#scheduling classes this semester is like pulling teeth

[braintapes]

friends. can you grant me your wisdom in this trying time. do i take the morning class?

[hoshigray]

𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 | satoru gojō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Is it possible to wish to be in the embrace of someone who makes you want to throw them off a cliff? You seem to think so, and the same goes for Gojo. But alas, good things always come to an end, even when not meant to be...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers + mutual pining - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - implied fwb relationship - catching/awakening feelings - oral (m! receiving) - ball massaging + sucking - sex in a shared room; college dorms (alone) - cowgirl position on a chair - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - protected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, pretty, princess) - heavy depiction of a blowjob - cameos: Haibara and Ijichi - fluff + angst; misunderstandings - humor bc i'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: second part, let's goooo!! i loved ur support and comments from the first story, so hope y'all are excited for this part :DDD and ty so so so MUCH for 5.5k like??? i kiss you on cheek, every single on of you, hehehe~

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“If you’re not gonna help, then leave my dorm!”

“Ehhhh, hell no! It’s cold as fuck outside; you want me to freeze to death?”

“They’re…still going at it.”

“Yeah…give it a minute, and we’ll just go to the library without them?”

It’s coming down to the last week of January; university students are finally settling in with their new schedules and getting used to the groove of the spring semester. Or some run around trying to keep up with the new semesters and the change of weather already getting on people’s nerves, wanting nothing more than spring to come quickly.

Three weeks in, and you already have stuff to do, one of them being an argumentative presentation assigned by Professor Yaga in your Contemporary Issues class. You and three other people are tasked to find sources for a topic issue you find interesting and then present a discussion-based presentation on two sides of the topic (two people in favor and two people against).

Unfortunately, the groups were to be randomly assigned. Luckily, two friends you knew in the class, Haibara and Ijichi, were picked to work alongside you! However, the bad part was that another person you knew was assigned to work with you, and he happens to be the guy getting on your last nerves right now, sitting on your couch while clicking through the television channels with the remote. 

Your roommates weren’t home today. The club fair was occurring at the quad, so Mei Mei and Utahime had to go out and represent their clubs for the afternoon. Shoko is having an intense study session with Geto for an exam on the first of February, so they’re at the library now. 

That leaves you alone at your dorm, using this as a perfect opportunity to invite your group over to work on the project. 

“You can freeze your nuts off and become the next Jack Frost for all I care; if you’re not going to do your part of the work, get out!”

Well, minus you yelling at your partner, who clicks his teeth before turning to you. His round sunglasses shone from the light reflected from the living room windows.

Satoru Gojo was your number one nemesis within these campus grounds; this was a known fact to everyone, especially the other group members who nervously examined you two bicker. Being in the same space as him is enough to make you wish you could pull your hair out or put him in the nastiest headlock you could do. Worse, being assigned to the same group as him for your project almost made you want to rip your ears off. 

But you had to suck it up; at least you were the first group to start a presentation. Better now than worry about it later, right? 

“Pssh, fine, I’ll get up and—Oh! Wait, you guys have Digimon on Hulu? Ahhh, sick!” 

Nevertheless, you can’t say that when your supposed partner acts like a child glued to your TV screen instead of doing the work he promised to do. You grit your teeth with a twitching brow, “Why you…”

Across from the common area was the kitchen, where Haibara and Ijichi sat at the dining table. The two sophomores could do nothing but feel the tension between you and Gojo grow with every passing second, suffocating the younger duo. Haibara eyes Ijichi from across the table and whispers, “Wanna make a run for it now?”

The black-haired second-year didn’t reply, only a hurried nod before the two grabbed their coats and stuffed their laptops back into their backpacks. The sound of their zippers alerts your ears, turning to them to question, “Huh? Where are you two going?” 

Haibara takes it upon himself to deliver a half-lie as he zips up his jacket. “On second thought, Ijichi and I are thinking of taking the shuttle to the library to work instead.”

Huh? The library? Were they leaving because of the belligerence between you and Gojo? God, you hoped not. “Wait, you guys don’t have to do that. I already made you guys walk all this way here; it’d be rough to have you leave for somewhere else…”

Ijichi comes with the assist after putting the sling of his messenger bag around his shoulder. “It’s okay, Y/n. We found material from the library we could use as sources, so we’re heading up there to take some notes while they’re there.” 

“Yup!” Haibara exclaims in agreement, and the two walk past you to put on their shoes by the front door. “Maybe you guys can find sources of your own while we’re gone, and then we can converse and share what we found when we come back. Sounds good?” 

“I suppose so…” you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were leaving to avoid being in the same room as you and Gojo. The guilt is hard to endure since you didn’t mean to make the younger boys uncomfortable. “See you guys, then.”

“Cya!” And with that, the door closes on their way out, leaving you and Gojo alone in your apartment. 

Well, this is just great; you’ve driven your group members and friends away and are now stuck with the nuisance of a partner who still keeps his attention on the television. It takes everything in your power not to pop a vein. But with one calm breath, you steady yourself and stand tall. 

You walk in front of the TV, blocking it from Gojo’s view. The white-haired boy throws his hands up in exasperation, but you couldn’t care less. “What’s the big idea?” He questions you as if he has a right to at this moment. 

You cross your arms across your chest with narrow eyes. “Haibara and Ijichi just left.”

“Uhh, yeah, I heard the door,” he maneuvers his body to try and see the children’s show blocked by your figure. “Doesn’t have to do with me—“

“It does have to do with you.��� You interrupt him, taking two steps and bending to stare him down. Your face is a foot away from his. “You’re supposed to be here to work with Haibara on the ’no’ part of the argument while me and Ijichi do our part. You’ve only been here for thirty minutes, and the only thing you’ve done successfully is take off your shoes at the door and read your manga books on the couch. 

Gojo chuckles – oh, how you hated his laugh – as he puts his hands behind his head, spreading his long legs from their crossed form. “You heard them, no? They’re going to research on their own and then come back. Besides, you know I’m not one to start stuff right away. I’m a procrastinator, remember?”

“You’re annoying; that’s what you are.” You straighten up with a heavy sigh.  God, I wish Utahime and Shoko were here. They’d help me out with this white garbage…

“Ahhh, lighten up, Y/n. It’s not like the presentation is on Monday; we got until Friday to come up with everything.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, smartass. And you’re right: I do know you. And I know you tend to do things at the last fucking minute. But not this time!” You watch him try to put his feet up on the coffee table, and you quickly intervene by kicking them off. 

“Tch. Look, you knew what you were getting into being partnered with me. And relax; those two said they’ll be back to discuss the material later. They already left – nothing I can do about it.”

Your hands rest at your hips, tapping your foot with visible frustration. “Oh? And I wonder why they left in the first place, Gojo. Mind telling me how?”

He quirks up a brow with a smug grin — a telling sign that you’d get ticked off with whatever he’s about to say. “I don’t know, Y/n. Why not ask the nagging control freak talking to me right now, huh? Maybe their short height and angry temper are affecting the mood of those around them to be miserable like them.” 

You almost did it — your hands nearly gave into your intrusive thoughts and were about to lunge at the snow-haired guy’s neck to wring around like a rag doll. But you played it off with a clap, rubbing the palms together to distract your temporary violent thoughts.

You sucked your teeth and turned on your heel. “Forget it. I’m gonna go take a nap.”

He scoffs, “Good, maybe your tiny brain needs it to calm down.”

“Choke and die, Gojo!” You say down the hall, already at the door of your shared bedroom. Before slamming the door shut, Gojo’s patronizing laughter can be heard to your dismay. With gritted teeth, you march to your bed to throw yourself on the mattress. 

“Ughhh. That Satoru Gojo,” you curse his name under your breath as if he’d hear you through the walls. “So unserious…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To be quite honest with himself, Gojo doesn’t necessarily hate you.

The white-haired boy lies on his side on Utahime’s bed, watching you nap. He did knock on the door – believe him, he did. He even gave you the good old ten-second rule, waiting for your response. But then you didn’t, which gave him the initiative to waltz in and see you in your slumber.

You slept so peacefully; your face at peace, and your faint snores were the only things his ears picked up on. It was as if your little nagging show from earlier was hard to comprehend when seeing your tranquil state in front of him. It used to be rare to see you like this. Keywords: used to be.

For the past two to three weeks, your relationship with Gojo has become more…intimate. Ever since he took your first kiss and drew your virgin curtains, the two of you have gotten a little closer than before — both platonically and physically. Something that Gojo never thought he’d experience with you, his tiny, cute frenemy. 

Gojo has known you since freshman year; you were two in the same enrichment group to prepare you to transition into college life. Personally, he wasn’t much for the program; he found it a waste of time, a mandatory prerequisite that he felt he didn’t need. He’s all about experience, wanting nothing more than to get on with his day, go to classes, hang with friends, and repeat. 

“Hello, my name is Y/n. It’s nice to meet you all!”

And then came you, the person sitting across from him at the round table your group would always meet at. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enamored by you the second he saw you. Gojo rarely finds someone who could easily pull his eyes to them — not saying the girls who’d usually crowd and admire him weren’t pretty. There was something about you that kept him wanting to know more – to engage more – about you. 

One thing he knew from you was that you carried your character with pride. Your achievements, your personality, your kindness, and your mannerisms — all of which were displayed elegantly and were a breath of fresh air to look at. You stood out to him more than all the other kids in the group, his eyes always finding a way to steer from the professor’s advice to your alluring, listening face. 

Another thing Gojo liked about you was that you weren’t afraid to stand your ground, especially when discussing with your peers or him. Sure, you were always respectful and would respect other people’s arguments. But, God, the way you said things so constructed and nuanced, it had the tall other glued to you whenever you spoke.

He’s not going to lie; he’ll admit that he’d try to tick you off and get you to get a little angry with him when it came to arguing. He couldn’t help it. He just liked the thought of you layering out of your poised appearance to the point you’d glare at him whenever you saw him in the halls. And it had him giddy knowing he’s the one that made you angry because you looked cute. 

And that was the other thing he really liked about you. The more you two interacted, argued, hung out with his friends, or attended classes together, the more Gojo’s fascination for you turned into that of a school-boy crush. He wouldn’t admit to anyone of this (minus Geto and Shoko if his life depended on it) because it certainly wasn’t something to be known. He was okay with what you two had right now, being the friend who loves to push your buttons to see you nag at him. 

That was until you two started sleeping together. Because holy fuck, the past weeks you two have been sneaking time to have each other’s bodies close made Gojo’s mind go crazy. So fucking crazy like the feeling of you on him is borderline addicting. Your whiny cries calling out to him when he scrapes your sweet spots, your nails scrape on his chest, your half-lidded eyes when you look at him, or how you whisper his name only for him to hear.

This was the kind of relationship you two brewed, a secret thing only between you two. And Gojo was satisfied keeping it like this because it was what you wanted. No need to flaunt it around; it was no one’s business. Besides, he likes having you to himself, seeing a side of you that only he could imagine and experience.

The sensations of your body under his touch, the various tunes of your voice, and the beauty exhibited in your gaze. It was all addicting. You were addicting.

“Who told you to lie on my roommate’s bed? You know she’ll kill you if she ever saw you.” 

It was so addicting that he didn’t even notice you awake until you spoke to him, the erotic memories of you clouding his brain dissipating at the indication of your voice. He smirks, “Oh, I’ll be fine; not like she can hurt me with her tiny self.”

You’re too groggy to roll your eyes, sighing as you turn to your side to face him from across the room. “How long was I out for?”

“Almost an hour,” he replies, switching to sit criss-cross on Utahime’s bed. “I got bored watching TV and knocked.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“Maybe twenty minutes?”

“Just watching me sleep?”

“Yeah.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “Weirdo.”

He snickers at you for recognizing his silliness. “Whaaat? There’s not much to do aside from looking at you. I got bored of the TV.”

“What about your manga?”

“Got bored of that, too.”

“Anyone on your socials that you’d wanna talk to? Girls? Friends? Your teammates?”

“Mmm, nah, none I’d wanna talk to right now.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you mean ‘right now’? You make it seem like I’m keeping you from interacting with your outside life. If you’re bored, talk with whoever you want. Maybe bother Geto…No, nevermind, he’d probably be annoyed since he’s studying.”

Gojo examines you, silently removing himself from your roommate’s bed and treading towards yours. He takes off his sunglasses and places them on top of your dresser before sitting on his knees on the floor. He rests his hands and chin on the edge of your bed, his sky-blue eyes locked in with yours. God, you were so beautiful to look at. 

“I meant that I don’t want to talk to anybody.” Now that he’s closer to you, his voice dials to a whisper. “Not when I got you here to myself.”

He notices your brows drawing upward at the sentence. “To yourself?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, bringing a forefinger to trace your brow. A sensual touch not to startle you. “Just you and me.”

You give him a look as if you think he’s trying to pull something. “Don’t tell me you were making me mad at you earlier just so Haibara and Ijichi could leave, and I’d be stuck with you.”

His smile broadens with every word, his dimples out to see. “No, although I hate that I didn’t think of that myself.” His hand goes to your cheek for his thumb to stroke gently. “Would it have been a bad thing if I did?”

You don’t reply, only placing your hand on his. Your eyes are still on his blue orbs, and – you don’t know this because Gojo has the perfect view of you – the light from the window made them shine charmingly as it highlighted your face. 

“No…I don’t think so,” you murmur, gaze gradually venturing down to his lips. “I like being around you…Satoru.”

He heard his name leave your lips, an invitation to what he wants to do, his eyes fixated on your lips before closing them and drawing in closer. “Me too…”

The kiss was soft and gentle like he always starts with, waiting for you to give him the okay to kiss you again. And when you meekly lick his bottom lip, he gives in to your request and claims your lips again. 

Your moans were so sweet to his ears — his favorite thing to hear — especially when he becomes a little devilish and sucks on your tongue to make you whimper a little louder, turning him on even more. It serves as the perfect distraction for him to snake a hand into your shirt, his hand already making itself home and cupping your breast in your bra. 

You break the kiss with a gasp, and massages to your mound make your breath shaky. “Mmmah…you sneaky pervert,” you name-call him sweetly. 

“Can’t blame me; I just know that you like to have your tits played with.” Gojo sneers, tweaking your nipple to hear you gasp again. “Hey, remember you said you’d suck me off next time?”

