#maybe there would be no loophole. maybe they would forget each other and it would be a nod to amy’s belief in fate that they | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

weirdsht · 3 years ago

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ENEMIES TO LOVERS CALE X READER PLSSSS😭😭

Fickle - Cale/Reader

a/n: idk if anon wanted a gn reader but I made a fem reader solely for the fact that my brain rotted at the thought of enemies to lovers waltz with pretty dresses. oh and the dynamic was inspired from "i'm stanning the prince" but like frenemies ver ig.

if anyone's curious this was 3667 words and 8 pages. also i had sm fun writing this that i might do stories with this as it's base hehe.

Tags: female reader, Gyerre!reader, massive novel spoiler, slight canon divergence?, enemies to lovers, but subtle because of their massive prides, misunderstanding, innuendos if you squint hard, light angst? (debatable tbh i dont think i made it sad tho but to be sure), open ending, Alberu pyscho analyzing his friends, god of death is a warning on its own, but he had little screen time, sarcastic Cale is my will to live, not beta read we die like Cale's slacker life

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

If there's something missing in the warnings let me know so I can add it

Any form of interaction toward the post is appreciated <333

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Masterlist

Everyone who knows Cale thought he would get along well with the beloved cousin of Antonio Gyerre, _____ Gyerre, the only princess of the Gyerre Duchy. Just from a few hours of observing one of them if you know the other you’ll immediately see their similarities; calm, craft, kind, helpful. Even the way they show off their power (in the rare instances they do) is similar.

It’s truly a waste, if only their political beliefs didn’t oppose each other they would’ve been great friends. Partners even.

But of course, there are some things that the general public can’t possibly know that only those who are very close to the two know. Like for instance the crown prince of the Roan Kingdom, Alberu Crossman.

If you ask the quarter elf (and actually get an answer) he’ll probably laugh first then say that the two aren’t in conflict because of their political beliefs. In fact, both of them are the crown prince’s supporters. With _____ even being his childhood friend that stemmed from their accidental meeting long ago that exposed him being part elf. But that’s a story for maybe never because it’s a dark part Alberu wants to forget.

“_____, there’s a meeting later after Cale announces his commander position. Are you gonna attend? I’m sure you’ll get something useful out of it.”

The prince innocently smiled, as if he didn’t know that _____ always indulged him.

And so at midnight, after everyone had finished their initial preparation for the war, the three of them had a meeting for further planning. ‘Looting and scamming plans’ as the great and mighty Raon would put it.

“Your Highness that’s a great plan but it’s lacking”

“Right I was about to say that, how amazing that for once you’re saying something right young master Cale, you truly are living up to the image the citizens have of you.”

The meeting was conducted smoothly. Of course, part of that was the two indirectly fighting each other using their glib tongues and sarcastic tones with Alberu just chuckling and watching the entire thing unfold.

Despite the low-key arguments they always have during these meetings, the redhead commander and the profound business-minded person of the Gyerre duchy synergize quite well. The plans they think of are very similar so when combined, one is left with a great plan with almost no loopholes. Their thought processes are also very similar, when one of them points out a possible mistake in a plan the other one is quick to bring up a solution as they’ve both been thinking of the same thing most of the time.

“While this meeting has been proven fruitful, I am now going to go back to my quarters as it is late. I thoroughly enjoyed my conversation with the young master of the Henituse household. But I do hope we won’t meet again, this lowly being cannot stand looking at the radiant face of our kingdom’s hero. One is happy enough to observe from a distance.”

Translation: don’t show your smug face with your overrated public perception to me ever again especially if we’re inside the same room.

“Oh no, please I should be the one saying that to you, your highness’ closest friend and confidant. How dare I even think of outdoing such an important person of our beloved kingdom.”

Translation: it should be you who should be avoiding me and simply stick to your business aiding the crown prince to the throne.

Tired from the load of bull she’s hearing, _____ turned around from the communication device and rolled her eyes which caused the crown prince to chuckle.

“Shall I call a maid to escort you to your room? Do remember that you have to attend the tea party the Orsena Duchy is holding in the afternoon.”

The tired lady simply puts her hand up to decline the offer before going on her merry way to her beloved bed, the very reason she likes staying at her childhood friend’s castle.

Alberu really can’t tell why the two have bad blood, acting like cats and dogs (but refined) whenever they meet. The two aren’t even competitive, both are probably too lazy to even think of competition knowing that they’re on the same side. Though they hiss at each other, they also know where to give credit when it’s due (of course sarcasm and backhanded compliments will follow suit).

So from whatever angle one looks at it, it seems as though they should at least be great acquaintances. Well no matter, the two know where to draw the line and it gives the blonde joy in life so he doesn’t dwell on it for too long.

Thus, with mainly the help of three cunning minds and glib tongues the war continued to be in their favour. Though suffering and losses are an inevitable part of war, the Henituse, now a duchy, also gained a lot of merits out of it. Especially with most of the heroes being the famous Cale Henituse’s people.

Although there were losses, as the pillars of the kingdom the nobles must not let the citizens feel it. One of their jobs is to put the masses' minds at ease as they secretly and thoroughly clean up everything in the background. Even though the war isn’t finished yet they have to show that everyone can still go on about their everyday lives in peace. Hence a celebration is in order. What better way to put everyone’s mind at ease than holding a ball.

_____’s plan was to look around the hall for a minute then scurry to the nearest place she’d be able to find and hide there for the rest of the night. Naturally, nothing goes according to her vision as a certain prince seems to have a life mission to keep her party for as long as possible.

“May I have this dance my lady?”

Of course, one of his tactics is forcing Cale Henituse to ask the Gyerre princess for a dance. It’s a smart move really, with the commander’s large contribution to their feats, and everyone knowing that _____ also had a hand in strategizing everything makes everyone’s eyes on the powerful duo thus leaving no room to decline.

“It is my honor young master Cale”

A dashing spectacle of soft purple and gold captures everyone’s eyes as the two of the most arguably influential people in the kingdom, a continent even, occupy the dance floor. Everyone can’t help but watch how graceful and effortless the two dance.

Cale spins his dance partner as if he's merely spinning a ribbon in the air and lead’s her and leads her exquisitely. While all of _____’s movements are one in such elegance that one thinks they can see the gold flowers embroidered in her light purple tulle gown to be alive and fluttering. Helping the two paint such a fairy tale of a performance.

“Say, young master. I suppose you’re not someone who’ll stoop so low to the point of copying someone else's attire for the night right? I’m sure the beloved young master’s outfit was also prepared by his equally beloved hyung.”

Translation: it’s so you to copy me but since I know Alberu had a hand in arranging your clothes tonight I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt

“Why yes princess. You know how the crown prince is, he doesn’t take no for an answer no matter how hard I try to refute it. In fact, if I didn’t know the prince was like that I would’ve assumed that you’ve committed piracy. Then again I know that your highness is far above such petty, pointless crimes.”

Translation: how dare you think I’m trying to copy you? If it wasn’t for Alberu’s doing I wouldn’t even think of stooping down to your unattractive sense of style.

As if to strengthen his point, Cale brings their bodies closer with such vigour that gets the other ladies whispering about how they wished their fiances and suitors were as romantic as he is. Of course, the beloved granddaughter of Sonata Gyerre didn’t back out with her viscous eye contact that other people thought was enthusiastic.

Simultaneous with the crescendo of the music were their movements. As the piece gets more intense so do their movements. The two have forgotten about everything else. All they see are purple and gold flutters of the hem gown and the tailcoat of the long jacket. The intense eyes looking at each other filled with animosity that none of them knew where it stemmed from. An intense feeling of adrenaline rushing through their veins in a competition to outdo the other, and the feeling of warm hands holding each other close to the point of it being painful.

While the two got lost in their own world, everyone else could not help but stop in their tracks and watch in awe. It was even to the point that the two strategists were the only ones occupying the dance area.

‘They make such a good couple. Look at the way they compliment each other and how they dance with such passion, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were just hiding their relationship.’

That’s probably what’s running on everyone’s minds as they misunderstand the battle going on between the two purple-clad figures.

