectations... Honestly this had to be the nicest, simplest date you'd ever been on.

"Y'know...I have to ask...why did you ask me out tonight, Albedo? I said I wanted to do something to pay you back and yet you're the one who took me on a date." He stops for a moment to look up at you as he contemplates the question, and you finally snap,you can't help it, not when his hair is ruffling so wonderfully in the wind, reaching up to run your fingers across the silky strands and tuck a stray piece behind his ear. He responds by silently pushing himself up onto his toes to press the softest of kisses to your cheek, and immediately you feel your heart explode.

"Because I like you, that's why." He finally responds, taking your hand in his once more to continue your little walk.

damn, this guy was smooth.

You'd definitely say yes to any more dates he offered.

(where were, in fact, more dates offered.)

#Genshin x reader #silentmothasks #silentmothwrites #albedo x reader #genshin albedo

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kira-fluff · 3 years

Note

please please PLEASE may we have a part two to the 'only one bed' piece you posted 🥺🥺 your writing is INCREDIBLE and I loved it so much 🥺🥺🥺 if u decide to do a part two then thank u so much in advance,, hope u have a good day 🥺

a/n: you asked for it (some others did too but this anon was so adorable so I’m replying to this one) so I’m gon’ give it to u <3 also, THANK YOU I am being 1000% honest that your comments seriously brought me to tears I was SO happy you all loved it. when I say pt.2, I kind of assume that it’s with the same characters (since no one specified others) so that’s what I’m gonna do!

Context provided, don’t worry babes

WARNINGS: sexual harassment, intoxication, extremely heavily suggestive (it gets pretty spicy)

Also contains spoilers from part 1 but like why would you even read part 2 if you haven’t read part 1? Get outta here and read it!! (Why is this even a warning? I don’t know don’t question my methods)

“There’s only one bed” [PT.2] PT.1

Saeyoung

You awoke to a sleeping Saeyoung, his toned arms enveloping your small body in a hug. Shamelessly, you laid still for a few moments longer.

When you’d noticed him stirring awake, you quickly shut your eyes once more, trying to conceal your growing smile

Saeyoung blinked a few times before registering at last where he was

He needed a little more time to register why you are in his arms

Pretending to be asleep again, you nuzzled further into his chest, letting out a soft groan

Saeyoung’s mind flew to DANGER MODE

He felt kinda guilty holding you in his arms because let’s face it there’s no way he isn’t enjoying this

He was so stunned that, for once, he was at a loss for words (shocking, I know)

Blinking out of his stupor, he murmured, “Y/N?”

His morning voice was... nice.

You pretended to “wake up”, fake yawning before saying, “Yes, Saeyoung?”, subtly batting your eyes a little

(It wasn’t subtle)

But since Saeyoung is an actual fucking moron, he can’t tell the difference

Play it cool, Seven. She can’t know that you know she was doing this all night and you didn’t do anything.

“Wow”, Saeyoung choked out a laugh, “I didn’t know you liked me this much.”

You look down, in between the two of you before slowly making eye contact with him again, smirking in disbelief, “I could say the same to you.”

A slow blush crept up his face at the innuendo

But he was NOT about to lose

Saeyoung Choi is NOT a loser

“Oh, yeah? Well, I wasn’t the one screaming my name last night.”

You gasped, “Screaming?! I didn’t scream -- I would’ve remembered a dream like tha-- Oh!” You quickly covered your mouth, already feeling regret seeping into every bone of your body.

Saeyoung openly chuckled, looking at you with a sort of darkness in his eyes

“You’re more dangerous than this whole mission.”

You were still out of sorts, failing to come up with a comeback besides a quiet, “I wasn’t screaming.”

A shit eating grin replaced the cool smirk on Saeyoung’s face

“I win.”

“Eat a dick, Seven.”

“Sorry, I think I’m more attracted to the one who was moaning out, ‘Oooh, Saeyoung~~~’“

You threw a pillow straight in his face, muttering a “shut up”, blushing profusely

Ever the competitive fucker, Saeyoung proclaims an all out pillow fight

It is WAR

Throwing pillow after pillow at each other in between giggles and taunts and jeers

“Take no prisoners!” you shouted, feeling unbeatable

Until Saeyoung grabbed your ass, pulling you down with him, earning a yelp from you

“What the fuck, Sev’?! You cheater!!”