“Huh?” The question threw you off before you could fall deeper into a euphoric haze. 

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, you promised!” He whines to you like a hurt puppy. “After I ate you out for twenty minutes straight last time, can I just have your mouth on my dick once?”

“I never told you to eat me out for twenty minutes!”

“You crying and telling me not to stop said otherwise!” He stands his argument, even if you warn him with a glare. “Just suck it, please. I haven’t felt your mouth in a while.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t expect to deal with his childish tendencies, but it is Gojo we’re talking about. You sigh, “…Fine, Satoru.” And then the white-headed boy beamed at the confirmation, immediately standing up and heading to your desk. It was an abrupt change of pace for a second until he brought your desk chair out. 

With glee, Gojo flings his jeans and boxers with ease, his half-hard cock out for you to see. He sits on your chair with spread legs, “I’m ready~.”

You roll your eyes, yet the smile on your face sneaks without you knowing while leaving your bed and crouching between his legs. “You’re such a big baby sometimes…”

Your hand finds its way to the body of his dick, gliding it up and down to feel the veins under your palm and fingertips. Gojo hums to your cold fingers, hitching his breath when you tease him with a blow of air. 

Your free hand comes to his balls, massaging his testicles in a way that has his leg jerk. He tries to fight it, but the squirm on his legs says otherwise. “Hahhh, fuck…quit it…”

“Hmm? What, you don’t like it when I tease you?” You peer up at him with a smug grin before using your tongue to lick on the glans slowly, and he covers his mouth before a gasp comes out after lapping on his frenulum. “But when you do it to me, it’s not a problem, huh?”

“Mmmph, shiit, Y/n—Ohhh…!” Another jolt of the hips after you lick and kiss one of his balls, teasing the skin with a kiss and tiny chews that would have him choke on his breath. “Jesus, fuck! Y/n, baby, you’re driving me crazy….Aishhh!!

“Oh, really?” God, you were such a fucking tease. But he fucking loved that so much. “What should I do?” You ask him before sucking on his balls again, and a hand comes to your shoulder to grip. 

“Mmmm…Blow me off, princess,” shivers crawl up his spine as you place kisses from the base of his cock towards the tip. “Please, I wanna feel you…” 

You giggle at his reply, finally taking in his cockhead to your pretty lips and sighing through your nose as you hollow your cheeks to take in more of him. 

Gojo sighs at your licks and sucks on his girth, his erection becoming accommodated to your oral cavity wonderfully. You unhurriedly prompt yourself to take in more of him until your lips reach his pubes, your throat now full of him, and the warmness of your gummy walls makes him squirm more. 

Bobbing your head at a moderate pace, you suck him off to that of a pleasurable cadence. You still use your hands to stroke him, Gojo melting to your touch even more. He throws his head back when you attack his tip again with the onslaught of licks and laps, the hand on his balls roughly kneading them jerks him to moan aloud. 

Fuck, it feels so fucking good having you suck him off like this. How your tongue moved up and down on him was so dangerous, prompting him to place a hand on your head for support. As if that would help, you don’t show him mercy when you suck him harder and faster. The noises coming from your mouth sounded so erotic and pornographic, the heat on his face brewing out more. 

“—Khhmm, fuck, man, I can’t…Ahhh! Y/n, I’m gonna cum if you keep licking it like that. Stop, st—Ahhaaa!!” 

But like he said before – you’re a tease (if not worse than him). You remove Gojo’s dick from your mouth and throat at once, the groan he exerts fueling the fire in your body. You stand to withdraw your shirt, bra, and panties to the ground, knowing Gojo’s watching every move. “Don’t get mad at me; I know how much you wanna cum inside.” 

You pull out the condom from the pocket of your skirt, placing the rubber on his cock after removing it from the wrapper. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Seems like you’re more of a pervert than me if you had that ready while those two were here earlier.” 

“Shut up,” you playfully kiss him with a sneaky bite to his bottom lip. Then, you mount and align your cunt on his dick, the glans kissing your wet labia. “Hmmm, fuck…”

“Relax, cutie,” he kisses you on the cheek while his hands fondle your breasts. 

You slowly descend your slit onto him, the tip of his cock pushing into the entrance of your vagina. A couple of exhales and inhales keep you steady when inserting him into you, not letting the pain distract you from the task at hand. And the both of you moan in unison when it makes it in, your hips leisurely coming down on him until your ass rests on his thighs. 

You grind on him with the roll of your hips, evoking choked intakes of air from him as a hand goes to your ass with vigor. His face to your chest while the other hand plays with one mound. His lips found a nipple to pop into his mouth to suck on. 

With a slow pace, you rock your hips onto him. Your legs bent for your feet to be on his knees, the chair solid enough to withstand you bouncing on Gojo’s dick with repetition.  

“Hoohhh, ohhhh, mmmm,” your hums are expressed in tunes. The curve of his cock is so fucking good, scraping your insides with precision. You couldn’t help but increase the speed just a little bit. 

Gojo keeps sucking on your nipple; the grazes of his teeth and pushing the bud up to the roof of his mouth only fuels more quivers to travel down your bouncing figure. Both of his hands now under your skirt to feel the flesh of your ass under his hungry grasp. He kneads your asscheeks with every thrust to your chasm, and your shrieks get louder by the second. 

“—Mmmph! Shit, shit, you feel so good, pretty,” he finally lets go of your hardened nipple, burying his face to your chest. “So fucking good for me…fuhuuuucck!

You could feel your cunt contract around him; every graze to your sensitive spots prompted your walls to grip around him. He hisses, looking up to see your expression as you ride him out. Fuck, you looked so good on top of him like this. He’ll add this position to the list of things to do again with you.

You peer down to see that Gojo is staring at you, and you quickly bring a hand to cover his eyes. “—Ahhahhn, d-don’t look at me like that! Yer soo embarrassing…!” 

He only chuckles at your shy demeanor, especially during this. But he humors you, not fighting your makeshift blind for him to see you wholly. He’s seen it all already — felt it all, too. And he could never get enough. 

“Ooooh, Satoruuu—Nnaaahh!” He loves how you say his name, your hand traveling to his hair to grab in tuffs. “Oh, fuck, ‘toruuu, I’m gonna cummm…!”

“—Hnngh! Yeah, baby?” Oh, he knows. The way you’re grinding to and fro on his pelvis tells him so. “Go ahead, princess. Clench on me and ride it out.”

And with that, your hips go to an erratic pace that has the both of you holding for dear life. The squeeze of your inner walls clenching on him almost makes him choke on his spit, the nails of his fingertips forming crescents on your skin. And you scream at it, slamming your ass onto him as you both climb up to orgasm. 

Within seconds, it hits the both of you like a train. This had to be Gojo’s favorite part of the entire thing, experiencing having your folds clamp and flutter around him as you cry for him. It took everything in his power not to come with you because he wants to have you on him a little longer. You just felt too good to let go — too addicted to your body to be done with one round.

When the contractions subside while your slurred howls get quieter, Gojo gives you a few minutes to let your body be free from the aftershocks. He knows your body is extra sensitive now, rubbing circles on your back and placing chaste kisses on your clavicle. You hum under his lips, letting the wave of your crescendo exude out from you quietly. 

However, since you wanted to be such a tease, why not be a tease back? At least, that’s what Gojo thought before he threw your cunt another snap of the hips, his cock jabbing into your delicate walls that haven’t recovered yet. A sharp cry comes from your puffy lips, the hand covering Gojo’s eyes finally freeing him to see you. 

He grins with hooded azure eyes, “Sorry, cutie, but I didn’t get to finish. Wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t get to have fun of my own, right?” 

You chew on your lip with trenched brows before bringing your face to his. “Don’t you get carried away like last time, Satoru.”

“No promises, princess~” he sings to your ear before humming into your lips. 

As mentioned before, Gojo doesn’t hate you — he just hates that he can’t fully express liking you. 

But having you on top of him like this, in his embrace, is a nice change of pace he’ll happily get used to.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Okay, everyone, class dismissed! Thank you for your time, and see you all on Friday.”

Professor Naga closes up the last class for today, and the students all get up from the seats of their elevated rows to pack up and leave. The clock is ten minutes before seven o’clock, the winter darkness already claiming the sky with a sheet of night. Students are either famished and heading to the dining hall for food, going straight to their dorms or homes, or staying behind for last-minute conversations.

Gojo was one of the latter, deciding to stay behind to chat with the group for a bit. After packing his backpack and putting on his coat, he slings from the table to jump to the row below him, where you were talking with Haibara and Ijichi. 

You watch his stunt, ready to lecture, “Jesus, Gojo, what’s all that for? You could’ve just walked around.”

“Ehhhh, why would I do that? That’s so lame.” He comes and bends close to you enough to slang his arm around your shoulders. 

But you click your teeth and try to maneuver away from his tall figure. “You’re lame,” you mutter under your breath.

However, Gojo’s ears perked with furrowed brows. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, you lame white furby!” You repeat yourself with a huff and the snow-haired student gawks at your brazenness. 

The two of you argue again; students passing by silently exit the class, others stand and watch, and Professor Yaga can only sigh at yet another altercation between you two. 

However, it quickly dissipates when Haibara laughs from his seat. “You two, there’s never a dull moment.”

You and Gojo blink at the dark brunette before removing Gojo’s hand from your shoulders. “Hmph, it’s not like it’s my fault; he’s the one who starts it.”

“Oh, what could I possibly do to make Y/n so upset with me this time?” He pushes up his sunglasses, snickering at the scowl you send him. 

Ichiji, being the passive second-year he is, meekly changes the topic from the row below you three. “On some brighter news, at least we did well on the presentation.” 

“That’s right!” Haibara happily agrees with the statement, leaning against the chair with his hands behind his head. “Professor Yaga seemed really pleased with our arguments; I don’t think he intervened even once. Plus, he said many good things about how we handled the topic. Nice one, team!” 

The raven-haired one hums at the other’s exclamation. “I think most of it goes to how Y/n and Gojo bounced off each other’s arguments. How you two pulled up examples from the articles yet remained dignified with your viewpoints was cool to witness. I even saw some students be engaged with the conversation, many amazed with how Y/n refuted Gojo’s arguments elegantly and respectfully.”

But most of all, what the two sophomores wanted to mention was that there was no yelling. To them, the professor, and all the students of this class, you and Gojo presented your presentation without a single tone of malice, no pointless teasing, no name-calling, nothing! It was a civil conversation between two opposing sides. To everyone’s surprise — and thankful stars — today was a success.

You chuckle nervously at the praise. “Oh, come on, you two, don’t let me and Gojo take all the credit. You guys did your part. Especially you, Ichiji; you were an exceptional help for my side and finding sources I could build off from.”

Gojo, on the other hand, rolls his eyes. “Psssh, don’t butter them up like that; without us, they would’ve failed this presentation big time. No offense.” He was forced to say that when you called him by his last name and hit him with your elbow.

None taken, the two younger friends say to themselves unbeknownst to each other. 

The tall one continues, “Besides, you were the one who did most of the work. I slacked off until the last minute when you whipped me into shape.” Gojo brings his hand on top of your head for a pat. The action surprised you enough to flinch a bit. “Nice work like always, Y/n.”

Were the stars aligned differently, or did Gojo just compliment you? It certainly took you aback, especially the two others who silently kept their observation to themselves. 

You could only look at his complacent look for a few seconds before you realized the warmth of your cheeks became stronger. Averting your eyes, you remove his hand from your head. “Thanks, Gojo…” you express gratitude. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

A cheeky smile, his dimples prominent to blind you. “Awww, would you two look at that? They’re complimenting me, too~” Another bump to the chest has him cackling like a child, and you shake your head with rolled eyes.

The two younger students observe the scene before Haibara forcibly stretches and yawns to catch the two’s attention. “Man, I’m so hungry; I skipped lunch to prepare for this presentation. Me and Ijichi are gonna meet up with Nanami at the dining hall. You guys wanna come?”

You instantly beam at the proposal; who are you to refuse a dinner with your friends? “Sure! I’d love to…Oh! Wait, let me use the restroom and fill my water bottle.”

You rummage through your backpack for your water bottle before exiting the classroom. The boys watch you descend from row after row, and Gojo says, “Don’t take too long; I’ll convince them to leave without you.”

“Hmph, go ahead and try! They invited me; I don’t know who told you to invite yourself.” You stick your tongue out at him before opening and closing the door behind you. 

Gojo watches you with a smile still plastered on his face for a few seconds before Ijichi makes a tiny cough to catch his attention, the sunglasses-wearing junior turning to look back down to the other two. He notes the albeit cheesy-smiling faces they harbor, and he lifts a brow. “The hell are you two smiling for?”

The raven-haired sophomore squeaks at the sudden firm tone, “N–Nothing!”

“Pfft, oh come on, Kiyo; let’s not act like we didn’t see what we just saw.”

Gojo catches the nuance of Haibara’s comment. “Saw what?”

“You’re over here talking about our faces, but you’re the one who’s smiling at Y/n as they leave the door?” The brunette sophomore sends a wink to his junior, whose face doesn’t change at the comment.

“And your point is?”

“Well, it seems — to me, at least —  there might be something going on with you and Y/n?” 

Gojo was prepared for that, opening his mouth to interject quickly. However, the dark-haired other beat him to the punch. “Now that you mention it, Gojo and Y/n have been kind of…stable? There's still the usual arguments, but those haven't happened as much since last week…”

“Right!?” Haibara points at Ijichi with exclamation, making the other second-year flinch. “For some reason, things seem to be a little quieter with the two of them now, not to mention them hanging out way more often. Everyone’s been talking about it; even Geto and Shoko asked if Gojo had done anything that made Y/n passive?”

“I asked Nanami about it on Monday; he thinks maybe Y/n finally knocked some sense into Gojo’s childish brain to have him be so civil to engage without yelling their head off.”

“Pffthaha, I wouldn’t go that far. Y/n did just kick him in the shin yesterday for scaring them from behind.”

“Ahh, yes, well, that was deserved.”

“You two realize I’m still standing right the fuck here, right?” No, they hadn’t because the two discerned the twitch of Gojo’s brow after conversing about the tall, white-haired boy. 

“But it’s true!”