“Hmmm, *Aram Khachaturian Waltz… I must say, you have impeccable taste in music. You managed to choose a piece that suits us. But, young lord. If I didn’t know any better I’d think that the possessive grip you have on my waist is trying to leave marks on purpose so the maids tomorrow will get the wrong idea.”

“Of course, it is basic knowledge for a gentleman to be able to choose a fitting piece for his lady. Certainly not my lady, please, I apologize for my actions as I am just trying to not lose you to the intensity of the piece. Though I can say the same thing for you and your sharp nails. What would my butler think when he sees scratch marks on me the next day milady.”

Smile and spin ladies and gentlemen, smile and spin. You mustn't let the enemy know how much they’re getting under your skin. As the music mellows down so as the adrenaline and intensity of the dancing pair. Hence why they are back to making small talk.

“Your Highness you were the one that arranged their outfits tonight right? Is there any reason as to why they seem to be matching? Are you also perhaps rooting for the two of them too?”

_____ can hear one of the noble ladies speak to Alberu as they sway near the blonde’s position. Tapping Cale’s arm twice, they silently communicated to subtly stay near that area to eavesdrop.

“Oh hardly no, their private affairs are for them to deal with unless they confide in me about it. I simply just wanted to show off the close relationship we three have. See, even I have light purple and gold on my outfit and this matching beautiful brooch I had the finest of artisans make for the three of us.”

The two tuning in on the conversation can’t help but lightly scoff at the response provided. Everyone can see that purple is merely the accent of the prince’s suit while it is the main colour of the pair’s outfit. Still, knowing they cannot do anything yet as the piece is just about to finish, the two settled on waltzing away to the centre when they heard the topic shift from the brooch to the crown prince’s love life.

“You have great dancing skills, milord, I thoroughly enjoyed our time together.”

“Likewise milady, now if you allow me to escort you further so we can talk business while waiting for our dazzling prince��

Translation: I’m sure you heard the load of bull Alberu just said so I need you to talk to me to make a petty come back because I know you and so I know you’re up for it

“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure it's going to be a pleasant conversation”

“Then if you allow me to lead the way…”

If Alberu felt the cold chill run down his spine as he was talking to vassals, then he did a very good job at hiding it. A decision he’ll regret making later on as two pairs of glowing eyes grin at him with malicious intent they like to call ‘payback’.

After that, their relationship got a bit better. There’s still bad blood but thanks to the common headache they share they got along a bit better.

They started getting to know each other outside of the initial image they had of each other and noticed the similar traits and life goals they had.

“Cale Henituse only second to the crown prince for being the most wanted bachelor? What? Is this for real? This man is surely doing witchcraft to make his press image look that good. This can’t be the same Cale Henituse I know who isn’t competent at taking care of himself.”

At her words, red eyes maliciously snapped their way to her figure to stare with amusement and resentment.

“Stare at me like that all you want, it doesn’t help my case that you’re bleeding from every orifice of your body right now. Makes me wonder how much trauma you gave everyone who personally saw you like this during the Henituse war. No wonder why they went ballistic. Of course, the same thing can’t be applied to me as I will be more than glad to laugh at your demise with front-row seats.”

Poor young master Cale can’t even make a proper argument as he is too busy to strive to live another day. Contrary to the princess’ lips that spout poison like a viper, her hands tell a different tale. Soft, gentle hands cradle the commander’s matted hair as she lightly wipes down the blood causing his usual well-cared hair to be this atrocious. Beside him is a baby black dragon who fell asleep from the fatigue of his awakening.

“I hate you but I have to give you credit for being the cause of Alberu’s hilarious face when you dropped everything on him all at once then left to go self-destruct. Anyways I haven’t seen Alberu make a face like that since I told him from what house I’m from.”

The annoyed, but in pain man tried to wheeze out an answer but was quickly shushed with benign hands that just finished wiping his face and were now cleaning up the sleeping dragon.

“Don’t even try talking. Yes, yes I know that look, you’re wondering how I even get here and if I just went here to mess with you. Well, let’s just say that I have my ways and this is me repaying you for the amazing scene you made with Alberu.”

Cale decided on whether he should argue back, but upon the return of warm hands that delicately took care of him he decided to let it pass for once.

Thus, Lady Gyerre took care of the famous commander as his plate fixed itself. This made it easier for everyone else to do their respective tasks seeing that the young master was in good hands.

And if the first thing Cale saw as he woke up was a certain lady’s head sleeping on his side. They didn’t talk about it. And if the first thing _____ felt when she woke were big, warm hands caressing her hair softly. They also spoke no word of that.

Instead, the two continued on with their lives as normally as they could after that.

It doesn’t help that they synergize well so they work with each other quite a lot. It also doesn’t help that since Raon is now relieved, the dragon doesn’t hesitate to ask _____ to stay over and indulge him further. It most certainly doesn’t help that the two of them are good at hiding their feelings, making it seem like they hate each other to the bone with their usual fights.

And it really doesn’t help them that they seem closer than ever no matter how much they try to push each other away.

Late-night talks, comfortable skinship, the way they magnetized to each other unconsciously, one constantly seeking out the other especially when it comes to planning.

Yeah, it really doesn't help them one bit.

There’s also the pesky voice that has been watching over _____ since she was a kid that turned out to be the God of Death.

“So you’re telling me that the other kid you’ve been playing with was that guy. Then you told me that if we could meet we would’ve been great playmates? Oh, and you’re also the God of Death everyone kept complaining about… I can see where they’re coming from…”

That conversation resulted in the feather pen, a relic of the said god, hardening and smacking the poor princess across the face. Of course _____ Gyerre is petty so she throws the pen in a corner and refuses to talk to God until he explains everything and lets Alberu help with the Sealed God’s test.

As the whole thing continues on and everyone gets tired of the two, Alberu Crossman can’t help but try to figure out where the animosity even came from in the first place. Just why are they hostile to each other at the beginning with no explanations. Just what was the thing they saw that made them like that.

If it wasn’t for the Sealed God’s test maybe Alberu wouldn’t have been able to piece everything together.

The two are so similar that they even share their hatred for people who sacrifice themselves without realizing they do exactly just that.

[funny, so that’s how it is]

Alberu laughed to himself one night as he thought about it. Of course, his laugh didn’t go past Cale, err Kim Rok Soo as he looked at the tiger as if he transformed into something worse than his current form.

But war is war and there’s little to no time for anything else when you’re focused on not letting this White Star wannabe take over the world. Hence why, despite all the clear signs brooding over them, both opted to continue playing hide and seek of feelings in the middle of war and everything is left up in the air.

Still, humans in general are fickle things that don’t realize what they have been caring for until the direst of moments.

“CALE I SWEAR TO GOD DON’T YOU HAVE A BRAIN? IF YOU DIE HERE RIGHT NOW I’M GOING TO PERSONALLY BRING YOUR SOUL BACK INTO THAT BODY JUST SO I CAN KILL YOU AGAIN”

Those words and the back of the one who said it was the last thing Cale registered before he fainted.

When _____ felt uneasy her mind immediately went to Cale and his self-sacrificial tendencies. Good thing that she still has the gift the God of Death gave her a long time ago.

“Listen, the kid I’ve talked about before is coming here soon. I’m sure you’ll get acquainted well. That’s why I’m gifting this to you, you can use this to locate wherever that punk is and go there. Fret not for you can also easily teleport anywhere as long as you have my permission.”

She never thought that she’d actually use it to locate Cale, nor did she ever think that she’d be panicking over the man and what he was doing.

Luckily, she arrived in time. Cale just finished using instant and is very weak, near him was someone trying to take advantage of the chaotic situation and finish the redhead off. More lucky that the Gyrre princess has quick reflexes and manages to block off attacks from the bear.

“I’ve heard what the situation is, Raon I’ll hold them off! Just focus on teleporting us out of here!”

A swarm of the remaining bears and black mages left in the Endable Kingdom continue to attack the three. While _____ is a pretty high-ranking swordsman, it cannot be denied that she went to the enemy's territory on a whim and with no proper armour. There’s also the fact that she isn’t simply fighting. Rather, she’s protecting the one guy she swore to leave to die. Thus, by the time the three teleported to Puzzle City, the two humans had fainted; one with a broken plate and the other one suffering from a large wound inflicted by the enemy.