“I don’t know, my hand’s a lot more comfortable here!”

You scoffed, “Oh, YOU! YOU are gonna GET IT!”

Saeyoung threw back his head in laughter but abruptly stopped when you grabbed his face with both your hands, and forcefully kissed him

He let out a “MMPH!”, eyes wide

Before, of course, kissing you back with equal force

Gasping for air at last, you spoke in between breaths, “I......win..”

“Actually, darling, I think I just did.”

Noticing your loss for words, he smirked before asking, “So.... what’s my prize?”

You didn’t have to be asked twice, “I think I have something in mind...”

His eyes met your own before slowly scanning your body, then snapping back to your eyes once more

You bit your lip

“I know you’ll lose at least one thing tonight.”

“Bold of you to assume--”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

Wish granted ;)

Yoosung

Yoosung glanced away, taking a deep breath before saying, “Yeah, yeah I did. I really like you.” You couldn’t hold back the big ol’ smile that took over your face as you proudly declared, “Me too!!” Right when Yoosung was going to go in for a kiss, he saw his auntie suddenly right next to the both of you

“Oh my GOD when did you get here?!”

She smirked, “My question first, dearie, what did you two like?” Neither of you answered, your cheeks growing red

“You know, the first time your uncle did it with me I felt the same way. Like, what a man! Must run in the fam--”

“OKAY! THANK YOU FOR THAT AUNTIE BUT BREAKFAST IS CALLING MY NAME MM SMELLS GOOD SEE YOU LATER.”

Your blush didn’t leave you as you smeared strawberry cream cheese on your toasted bagel. This trip was going to be very VERY difficult. Thank God there was alcohol. And Yoosung. And probably dogs. And Yoosung. Yeah. Gotta love relatives.

Following this stunning confession, you felt dumb because, well, you still didn’t know where you really stood with Yoosung

So when night came, you were ready to go to a party

Putting on your earrings and making sure your clothes were laid properly in place, you stepped out of the resort room to a waiting Yoosung

“H-hey, thanks for waiting for me,” You nervously tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

Yoosung avoided eye contact, opting for a stiff nod

You gazed deeper into the side of his head, feeling hurt.

But... you decided not to say anything.

Walking together to the reserved room the resort had made in preparation for Yoosung’s uncle was awkward, not a single word spoken between the two of you

When you arrived, Yoosung’s eccentric uncle immediately shouted, “’Sung ‘Sung! Get over ‘ere! We’re gonna have a part-ay!!”

You suddenly understood why Chaewon was the way he was

and why Yoosung’s parents forced him to go on this trip instead of themselves

Since you didn’t know his name, you opted for your nickname -- Uncle Alcohol

Cuz he had a LOT of it

In number, and in the amount he shoved down his throat at any given time

Seriously, how is this guy already drunk?!

You watched as Uncle Alcohol shoved a sloppy arm around Yoosung, not so quietly shouting something in his ear above the blaring music

You were too far away to hear, thank goodness, but you took note of the way Yoosung immediately blushed and shook his head fervently, his hands held in front of his chest

Before you could take in the atmosphere further, you felt a shiver down your back

Immediately turning around you saw the oh-so-famous Chaewon

“Heeeyyyyyyy babbeeheehe...... Wannnaaa..... sliiidee in my room tonighhht?” Laughing in a way what made you cringe and your ears numb, you replied, “No thanks, bud. You should probably get some water.”

“Nooo I want youuuu” Grabbing your boob in his hand, he laughed again, saying, “Nice”

Oh my god.. where the fuck is Yoosung??

You quickly slapped away his hand, shouting, “Stay the hell away from me asshole! Try anything else again, and I won’t give a shit that you’re drunk or Yoosung’s family, I will call the cops on you!”

He acted as if he didn’t hear you, but must’ve gotten the message because he sauntered over to another group of girls

Aren’t those his cousins? What the fuck is WRONG with that guy?!