Another voice enters the set, making Gojo raise his head, and the other two turn to their left. It was some girl and her friend. Gojo knew of her; she sat next to him during class. Again, he knew of her, meaning she had no significance to his knowledge.

And yet, she speaks to the three boys. “You and Y/n have gotten a lot more close these past weeks compared to previous semesters—“

“Real close, too!” Their friend adds on from behind. “It’s as if you two are like a couple.”

“So…Are you two….a thing?”

Gojo could tell from a mile away what this was. Obviously, the first girl has a thing for him — he can see the anxiousness from the twiddle of her thumbs and avoidant eye contact. Although he wasn’t interested, he couldn’t even answer the question the way he wanted. What the hell could he say: that you two are in a secret relationship? He knows you’d have his grave ready before he could finish that confession.

And he can’t say the two of you are in any relationship either; it’s not what you would’ve told them. To everyone else, you and Gojo are friends who would preferably be caught dead rather than lying in bed together. So, might as well keep that facade up.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he starts with the push of his sunglasses. “Y/n is a pretty good friend, and I’d like to keep it at that.”

Haibara and Ijichi turn from Gojo to look at each other and shrug. Before turning back, something caught their eye that caused the two sophomores’ skin to turn white.

Ijichi tries to prevent Gojo from speaking further. “G-Gojo—“

However, the tall one doesn’t listen. “I mean, sure, they got a nice personality and are independent…Kinda pretty, too, not gonna lie. But they’re not really my type. I mean, have you seen them? Just a little person who likes to find trivial stuff to yell at me over. Angry at the world around them, I’d say.“

“Go. Jo.” Haibara says the junior’s name through gritted teeth, bringing his hand up by his neck and drawing an imaginary horizontal line back and forth — a gesture for Gojo to not say anymore. But unfortunately, the sign wasn’t seen, and the words kept pouring out.  

“And to be honest, can you imagine? Me and Y/n, a couple? Jesus Christ, that would be fucking exhausting to deal with, especially with someone so boring and too uncute like them. I’ve seen prettier, been with better. I feel sorry for the poor bastard who does end up with them—“

“SATORU GOJO!”

Now — that sudden burst of yell from a loud, masculine voice — that was what got Gojo’s attention. It’s what got the attention of everyone else in the room. The snow-haired student jerks to look at the professor standing at the front, the older man with a deep frown. “What?

The professor doesn’t answer him. Instead, he points to the left of him with his chin with a huff. With common sense, Gojo turns behind him to see where the older man points. And at that moment, he felt his very being drop to the soles of his feet. Haibara and Ijichi took a slow breath in unison at the immediate tension.

Behind him stood you, a lone figure holding their water bottle within three arm’s length away from the group. But that was sufficient enough for you to have heard everything said. 

Breathing suddenly felt impossible for Gojo; his entire body was stiff under your gaze. His shades could hide his eyes, but he wasn’t sure it could shield the instant shame that slapped him across the face from you. 

And that was another thing: the look you harbored was indecipherable — the true definition of disengagement. There were no widened eyes, quivering lips, or shaky hands. You stood plainly and looked as though you were detached from the entire situation. And that was what scared him the most.

This was strike one.

He dared not move when you began walking up, and your eyes then shifted to ignore his presence. “Hey, Yu,” the brunette straightened his posture at the use of the first name. “I think I’ll have to decline on that dinner offer. I’m a little tired and have a paper I need to work on…Maybe next time?”

“Uhh, yeah, sure, no problem.” He answers with a sweat.

Wait a second. Gojo tries to call for you, “Y/n—“

“Ijichi,” but you immediately shut him down and directed your attention to the other sophomore friend as you put on your coat and stuffed your water bottle back into your bag. “Be sure to submit the presentation template and sources to the course site before the end of the day, please.”

“U–Uhh, already done, Y/n.” He squeaks while reassuring.

Wait, please. The tall one tries again, “Wait, Y/n—“

“Good.” You sling your backpack on, refusing to look at the person trying to talk to you. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then.” And with that, you turn on your heel and head down the row to leave.

No, wait, stop— “Y/n, wait!” This was strike two. 

Gojo doesn’t hesitate to call out to you. At that moment, he follows you to the class steps where you were a row down left from the door. He grabs your hand without thinking, the size of your palm captured by his slender fingers. He knew it was a risky move, but he had to — he had to get you to talk with him right now, if not ever. Because the latter is something he isn’t ready for, something he didn’t think would be a possibility.

And yet, he will learn this lesson of being prepared for the impossible when you rapidly turn to him. Strike three.

SLAP!

Have you ever seen someone get smacked in the face so hard that their sunglasses come off? The remaining two girls who witnessed it know for sure now. Haibara and Ijichi won’t admit to it as they immediately turn to the other side of the room when they saw your hand move. But please believe they winced at the sound of the impact. The same goes for Professor Yaga, who was too stunned to speak, yet it was a valid outcome. 

Gojo didn’t move a single limb, allowing the stinging feeling on his cheek to course through his facial muscles. His eyes were glued to the carpeted ground; he knew that’s where they were supposed to be. And you snatched your hand away from his grasp, leaving his fingers to suffer in forced loneliness.

“You…you think it’s all fun and games to say stuff like that when I turn my back for a few minutes, huh?” He can see your hand palpitate from his peripheral; the anger depicted alone was enough to interpret. And the tremble in your voice? It felt like an arrow to his being. “…Look at me.”

He’d be a fool to have you repeat yourself; he has lost that right to toy with you now. With a slow inhale, Gojo rotates his head at you, azure eyes tracking up your figure to your face. And when it lands at that destination, his heart is shot down.

Tears stream down vexed, watery eyes. Your brows furrowed, and your bottom lip chewed in a terrible attempt to stop it from quivering. The rise and fall of your shoulders as you moderate your breathing, trying so hard not to let your temper dwell into a deeper phase of ugly. It was bad enough you’re crying in public, in front of your peers, your teacher — and it was because of him. 

“From this day forward,” you fight your sniffles to say your statement as clearly as possible. “Don’t you ever talk to me, Satoru Gojo. Enjoy your life without something as boring as me.”

And with that, you dismiss yourself from him and the class altogether, the room silent even after the slam of the door closed. No one says anything, too shocked from the event to utter a letter. 

The silence aids the ringing in Gojo’s ears, his breathing still having trouble maintaining a balanced front. The cheek you slapped burned with pain; he’s sure the skin is as red as a cherry. 

Oh, fuck.

He brings a hand to his face, his body fighting the trembling. The ringing in his ears worsens, along with the pounding in his head that beats like a drum. His eyes stuck to the ground below him, choosing to focus on something inanimate and not living. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

All he could think of in this time and place was you. Memories flashing right before him, of you and only you. He can hear the way you say his name, both in vexation and in sweet tunes. Your smiles, your frowns, your huffs, your whispers. When your eyebrows scrunch whenever you express worry for him, how you’re never afraid to stand up against him when making a point, the smile that’s been blinding him for many days and nights — the smile he wouldn’t mind seeing for eternity.

All those memories were one stab to his heart after another. And every time a recollection ended, a flash of your crying face would return to haunt him. Tears that weren’t meant to be there but were, and warm feelings you expressed with him were gone the moment he saw your eyes void of feelings for him. At least, that’s what he saw.

He hurt you. That was the only revelation that haunted him where he stood, making his voice falter from confidence. It was a revelation he never meant to bring about. And now that it exists and he sees the damage, nothing would be better for him now than the ground beneath him swallowing him whole.

“What…the fuck…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ❤︎ reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[snowysosturn]

Speeding Car - Matt Sturniolo Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Pairing : y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary : After six years with your boyfriend Alex, you start mentally check out. At a UCLA party, Alex reconnects with his childhood friend Emily, who proposes a double date with her boyfriend Matt. Your attraction to Matt grows as he pays you the first real attention you've had in years, sparking a complicated emotional journey.

Warnings : MDNI, unhappy relationship, mentions of hangover, angst

The start of the new semester at UCLA brought a sense of urgency and routine that clashed with my internal chaos. Alex was excited, his schedule packed with classes and Bruins practice. Meanwhile, I struggled to shake off the lingering thoughts about Matt and Emily from the party, the Instagram follow, and my relationship dying out. I couldn’t tell anymore if my embarrassment was first or second hand. But today was a new day, and I had to focus.

I made Alex a protein packed breakfast this morning, I had the day off so I had the time.

“Thanks Y/n” Alex said as he gave me a pat on the back.

A pat on the back.

He took the last few bites of his meal and grabbed the keys to the car. “I’m not too sure what time I’ll be back tonight, I’ll text to let you know” Alex said as I walked behind him to the front door. I saw him off as he walked down the steps to the driveway.

“Aw shit!” I hear him exclaim, realizing one of his tyres had burst. "Great, just what I needed." he muttered.

Alex and I shared a car, it was originally mine, but I let Alex put it in his name as he needs to get around more than I do. So in simpler terms, Alex has a car that I’m able to drive once a month at least.

"Take my phone and book an Uber" I offered, handing it to him. "I'll figure out the tyre later."

He accepted my phone with a grateful nod and quickly booked the ride. As he waited, I heard my phone ping. A familiar sound, from Instagram.

“Matthew Sturniolo (@matthew.sturniolo) has requested to follow you”

"Hey, looks like Matt wants to follow you" Alex said, showing me the screen with a chuckle. "Guess he enjoyed your company at the party."

My heart jumped, a burning sensation flushed through my body. Why did this have to happen when Alex has my phone.

I tried to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, probably. We did talk quite a bit. I got along well with Nick too”

Alex shrugged, accepting the request before handing the phone back. "Alright, my ride's here. See you tonight."

"See you" I replied, watching him head out the door. Not a kiss to say goodbye or anything.

The day passed slowly, my thoughts constantly drifting to Matt's follow request. It felt like a lifeline, a connection I desperately wanted but also feared.

—————————————————————————

As the evening approached, I text Alex to let him know the tyre was fixed if he wanted me to pick him up whenever he was ready. He replied saying he had an evening free and he we was going to Uber home with Emily to hang out. They had figured out they were taking the same classes and were coming back to organize a few things for the current semester.

Alex and Emily arrived at our apartment. Alex seemed in good spirits despite the tire mishap.

“We have a school trip to Barcelona in 4 weeks, Europe! How exciting!” Emily said with joy.

“We decided it would be easier to come back here and look at flights together if you don’t mind helping us Y/n, I know you’re good with all of that.” Alex suggested.

For some weird reason this lit a fire in my stomach. I knew I was being stupid since it was for a school trip, but it bothered me how eager he was to organize everything. It was almost like pulling teeth anytime I tried to organize a trip with him.

After an hour of searching, I found the cheapest flights for them and everything was booked.

"I'm going to hit the sack early" he said after a while. "Practice starts tomorrow."

"Alright, good night" I said, trying to sound casual.

Emily and I were left alone in the living room. An awkward silence settled between us, punctuated by the occasional sound of Alex moving around in the bedroom. I knew I needed to break the ice, and I also had an opportunity to see where her and Matt stood with each other after Saturday night's events.

"So, how are things with you and Matt?" I asked.

Emily smiled, her eyes lighting up. "Matt's great. I mean, he’s really sweet and all, but sometimes I feel like he’s too good, you know? I also want to apologize to you for how I acted at the party, it was out of line. We’re only newly friends and I don’t want to embarrass myself or make a bad impression. I honestly still have a hangover from it all”

“Friends?” I thought to myself.

“Oh you don’t need to apologize to me at all Emily, it happens!” I respond, trying to make her feel better.

“I feel like I get carried away sometimes. I like the attention I get from Matt, but I also love the attention I get from others."

I frowned slightly. "Others?"

She shrugged, taking a sip from her Stanley cup. "Yeah, I mean, Matt has a big following, and being with him means I get noticed too. I love him, but I can’t help enjoying the attention. It's kind of addicting. Did you not notice all of the influencers at the party?”

Her words struck a nerve. How could she be so nonchalant about treating Matt that way? He deserved someone who appreciated him fully, not someone who saw him as a means to boost their own ego.

"Oh, no I didn’t notice.." I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Emily glanced at me, her expression unreadable. "It just comes hand in hand with his job. I love him, but I also love being in the spotlight. Is that so wrong?"

I didn't know how to respond. It felt wrong, deeply wrong. Matt deserved someone who loved him for who he was, not for the attention he brought. The more Emily talked, the more I realized she didn’t deserve him. My feelings for Matt, already complicated, grew stronger. He deserved better, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I could be that for him.

As time passed the conversation changed, I found myself genuinely getting along with Emily despite the lingering irritation from her comments about Matt. We chatted about various things like classes, mutual friends, upcoming campus events and even her life in Austin. I can’t lie, she was easy to talk to, and I could see why she was popular. But underneath her charming exterior, her earlier remarks about enjoying attention grated on me.

I knew I had to keep things friendly. Not just for Alex's sake, but for my own. Staying close to Emily meant staying close to Matt. It was a delicate balance, and I was determined to maintain it.

Later that night, Emily glanced at her phone and sighed. "I should probably get going. It's getting late."

"Do you need a ride?" I asked, half hoping she would say yes so I could see Matt again.

"Yeah, I'll ask Matt to come pick me up" she said, typing out a quick message..

Matt’s POV

I rotted away in my room all day Sunday. I needed some time to myself. Emily went back to college early this morning and I hadn’t heard from her since.

After nearly 40 hours of sitting in my room, I decided it was time to try to be social again. I left my room and walked straight into the kitchen to find Nick and Chris sat at the kitchen table.

"Rough night Saturday.." Nick asked, eyeing me with concern.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You could say that."

Chris obliviously laughed. "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad."

Nick shot him a look. "Matt, we need to talk about Emily. Her behavior at the party... it wasn't okay."

I nodded, feeling a weight settle on my shoulders. "I know. She's been like this more and more lately."

Nick leaned forward, his expression serious. "You don't deserve to be treated like that. You do so much for her, and it seems like she doesn't appreciate any of it."

Chris, still not fully grasping the gravity of the situation, shrugged. "Girls can be complicated, man."

Nick ignored him, focusing on me. "Look, I know you care about her, but you have to think about yourself too. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and values you."