Humans and their emotions are fickle things. It’s funny how a few words and actions will make them spiral down again. But it works out because these humans know that they are like that, they understand one another. They know that that’s exactly what makes them human.

That’s why when Cale first woke up, after getting his plate fixed again, and the first one he looked for was _____ no one said anything.

When he wordlessly insists on taking care of the unconscious lady no one dares question how he balances all of his tasks in the middle of war.

And when his family sees him getting lost in his own records late at night they don’t disturb him. They simply watch over their young master, making sure that he won’t hurt himself as he autopilots his way to juggling making plans and taking care of Lady Gyerre.

Indeed humans are such fickle creatures dense enough to not realize they’ve been tightly holding on to something unless it’s already too late.

But at the same time that very fickleness is what gives them the ability to do an entire 180 once they realize their mistake.

That’s why in his own way, Cale will surely make it up. Set things straight between the two of them, and not let his mistakes on Earth be the same sins he commits in his new life.

*Aram Khachaturian waltz is the piece that got me brain rotting about the waltz I'm sorry but it gives massive enemies to lovers waltz scene jsdfjaksdgfsdg

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wxshing-aep · 3 years ago

Text

One Time Thing (pt 3)

Andrew Garfield x famous! reader

'One Rule' Series

previous chapter

In which you just need to get each other out of your system so one time should be enough... right?

rating: M (smut, fingering, oral, general horniness, little plot mainly porn), reader is 20 Andrew is 21

Being around Andrew in general already turned you into an absolute dumbass

Even when you two had scenes together on set, they would take a bit longer to film than necessary because even though your characters hated each other, you’d make each other laugh and break character or sometimes his presence would just turn your brain into mush so you’d forget a line or two

So right now with his arms wrapped around you from behind and his lips. trailing down your neck it’s safe to say that you’re not exactly thinking straight. Your mind only gets fuzzier when he turns you around in is arms to attach your lips again. It takes just about every ounce of willpower in your body to pull away from him only for him to chase after your lips with his and while you want nothing more than to jump his bones at this very second, the nagging little voice in your head can’t help but remind you that Andrew was supposed to be off limits

“Andrew” kiss “we” kiss “shouldn’t be” kiss “doing this” and it’s at this point when Andrew seemingly snaps back to reality and distances himself from you, stepping back as if you’ve burned him. You immediately feel cold and miss the presence of his hands on your body and his lips on yours and he paused for a moment before saying the last thing you expected him to say

“Yeah, you’re right” to which you looked at him inquisitively and responded with “I am?” as he, in true Andrew fashion, starts rambling and pacing back and forth in your kitchen

“Yeah, I mean the directors made it pretty clear they didn’t want anyone in the cast to start dating, not that we’re dating of course, but maybe this” he gestures his hands wildly between the two of you “ is technically a loophole of some kind but then again she did say ‘keep it in your pants, i mean it’ and I’m pretty sure that I was either hallucinating or Mindy” your director “looked directly into my soul when she said that, I swear she’s got this like sixth sense but honestly who hires a bunch of hot college aged actors, puts them on a set together for months, and expects them not to want to fuck? Seems a bit cruel if you ask me. N-not that I’m saying that we’re gonna fuck, I mean not that I don’t want to have sex with you, I definitely do. I mean, shit, I don’t really know what I’m saying anymore but you look really good in my shirt and my brain isn’t really working right now so please interrupt me before I-”

“Yeah that makes sense” you interrupt him. “oh thank god- wait what does?” Andrew responds, grateful that you stopped him from making a bigger fool out of himself but confused as to what you were agreeing with him on

“I mean obviously we take our work very seriously” you begin

“so seriously” he adds

“and wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the show”

“exactly”

“and we are perfectly capable of controlling ourselves”

“right! it’s not like we’re animals”

“so not animals! and i mean ‘c’mon costars getting involved’ how cliche is that”

“so cliche”

“right, so glad we’re on the same page”

“same. exact. page” he finishes twiddling his thumbs and you swear you can almost see the gears in his head turning as you’re just standing in your kitchen staring at him and he lets out a sigh

“fuck it” he breathes out and with that he’s made his way back across the room to you and his lips are on yours again, hands moving to the back of your thighs to lift you up and wrap your legs around his waist as he backs you against the wall

Your hands immediately find their way into his hair and pull earning a groan from him that sends tingles down your spine. His lips travel down to your neck before finding a particular spot that makes you weak in the knees and let out a whimper. Everything in his body tells him that he wants needs to hear that sound again so he sucks a bit harder and you gasp causing him to smirk against your neck. “andrew -oh god” you bring his face back up to yours and he whispers against your lips “i don’t think he’s here right now love” before kissing you hard. “I can’t have” kiss “hickies” kiss “mm we have uh” kiss “we have press this week”.

“sorry, you just sound so pretty. i wanna see what other sounds i can get out of you” You were really used Andrew’s sweet and sometimes awkward but adorable self so to hear him talk like this definitely did something to you. Now you’re the one to allow your lips to travel down to his neck, finding a spot that makes him shudder and grip onto you tighter. “should we be doing this?” he asks breathlessly as his hand creeps under his your shirt. “mm probably not, but um it’ll just be like a one time thing -shit- ya know? like just to get it out of our systems” you struggle the sentence as he plays with your nipple between his fingers and he just nods frantically at your statement. “this -fuck- is probably a bad idea” he says before connecting his lips to yours again, hand traveling down to your ass for a light squeeze. “no mm” you kiss him again, catching his lower lip between your teeth as you pull away “this is absolutely a bad idea” you finish, your eyes meeting his, his eyes now a much darker shade of brown. “so... bedroom?” “absolutely”

“down the hall, 2nd door on the right and make it snappy” you instruct him since he’s still carrying you. “so bossy” he whispers against your lips. “maybe but i feel like you’re probably into that” you tease. “oh i’m definitely into that” and he meets your lips again

Andrew makes a b-line for your room, not breaking the kiss until your back hit your mattress. His hands are everywhere and so are yours, his tongue exploring your mouth and pulling you impossibly close as if trying to make up for months of sexual tension in this one night. Your shirt is quickly discarded and andrew wastes no time immediately sucking a nipple into his mouth using his free hand to fondle your other breast occasionally tugging and playing with the nipple. his fingers work wonders and that’s just on your boobs so you can’t help but imagine what they’d do on your pussy

His hand traveled down your body and began toying with the waistband of your shorts. "is this okay” he asks and you nod frantically to which he chuckles but lightly shakes his head “I’m gonna need your words love”. fuck why is he so hot. “yes. that’s okay” and with that his hand ventures into your pants as his lips find that sweet spot on your neck again.

who knew andrew was such a fucking tease

He is quite literally just toying with you: fingers dragging up and down your slit, only circling your clit for a few seconds at a time before slipping back down again and you’re only growing wetter and more frustrated. “god stop being such an asshole” you gripe at him for not giving you the satisfaction you so desperately need. he smirks against your neck, lips coming up to your ear before responding with “what did you just call me?”

“i said that you’re an- oh fuck” you moans as he pushes a finger into you, thumb circling around your clit. “what was that love? don’t think you quite finished your sentence there” asshole. He adds another finger and curls them up hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your stomach tighten. “fuck y/n you’re so fucking wet. so hot, taking my fingers so well baby” he feels you clench around his fingers at the nickname as you trap your bottom lip between your teeth. “you like when I call you that y/n? god, can feel you fucking dripping baby, love when i’m finger fucking you like this huh?” he speeds up his fingers and the only sounds filling the room are your moans, andrew’s filthy words, and the downright sinful sounds coming from his fingers moving in and out of your pussy. he can feel how close you are, clenching around his fingers as he repeatedly meets that spot inside you. your lost in your bliss and so so close, when he removes his hand from you. You barely have time to scold him for ripping away your orgasm before he’s yanking your underwear and shorts down your legs, tossing them somewhere in the room, moving down the bed to pull your leg over his shoulder and attach his lips to your clit

“holy fucking shit” you immediately buck your hips into his face but his hand pushes you back down into the mattress. “easy baby, i’ve got you. gonna take care of you, promise” he pushes his fingers back into you returning to their original curling motion while his tongue draws circles on your clit. in no time he has you right back at the edge, legs trembling around his head, lips repeating his name like a prayer. you’ve got a death grip on the sheets and he moves one of your hands into his hair and you tug earning a groan from him that sends vibrations into you. “oh my god right there, please don’t fucking stop shit” he finds everything about you to be absolutely intoxicating: your moans, your gorgeous trembling thighs wrapped around his head, your taste, your grip on his hair that stings ever so delightfully, and he’s impossibly hard at this point and starts rutting his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the tension in his briefs. “fuck andrew i’m-” “gonna come for me baby? gonna come all over my tongue hmm? gonna fucking give it to me yea? gonna let me taste you?” “oh fuck oh fuck” your orgasm hits you like a truck, legs shaking, back arching, as you throw your head back, Andrew continuing his movements to coax you through it.