The loud smack and curses answered the question. You didn’t attempt to help when you saw them proceed to beat the absolute shit out of him, blood and all.

What you needed was a drink. Something really, really strong.

You walked over to the resort bar tender

Something about your face must’ve given it all away because he began with a “Rough night, huh?”

“Do not even fucking ask me about it. God, please, I’m sorry that was rude. I just need something strong... just give me three fingers of rye.” You waved your hand nonchalantly, sitting at a bar stool.

“Are you sure, lady? You don’t look the type to handle that kinda liquor..”

“That’s kind of the point.”

He sighed, “Look... I’m not supposed to condone you getting completely shit-faced.. but you look like you need it tonight. I’ll make something a little easier down the throat, okay?”

You nodded, exasperated.

You didn’t know what it was, but it did the trick. It’s fruity taste easily passed down your throat, leaving you feeling lighter and more at peace.

“’nother one.”

He obliged, pouring another glass for you.

Four drinks in and your world was already unbelievably wobbly.

You were seeing double, looking at the bartender’s second form

You laughed, it all seemed to funny

Standing up, you stumbled over to the dance floor, grabbing one of Uncle A’s craft beers.

Dancing was fun for a few minutes, grateful no one had bothered you.

But you sat down, tears suddenly welling in your eyes

You were alone.

Yoosung.

Your mood brightened just by remembering his name

Giggling, you called out, “Yoosuuungg~~~” repeatedly around the room

One of the cousins heard your call, laughing because everything was funny, before grabbing Yoosung’s arm and shouting what they’d just heard

Yoosung quickly glanced over at you, brows furrowed. They softened a little upon seeing your drunken state

He’d had a beer or two, but the good feeling got old quickly and he sobered up by the time he’d noticed his cousins acting like complete fools

Upon seeing him, your smile grew to a big, childish grin

“Hiiii Yoosuuunggg...”

“Jeez, Y/n, how much did you drink?”

You giggled, playfully sticking out your tongue, “not sure~ a few.. probably..?” you laughed again, winking at him

“Hey, let’s get you some water, yeah? On second thought.. we gotta get outta here. I’ll carry you to our room.”

Your eyes shamelessly stared at his lips, not listening to a word he was saying

“Yoosunngg~~ I want you to fuck meeee”

Yoosung held the bridge of his nose in between his fingers, “L-let’s just go.”

Putting your arm over his shoulder, he carried most of your weight.

“Yoosuuung I want to have your babiess~~”

Yoosung blushed and looked down, continuing to walk, “You’re way too drunk.”

“Yoosunggieee I want to know what it feels like to have your d--”

He quickly shushed you, looking around for other observers

He basically ran to your resort room from there

Taking a long sigh as he finally had got you in the room, he wiped some sweat off his face

Just when he’d gotten up to get a water bottle for you, he heard retching noises

Before he could stop you, you upchucked all over yourself and some of the cheap resort carpeting

Groaning in physical and emotional pain, Yoosung muttered a quiet, “why me”

Before putting his arms under your arm pits and dragging you to the bathroom

He spent a good 10 minutes just trying to get the stupid shower to turn on because of course at any other place than your own house it’s never easy

Then, after getting the temperature just right, he forced you to down at least half of the water bottle

“Are you able to take off your clothes by yourself, Y/n?”

You giggled back, shaking your head

“Liar.”

“Help me take ‘em off pweaseee”

“No!”

You started tearing up again, your lip wobbling

“You know I can’t do that sweetie, you’re drunk.”

“No ‘m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You looked up at him before sighing and lifting up your shirt, fully exposing half of your naked body to him

He screamed like a little girl, running and slamming the door behind him

You pouted, “That’s no fun.”

After getting out of your clothes, you devised another poorly thought through plan

“Yoosunngggieee I need help washing myselffff”

“Um.. okay, lemme go see if I can get a hold of someone...”

“I want it to be you. I want it to be you who sees me like this. I want it to be you. Only you.”

“S-stop..” He said through the door.

“Please?”

Sighing, Yoosung knew there was no one who wasn’t drunk or available to help.

He did what any good guy would do. He proceeded to blind fold himself, opting for reaching his hands out to guess and where things were.