I sighed, the truth of his words hitting hard. "I keep hoping she'll change, that she'll realize how much I care about her and start treating me better."

Nick frowned. "People don't change unless they want to. And from what I've seen, Emily isn't interested in changing."

There was a moment of silence as we all absorbed the reality of the situation. Nick then changed the topic slightly, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I noticed you got along pretty well with Y/n, Alex's girlfriend.."

My mind flashed back to our conversations. There had been an easy connection, a sense of understanding that I hadn't felt with Emily in a long time. "Yeah, she's great. We had some good talks."

Chris, always one to break the tension in the worst possible way, grinned. "That’s the girl with the fat ass, right?"

Nick groaned, and I shot Chris a look. "Dude, not the time."

Chris held up his hands in surrender. "Just saying."

The mood soured, I stood up, needing to clear my head. "I'm going to bed. Thanks for the talk, guys."

As I made my way back to my room, my phone buzzed. Emily had texted me: "Hey, can you pick me up? I'm at Alex's place."

I sighed, knowing I'd go pick her up despite everything. I couldn't shake the feeling that something had to change, but I wasn’t sure if it would be her or me.

—————————————————————————

Y/N’s POV

"He'll be here in about ten minutes." Emily said, reading out the message from Matt.

My heart danced but I had to maintain my composure.

We continued chatting until Matt's car pulled up outside. Emily grabbed her things, and I walked her to the door.

"Thanks for having me over” she said with a smile. "We should do this more often."

"We should" I replied, forcing a smile. "It was nice."

We stepped outside, and I spotted Matt waiting in his car. As we approached, he got out and walked over, his expression warm but tired.

"Hey, thanks for picking me up" Emily said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"No problem" Matt replied, his eyes briefly meeting mine. "Hi" he added, his smile softening as he looked at me.

"Hi Matt" I responded, feeling a flutter in my chest.

"How was your evening?" Matt questioned.

"It was good" I replied, choosing my words carefully. "Emily and I had a nice time."

"Good to hear" he said, glancing at Emily. "Ready to go?"

"Yep" she replied, but then she turned to me. "We should all hang out together again, the four of us. Maybe we can plan another double date or something."

"Sounds good" I said, knowing that staying close to her meant more opportunities to see Matt.

As Emily climbed into the car, I took a moment to speak to Matt. "Hey, I just wanted to say.. if you ever need to talk or anything, I'm here."

Matt looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "Thanks, I appreciate that. And same to you."

Just then, Emily reached over and playfully tugged Matt's arm. "Come on, let's go. I've missed you."

Matt turned to her, his expression softening. "I've missed you too" he said, leaning in to kiss her. Their interaction was sweet and intimate, a stark contrast to the tension I had sensed earlier.

Watching them together, my heart sank. The way Matt looked at her, the way he held her, it made me question everything. Had I misread his kindness? Was I seeing what I wanted to see rather than what was really there?

As they drove away, I stood there for a moment, feeling a mix of confusion and heartache. The connection I thought I had with Matt now felt uncertain, overshadowed by his obvious affection for Emily.

Matts’ POV

The drive to Alex's was quiet, my thoughts a jumble of emotions. When I arrived, Emily was waiting outside, looking a bit worse for wear from her two day hangover but smiling when she saw me.

"Hey, thanks for coming to get me!" she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"No problem" I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. Still wanting to keep my stance that how she acted on Saturday was out of line.

As Emily climbed into the car, Y/n turned to me.

“Hey, I just wanted to say... if you ever need to talk or anything, I'm here."

I knew fully what she was referring to. Could she relate to me? Or was it just out of pity from the events she witnessed at the party.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. And same to you." We locked eyes for a moment, until Emily tugged at me and instantly broke the contact.

We got into the car and drove off as Y/n waved us off. On the ride back home I couldn't help but think about Nick's words and the confusion I felt brewing in me surrounding Y/n. Maybe it was time to seriously consider what I wanted and needed in a relationship. Emily had her good moments, but were they enough to outweigh the bad?

Only time would tell..

a/n : i’m rushing out for dinner rn so i will proof read and do tags properly when i’m back i just wanted to get this out asaaaaap. we do go back and forth with the povs here soz. part 6 hopefully tomorrow or sunday!!!!

taglist : @muwapsturniolo @anitahunt @sturnfannn @jayde510 @chrissfavhoe @babyalliah-777 @v33angel @urmom69lol @willowrites @ribread03 @sleepyysavv @sturnsaver @sleepysturniolo @jcsturniolo11 @jessie-essie @immattsslut @mynbbys @sturniolopanini @mattsturnxoxo @delicatechrry @t77te @sturnsyaper69

[thatgirlstrawberry]

The Professor’s Wife

In which Y/N shows up at Spencer’s job to drop off lunch but he was hungry for something else

Warnings: smut!!!, oral sex(f rec), unprotected penetrative sex, bruising?? A single spank 🫣, dirty talk, soft dom!spencer, praise kink??, names (good girl, baby), semi-public sex, lmk if I missed anything!!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

All the girls who took Professor Reid’s class were angry that they put it on their schedule once they found out that he was married. And that his wife was hot.

He had pictures of her around his desk and they were all of this beautiful woman. The first day of school, he made a little ‘about me’ slideshow and he introduced his wife.

Now, just because he was married didn’t mean that the girls in his classes didn’t try to make passes at him. Every week he had a girl coming up to him and asking for help and then ‘accidentally’ dropping something and bending over to pick it up. He’d always roll his eyes and look up at the ceiling, not even a little bit interested.

Anyway, this was his second class of the day and it was around 12:00. He was pacing around talking about the student’s final when he recognized a face in the audience.

She was standing all the way in the back, holding a dark blue and brown lunchbox, and her bottom lip was caught between her teeth.

His wife.

He smiled and looked at his watch, thanking God that it was time for the college kids to leave. “Okay, everyone. Your final is coming up. Make sure you study! Have a nice day!” He called as they began to clear the rows of chairs.

He saw one girl coming up to him and sighed, rolling his eyes. Y/N made her up to the front and sat there becoming amused.

“Um hi doctor Reid.” She spoke, he voice soft. Spencer raised his eyebrows.

He glanced at Y/N. “Hello, Erica. What can I do for you.”

The girl let out a dramatic sigh. “I guess— ugh his is so embarrassing—“ She pressed her hands to her face before dropping them and looking back up at him. “I’m just not really understanding the material and I’d really like you to go over it with me. In depth. Say… over coffee later?”

Y/N scoffed with a smile quietly and crossed one leg over the other.

Spencer clicked his tongue. “Sorry, Erica. If you can’t get it now, you probably won’t get it at all. My advice is to take this semester’s final and then drop the class.” He shrugged.

The girl sighed in frustration. “But Dr. Reid, being a behavioral… person is like— my dream. Please, just help me. I really want this to work out for me.” The girl felt a tap on her shoulder and she spun around facing a smiling woman. Dr. Reid’s wife.

“Then get a tutor, sweetie.” She nodded.

Erica groaned and walked away quickly, leaving the large room. Once she was gone, Y/N turned to her husband and laughed. “Are all the girls like this?” She asked, setting his lunchbox behihim on his desk.

Spencer chuckled and pulled her into him. “Unfortunately yes.” He nodded, kissing her softly. “You look beautiful today.” He didn’t get to see her before he left for work because she was still in the shower when he left their house.

She smiled against his lips. “Thank you. And you looked awfully sexy standing up here, teaching.” She whispered, pulling away to nip at his neck.

His hands gripped her waist and she pulled away completely. “I brought you dinner from last night.” She smiled, walking past him and unzipping the lunchbox.

She pulled out a thermos full of the spaghetti that they made the night before and a ziplock of two breadsticks. He hummed. “You’re the best wife ever.”

She sighed dramatically. “So don’t throw all of this away for some college girl!” She joked. Spencer rolled his eyes and walked over to her taking the food from her hands and setting it on the desk.

“I’m free for another hour, eat with me?” He asked, grabbing her hips and pulling her body into him.

She gasped quietly and placed her hand on his chest. “I didn’t bring enough for two people, babe.” She smiled.

“You can have the food. I want something else.” He told her. The woman furrowed her eyebrows and began to speak before she was cut off by Spencer picking her up and setting her on the desk. Her lips were immediately caught by his.

“Mm! Spencer—“ She pulled away with a giggle and looked up at him. “Baby, we’re in you class room!” Spencer began to kiss her neck. “What if someone walks in?”

“Then they’ll see how fucking good you come all over my cock.” Her legs felt weak at that sentence and she sucked in a breath. “Are you gonna be a good girl and let me make you feel like one?”

Y/N bit her lip and nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m glad you wore this pretty little dress today.” He smirked against her neck. He grabbed her knees and hiked her legs up around his waist as he nipped at her neck. “Made it real easy f’me.”

Y/N smiled and tried to pull his head towards her lips so she could kiss him again. His hands pulled her hips forward so half of her ass was hanging off the table. He kissed her lips before trailing them down again. He pulled the neckline of her dress down under her tits and cupped them as he kissed her collar bone.

“Fuck, Spence.” She whispered, holding the back of his head.

“What baby?” He asked, squeezing her breasts.

A whine left her parted lips. “I need you to do something.” She whispered. “Please, please, please.”

Spencer smiled. “What do you need? Tell me what you want, baby.”

She bit her lip and felt her desire grow hotter and her panties growing wetter. “I n-need your mouth.” His hands moved from her breasts gripped her hips, pulling her even closer to the edge of the desk.

He dropped down to his knees without a word, his hands snaking underneath her dress and pulling at the sides of her underwear. Her legs spread and he tugged them down.

He kept eye contact with her until his head disappeared underneath her dress. Her hands flew to the edge of the desk, holding on for dear life when she felt his breath fanning against her wet core.

Then, she felt his tongue. She gasped quietly when it flattened out against her and started to slide up and down through her folds. Her mouth fell open and one hand came up and pressed against her torso, pushing her to lay back. She moaned loudly and pushed all of the cups of pens and the papers. Anything she could get her hands on ended up on the floor.

He groaned against her and pulled away. “Taste so good, baby.” He muttered before, licking her clit softly. He sucked it into his mouth and she bit her lip, trying to hold in a loud moan.

Her body felt as if it was on fire. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. She whimpered and her chest heaved. She shut her eyes and tilted her head back as his tongue ran over her pussy over and over again.

“Fuck! Spencer that feels so good.” She gasped out. She could feel his smile against her and his stubble giving giving her a tickle in the inside of her thighs.

His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling them impossibly farther apart. His fingers dig in, inevitably bruising her. There seemed to be something tightening in her stomach and she tapped his head over the skirt of her dress.

“I’m gonna fucking— oh I’m gonna come…” She mumbled, her thighs tightening around her head.

He hummed and continued to suck and lick her. She whimpered quietly and dug the heel of her shoes into his back. “Fuck!” Her hot release came sooner than she’d hoped and she panted as he pulled his head from underneath her dress.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He shook his head with a smile, his lips and chin glistening with her wetness. He went back in for a kiss and placed his hand on her waist. She moaned into the kiss, tasting herself on his lips.

He pulled away and pulled her off of the desk completely. She made a noise in surprise as he spun her around quickly and bent her over the desk. He flipped the skirt of her dress up and over so it laid over her back, giving him a full view of her dripping core.

“You ready for more?” She jolted when he laid a hard smack on her ass.

“Please. I’m so fucking ready.” She nodded, shutting her eyes. She heard his belt unbuckle and his zipper go down and smiled excitedly.

He chuckled. “Fuck, baby. You got me so hard, eating you like that.” He spoke. He grabbed her right hip roughly in one hand and used his other to guide the head of his cock through her wet folds.

She bit her lip hard and hummed. “Please, Spence. Please.” He stopped moving his dick and pressed it against her entrance. Her mouth dropped open and he pushed in slowly.

“Fuck…” He panted, his hand sliding from her hip to her shoulder. “Always feel so good for me.”

She grabbed the edge of the desk and swallowed. “Please, move move move.” She whispered.

He began to rock his hips slowly, her tiny moans making him drop his mouth open. His eyes rolled back in his head with pure pleasure. Y/N opened her mouth but tried to be quiet.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby.” He mumbled, starting to move a bit faster. He looked down, cursing at how hot it was watching himself disappear inside of her.

She gasped and moaned. “Fa-faster— oh fuck!” He didn’t wait another second to speed up when he heard her pleas.

Skin slapping and echoey moans were the only thing to be heard in the lecture hall.

Soon, Spencer was ready and he could tell she was too by the way she was clenching around him, desperately grabbing on to the sides of the desk and mumbling incoherent words.

“Come for me, good girl. Come on my cock.” He panted out.

She let out one last loud moan and her body froze, feeling the tight ball in her stomach releasing. She hummed, feeling Spencer come inside her and inhaled with a smile on her lips.

He pulled out of her, watching how her body shook. He wrapped his arms around her torso and lifted her up off the desk, pulling her dress down back over her body before pulling the stretched out neckline back over her boobs.

“Thanks for lunch, baby.” He smiled, kissing just underneath her ear.

She sighed and hummed. “Shit, any time.”

——————————————————

Yuhhhhhh smut 🤪

I went feral over this and idk— there’s just something about professor!Spencer… also I may or may have not just watch don’t worry darling and based the first bit off of that scene when Jack came home and ate Alice out on the table— let me stop.

Thanks for reading!

Love ya bunches ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @mrsgweasley

@tuesday-yellowxx

@blue-willows

@monzarella

@winkev1

@criminallymagic

@mermateyepmatewithte

@lipstixstain

@urlovelydarling

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[aaliyg]

With You, It's Alright

Word Count: 3.6K (gets better n better each time)

Prompt: Rivals to Lovers

Warnings: ririxblack!fem!reader, hbcu!riri, hbcu!reader, rivals to friends to lovers, bottom!riri, top!reader, cursing, oral sex, clit rubbing, praise kink, first time, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, pet names, dirty talk

Dialogue Color Code: Riri, Reader

Very loosely based off of Waste My Time by Citizen Queen

I've been starving yall for a bit. I apologize.

You let your eyes warily glide over all of the people that were filtering into the classroom. The middle of the semester was approaching quickly, almost as if it had teleported its way into your schedule. For this database class in particular, that meant that all your future assignments would turn into never-ending group work, including the final project of the semester. To make things even worse, your professor was picking the groups, which meant that you would either be entirely screwed over or insanely lucky. You prayed to God that it would be the latter. 