He eventually removes his hand from you, cleaning you up with his tongue, savoring every last drop of you and when you finally open your eyes again you’re met with his and he greets you with a dopey smile and a sheepish “hi”. it’s crazy how shy he suddenly got considering he just had his face buried in your cunt and had just been talking to you like a pornstar. “hi” you respond, giggling and pulling him into you for a kiss.

he was so adorable and sweet and hot and the way he just had you seeing stars made you want to suck the soul out of him and by the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your thigh, you think he’d appreciate that too. you push him on his back and straddle him, lips traveling the spot on his neck you’d found earlier that makes him let out a groan and grind his hips up into you. your lips travel down his torso taking a moment to admire his abs before continuing down. your hands just began playing with the waistband of his briefs when he goes against everything his body and dick is telling him and places a hand on your arm to stop you.

“you don’t have to ya know. i mean, not that i don’t want you too, it’s definitely not that, i really really want you to like i’m sure your mouth is just wow- that’s not the point. i just meant that just because i did doesn’t mean you have to, we could just stop now if you want like i could just head to bathroom and take care of it and we could cuddle or something if you want or-” you interrupt his babbling with a searing kiss, pinning his hands over his head, and it makes his mind go dizzy.

“andrew” your sultry voice has him in a daze and he just responds with “mhm”. “I want to. so shut up and lay back pretty boy” his eyes widen and he thinks he’s never been so turned on in his life.

“yes ma’am” fuck

You’re back to kissing him and drop a hand to palm him through his briefs and he moans into your mouth before detaching your lips to whimper a “please -fuck- need you so bad y/n please”

“so fucking needy” you tease him as you pull off his briefs, freeing his cock. “you have such a pretty cock baby” you purr, swiping your thumb over his tip, locking eyes with him and bringing the pre-cum to your lips and Andrew thinks he might come just from watching you. “you gonna tell me what you want baby?” you ask. Andrew wastes no time and begs instantly “your mouth, fuck please put your mouth on me, want it so bad.” It’s crazy how he went from being so confident minutes ago to whimpering beneath you and begging for you to touch him. You were quite satisfied with his response and proceed to wrap your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around him as he throws his head back. You take more of him into mouth moaning at the taste of him and, stroking what doesn’t fit and fondling his balls with the other hand. “fuck, feels so good, please don’t stop y/n shit” you pull off of him with a ‘pop’ replacing your mouth with your hand and moving your head to suck one of his balls into your mouth “shit shit shit” he mutters, eyes rolling to the back of his head. you lift your head to make eye contact with him. “gonna be a good boy and come for me?” you ask before putting his dick back into you mouth and bobbing your head slowly. oh he was absolutely done for. “fuck i’m gonna- oh god” his body convulses as he releases into your mouth and you wait for his breathing to return to normal before coming back up to meet his glazed over eyes. “that was” he blinks a few time “wow”. “thank you?” “no, thank you” “did you just thank me for sucking your dick?” “uh i guess i did. but to be fair i think you might’ve actually sucked the life out of me jeez” he half-jokes which makes you laugh and god does he love that sound.

It’s pretty late and you both have a long day of press tomorrow and are fairly warn out from recent activities.

“so are we like allowed to cuddle?” andrew asks to which you respond “i don’t see why not” giving him the go ahead to drape his arm over your waist and slot his leg between yours.

you fall asleep fairly quickly but andrew stays up for a bit longer fighting his fatigue simply because he wants to commit the feeling of holding you in his arms to memory

after all, it was only a one time thing... right?

next chapter

tags: @percysaidnever @twsssmlmaa

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield imagines #andrew garfield imagine #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield x female reader #Andrew Garfield x famous! reader

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askdottie · 11 months ago

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Dottie was spiraling. She could feel it happening, her thoughts buzzing around so quickly that she could barely process anything, could barely catch her breath. But deep down she was aware of the fact that she was breathing. Time was still ticking. Her world hadn't actually ended, even though it felt like it had. And Brett was speaking.

Are you even in love with me anymore?

Oh.

Somehow that was the thing to finally break her out of whatever anxiety-induced panic she'd been trapped in, head snapping up and eyes flicking over to the male.

"I-" she faltered.

How long had he known? What had given it away? Because she really had been in love with him once, but somewhere along the way her feelings had changed. She'd figured that the issue had been purely on her end - that something was just off in her. She'd never even liked anyone but Brett, never taken a romantic or sexual interest in someone else. How could it not be linked to that? But he hadn't been in love with her either. They'd been suffering in semi-silence together for years, too afraid to let go of the only thing they knew. For how much of their relationship had they just been going through the motions? When did he stop being in love with her?

She listened as he went on, his unflinching honesty in stark contrast with how she'd ever seen him before. And she didn't know how to process everything he was saying, how to find a moment to speak up and defend herself or what they'd had.

And why should she? Because Brett was right - it was time to call it quits. And he was right when he continued his breakup rant too, his assessment of her nothing she'd never thought before. But it hurt, a wince-worthy barrage that had her wishing that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. His words may have been hitting like daggers right to the heart, but the cherry on top was that he was telling her the truth - she did feed off of the energy that surrounded her. She did take on the personality traits she liked most in others.

But he was supposed to have known her best. If he couldn't even find the real Dottie somewhere, maybe she didn't exist. And if she didn't exist, if what they had wasn't real, then it wasn't worth getting upset about. She just sort of felt… empty.

Except for when Brett brought up the scoff-worthy idea of them still being friends down the line. Sure, in an ideal world they maybe could've worked their way back to friendship, but they didn't live in that world. There was too much history. Too much hurt. They were going to be okay eventually and they were going to figure themselves out, but this was where their paths fully diverged.

"Brett," she paused, eyes closing as she gathered up the courage to do what she needed to do. "We both know that's not going to happen."

It took years to get into the mess they'd made and Dottie was sure it was going to take years to get out of it - years they didn't have in each other's presence. They'd graduate and go off on their own and maybe someday be able to look back on their relationship fondly, but that was only something that would be possible with time.

"A clean break," she insisted. It was the only way to be certain that it would stick. "You don't talk to me, I don't talk to you."

She wanted to offer up an out, a lever to pull if ever he truly needed her (or she him), but it was always possible to exploit a loophole. And in her more needy moments, she knew she'd try. And then she'd be right back at square one. No, it had to be a firm decision. Number deleted, blocked on all socials, don't call, don't text, forget the address, and ignore in public. Go big or go home.

"If you have anything of mine, you can keep it," she advised. "If I have anything of yours, I'll get Harmony to bring it."

It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do, fully letting him go. But he deserved to grow without her. And she without him. It was time to grow up.

She took a few steps towards the door then, preparing to say her final goodbyes. But before she did so, she had to make one thing absolutely clear.

"You're right," she finally acknowledged. "I'm not in love with you anymore. I haven't been in a long time. But I'm always going to love you too. And I'm sorry."

Eyes scanning the room for the last time, in a matter of seconds she'd zeroed in on the forget-me-not in her spot on the bed. Blinking hard to try and stop the flow of tears, it was with a note of finality that she decided to leave it behind. She didn't need a memento of the night when her heart had been broken. She didn't want to remember the two of them like this.

"I'm going to go now," she said only once she'd done one last look-over of her ex - the tears, his expression, his resolve. Their relationship had started with a photograph, with a picture he'd taken of her when she thought that she was invisible. It only felt fitting that this was its final moment - this mental snapshot was surely going to stay with her forever.

And then she walked out of his life. For real this time.