You laughed, “’Sunggiee you know you’re still gunna be touchin’ me”

“I’m not going to.”

“You said you’d help me!”

“Yeah, getting shampoo or something like that!”

“How ya gunna do that with somethin’ over your eyes?”

“I didn’t think it through that far.”

You sighed, conceding and attempting to wash yourself (which ended pretty badly) but, keeping his word, he managed to assist you the best he could without touching you.

He pitied the hangover you’d have... and the regret.

At last carrying you to bed after getting you another drink of water, he began cleaning the putrid stain you’d left on the carpet.

It was about 5AM when he’d finished, finally crawling into bed.

He thought about the way it felt last night compared to now

and he blamed himself.

He was the one that made you get so drunk you essentially passed out

Looking at you again, he sighed.

Tugging you close into his arms, he whispered a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Your subconscious must’ve heard him because you said in your sleep, “’s ok.”

Jumin

And suddenly your faces weren’t so far apart. And you couldn’t help but slowly close your eyes. Jumin was confused. He can be a bit of a pea brain, so he of course said, “I’m sure you’re very tired.” He shut off the light, reaching over you. You held back the big frown you’d gotten when you realized he’d rejected you. Unbeknownst to you that it took everything in him, from the moment he’d saw you in the jet cabin, not to scoop you up in his arms and make out with you the whole way there.

You were awoken by birds chirping outside the massive estate window

You made eye contact with an already staring, wide-eyed Jumin

Upon realizing you’d woken up, he averted his gaze saying, “Breakfast -- soon.”

You missed the crimson color of his face, instead getting up and stretching (like you didn’t learn your lesson last time)

Then, you made your way over to the fresh coffee that had been delivered to your room minutes before

Adding a shit load of cream and a dash of sugar, you turned to see Jumin staring at you. Again.

You breathed out a laugh, “What are you looking at?”

Jumin’s brows knit together for a split second before he again looked away, his soft blush never fading, “It’s hard not to.”

“Look at wha--” Your eyes grew wide in realization, looking down at the lingerie hardly covering your skin, Jumin’s shirt no where to be seen.

You screamed, making a poor attempt to cover yourself shouting, “Oh my god I’m so sorry I forgot!!”

Again, Jumin found his gaze resting on your body, stifling a groan.

He at last spoke, his deep voice reverberating throughout the room, “You... you’re making this all.. so much more ....difficult.”

You then grew defensive, “Made what difficult? Ogling at me without staying anything?!”

His eyes glowered with something you couldn’t quite place. “That’s not what I meant”

He walked slowly toward you, causing you to take steps backward

He’d backed you up against the wall, letting out a deep breath through his nose

With glittering eyes, he grabbed your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look up at him instead of the ground

“You’re doing on purpose, aren’t you?”

You gulped in anticipation, “D-doing what?”

Jumin raked his eyes down your body then looked back up at you with a sarcastic expression that said, “really?”

“N-no! I didn’t have a choice!!”

“Your clothes would’ve been dry hours ago.. if it really bothered you--”

“Well I was really tired from the jet ride and putting up with you!”

Jumin looked surprised for a moment before grinning sardonically, “Putting up with me? Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to control myself when you’re constantly grabbing me, touching me, everything!”

“I didn’t do all that on purpose!” Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but you weren’t about to admit that to him when he was being such a dick.

He laughed dryly, “Yeah, okay. All I’m saying is that I don’t find it very funny.”

“You think that you’re just some big joke to me?!”

“What other explanation is there?”

You were practically hysterical in your laughter saying, “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenged.

“Yeah,” you glared back at him, your faces inches apart.

Before Jumin could realize what he was doing, he pulled your hips flush against his own, crashing his lips harshly on yours.

Letting out moans of both desperation and anger, your eyebrows furrowed as you deepened the kiss, gasping when Jumin slid his tongue so far into your mouth you swore you felt it going down your throat.

After what felt like hours, you parted for oxygen, both breathing heavily, before going in for another long, simmering kiss

You felt Jumin smirk against your mouth causing you to lightly smack his chest, hating that he knew he’d gotten a rise out of you.

He grabbed your wrist against his chest, slowly guiding it to his first button of his night shirt.