Eventually, your professor walked in and began her lecture. You tried your best to listen to what she was saying, but the daunting group work ahead was worrying you more than you'd like to admit. What if you got paired up with someone who didn't understand a thing about the class? Or someone who was overly confident about their input regarding your work? These thoughts clouded your mind for the entire class, which resulted in your notes looking quite empty. You sighed quietly as you packed up your belongings and made your way to the bulletin board that was surrounded by your classmates. You waited patiently for them to leave so that you could see who your partner was, taking note of the way some of them looked at you with annoyance, as if you didn't deserve who you got paired up with. 

You rolled your eyes as you got closer to the board to look for your name. It didn't take you long to find it since the class was quite small, but when your eyes scanned over the name that was next to yours, "Riri Williams" was certainly not what you expected or wanted to be there. You held back your groan as you left the class, making a beeline towards the library to hopefully get some quiet time by yourself. 

That quest got dashed on the rocks as soon as you sat down and started taking out your laptop to look at the PowerPoint that was taught today. You didn't even get to open the file before someone tapped on your shoulder. You looked at Riri in pure disdain, and it felt as if God himself was against you today, making you want to sprint to the nearest church to repent for your sins. She looked you up and down coldly, almost as if she was daring you to do something about the group arrangement that she wasn’t even aware of yet. After a beat of silence, she pulled up a chair, sat next to you, and began looking at the PowerPoint on your screen.

“I thought you didn’t need to study for this class since you ‘already knew everything’.”

The side eye you gave her was almost enough to make her stop fucking with you. Almost. She narrowed her eyes at you in thought as you made small annotations on the PowerPoint.

“That’s not how that operator works you know.”

You quickly slid over your laptop to her, pure annoyance printed painfully on your face.

“You do it, then. Since you know so fucking much.”

 She blinked in mild shock at your response and gingerly placed the device on her lap. After a few minutes, she handed it back to you with her notes that were colored red, and she watched you smugly while you read what she had typed in. You sucked your teeth in frustration when you realized that her notes were correct, causing her to chuckle softly.

“Look at that. And I didn’t even come to today’s lecture.”

“I was wondering why the class was so quiet today.”

She deadpanned towards you as her phone sounded off. As she opened the email she received, you got a front-row seat to witness her face morphing from smugness, to concern, then to unfiltered dread when she realized that you two were paired up with each other. You smirked at her reaction and brought your attention back to your notes while Riri tried to grapple with the arrangement. 

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t want to be paired up with you either.”

“How in the hell would that make me feel better?”

You shrugged as you typed out the last bit of your notes and closed the file on your laptop. You looked back over at Riri, who seemed a lot calmer than before.

“If you don’t have anything else to do today, we could start brainstorming right now…”

"Yeah sure, why not."

You swiftly opened a google doc, shared it with Riri, and began to bounce ideas around. You'd hate to admit it, but working with her was…refreshing. There was no sense that you'd end up doing all of the work, and you could tell that that's how she felt about this session as well. Within two hours, you guys had slated up a description of your database, the names of your tables, and the information within those tables. It felt nice to be on the same playing field as someone else for once, even if the other person could be quite snarky about their intelligence at times. 

All good things had to come to an end, though. You quickly realized that the sun was starting to set, and you still had assignments for other classes to take care of. Riri had come to the same realization as well as she looked at the time on her computer.

"Damn that's the time already? Yo, sorry to leave you hanging like this but I gotta go."

"Oh yeah no that's no problem. I'll see you around?"

"For sure."

She hurriedly made her way down the stairs as you began to pack up your belongings. You smiled softly to yourself as you walked to the dorms across campus. Maybe this group arrangement wasn't as bad as you thought it would be.

Two weeks later, you found yourself sitting on the floor of Riri’s dorm as you guys were struggling to get an assignment done for your class. The end goal was to pinpoint the limits of the example database given and try to come up with ways to go around those limits. This is what should have been said in the instructions, but your professor decided to throw away all the conventions of writing when making this assignment.

"These assignments wouldn’t be so hard if she could fucking write instructions properly. How the hell are you a college-level professor and can’t write properly?"

"Bold of you to assume she writes them herself. I’m bettin’ 20 bucks that she just copy n pasted em from quizlet or sum shit."

You groaned loudly as you reread the instructions for the seventh time, the words still looking as foreign as ever to you. Riri wasn’t doing any better. She had gone as far as to attempt to rewrite the instructions in a way that made sense, but nothing was clickling. At this point, you could tell that your collective irritation was getting the best of you two, so you decided to do something about it.

"You wanna take a break before this laptop gets thrown across the room?"

“It’s like you read my mind. Lemme order some food. What do you wanna eat?”

You blinked in mild surprise at her question, not exactly thinking food was an option when you came over here.

“We could get Chinese, Italian, Mexican-”“I’ll take Mexican. A burrito would be nice.”

She nodded as she placed the order and went to turn on some music in order to calm you guys down a bit more. After about thirty minutes, you guys sat quietly as you ate your takeout food. It was weird, but you found solace in the peaceful quiet of the space, causing you to zone out. Riri looked over at you, confusion written all over her face as you continued to stare into space.

“Aye, you good over there?”

Riri sighed softly and gently flung a shoe in your direction, which lightly hit your shoulder.

"Ah yes hit me with a shoe while I’m zoned out. Wonderful idea."

Riri shrugged at you, a smile playing on her lips.

“I’m not walkin over there. And the shoe was the softest thing near me soo.”

“...Fair enough.”

Riri looked at the clock on her nightstand, signaling that you two had spent an hour relaxing.

“You wanna get back to work now orr?”

You shuffled closer to her as you looked at the screen in front of you.

“Yeah let’s try to decipher these instructions again.”

It took you guys two more hours to get the work done, but you finally turned it in with thirty minutes to spare. You sighed in relief as you got the confirmation email of your submission, and slowly started to put your things away.

“Same time tomorrow? My dorm this time though.”

She nodded as she stood up to put her things back where they belonged.

“Definitely. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Tomorrow couldn’t come any faster for you as you tried to fall asleep. Something about Riri had you hooked, and you’d hate to admit it, but you were genuinely starting to like her and her presence. Maybe because she was the first person who actually wanted to spend time working with you, instead of expecting you to do all the work by yourself. It didn’t help that she was a genuinely sweet person underneath all the attitude and ego that annoyed you when you first talked to her. Being around her made you feel warm inside, and you couldn’t wait to see her again the next day.

When your last class of the day had finished, you quickly strode over to the bookstore to buy some snacks for your dorm. You said a quick hello to the workers as you went to the back of the store where the snacks were. You quickly scooped up a couple of drinks, chips, and candies and walked to the cashier to check out your things. After purchasing your things, you strode over to your dorm and began to tidy up a bit. You felt a bit excited at the prospect of Riri coming over, as if you two hadn’t been doing so for the past two weeks now. You had just finished cleaning when a knock sounded at your door, and when you opened it, Riri slid right in underneath your arm.

“No hi, hello, how was your day?”

You slowly closed the door and watched as she took a seat on the chair next to your bed. You couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but something was off with her today.

“Sorry, I’m just not in the mood right now…”

You nodded sympathetically and sat on your bed with the gentle bass of your music playing in the background.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She nodded softly, and you sat back and let her talk.

“I’m thinking about stopping my side hustle. You know, with me doing people’s work for them and all that.”

You tried your best to keep a straight face when your irritation rose a bit at the mention of her ‘business’. 

“Ok, why do you want to stop?”

“Because it feels like I’m being run ragged, and I don’t know how long I can keep up with this. It’s like everyone just decided to not do their work at all, so I’m doing my work plus like thirty other people’s work at the same time.”

You squinted at her in slight distaste as she complained. Though her issues were completely valid, you felt as if she had dug her own grave, and now she was being forced to lie in it.

“Listen I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but if you had just joined the tutoring section, you could’ve still made some decent money. Instead of, you know, stealing all the students away from us.”

“It’s not like I meant to-”

“Yeah, but you did. And we would’ve loved to have you too you know.”

You bit your lip guiltily as Riri practically deflated at your words. You sighed softly and knelt in front of her, doing your best to maintain eye contact with her. She looked at you warily, waiting for you to dig into her again as you thought of the next thing to say.

“What if… you started tutoring instead of doing work for other people?”

She chuckled dryly at your statement.

“I doubt they’d want me to tutor after like what? Two semesters of me practically stealing their clients?”

“Well I mean…If you started tutoring, then students would kinda have to come back to my group no? Since no one is doing any of their work anymore. I feel like it’s a win-win. You get to relax more since the load is divided evenly among us, and I can help people out more.”

“...Yeah I guess that can work.”

You smiled softly at her and rubbed her knee in comfort.

“I know the flow of cash will be a lot lower than what you’re used to, but you won’t be as stressed. Trust me.”

She looked at you gratefully, and you beamed up at her in pride.“Okay. I'll trust you.”  

You nodded and got up off the ground with your smile still intact.

“You wanna get some work done, or do you wanna chill a bit?”

“Let’s get some work done. We haven’t breathed on that project since the day that we got paired up for it.”

You chuckled and nodded in agreement, and you two got right to work. It was another session full of banter and jokes and before you knew it, you guys had gotten to the midpoint of the project, which wasn’t due until next week.

“Look at us getting shit done. That’s one less thing we gotta worry about now.”

“Thank God honestly. I needed a break from that damn class.”

You laughed in agreement as you closed your laptop and got up to get some snacks.

“By the way, thanks for talking some sense into me earlier. I know we got off on the wrong foot at the start of the semester, but thanks for not treating me like shit this whole time.”

You tossed her a bag of Lays and a Sprite, humming in acknowledgement.

“It’s no problem at all. Honestly I was expecting you to go to the professor about switching partners or something… I’m glad you didn’t though.”

Riri smirked at you playfully as she ate her chips.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of that.”

“Woww ok I see how it is then.”

Three weeks later, you found yourself on Riri’s dorm floor once again as you listened to her rant about her workload from her classes. 

“Now listen. I know taking five classes at the same time was a dumbass idea but SHIT man. It’s like every time I get one thing done, something else gotta pop up. I can’t fucking breathe with all this work my God.”

“Well… which classes are giving you the most trouble? Maybe I can help?”

“Easy. Chem and Physics.”

“Who the fuck takes Chem and Physics at the same time?”

“Me apparently.”

“Riri I love you, but you a real dumb bitch sometimes.”

“Aww you love me pookie? Thank youu.”

“Shut the fuck up and get your textbooks out. Lemme see what I’m working with.”

You guys only got an hour of work done when Riri eventually threw in the towel, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. You frowned at her demeanor and quickly pushed away the work.

“Come here sweets.”

You gently pulled her into your lap and glided your nails across her scalp tenderly. Riri hummed in appreciation at your actions, the stress of the day already melting off of her in waves.

“This feels nice. Thank you…”

“No problem.”

You continued to rub at her upper body, taking note of the way she shifted around every time you touched her neck.

“Would you like me to stop Ri?”

“Please don’t… this feels really nice.”

You shook your head softly as you went back to her scalp. Riri sighed gently and snuggled into your lap even more, causing you to smile down at her tenderly.

"How about I destress you a bit more hun?"

"This wasn't destressing me enough? Shii lemme see what else you can do then."

You smirked at her as your eyes hooded over to look at her.

"Get up on the bed and lemme show you."

You could practically see the blood rush to her ears as she looked up at you with wide eyes.

"Unless you don't want to, which is perfectly fine."

She bit her lip in thought and looked back up at you.

"I- I want to…"

You rubbed her cheek gently and tilted your head in the direction of her bed.

"Go ahead then babygirl."

Riri slowly made her way to her bed and sat down at the edge of it, clearly nervous. You stood in front of her and gently cupped her chin in your palm to look her in the eyes.

"Would you like me to stop sweetheart?"

"No… I wanna do this. I just-"

She sighed softly as she played with the strings on her hoodie, and you raised your brow in realization.

"This is your first time isn't it?"

"When you put it like that it sounds normal."

"Because it is sweets."

You glided your thumbs against the apples of her cheeks, trying your best to reassure her before anything got too heated.

"Don't worry I'll treat you well okay? Do you trust me?"

She looked back up at you with a small smile tugging at her lips and took a deep breath to calm herself down.

"Yeah… I trust you."

"Good. Now, lay back and lemme take care of you ok?"

She quickly did as she was told, causing you to chuckle softly at how obedient she had become.

"You're such a pretty little thing you know that?"

She whined softly at your praises, shuddering gently as your rubbed her inner thighs. As much as you wanted to tease her, you were dying to get a taste of her. You quickly pulled her shorts and panties off of her and cooed at how wet she had become. She panted softly as you pushed her puffy lips apart and got the pleasure of seeing her arousal ooze out of her.

“I see that someone is excited…”

Riri moaned softly and parted her legs a bit more, silently begging you to do something to her pussy, and you were certainly not one to disappoint. Wasting no time, you put her legs on your shoulders and placed your tongue flat against her cunt. Her sharp inhale was cut off with a loud and needy whine as you began to point your tongue out and make small circles around her clit, prodding at the sensitive bundle of nerves like your life depended on it. 

“Ohh fuck- fuck yes right there!”

You groaned softly as you feasted on her cunt, barely registering the amount of slick and spit that was sliding down your chin. Your eyes rolled back at how good she tasted. Nothing you could’ve imagined would make up for her taste, and you found yourself getting lost in her. 

You peeked your eyes open as she arched her back off the bed and moaned loudly, and you giggled as she began to push your head away from her. You propped yourself on your elbows and smiled at her. She looked at you and huffed gently as she closed her legs, feeling a bit shy about the way she acted. 

“So how was it hun?”

“I liked it a lot. Would you…be willing to do it again?”

“Aww baby. You wanna go for round two already?”

You chuckled as she looked down in pure embarrassment, doing her best to hide her face from you. You shuffled around the bed until you were sitting behind of her with her back laid against your chest.

“I want you to look in that mirror over there mkay?”

“O-Okay..”

“Good girl. Come on, open up for me.”