The redhead managed a small smile, knowing Dottie actually meant the apology. But it slipped when he realized it was probably due to the fact that he was so distraught over what had happened at homecoming and that meant she knew. Bree’s online words ran through his mind, does Dottie know you’re in love with your best friend?

Did she really know? Did she at least suspect it? She had to. If she knew him, like he knew her. It would probably be painfully obvious, but maybe like him, she didn’t want to see it. Or she refused to see it, so in denial like he had been.

Ah. Brett winced at the question, almost if Dottie had screamed it instead of whispering it so softly he barely caught it. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he would’ve missed it.. He almost wished she had yelled it, anger he could understand. Or at least that he could shield himself from, but he was utterly defenseless when it came to his girl- ex-girlfriend crying. “Dottie…”

There were too many conflicting emotions, too many too fast, for Brett to try and read her. It was kinda scary, but it didn’t make him regret the words he’d finally spoken out loud. It’d been like a weight lifted off his chest that he hadn’t realized had settled there over the years, one that he’d been carrying that had slowly been growing with each break up. There had to be some type of consequence. You couldn’t keep going back to someone who hurt you over and over again, even if you were the one handing them the knife willingly. There was bound to be scar tissue.

However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling completely guiltless. Brett actually might’ve started to panic, unsure if Dottie was breathing or breathing too much, hyperventilating really. “Dottie… Dottie, c’mon.” He wasn’t sure she even heard him, he raised his hand slowly like he was trying not to scare off a skittish animal. But before he could even make contact, Dottie was bounding off the bed and trying to hide from him without actually leaving.

He let it happen, didn’t speak, afraid maybe she really would spook and take off if he did. They needed to hash this out, no matter how painful.

When she managed to speak, Brett leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he listened. “It is, Dottie. Everything’s going to be okay. This is good.” He wanted to go to her, comfort her while soaking up his own comfort, but they had to break this cycle. “Dottie… are you even in love with me anymore?” His voice broke and he rubbed his eyes. He had to keep going.

“I love you, I love you so much, Dottie. I always will, but I’m not in love with you. I-I don’t know when I stopped, but we’ve been… I mean, not playing house, but we keep playing these parts of high school boyfriend and girlfriend. But look at us. We’re not those people anymore. Can you tell me honestly, that you’re not tired of it?” Brett forced himself to stand up, keeping his distance, but he wanted them on an even level.

“Who are we, Dottie? Who are you? Do you even know? Because-” He stopped, weighing his words and the impact, but he shook his head and forced them out. “Because sometimes I don’t. You always pick and choose things from people, things you think will make people like you. I don’t care, I’ve never cared about any of that, only about if you were happy or not. I only ever loved you for you. But there’s some days where I don’t know if that girl is even real or some Frankenstein monster you created made up with different personality traits.”

Brett was definitely crying now, like each word out of his mouth physically hurt him. “I- I know I’m not any better. I don’t know who I am either. Jacob said I let you walk all over me and change everything about me. That he didn’t recognize me when I’m with you, that I let you tell me who my friends are, who I am, but… I only ever did what you wanted because I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if I was what you wanted, maybe I was enough. Then it only turned into, if I'm with her, I’m safe. I can’t get hurt because what we haven’t isn’t real anymore. ”

He couldn’t look at Dottie, glancing away and felt his hands balling into fists at his sides. “‘Cause don’t you see? All we’ve been doing is holding each other back. We used to be happy, now we’re just comfortable and sometimes we’re not even that… Everything’s going to be okay though, we need this to happen. We can… we can grow. We can find ourselves, who we’re supposed to be. Who we’re supposed to be with. I know this is going to sound stupid like all those TV break ups, but… I- I still want us to be friends.”

He wasn’t sure he could give up Dottie completely. She had been a big part of his life and to just never see her again? Never talk? Whoever he was, he didn’t want to be that guy. Not someone who could give up on someone he loved, no matter how rocky the relationship. Their relationship was different from his and Jacob’s, from any of his others. They’d rushed into loving each other in a way only teenagers could fall and were very much a part of each other now. To go from that to strangers? To do that after losing the other person who knew him best? Brett wasn’t sure he could survive that twice.

“I- I know you probably need time and we can’t just be friends, but I swear, Dottie. I promise. I want to be there for you, in whatever way I can… just.. Not as a boyfriend, not anymore, okay.”

#— brett #( be free ❤️ )

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secret-engima · 2 years ago

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actually WHILE I’M HERE HAVE SOME UCHIHA CLAN THOUGHTS BECAUSE *yeets Kishi and his two-faced worldbuilding about Uchiha into the sun*.

-Uchiha are actually incredibly emotional and during the Warring State Era were probably a *lot* more willing to express that to each other and be supportive because again- Super Vision. These are the ppl who cannot and will never forget their trauma, which means to stay sane they have to also memorize and cling to their love and family to stay balanced. This probably started changing after Madara went off the deep end and Konoha was looking sidelong at the Uchiha in fear of another Expressive Uchiha Going Nuts, so they started trying to be more like their peers and be Reserved Shinobi Families. Which totally didn’t bite them in the butt years later with Itachi but moving on.

-There is no force on earth, not even Kishi, that can convince me that Tobirama did not respect the heck out of the Uchiha. None of this “uchiha are the clan of hatred” nonsense. You do not look at a clan you secretly mistrust and low-key hate and give them the keys to your village security and the upholding of all it’s laws. You do not hand someone you do not trust the literal beating heart of your village and tell them to be the guardian and bridge between the civilian and shinobi sectors, not to mention the many inter-clan interactions and clan culture clashes that would need to be smoothed out for the continued operation of Konoha daily life. You do not take one of that clan as your personal student if you’re afraid that he or any of his future kids he will not doubt pass your teachings on to will go nuts at the drop of a hat. Giving the Uchiha the police force was a way to make them the bedrock of the village while also trying to ensure that no Madara would ever happen again, because if the majority of the Uchiha are in the village, then the majority of them will not be gaining insanity inducing battlefield trauma with their sharingan.

-On the police force, you ALSO cannot tell me that most of the Konoha civilians did not respect and even adore the Uchiha police force. Sure they’re a bunch of stoic looking, prickly fellows, but these detail obsessed, hyper competent shinobi can and *will* intercede on your behalf when your shinobi neighbor is getting pushy or too loud or just leaving blood everywhere and you’re afraid to ask him to please maybe hose off before tracking blood through the entire apartment complex like a crime scene. Civilians in Konoha live at the mercy of their shinobi, there’s no helping that, but the Uchiha were their lifeline and safety net for that. An Inuzuka and a Hyuuga got into a drunken slap fight that destroyed your shopfront and you need the clans to pay for damages but you’re just a humble lowly shopkeeper and you’re afraid the clans will ignore you because you can’t force the issue? Go to the Uchiha police force and file a damages claim.

A chuunin or jounin has taken to asking your daughter out and he’s starting to no longer take “no” for an answer? Call the Uchiha police force.

You’re a civilian business entering into a trading contract with one of the other major shinobi clans and you want to make sure that not only will the contract be impartial and loophole free but that the much richer, stronger, deadlier shinobi clan won’t strong arm you into accepting a bad contract? Ask the Uchiha to either oversee the proceedings or recommend a lawyer who can (who will probably definitely also be an Uchiha).

-The Uchiha were simultaneously a strong enough clan to handle any of the snits potentially thrown by the other noble clans or any jutsu-using criminals that cropped up in Konoha but also strict enough that they used that power to ensure civilians *and* shinobi would have equal (or at least as close as a military run child soldier village can get to equal) treatment. They also, being shinobi, would be the ones the *ninja* went to to settle disputes with their civilian Karen neighbor so that no one has to resort to murder. And being canonically proud as heck about their position as the police force you better bet your biju that they held themselves and their officers to a very high standard. At least until Danzo started backing them into a corner and they all collectively started going feral (which they were justified to do so, honestly).

*hisses softly* can you tell I have THOUGHTS about Kishi’s sloppy worldbuilding and lack of visible consequences for slaughtering his entire police force that also happened to be a founding and highly respected clan?

BECAUSE I HAVE THOUGHTS.