You made quick work of removing all the fastenings, nodding and obeying him when he commanded, “Jump”

Your legs tied round his waist, you continued to make out, pulling at the waistband of his pants.

Jumin moaned into your mouth before parting to say, “You will be the death of me, little spitfire.”

Let’s just say the whole fiance thing might not be a lie anymore.

Zen

Zen wanted to say something smooth like “I’ve always wanted to do that.” But instead he said “I’ve always wanted to do you.” He mentally smacked his head, blaming the lack of oxygen for his stupidity. But you smirked up at him coyly, replying, “Then why don’t you?” Um, yeah, rip your hotel neighbor he will literally hate both of you so much.

You awoke you Zen rubbing his thumb on your arm, basking in the morning light

He groggily said, “’mornin’ babe.”

“I’m ‘babe’ now?”

“What else am I supposed to call my beautiful girlfriend?”

You leaned up and kissed him softly, smiling.

“I love you, Zen. So much.”

“I love you, too, Y/n. If you didn’t already get that from when we...”

You laughed shyly, “yeah..”

“I know I skipped a few steps, but I have never been happier and more sure of anything in my life.”

You looked up at him, peacefully grinning.

“Hey, let’s get married.”

Zen choked on his spit, “R-right now?!”

You giggled, “Not right now, but soon. I dunno, we’ve been friends for, like, forever. Now that we know we like each other it seems like the next step.”

Zen looked at you, searching your face to determine whether you were serious or not.

Detecting that you weren’t joking he laughed airily saying, “Sure. Whatever you want princess.”

He kissed the top of your head, whispering, “You’re so beautiful, ya know that?”

Sighing comfortably, you nodded, falling back into sleep.

“H-hey! Wake up!!” Zen shouted, giving up and just cuddling up to you instead, stroking your hair gently.

The concert wasn’t until late that night -- he had time to spare.

....Even if he didn’t, he’d make time for you. - 3 months later

In classic Zen and Y/n style, you’d eloped shortly after the tour ended.

“Hey, Y/n? Have you seen my grey t-shirt?”

You looked up from your laptop, “Mhm, it’s in the dryer.”

He sighed, “Thanks babe”, before making his way down to the mudroom where your laundry was kept

He sifted through the hot laundry in the dryer, not seeing his shirt anywhere, when he hard a crash.

“Y/N?!”

He rushed out to the living room, glancing from the smashed coffee mug on the ground, to you.

“Y/N?! Are you okay?!!!”

You clutched your stomach in anguish, beads of sweat forming at your brow, “Y-yeah.. my stomach hurts so bad ‘s all.”

Zen was having NONE of that

He rushed you to the Emergency Room, holding your hand the entire time.

“It’s gonna be okay, Princess, I promise.” You nodded, before losing consciousness -

you awoke to a depressing hospital room, meeting Zen’s worried eyes.

“How long was I out..?”

“For a few minutes.”

You sighed in relief, feeling a lot better than you were when you were rushed to the ER.

All of a sudden, a doctor entered the room looking stern.

“I wanted to discuss the diagnosis with the two of you when you were both physically present.”

You blanched, looking at Zen with fear etched in your eyes.

Zen held your hand tighter, before saying, “What’s the problem?”

The doctor looked in between the two of you before letting out a little laugh, “There’s nothing wrong, actually.”

You both looked confused, Zen proudly saying, “Then why’d you look all doom and gloom when you came in here?!”

The doctor roared with laughter saying, “Eh, I get a kick out of the faces you guys make. Ah, now to the diagnosis.”

“There’s still a diagnosis?!”

You shushed Zen, nodding at the doctor.

He took a breath before saying, “Miss Y/N Hyeon, you’re pregnant.”

Both your eyes grew wide, mouths slacked

“O-oh, oh my gosh!!”

Zen enveloped you in a big hug, congratulating you (and also hiding his tears)

This man could not hold back the proud grin he sported for MONTHS

I simp for this prompt so if someone asked, it’s not like I could say no to writing it for more characters.......right? lol Also, I came to a realization that I made that a fanfic rather than a headcanon.. so oh well, right?

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