You hummed in satisfaction as her legs fell apart once again, and you began to slowly trail your hand towards her goods, giving her ample time to back out whenever she felt like it. When nothing of the sort came out of her mouth, you gently pressed your fingers against her clit. You felt her stiffen at the contact, and you rubbed her shoulder gently.

“I’m not putting anything inside of you tonight, don’t worry. Just gonna play with your clit ok?”

“Alright. You can go ahead..”

“Thank you babes. I want you to keep looking at that mirror ok?”

She nodded at your request, and her breath hitched softly when you began to rub small circles on her bud.

“Does this feel good princess?”

“Feels so fucking good. Oh my God..”

You gently placed your legs over hers to keep them spread as you continued your movements, whistling lowly as you two watched her pussy gush out slick like it was nothing. 

“Shit, beautiful you needed this so bad didn’t you? Needed someone to make you cum like this hm?”

You smirked when her hand created a vice grip around your wrist as she was nearing her climax. You pressed against her clit even more, and sped up your movements slightly, causing her to throw her head back in ecstasy.

“Yes, yes, yes. Oh God- FUCK yess..”

“There we go baby. Come on, let that shit out.”

You kissed along her jawline as she came for the second time that night, chuckling lightly when she pressed her face into your neck from embarrassment. 

“Better than you thought it would be?”

“So much better than what I thought it would be. Thank you.”

vulnerable bottom riri go brr

hope yall enjoyed lovelies ♡

ALSO. if you wanna be tagged in any future fics, say 'yurr' in the comments below ♡

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 6 (Sneak Peek)

Here's a little snippet from Chapter 6...

“Fiction or non?” 

You were splayed out on your bedroom floor, with Theo across from you. As he’d pored over his textbook, he kept coming up with questions to ask you. 

Sure, it might be cute and endearing in a normal circumstance. But right now, you wanted to focus on studying for a couple of upcoming tests, as summer semesters were the worst at moving so damn quickly. 

There were more important matters at hand than nonsensical small talk. 

Deciding to humor him (and hopefully get back to the task at hand), you responded. “Hmm. . .,” you sat up from where you’d been laying on your stomach to read about Geoffrey Chaucer. “They both have special things about them—both stretch our minds to understand more about other worlds and our own,” you paused, giving it a second to ponder. “Are we talking writing-wise or reading-wise?”

He chuckled, and winked at you. “It doesn’t have to be something you think so deeply about,” he closed his textbook. What was he doing? You still had to make flash cards! “Pretend we’re playing a game and it’s rapid fire questions.”

You didn’t want to be playing a game. You wanted to be sinking your teeth into the intricacies of this author in order to ace your test. 

You shook your head, your eyes stuck on his closed book. “Fuck,” you scratched your eyebrow. Your mind flicked to music: fun to write and read about. You were actually currently reading a book about John Lennon. You had many books on your TBR list about famous musicians. A most intriguing subject, in your opinion. “Non-fiction.”

His face scrunched up. “Nah,” he disagreed. “Fiction.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” his stare was blank in response. “Don’t really have to think too hard about it.”

You tried not to roll your eyes at him. In your opinion, thinking hard about what you were writing or reading was what made it most desirable. It made you venture into undiscovered realms of your mind. 

When you went to lean back over your book, the movement made you realize just how badly your bladder was begging to be released. 

Stupidly, you thought of the ridiculous work schedule on the fridge. 

Why the hell couldn’t you just let yourself go to the damn bathroom without thinking about Jake? You knew it was fucking ludicrous. You just didn’t want to see him. When you pulled up the picture of the fridge on your phone, you saw you were in the clear. He should still be at band rehearsal. 

You tapped your open book, giving Theo a sign that he needed to open his back up. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick,” you stood up, the wave of having to pee rushing through you tenfold at the motion. He still hadn’t gotten the hint to open up his textbook. Ugh. “I’ll be back soon and then we will make our cards for the test.”

And as you exited the room, you saw him finally get back to business and open his book back up. After you’d safely closed the door to your room, you rolled your eyes at his lack of care at getting shit done. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You dried your hands on the towel next to the sink, and took a look at yourself in the mirror.

He sort of annoyed you, but Theo was still cute, and he’d made you happy in high school. You weren’t totally opposed to the idea of kissing him (or maybe more) by the end of the night.

It seemed to you to be another good plan to get your mind off of Jake.

And Theo seemed interested enough. Considering he’d been more interested in learning about you, rather than the material for class all night (irritating, but whatever). 

Deciding you looked good enough, you opened the door to go back. And as you went to walk out, you stopped at a chest in your way. You got dizzy at the smell—smelled so fucking good—

You looked up.

Jake.

Your eyebrows pinched together, not happy at all that you’d crossed paths. Fucking hell. Why wasn’t he. . .?

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like thi—.”

You held a hand up to silence him, crossing your arms. “Why aren’t you at band practice?” 

Why the fuck was he cracking jokes? You were not in the mood. 

“Ended early,” his face hardened when he shrugged, stating it plainly. 

“Why didn’t you just stay with the guys?” You asked, secretly glad he didn’t. For whatever reason. “You could have hung out with them instead of coming back here.”

“Oh,” he stuck his chin out at the word and leaned a shoulder against the door-hinge. He raised a brow and crossed his arms to mirror you. “I see.”

You definitely didn’t glance at how his bicep flexed as his fingers wrapped around it. And you didn’t take time to appreciate his beautiful hair. . . had it started getting slightly longer? 

You shook your head, retraining your eyes.

“Tell me, Jake, what do you see?” You snapped, flicking your eyes up to his.

He scoffed, rolled his eyes. “Saw that guy lying on your bedroom floor, waiting for you. He was even sweet enough to wave at me when he saw me pass your room,” he sarcastically remarked, waving his hand to mimic. 

“We’re just studying,” you hushed back, feeling the (unnecessary) need to reassure him.

He scoffed. “You think that’s all it is to him?”

You narrowed your eyes and pursed your lips before you pulled him by his T-shirt into the bathroom. You weren’t going to discuss this in a place Theo could possibly hear. 

“I know that’s all it is,” you released his shirt like you were repulsed by the touch, when in reality you wanted nothing more than to pull it completely off of him. Damn him. 

“I don’t. Just think it’s funny how you’re so naive to believe he doesn’t want more.”

“He doesn’t.” 

“Do you?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just think it’s funny that you might want me out just so you can fuck that guy in your bedroom,” he nodded his head in the direction of your room. 

Oh. He was taking it there. Okay.

“Yeah? And if I wanted to?” You jutted your chin out the slightest bit, bringing your arms closer, to press against your chest. “How is it any of your damn business?” 

He stepped once towards you, eyeing your chest, the tops of your breasts revealed, pushed up to the top of your tank. Your skin flushed, heart racing. 

His voice lowered. “It became my business the night you spread your legs for me at Baby’s,” one more step towards you, his eyes locking with yours. Fuck. “When I had you moaning my name while my mouth played between your pretty legs,” another step. “I think you gave yourself away that night. I don’t buy this little act.”

Oh. 

Fuck. . . If your heart wasn’t racing. 

You blinked, shaking your head. You tried to stand firm. “Wh-what act?” Dammit. Why were you stuttering? 

Stand your ground, y/n, you thought, motivating yourself to stay strong. 

But as he took one more step in, your body was effectively once again trapped between his body and a sink. Thankfully, he hadn’t pressed himself up to your front, so you weren’t distracted by that. 

You tried to hold your own.

But shit. . .he was so close. Your skin flared with heat, your heart still beating erratically in your chest. 

As you were making direct eye contact with the chest of his white t-shirt, you craned your neck to see his face fully.

“What act, Jacob?” 

He shook his head. A little smirk played at his mouth. He brought his hand up to hold your cheek. Your skin was on fire for him and his touch.

You couldn’t help it when you leaned into his hand, letting your cheek press into his calloused flesh. 

He licked his lips. “You tell me,” he whispered lowly, nodding his head once at you. 

And you couldn’t help it, his deep brown eyes pulled you in. He was begging to be touched. You had to feel him. 

Leaning in, you held his cheek just as he held yours. He then took the chance, and captured your lips with his.

Ah. His lips. So soft. 

Your vision was hazy, eyes still open, you saw how his eyebrows dipped in with a moan. You matched the sound, closing your eyes, and slipped your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his. 

You heard him shut the door with the hand that wasn’t holding your face. 

He then moved that hand from your face, reaching both hands under your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he lifted you the short distance to sit on the bathroom countertop. 

You bit his bottom lip, getting another small moan from him. He did the same to you and then soothed the spot with his tongue. You sighed into his mouth. 

Reaching both hands up, you sunk them into his dark, brunette locks. He matched every movement of your lips with his own, and then licked one wet stripe on the roof of your mouth. 

You were able to gasp for air when he moved his mouth from yours to give the softest, small kisses to your neck. Though it didn’t last long before he turned his pecks into wet, open-mouthed kisses. The slightest stubble of hair on his lip skimmed against your sensitive skin. He worked from under your jaw, all the way up, to the tender spot behind your ear. 

Shivering with a sigh, you gripped his hair tighter, pulling him in as close as he could be to you, on the counter. You felt his hardening length against your center when you did so, making you immediately grind into him. 

And when he did the same to the other side of your neck, this time, he nipped at the skin behind your ear. You bucked your hips into his. He released a groan that echoed through the small bathroom, making you want to melt into it. 

“More,” you breathed, clutching him closer, making sure the front of you stayed connected to him. Feeling his hard length through the material of his jeans was almost too much, but you craved it. You needed it. 

More.

But, the next moment, you heard a little cough from your bedroom, right next door. 

It snapped you from your daze. You were suddenly hyper aware that it was not just you two in the apartment. You had to stop.

You pushed him back, jumping off the counter. When you looked in the mirror to check your face and neck, your lips were swollen and your cheeks were flushed. Your neck was still pink from where he’d been. You checked where he’d bit behind your ear, and seeing the redness back there made you want to hop right back onto that counter. Let him have his way with you— right there. Theo be fucking damned.

But you knew better.

Tucking some hair behind your ear, you tried to make yourself look slightly presentable. 

From behind you, he was brushing a hand through his hair, when he went to smooth a hand over his cheeks, his jaw stretching with the motion. He was contemplative.

His eyebrows drew together, curious. You couldn’t tell if he was upset. He mostly looked . . .confused. 

He removed his hand from his face when his eyes found yours in the mirror, open and wondering. He looked desperate to understand. 

“What do you want, y/n?” 

You didn’t know what in the hell to tell him. 

You wanted Jake. And you wanted him bad. But somehow saying it out loud seemed too difficult at the moment. 

And how could you say that to him when he’d so recently, blatantly told you that you were a mistake?

“I don’t know, Jake,” you whispered back, still looking at your blushing cheeks, messy hair, and freshly kissed lips. You’d need a minute to let your skin return to its normal shade before going back to your room. 

You turned to face him.

When you saw him, looking so beautiful, so lost. . . You thought of how lost you’d felt for the past couple weeks. His words were once again flashing back through your head. 

“It was a fucking mistake and you need to leave me alone.”

It still hurt as you could see him so clearly in the doorway of his bedroom, angry and insistent that you do what he said and leave him alone.

But tonight? Crowding you in here to make out on the bathroom counter? Did he truly want that? For you to leave him alone?

“What do you want?” You leveled him with a stare, your tone sharp, but keeping your voice low since Theo was one room over. You pointed a finger in his chest. “You say you want me to leave you alone, but then you trap me in here like this?”

He shook his head, a dimple showing again with a sarcastic grin. After tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, he put the same hand in his pocket. 

“Oh, there is no way you are going to turn this around on me,” he matched your quiet tone, understanding. “And trap you? Okay, Little Miss ‘Fuck Me, Jake,’” he used air quotes to remind you of your words from the night at Baby’s. 

Fuck. 

Of course he remembered you’d said that. Why wouldn’t he? 

You decided to ignore it, focusing back on him.

“You’re the one who said it was a mistake! That I needed to leave you alone,” you protested, anger flaring in your chest.

He covered his eyes with a hand, the veins in the hand catching your eye. You’d never noticed how masculine his hands were. And damn if he didn’t know how to use them . . . Even in this moment, debating with him, you wanted them touching every part of you. You wanted his skilled fingers, flexing inside of you.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” His eyes were sad when he moved his hand, when you saw the brown irises again. But there was a fire behind them still. “Dammit, y/n. Why do you insist on assuming the worst about me all the fucking time? I’m not the one who can’t make up my mind about what I want,” he leaned back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms. “One minute you’re kissing me. You’re with me, naked and ready as I’m pressing into you,” his voice was being raspy, along with the picture he was drawing. . . It made your cheeks pink. You could still feel what he felt like, pressing against you, throbbing. . .so close to being inside of you. He went on, “And the next moment you’re shoving me away from you, making sure to tell me that Josh doesn’t need to know what we’re doing.”

Of course some of this had to do with Josh. You’d had the smallest inkling, based on how weird he’d acted when you set the rules. 

Stupid.

“I knew you were making it all weird with Josh. . . is this all about Josh?! You know that he and I—.”

“No! It’s about you and how you make it impossible for us to—.”

“You told me to go away!”

“And you told me to stop,” he said back, his smoky voice still hushed. “More than once.”

Your chest heaved, knowing he was right, but you were so lost on how to explain it all. “There were reasons every time.” 

“Reasons,” he scoffed. “So are you going to keep having these reasons? Keep stopping it? Why do you keep letting it happen if all you’re going to do is make us stop?” 

“Last time you stopped us, Jake!” You defended, focusing on keeping your voice low. “Not me. You walked away and called it a mistake.”

He covered his face with both hands, growling. You shushed him. 

He took his hands away to show his jaw set, clenching with frustration. “You were drunk, y/n!” He begged you to understand, “I wasn’t going to do anything with you without you being in full and total control of yourself.”

You were sure your expression showed it all clicking. You blinked at him. It all made so much sense now. 

And what he’d done? His true intentions? Fuck. Sexy as hell.

Maybe you really did need to stop assuming the worst. You just couldn’t help it. It was a trauma response. Jumping to conclusions, thinking that people didn’t want you. . .

Your mom didn’t want you, so you were always convinced other people wouldn’t either. 