#Secret Engima Rambles #SE rants #naruto worldbuilding #uchiha clan culture #uchiha clan #konoha #naruto

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elianamarie-blog · 2 years ago

Note

Steven Hyde x male reader? They’re making out in the basement and their friends walk in on them? You can decide their reactions. Thanks!

As you wish <3 I hope I did this justice. Let me know if there is anything I can tweak or change! I tried to make it as realistic as possible with the time this is set in, but still make it an enjoyable read. Like I said, if there's anything I can change, let me know. I hope you enjoy it as I am a little nervous that you won't. I'm not part of the LBGTQ community, but I did my best.

If Only...

The rain fell hard in the quaint town of Point Place, Wisconsin. The skies were a darkened gray as it seems to have cleansed the streets. A calming silence had settled itself over the sleepy little town in the summer of 1977.

Y/n Y/l/n found himself perched on his windowsill with his favorite book and a half-drunk cup of tea sat by his side. He was leaning back against the wall with his legs laid out relaxed in front of him, his book abandoned in his lap.

Every beat of his heart felt like shards of glass dig deeper, each time knocking his breath out of him. The rain drops fell down the window like tears, only for him to realize that his own had escaped. Y/n wasn't sure how long he had been crying, but by the tightness in his face and the headache coming on, he concluded maybe a while.

The scene that had kept playing over and over in his mind. During the day he could distract himself easily, but the nights weren't. It haunted his dreams, and he was stuck in this infinitive hell loophole.

He could never forget the way those steel blue eyes looked at him or what was said. How could he? Even the way the door sounded when he slammed it echoed in his mind. How loud the world had been in that moment to and then when it was over--quiet, like nothing had ever happened.

It had only happened two months ago, but to Y/n, it felt like yesterday. No one had ever made him hurt the way Steven Hyde did. Life was already hard for Y/n; finding out who he was and who he loved wasn't exactly welcomed or accepted in his little town. He knew one other boy like him, Buddy, but he had moved away a year prior to the recent events.

He thought he had not only found friendship within Steven, but love. True and genuine love. For the first time, he felt safe and not made out an outcast. His own parents barley accepted him for who he was, and he thought when he had met Steven, it was someone who finally would.

But, boy was he wrong. So, so wrong.

In this moment, he had never felt so alone, so isolated, and so heartbroken. The tears fell down his face as his heart bled through the cracks. Before he knew it, he was a blubbering mess; shoulders shaking and hiccupping.

He knew he would recover from this, but to say how long he didn't know. All he knew was he wanted the pain to stop. Just when he thought it would, a large, painful wave washed over him, sending him down the spiral once more.

This was one of those times.

Two Months Prior...

"Hey, did you get the notes from biology?" Y/n asked his friend, Jessica.

"Yeah, do you want to borrow them?" she asked, her long dark shoulder cascading over his shoulder.

"Please. My parents will kill me if I fail another test," he chuckled and graciously accepted the notebook. "Thanks. I'll have it back to you tomorrow."

"No worries," she replied. "Keep it as long as you need to."

"Oh, right because you're Miss 'I get straight A's without even trying.'"

"You want the notes or not?" she deadpanned.

Y/n laughed. "Yes, yes I would."

They started walking down the hall to head to the lunchroom.

"Did you hear about Eric Forman's party this Friday?" she asked as they reached their lockers first.

"Yeah," he sulked. "I don't know if I want to go though."

"Why not? You've been so bummed since Buddy moved away. I think you should go. You know, get out of the house."

"Buddy moved away a while ago and it has nothing to do with him," Y/n responded, opening his locker and shoving books inside. "It's just...I don't know. I don't feel like going."

"God, you're lame," Jessica exasperated. "Come to this thing with me. I don't wanna show up alone!"

Y/n eyed her as he finished unloading his backpack. He shut the locker door and stared at her for a minute. "Fine, I'll go. But only for one hour."

She squealed with excitement. "Oh, it's going to be so fun!"

"Yeah, fun. Sure."

"Trust me, you're not going to regret it."

But he did.

That night, Y/n wore his finest flannel shirt and blue jeans. He kept adjusting his hair, his clothes, his watch, but nothing could seem to sit just right.

A knock came to his door, but before he could even call out to it, it swung open, revealing Jessica.

"Hellllooo!" she announced. "Your favorite girl has arrived! She's hot, she's gorgeous, and she's on fire!" She sauntered in excitedly and hissed like steam as she touched her finger to her hip.

"And here's my number one man! He's hot, he's sweet, and he's...wearing that," she trailed off, looking him up and down. "Is that what you're wearing?"

He looked at her through the reflection of the mirror, seeing her in a sparkling dress and white go-go boots. He thought she looked like she was going to the disco.

"Yes," he said flatly. "What are you wearing?"

"Hey, I dress to impress," she replied and flipped her long hair over her shoulder. "I heard that Steven Hyde is going to be there and I really need him to notice me."

"Jess...do you really think that's a good idea?" Y/n asked as he adjusted his watch once more.

"Hey, he's cute, smart, and so foxy. I need a piece of that." She touched up her makeup in her compact mirror that she retrieved from her purse.

"You only want him because he's the only one in school who hasn't wanted you some way or another."

"Ouch," she said. "That's not true. What's gotten up your butt?"

"Sorry," he sighed. "I'm just...I'm just nervous."

"Why? It's not like anyone that matters to you is going to be there."

"I didn't say that."

"What do you mean by that...?" Her eyes widened. "No. Way. You like someone!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!" She screamed excitedly and rolled onto her back, squirming with excitement. "Who is it?!"

"Nobody because I don't like anyone."

"You're a terrible liar. Tell me who it is!"

"It doesn't matter, Jess. Can we just go?"

"Not until you tell me who it is!"

"Come on, I don't have time for th--"

She cut him off by blocking the door.

"Really?" he asked, annoyed.

"Really," she replied. "Tell me who it is now and then we can go, alright?"

He huffed annoyed. "I don't want to."

Her shoulders slumped slightly and her eyes softened. "Why? You don't trust me?"

"It's not that."

"Then what is it? You haven't liked anyone ever since you came out of the closet! This is exciting for you."

"I know, but Jess--"

"No, I'm supposed to be your best friend!" she whined. "Please tell me!"

"Jess, come on please. I'm not in the mood. I want to go so we can get this over with."

"We can once you tell me," she said stubbornly. "Come on, how many girls do you know that dated their best friend, only for him to come out gay, and still be your friend? Someone you can trust and who understands? Come on, you saw me naked and we can still be here without it being awkward!"

Y/n groaned. "I hate it when you do that."

"And I hate that I lost you to the boys, but here we are."

"If you weren't my best friend, I'd call you a bitch."

"And if you weren't mine, I'd tell you to get bent."

He groaned loudly, giving in. "Fine, you wanna know who it is?"

Her eyes lit up. "Yes!"

"You're not going to like it."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," she challenged.

"It's not someone you'd think."

"Come on, spit it out."

He placed his hands on his hips and stared down at the carpet. He looked up at her with guilty eyes. After a long few seconds, her eyes grew bigger.

"Oh."

At the party...

"You're sure you're okay with this?" Y/n asked Jess as they entered the house.

"Totally," she chirped and turned towards him. "Listen, you need to get out there. There are tons of men for me. And we live in Point Place so the pool for you is...well..." She made a motion with her hands to emphasize small.

"Gee, thanks, Jess," Y/n deadpanned.

"Come on, it'll be okay," she said, grabbing his hand. "You're cute, you're smart and kind, really funny, and totally doable."

He nodded, a smirk playing at his lips. "You're on a roll tonight."

"I know!" she sang-song and kissed his cheek. "Regardless of what happens tonight, I just want you to know that it's his loss, not yours."

For the first time that night, Y/n genuinely smiled at his best friend and brought her in for a hug. "I love you. You're the best."

"I know and I know," she giggled into his neck and pulled away. "Go get 'em tiger."

He huffed out a breath of anxiety before landing eyes on the infamous Steven Hyde. He was sitting around the washer and dryer, talking to Eric Forman while drinking a beer.

As he walked over to grab one himself, he noticed Steven staring at him.

"Hey," Eric said, making his way over to Y/n. "You're Y/n right?"

Y/n nodded wordlessly, too nervous to speak.

"Aren't you the kid from the debate team?"

"Uhm...yeah, I am."

"The one that got thrown in the dumpster last week by the quarterback?"

Y/n clicked his tongue and opened his can of beer. "Yep. That was me."

"Yeah, sorry that happened to you, man," he said and took a sip from his beer. "That wasn't right."

"You don't know the reason though," Y/n grumbled as he took a sip.

"I don't, but regardless it doesn't make it right," Eric defended. "Why don't you come hang with us?"

Y/n nodded, feeling a slight warmth of relief. "Sure. I'd like that."

Four hours and four kegs later, after the party had ended, Y/n found himself hanging out with Eric, Steven, Donna Pinciotti, Jackie Berkhart, Michael Kelso, and Fez. Jess had met some guy and went home with him, leaving Y/n alone.

"Wow, Eric, you really know how to throw a party," Y/n slurred.

"I know," he hiccupped. "I'm surprised I don't throw them more often."

"Well, you should," Y/n said. "This is one of the best times that I've had in a long time."

"Well, we're glad you came out," Eric replied, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "If you're into comics and Star Wars, you're more than welcome here.

"Yeah, you should definitely come around more," Donna said, slurring a little bit, but not as much as Y/n. "We could use a new person in our group."

"I could really use more friends," Y/n said, taking a sip of his beer. "I love Jess, but she's the only one. And most of the time, she's trying to find a new dude to smack on."

"Your friend, eh?" Fez asked. "Is she single?"

Y/n looked at him. "Most of the time. She's not really a relationship type gal. She'll just sleep with you and move onto the next guy. If you're cool with that, I can give you her number."

Fez stared at him. "What's her number?"

Y/n chuckled.

"So, Y/n, you got yourself a girl?" Eric asked.

"Yeah, you're a good looking guy," Jackie responded. "You gotta have someone."

"Wow, that's the nicest thing you can say," Donna said.

"Meh, I'm drunk," she replied, sprawled, leaning into Kelso.

"Uhm...well, Jess and I dated a while back, but I haven't really been with anyone else since then," Y/n responded, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

"What happened?" Donna asked.

"It's complicated," Y/n responded slowly. "We dated for about a year and a half...then we realized that...we were better off friends. After that, I realized that I'm not into that sort of thing."

"What? Dating?" Hyde snickered.

"No, girls," Y/n blurted not thinking twice.

"Oh..." the group said, going silent.

Y/n noticed how the room shifted, except for Hyde who looked like he couldn't care less.

"Okay, wasn't expecting that..." Kelso said.

"No, but it's okay," Eric said. "We support that kind of thing."

"That kind of thing?" Y/n questioned. "Come on, I know there's not a lot of gay guys here in Point Place, but I'm not an alien."

"No, no of course not!" Eric back peddled. "We just...don't know many guys who...like guys."

"Wow, could you make it anymore awkward?" Donna asked. "Look, Y/n, what my idiot boyfriend here meant is while we all have different interests, it doesn't make you any less different. We'd still love to have you be a part of the group. You're more than welcome to be here."

Y/n nodded, gratefully. "Thanks, Donna. I'm honored."

"Yeah, and I know it's going to be hard to resist me, but please don't come onto me," Kelso said smugly.

Y/n scoffed. "Don't worry, that won't be an issue."

Kelso nodded. "Good."

"Besides, you're not my type."

"Not your type?!" Kelso shouted causing Y/n to smirk. "Come on, man, I'm everyone's type!"

Y/n shrugged. "Not me. But it's okay, you still have Jackie. I'm sure she thinks you're handsome."

"Of course I do," Jackie said dreamily.

"Well, that doesn't matter!" Kelso said. "We all know that when you get hit on by a dude, you're hot! A girl telling me, albeit true, doesn't mean anything!"

"Wow," Y/n said, shocked by Kelso's outburst.

"I know," Hyde said. "Kelso said 'albeit' and used it correctly."

"Michael, you jerk!" Jackie shouted and kicked his shin.

"Damn, Jackie! I was just saying!"

"Shut up, Michael!"

Donna's stomach rumbled and checked her watch. "Hey, I'm starving. Do you guys wanna go get a burger or something? The Hub's open for another hour."

"Yeah, sure," they all mumbled, except for Hyde.

"Nah," he replied. "I'm okay with staying here. Besides, I can't really walk straight when the ground doesn't want to stay straight."

Donna chuckled. "Y/n? What about you?"

"Yeah, I'm good too," he replied. "I can't even think about food right now. I should get going though."

"Do you have a ride home?" Eric asked.

"Yeah, I have..." he thought, but then it hit him. "Jess. Damn it."

"That's okay, you can stay here the night and one of us can drive you home in the morning," Eric said.

"Yeah, I can," Hyde responded. "I have to go to the Photo Hut anyway."

"Thanks, man," Y/n said.

"Don't mention it."

"Alright, well, we'll back soon," Donna said. "Since we're walking, we'll be back in forty-five minutes instead of twenty."

"Have fun," Y/n chuckled as the walked out the basement, leaving just him and Hyde.

"So...I heard you live here?" Y/n asked awkwardly.

"Yeah. Ever since my parents split on me," Hyde said candidly. "But it's fine. So, what's your story? When did you realize you weren't into chicks?"

Y/n scratched his head. "It was while I was dating Jess. I thought she was the prettiest girl I laid eyes on and really liked her, but I couldn't really feel like I was super into her. But I thought that's just how relationships worked, ya know?"

Hyde nodded. "Sure."

"But, then after we slept together, I couldn't get into it like you're supposed or so I was told. I never felt attracted to her, but I thought it was normal...? I guess? I don't know, but all I know is that I saw Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry and I felt things I've never felt before. That man has the nicest butt in TV history."

Hyde laughed. "Yeah, that'll do it."

"Well, what about you? Do you have anyone?"

"Nah," Hyde replied. "Chicks are overrated anyways."

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"They're crazy. Every single one of them."

Y/n laughed. "Yeah..."

"Well, glad to have you hear, man," Hyde said and sat down close to him. "It's going to be nice to hear new stories that don't include Star Wars, feminism, how horny Fez is, how Jackie is in love with herself, or Kelso's good looks."

Y/n snorted. "Kelso isn't that attractive. I mean, he's so full of himself and kind of a dumbass."

Hyde laughed cruelly. "I like you, man."

"Thanks, I like you too," Y/n said without thinking and stopped laughing immediately. "I mean in a friendly way, not in a...gay way..."

Hyde shrugged. "Would it be bad if it was?"

"Wait, what?"

"I mean," Hyde began and scooted closer to Y/n. "Why is being into men such a terrible thing?"

Y/n swallowed hard. "It...it's not."

"And you're so brave for coming out and being yourself." Hyde leaned forward, clapping a hand on Y/n's shoulder.

"Thank you. That means a lot."

"Yeah, man. In fact, it's admirable."

"How many beers have you had?" Y/n giggled.

"I only had two."

"Oh...are you always this touchy with your friends?"

"Not really, but I can make an exception."

Y/n's heart was beating so hard, he swore it was going to beat out of his chest. Hyde's face was merely inches from his, his breath fanning on his face. Hyde inched forward, brushing his lips against Y/n's.

"Hyde..." he breathed. "Are you...are you sure?"

"I've been watching you for a while, Y/n. I'm glad I'm not the only one in town who feels the same way."

Y/n couldn't hold back much longer and smashed his lips against Hyde's. "I've liked you for a while now," he said between breaths.

"I know, I'm a catch," Hyde said smugly.

Y/n snorted. "Shut up and kiss me."

Hyde laid his body weight on top of him, trapping him between his forearms.

"You're a really good kisser," Y/n said as Hyde trailed his lips down his jaw to his neck.

"I can say the same about you," Hyde chuckled and brought his lips back to Y/n's soft ones and kissed him gently.

Their lips moved together perfectly, as if they should've done this all along. Y/n moved his hands into Steven's hair and tugged ever so gently. It caused a moan to escape from Steven, making him entwine his tongue with Y/n's, deepening the kiss.

As the kisses became more passionate, the basement door swung open.

"Forgot my wallet--OH, MY GOD!" Eric shouted.