Especially men who were as beautiful as Jake Kiszka.

Damn. Now it really was all on you. How did you even begin to lay it all out? 

You looked him dead in the face, completely unsure of how to articulate the mess in your head. 

“I don’t know,” you covered your face with both hands, mimicking him and frustratedly groaning into your palms. When you removed them from your face, you tucked them into your front pockets. You decided to assure him of one thing. For whatever reason, you wanted—needed him to know this. “I do want you. I want what we almost had in the bathroom at Baby’s,” You stepped towards him, wanting to be close to him again. You placed a delicate hand on his chest. He looked down at you, as you looked up into his eyes, reaching to hold your hand on his chest. Your skin tingled at his touch. “I need to feel you, to be with you. . . it just never seems like the right time. There’s always something.”

You didn’t know why you’d suddenly felt the urge to be vulnerable with him. He kept your hand on his chest, holding you, his eyes meeting yours in understanding. 

And you knew then that it was just him. Jake Kiszka, in and of himself, made you feel this strange sense of safety, comfortability. 

And it was different from the kind his twin had offered you as your friend for so many years. 

With Jake, you weren’t just friends. You weren’t even really friends. . .it was something else—an intense, unavoidable attraction. The safe feeling came combined with this desire to be with him. 

He felt like a resting ground. 

It was weird.

But you liked it.

He smoothed a thumb over your hand on his chest. You held his deep gaze, getting lost in it. 

And out of nowhere, he leaned down, kissing your lips with his. Just for a moment. 

You felt it all the way down to your toes. The feeling of him so close, with one simple kiss from his soft lips, it felt perfectly intimate. 

He released his hold on your hand, wrapping his hand around your waist instead, eyes connected with yours. It was as though he just wanted to touch you, have his hands on you.

It was what you wanted, too. Just the feeling of his hand, as it moved down to just over your hip, his thumb on the skin underneath the hem of your gray tank top. . .it felt right. 

He penetrated the thickness in the air with his low, gravelly tone. His eyes were vulnerable as he asked, “Do you want that? To find the right time?” 

You reached a hand up, holding his handsome face. You smoothed a thumb over his skin, tracing a freckle on his cheek. “I do. I promise I do,” you blinked up at him, needing his answer to that question. “And do you? Wanna find the right time?”

This was so much, butterflies flew rampant in your tummy. 

The grin he gave you was loose, his eyes relieved and open. “I really do.”

It felt so amazing to hear it straight from his lips. He really wanted it too. 

You’d overthink all of this later.

He leaned down to kiss you again. You reciprocated, for just a moment, letting your lips move with his. 

Then you pulled back, your hand falling from his face.

You nodded at the door. “I gotta get back to studying.”

His hand that was holding your hip squeezed slightly, your skin heating at it. You caught his eye, the intense feeling setting in your beating heart. 

“Is that all you’re doing?” His eyes were dark and questioning, making your head spin. “Studying?”

You winked at him, still holding onto your teasing from earlier. “It’s whatever I want it to be.”

His eyes seemed to darken more, pulling you in so your chest touched his. So warm. “I really don’t want to hear another guy fucking you through these walls.”

You pressed closer to him, your body thrumming with fire. “Funny coming from the guy who told me I could just wear earplugs when he brought women over,” then you pulled back, his hand fell. His eyebrow lifted, a tiny smirk lifted his lips. You continued, “Why don’t you go ahead and get a pair of your own, hm?”

You patted his cheek, reluctantly parting from him. Before leaving the bathroom, you chanced one more glance at your appearance. Not quite as flushed as before, though your cheeks were still blushing. You’d find a way to pass it off. Whatever. You’d been gone too long. 

You were about to open the bathroom door when, from behind, his voice stopped you. You felt a spark as his hand delicately touched yours.

“Hey.”

You swiveled on your heel, raised your brows in question. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you could come to our gig this weekend? It’s a bigger one.”

Did you work this weekend? You couldn’t remember. 

All you knew was that, suddenly, you really wanted to be at their show. 

“I’m not sure . . . Depends on work.”

“I would love—,” he put a fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat. “The guys and I would love it if you could be there,” he shook his head, seeming to come to terms with an inner battle. “For me, I would just love to look out and see your beautiful face in the crowd.”

Your mind was fuzzy. All of this felt so unreal, yet so real all at once. He really wanted you there? And had he just called you beautiful? 

“I’ll try my best,” you slapped on a small grin, trying to play hard to get, masking your inner shock. You wanted to keep him on his toes, like he’d kept you for the past weeks. 

He scrunched his brows in and messed with his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, totally get it. Just text me and let me know.”

Anytime he messed with his mouth, it was a distraction. You had to keep yourself from watching too close. It really didn’t help that you knew the feeling of those full, pink lips. . . 

And as you walked the short distance to your bedroom, you realized something else.

Had he just asked you to text him? 

What was all of this? This new territory you had just discovered?

---

Thoughts? What are you looking forward to most from this chapter?

Let me know <3 I'm so, so sorry this update is taking so long...I promise it will be worth it! (if you know what i mean......)

[emonydeborah]

November fluff prompt 14: hugs

“All right, mess at 1800, class meeting 1900, squadron meeting 2000.” La’an rolled her eyes as Una rattled off the itinerary. She was holding a copy of the same schedule.

”Yes, Mom. I’ll remember.”

“Do you want to walk around one more time?” Chris asked. “It’s a big campus, easy to get lost.”

La’an planted herself in front of her dorm door. She could hear her new roommate puttering around inside. A heavy weight scrapes over the ground, and La’an gritted her teeth. As long as her furniture stayed on her side, she had to be all right with it.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. Her new academy issued T-shirt stretched tight in her shoulders, constricting her. “I’ll work it out.”

Una looked down at her with a mix of pride and sadness. “We know you will.” Her eyes were so soft La’an had to look away. She pressed her lips together and swallowed past a lump in her throat.

Chris clapped a hand on La’an’s shoulder. His eyes were shimmering. “We’re so proud of you.”

La’an’s mouth twisted, and she looked down. “Thank you.”

“Really, sweetheart,” Una added. “This is huge. You’re going to do great things here.”

“Just don’t forget old Mom and Dad while you’re having adventures, right?” Chris grinned. He hadn’t let go of her shoulder. “Call us whenever. For anything.”

“And don’t be afraid to use up those transporter credits, they don’t roll over at the end of the semester.”

“If you ever want a nice, home cooked meal, I have connections in the kitchen.”

They were building themselves up to a joined rant, and La’an cut them off before they could build steam. “Mom. Dad.”

Una gave her a watery smile and La’an groaned inwardly. She ignored the burning in her own eyes. “Message received. We’ll let you get settled.”

Chris pulled La’an into a hug, and though she still fit completely under his chin, for some reason La’an felt like he couldn’t reach. She pressed herself against him, cuddly for once, and Chris patted her back before reluctantly pulling away.

Una wrapped her up next. La’an melted into the embrace, squeezing her tightly. “We love you.” Una kissed her head. “And we’re proud of you.”

Una seemed determined not to let go first, and La’an wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. She clung to her mother. After a few seconds Chris wrapped himself around both of them. His strong arms had kept danger at bay for years. Now she would have to take care of herself.

La’an snuggled in between them and closed her eyes to commit every aspect of the moment to memory.

The academy would be hard, but La’an had this. Her mom kissed her head and her dad embraced them both.

This was enough.

[cheeriecherrymain]

The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 6]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Chapter Warning: none, I don’t think Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You and Viktor grow closer as you work together - so close that you consider each other friends. On the flipside, you feel like V is growing distant, though you chalk it up to the busyness of your schedules. You decide to invite Viktor home for the weekend, mostly because you have the tools you need in your workshop - but maybe also because you want to spend time with him.

Now that you and Viktor have made your peace with each other, the semester passes quickly. No longer do you fight so terribly on every subject, trying to be heard and seen by one another: you understand more about him, and he you, and it makes for a significantly more collaborative work experience.

Not only that, you’d actually consider him to be a good friend. You’d always thought he was intelligent, and that he had incredibly inventive ideas, but now that you weren’t spending all your time arguing, you were able to discover that he’s actually quite funny and kind.

He cares a great deal about people, especially those from his home, and he wants to make things that will lessen the burden life has on them. His conversations are thoughtful and inquisitive, and his humour is so dry it’s almost shocking - the first time he’d teased you, you’d given yourself a stomachache from laughing so hard.

On top of that, he also seems to bring out the best in you. He’s encouraging, and not in a patronizing way - he knows your strengths, knows your skills, and holds you to them. He’s honest about what he thinks you can accomplish, and he’s not shy about saying it.

You understand each other better, now, and your relationship is stronger for it.

—

It’s Thursday, when you wake up like you do any other day.

You roll out of bed to chase after your alarm clock, which grates on you less and less each day, now that you’re finally getting enough sleep.

You wander into the bathroom to fix your hair and brush your teeth.

You saunter back out into your bedroom to pull out your uniform for the day, and get dressed.

Only when you’re about to leave for class, do you notice anything different. A crisp black envelope on the floor by your front door, likely shoved in by the threshold. Either that, or someone had pushed it so violently through the mail slot that it had completely missed the little basket you’d hung to catch everything.

No matter.

You pull it off the floor, and flip it around in your hands.

It’s got your name scrawled across the front, in flowing penmanship and silver ink. It’s rather lovely, in your opinion - so much so, that you almost feel a little bad in ripping it open.

Your curiosity has always been one of your strong suits, though, and easily outweighs any guilt.

You quickly scan the contents you pull out, agitation rising as you pass over every word. 

It’s an invitation.

To a gala.

Not just any gala, but one hosted specifically for the students of the academy.

It had initially started as a way for pupils to unwind and meet each other in a relaxed, formal setting - but over the years it had become another big networking scheme. The top ten of each class would be cordially invited to the event, in hopes of meeting and impressing sponsors - other personnel who would be attending for the very reason of attaining future apprentices.

You’d entirely forgotten about it.

It wasn’t as if your attendance was mandatory…just highly recommended. If you wanted a future of any sort, that is.

“I don’t have time for this,” you grumble, and quickly toss the paper into your letter basket. You could figure out what you wanted to do later, when you weren’t pressed for time and about to be late to class.

—

When you stride into the lecture hall, you make an immediate beeline for your usual seat. Tucked up beside Viktor, near the window.

You’d previously been sitting together right in the middle of the room, which he claimed were the best possible seats for learning - but the moment you so much as mentioned liking the natural light from the window, he’d gone about trading spots with two of your classmates.

Thankfully they hadn’t put up much of a fuss, but you were grateful for the sentiment nonetheless. Ever since you’d fallen ill all those weeks ago, Viktor had been doing his best to be accommodating of your needs.

Sometimes at the expense of his own, though you tried to discourage those little habits.

“Good morning,” he greets you when you settle down beside him and start pulling your notes out.

“Hey,” you smile, the conversation only hesitating for a moment, before you ask, “You don’t happen to have any ideas for our final, do you?”

Viktor crinkles his nose slightly, and shakes his head. “We only just handed our fourth project in. We haven’t been graded yet.”

“I knoooow,” you whine, letting your head fall to rest on the desk. “But our last project is supposed to showcase everything we’ve learned about this semester. It wouldn’t hurt to get a head start.”

But much to your disappointment, Viktor is drawing as much of a blank as you are. You’d doodled a couple of ideas over the past week, trying to come up with some sort of design for a functional machine - scribbling for hours in an attempt to know the unknown and pull it forth from the universe.

So far, you just had a bunch of half-baked thoughts, and impossible, non-functional contraptions.

“Maybe we could head to the library over lunch?” you suggest, pouting at him hopefully. However, he seems to have grown immune to such an expression in his time knowing you, because he regards you with friendly suspicion.

“Are you sure you should be skipping a meal?” he wonders lightly, though you can hear the genuine concern in his tone.

But you understand where he’s coming from, and you’ve thankfully been more prepared as of late: you pull a small fabric satchel out of your bookbag, and hand it to him to curiously inspect.

Dried fruits, nuts, seeds, honeyed grains and little pieces of chocolate.

“You’ve been bringing snacks?” He sounds surprised.

“You never know when one of us might get hungry,” you retort, reaching over to pinch his cheek, “Don’t think I haven’t seen you skipping lunches, too.”

He has the decency to look bashful as he passes the bag back. “As long as you eat something,” he sighs, “You get terribly hangry, you know.”

You gently smack him as you feign offense, outright denying such heinous claims, and he fights back with equal fervor - the two of you quickly devolving into quiet giggles and halfhearted arguing.

Until your professor walks in, and wastes no time shushing the entire room.

—

Lunch, however, does not prove fruitful. Or at least it hasn’t thus far.

You and Viktor are huddled together at your usual spot, hidden away behind towering shelves and surrounded by textbooks. You’ve been tossing your thoughts back and forth for nearly half an hour, pressing your minds as hard as you can. 

His ideas are overall better than anything you’d tried to come up with, but they still don’t fully take into account all that you’d learned in your class. You’d made a few mock-ups to potentially alter the designs to include other functions, but whenever you added something, another thing would be greatly impacted - making the concept moot once again.

“What about…” Viktor mumbles, beginning to draw yet another small machine. However, he stops a couple seconds in, and sighs. “No, that won’t work.”

You’re getting frustrated, and you can tell that he is, too.

“We’ve been at it for thirty minutes,” you grumble, reaching up to flip the table lamp off. “Maybe we should-”

You hiss loudly, and whip your hand away. Neither of you miss the sizzle of your fingertips against the fiery metal lampshade, and you certainly feel the burn.

“Gods above,” you swear, waving your hand around in an attempt to cool off the sharp sting.

Viktor is quick to catch you, and pulls you closer by the wrist to further inspect the damage. He’s gentle when he prods at the inflamed area, and the chilliness of his fingers is pleasant, softly stroking over the small burn.

“It doesn’t look serious,” he says, after a couple of moments. “But if it blisters, you’ll want to put some salve and a bandage on it.”

You nod, though your mood is entirely soured.

“Stupid lightbulbs,” you grumble, carefully removing your hand from his grasp. “Why do they have to be so hot? They’re a fire hazard, and they make a damn mess when they explode!” and then quieter, “I wish we could make them better.”