Y/n and Steven pulled apart immediately as Steven scrambled away from Y/n as if he was a disease.

"What the hell?!" Eric continued.

"Uh...I can explain!" Hyde panicked.

"What's going on?" Donna asked, trailing in behind Eric. "I heard yelling."

"I just walked in Y/n and Hyde making out!"

"What? No, you didn't. You just had too much beer," Donna said as everyone else filed in. "Your vision is overlapping."

"No! They were on top of each other, frenching!"

"What? Come on it's Hyde," Kelso said. "He's not into guys like that."

"You're right, I'm not," Hyde retorted and scooted farther away from Y/n. "I don't know who you think you are, man, but I don't swing that way."

"You were on top of him!" Eric continued to shout.

"Okay, so? He pulled me on top of him!" Hyde defended, chuckling nervously. "I'm drunk, I had a lot to drink tonight and I don't have my usual strength to fend him off."

"But, you just said that--" Y/n began but was cut off my Steven.

"Well, I'm not," Hyde said curtly. "I could never be into someone like you. I mean, I'm not gay. Besides, I'd appreciate if you didn't force yourself on me."

"What?" Y/n said, feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut.

"Wait, Hyde is gay?" Fez asked. "No, he's not! I've seen how he is with the ladies. He's one smooth talking S.O.B."

"No, Hyde's not gay, right?" Jackie asked. "I mean, you'd tell me first if you were. I'm the most trustworthy out of everyone here."

"I'm not gay! Will you lay off?" Hyde shouted and stood up from the couch.

"You just said there's nothing wrong with being gay and I thought...I thought you liked me," Y/n responded, fighting his voice not to break.

"No, I don't. Why would you think that?" Hyde's eyes stared coldly at Y/n.

"I can't believe you would take advantage of him like that," Eric said.

"What are you talking about? No, I didn't!" Y/n defended, feeling the familiar burn in his eyes.

"I think you should go," Eric said.

Another dagger into the heart. Y/n nodded, fighting back tears. "Yeah...okay."

As he got up to grab his coat, no one offered to take him home which meant he'd have to walk home alone at night. He quietly left the Forman household feeling heartbroken and humiliated. He knew that he could never go back. He wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow him whole.

As he walked down the empty, dark street of Point Place, he realized just how alone he was in this small town. If only they hadn't walked in on them...if only he hadn't kissed him back...he wouldn't be embarrassed and hurting and walking home alone.

Present Time...

Y/n drew his knees to his chest and cradled his face in his hands. His shoulders shook and his breathing became shallow. The first guy he genuinely liked and he gets thrown to the side like nothing. He knew Steven wasn't easy to be with from all the stories he heard, but he know he had softer side than Hyde let anyone on. Y/n knew he was a good behind that tough exterior. But it didn't matter anymore.

"Y/n, honey?" his mom called from behind the door. "Are you okay?"

"Please, go away," Y/n said thickly.

His mom entered to only see her baby hunched in a ball. "Awe, baby what happened?"

"Nothing," he said.

She went and sat by him. "Did something happen between you and Jess?"

"No," he said shortly.

"Then what happened?"

"You're not going want to hear about it," he sniffed.

She was silent for a minute. "Is this about a boy?"

Y/n could feel his heart clench all over again as fresh tears ran down his face. "He acted like he didn't even care. Like I meant nothing."

"Well, I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"He said he could never like someone like me and tried to say I forced myself on him."

"What?!" she shouted, seeing red. "How dare he say that?! I oughtta go down there and tell him what's what."

"No, Mom, please dont," Y/n said. "I just don't ever want to see him ever again."

She caressed his hair comfortingly. "It's his loss. You're an amazing young man. You're caring, you're kind, you're sweet and funny and so smart. Anyone would be lucky to have you."

Y/n eyed his mother. "Why are you being this way? You weren't this way when I came out."

She tilted her head to the side with a sad look. "Regardless with how I feel, you're still my baby. And I still love you no matter what. And it hurts me to see you hurting."

"Well, thank you...I wish everyone else felt the same way."

Seeing her only son completely fall apart in front of her made her want to cry with him, so she wrapped him up in her arms and let him cry, and cry, and cry. He wrapped her up tightly in an embrace, finding some comfort while she whispered reassurance in his ear.

They stayed that way for a while, letting the rain of Point Place drown out his sorrows.

#that 70's show icons #that 70s show fanfic #fez that 70s show #that 70s show #stevenhydeedit #steven hyde x y/n #steven hyde x reader #steven hyde x male reader

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save-the-villainous-cat · 3 years ago

Note

Bello!

First of all, i love your writing. And second, can you please continue snippet 19?pleeeeeeeeeeeease.this one is so good!(of course You don't need to,if you don't want to)

part 1

“That doesn’t seem productive,” the hero mumbled but their brain was screaming at them to shut up and let the villain take over everything. Just like they had done with the planning.

“Not everything has to be productive,” the villain countered and suddenly both of their hands were on the table, one arm at each side of the hero, trapping them relentlessly. The hero had to remember how to breathe.

“You are tired,” the hero said. Their voice was astonishingly weak. “You should really go to bed.”

“And I told you I want you by my side when I sleep tonight,” the villain answered. They seemed extremely frustrated, as if their weariness was getting more on their nerves. Or maybe it was the hero. God, it hopefully wasn’t the hero.

“Can I ask you a question?” They clenched their fists, something clearly infiltrating their mind. Snapping out of it eventually, their eyes wandered over the hero’s features, taking everything in and looking at them like they were a drug the villain was addicted to. Of course, the hero knew this had nothing to do with feelings. Unfortunately.

The villain was just tired and annoyed which was why they needed something or someone to comfort them. Even if that comfort derived from something intimate and extremely physical.

“Go ahead. Ask,” the hero said.

“What does it feel like to be you?” Exhausting? Draining? Any other synonym for totally and painfully fatiguing? The villain leaned even more into their personal space, their breath dancing over the hero’s throat. “What does it feel like to be so close to flawlessness?”

“I don’t believe in perfection,” the hero said. In their life, the villain got the closest to such things.

The hero though, was stupefyingly lazy and could be forgetful enough to leave the laundry in the washing machine for two days. They were far from perfect, although the agency had always wanted to portray a contrary picture on screen.

They could feel their stomach ache when the villain let their head fall, focusing on the ground but still being so incredibly close to the hero. Close enough to make their heartbeat fasten.

But also close enough to make them notice how the muscles of the villain’s jaw were flexing and relaxing. Over and over again.

It was bothering them.

Of course. They had wanted it to be perfect. It wasn’t the hero. It was the damn loophole. The villain was frustrated and angry at themselves. Which was why they had asked about perfection. They were craving it, they needed it.

Before thinking about it, the hero’s hands found a place to rest on the villain’s neck. They knew they had to soothe them. Else, the villain would do something the hero would certainly not, but the villain would surely regret.

When they felt the villain’s muscles moving, the hero realised how strained they really were. It must have burnt to move their head around.

And when they pushed against their skin, the villain let out a satisfied sound which sparked some voluptuous feeling inside of the hero.

“Can I ask you another question, then?” the villain asked, their forehead leaning against the hero’s chest now, right under their throat.

“Sure,” the hero said, cringing at the sound of their voice wobble.

“What should a villain do when they want to hook up with their nemesis the night before they infiltrate the hero’s agency together?” The villain looked up again, a slight smile on their face when they saw the hero staring at them with big eyes. Of course, their gaze dropped to the hero’s lips. And somehow, the hero’s eyes dared to drop, too.

“I— I don’t know.”

“Hm. Okay, last question for now,” the villain murmured against their skin. Suddenly, the villain’s lips brushed against the hero’s jaw affectionately. With their hands still on the villain’s neck, the hero could have pushed them away. But they didn’t. “What are you feeling right now?”

Desire. Desperation. A dry throat, maybe.

“You don’t want this,” the hero whispered, too scared to tell the truth. “You are overworked and incredibly tired. Probably lonely, I don’t know. I…I would like to but we shouldn’t do this.”

The villain exhaled and the hero just knew they were smirking.

“We most definitely should.”

#writing snippet #heroes and villains #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #hero #villain #heroxvillain #hero x villain #request #cont’d #an answer for an ask

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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

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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