You know you’re just complaining, feeling embarrassed for injuring yourself in such a mundane way, but your sentiment rings true - time and time again you’ve had to deal with the lights in your old workshop popping at random intervals, sometimes at the most dangerous and inopportune times. You still have the scar on your cheek to prove it.

It takes a couple of seconds for the thought to click into place.

But when it does, the two of you seem to have the same idea.

“Viktor!” you whisper-yell, excitement drawing up the corners of your mouth. “What about-”

“Better lightbulbs?”

You nod so fast it makes you dizzy, and turn towards your notebook, flipping to a new page.

“Look,” you instruct him, as you begin drawing up a concept you’d worked on a year or two prior. “I made these little thingies for my mom’s wheelchair, to help her see the controls in the dark.”

He follows the tip of your pencil with rapt attention, nodding along as you explain everything to him. How you’d been unable to find such a small lightbulb as to solder it into a circuit board - how you’d instead designed your own way to generate light, encasing the components in resin to keep them stable.

“I never really figured out how to deal with the heat emission,” you admit, crinkling your nose in frustration. “I lowered the energy expenditure as much as I could - low enough so it wouldn’t melt any of the metal pieces, but…”

“If we’re going to make it bright enough to light up a room, we’ll have to bump it back up,” he finishes for you.

You nod, and fall into a pensive silence.

“What if we could divert the heat?” he suggests, plucking your pencil right from your hand.

You watch while he scrawls a few quick concepts beneath your original drawing, using different methods you’d touched on in class. “If we can funnel the heat away from the meltable bits, then it might work more efficiently. Though…the light may be a little harsh, if all the brightness is coming from a single, tiny source.”

“We could always make a hollow resin case,” you propose, “Translucent white would help it cast light more evenly around a room, and if that’s the case, we can make it look like a standard lightbulb.”

“We could make it fit the standard socket, as well.”

The two of you jot down a couple more things, taking note of what ideas you might want to incorporate and how you might make certain things work. It’s not an overly convoluted process, though complications start to arise when you try to figure out how to build it.

You’d had access to the tools you’d needed, the first time you’d made your diodes - resin, molds, soldering tools and raw materials, clamps and magnifiers and heat guns. You knew that the academy had such things available to students, but it was usually at a personal cost.

You either paid the fee to use the items, or you put your names on a waiting list at -that this point- was a couple of weeks long.

You wouldn’t have enough time to go through the entire testing process and create your final project.

And neither of you had the pocket money to pay.

“I have what we need back home,” you admit, picking idly at your nails. “I don’t have enough space to store anything in my dorm, but…we could always head to my place for the weekend, if you’re available?”

You feel bad, springing the question on him so suddenly. Though you considered Viktor a friend, your relationship was still rather new - you don’t want your parents to hound him relentlessly, which you knew they might, if you brought him home. 

Your father would likely leave him well enough alone, out of politeness, but your mother is one of the nosiest people you know. She’d without a doubt question him until she made herself dizzy. Where are you from? What are you studying? What’s your relationship with my daughter?

She had no qualms about making people uncomfortable.

“Are you sure your parents would be alright with me joining you?” he asks, a worried crease appearing between his brows.

“Probably,” you sigh, carefully placing a bookmark in your notes before shutting the cover. “In all honesty, they’ll likely just be happy that I’m bringing someone home. They’ve been trying for years to get me to socialize, instead of holing up in the basement like some kind of hermit.”

Your words earn a soft laugh from him, and you smile, the sound stirring up the butterflies in your stomach.

After a couple more minutes of contemplation, Viktor agrees to your invitation, and you promise him that you’ll send a message to your parents that evening to alert them to your arrival.

—

The following evening, you meet up with Viktor in front of the academy, close to where you’d been dropped off at the very beginning of the semester. Neither of you have packed much for the weekend - he some clothing and writing materials, you your notebooks and silver pen box.

V hadn’t been very chatty as of late, but you didn’t feel any malicious intent from him - if you shared a class, then you know how busy he’s got to be. There wouldn’t be much else to talk about besides your projects, and that would be a dead giveaway on who he was.

It wasn’t like you’d stopped speaking to each other.

You still wrote to each other daily, asking about classes, complaining about stresses, and cracking jokes about your classmates. He’d thankfully been getting along with his partner for the last couple weeks, though while you’re happy that he’s having a better time with her than he had been, you can’t help the little pang of jealousy that stabs at your heart.

He’s allowed to have friends, you tell yourself, hoping the ache will somehow subside. I want him to have friends. I want him to have a good experience at the academy.

It does nothing to mitigate the way it hurts.

Though…you do feel a lot better when you’re around Viktor. His sly wit and the earnest excitement he adopts whenever you’re working on something together - he lifts your mood in the best of ways, and makes you forget about the little wounds decorating your heart.

You can’t help but wonder what your life would be like if you pursued him, instead.

But as quick as the thought comes, you banish it from your mind - it still flusters you as you approach your partner, though he thankfully doesn’t mention it.

“Our ride should be here soon,” you say, coming to a stop at his side. “My parents said they’d send someone to fetch us, but I don’t know if they had anyone specific in mind.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence while you wait, shivering slightly as the brisk wind meanders through the streets and up under your jackets.

Your taxi arrives after a couple of minutes, promptly coming to a stop in front of you, right on the hour, and you both clamber in. It’s not much warmer in the cab, but at least the wind is no longer whipping right through your bones.

“You’ve brought a friend this time!” the driver chips happily, heartily laughing as you long eyes in the mirror.

It takes you a moment to place where you’ve seen his face before, but when it dawns on you, you return his smile tenfold. “It’s you again!” you chime, recognizing him as the man who had brought you over at the beginning of the semester.

The two of you cheerfully catch up, as your previous conversation comes rushing back. He’s openly surprised that you even recall his face, let alone his name. And when you ask about his grandkids? He lights up with a palpable warmth.

He wastes no time in updating you on his life, going on and on about each of his kids, and their kids - shedding a joyful tear or two when he announces that his only daughter just had her first baby, a little girl that he got to meet just days prior.

You feel a little bad for leaving Viktor out of the conversation, but you know the aversion he has to certain social settings. In any case, he seems content to sit beside you in silence, while you chatter amicably with your old friend - a conversation you’re so invested in, that you completely miss the way he stares at you with the utmost affection.

By the end of the drive, you’ve half a mind to ask your driver to join you for coffee sometime. But you don’t want to overstep and perhaps put him in an uncomfortable position, so you instead settle for handing him the same hefty tip as the first day you’d met.

He waits while you and Viktor meander your way up the front walkway of your childhood home - waits until the two of you have opened the door and walked in, before taking off with a wave.

And then, you’re in silence.

The door shuts behind you, and it’s as if the outside world ceases to exist.

There’s a very distant echo of a gramophone playing music elsewhere in the house, but you can’t quite place where. The lights are dim, the floors are gathering dust, and the walls have begun to gather cobwebs - it’s like the entire place has frozen in time, filling you with a strange sense of emptiness.

Viktor sets a hand on your shoulder, as if your sudden shift in mood is visible. “Are you-”

But his words are cut off by a loud cacophony of…meowing?

You glance around for half a second, until the noise sounds off again, and you’re able to pinpoint the location to the top of the stairs. It grows closer with every squawk, and soon you’re also able to make the distinction of a tiny bell jingling. A quick little rhythm, closing in on the two of you.

Then, from around the upstairs corner, barely visible from where you stand in the front entrance, comes a cat.

At least…you’re pretty sure it’s a cat.

It’s white and incredibly fluffy, and startlingly large in stature. And sure enough, hanging at its throat on a soft yellow collar, is an itty bitty bell. But the thing most unsettling about the newcomer, are quite possibly its eyes.

Bright shocking blue, like the sky itself reflects there.

“Luca! Come on, away from the door!” comes your mother’s voice, scolding in words but hardly in tone. She speaks to the creature in the way one might coddle a baby - something you never thought you’d ever get to hear your mother do.

“Did they run out of guard dogs?” you tease, as she rounds the corner. 

Her face lights up when she realizes it’s you that’s causing all the fuss, and she wastes no time zipping closer in her motorized chair. “You know I’ve always preferred cats,” she retorts, gesturing you closer so she can hug you, “Besides, Luca chose this place all on his own. Didn’t you, sweet boy?”

When she releases you from her hold, she immediately starts making kissy noises at the great fluffy beast, enticing him up into the little padded basket she’d attached to the front of her chair.

“Momma, this is Viktor,” you say, once the cat is settled into his bed. “We met at school - I told you about him in the letter I sent yesterday. Remember?”

All at once, your mother’s cheerful demeanor dissipates.

Cold dread washes over you when she narrows her eyes at him, scooting her chair closer and closer so she can better scrutinize him. She looks entirely judgmental in how she almost glares down her nose at him, eyes cold and searching.

But then, right as you’re about to tell her to leave him alone, she perks back up.

All on her own.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Viktor,” she says, holding her hand out.

The two of you almost deflate as the relief rushes in. Your mother then steers away from him and motions you to follow.

“We really wish you’d visit more,” she chastises you, as she leads you down the hallway, towards the kitchen. “Your father has been terribly bored since you went away, and has decided to take up cooking as a hobby.”

She pauses briefly, and fixes you with a comically mortified expression.

“You’re lucky I convinced him to cook something normal for dinner, darling. The things he’s put on my plate these last couple months…” she stares off into the distance for a couple seconds, face wrinkling at the less than fond memories, before continuing the journey down the hall.

It doesn’t take long for the wafting smell to reach your nose, and moments later, the three of you step into the kitchen.

It’s always been a place you enjoyed spending time - coming upstairs in the middle of the night to hunt down whatever snack you desired, or to make some strange concoction of ingredients that would make most people cringe.

“Hi Papa,” you giggle, taking in the mess accumulating around most of the room. Dishes and various chopped ingredients, a toppled bag of mushrooms and rice pellets littering the floor, and so much flour.

Your father turns around at the sound of your laughter, his face lighting up the moment he lays eyes on you.

“Sweetpea!” he cries, and immediately crowds you into a hug.

You squirm and wriggle as he litters your face with kisses, squealing with glee. “You’re getting flour on my clean clothes!” you whine, but he only hugs you harder.

He finally relents when he thinks his smothering is sufficient, and you skip back to Viktor’s side to go through introductions again.

Your father doesn’t go through the same notions as your mother: where she had put on an air of judgment, he keeps the air around him light and friendly and welcoming. But you can see in the subtle stiffness of his posture - he doesn’t know what to think of your friend.

You know they’ll both love Viktor by the end of the weekend - the two of you are so alike, after all - but you know the journey will probably be met with the slightest bit of resistance. For all their hounding after you to make friends, they sure hadn’t been prepared for the fact that you might actually make friends.

It strikes you that perhaps they’re just stressed to see their daughter all grown up, and beginning to make her way in life.

That’s a conversation for another time, you think, wrapping your hand around Viktor’s wrist.

“Come on,” you tug him gently out of the kitchen, “We can get our books set up in the shop, and maybe start getting some materials together.”

—

Walking into your old workspace is once again like stepping straight into the past. It’s as cluttered as you remember it, with pieces and spare parts strewn across every surface. A half-finished project still lays in the center of your desk, and your main shelving unit is still stocked with the old trinkets you’d made when you first started getting into machinery.

It’s just…dustier.

“Feel free to look around,” you tell Viktor, setting your bag down on the lumpy couch you’d crammed into the corner of the room. 

You look around for a couple of seconds before locating the exact crate you need, and heft it onto your hip. “I’m going to the store room to grab some of the stuff we need,” you say.

Viktor glances up from where he’s fondly going over some of your old drawings.

“Do you need any help?” he wonders.

You shake your head. “It’s pretty tight in there, anyways. I don’t think we’d both fit. I’ll be back in a few.”

He watches as you disappear through the doorway, and smiles a couple moments later when he hears metallic rustling and the sounds of machine parts knocking together.

His attention is quickly drawn once again to all the work you’d done over the years - hundreds of drawings and notes pinned up to a corkboard on the wall, strings attached to pins to connect them together. 

Some of the doodles, he has no idea what to make of. The lines are sloppy and unmeasured, so he guesses that they’re some of your first ever designs - impossible and unrealistic, but creative nonetheless.

He recognizes other things, though. Simple machines that he’s also studied when he’d first started out, learning by taking stuff apart and putting it back together again.

He pauses.

Backtracks.

Recognizes more than just a simple machine: a drawing he’d made, years ago at this point, but most definitely one of his. 

But what was it doing here? He remembers sketching it out, because he’d had to copy it in ink instead of graphite.

Had to copy it because…

His gaze darts towards the door for a few seconds, to make sure you’re still occupied in the other room, before he begins searching around your shelves in earnest.

Every time his eyes find a new object, he knows it. He remembers the story behind it - remembers drawing it himself, or watching the lines appear in his notebook as his beloved friend shared it.

His best friend, whom he wrote to every day.

His best friend, whose face he didn’t know.

His best friend, who shared with him a pair of magic pens.

She was you?

[oflowtides]

⸻  JOHN GALLAGHER JR. HE/HIM  / have you ever heard of I WISH I COULD GO BACK TO COLLEGE by avenue q obc, well, it describes JAMES ‘JIMMY’ BRUMEIER to a tee! the thirty seven year old, and DESK CLERK was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say HE is more unproductive or more BOYISH instead? anyway, they remind me of crooked ties, coffee ring stains on a nice desk, unruly hair no matter how many times you comb it and never really wanting to grow up, maybe you’ll bump into them soon!

time in notting hill: ten years

The best word to describe Jimmy would be unmotivated. He never had much of a drive to do anything other than play video games or binge watch shows and movies. Growing up, it was like pulling teeth to try to get him to do his homework and participate in class, or even get a part time job because he really just didn't want to do it. Despite this, he didn't hate school; the structure was reassuring and helped keep him on a schedule despite the late nights doing whatever it was he wanted to do with his free time.

There were a number of reasons for Jimmy to show up to school every day - one of them being he had to, but the other was Yale Cameron. She was both his best friend and his longest relationship - the pair dated for two years, and there was no one he felt more comfortable or at ease around. He had been convinced for a while that she was his soul mate, and while that still rang true after they broke up, it was not in the way he had initially thought. However, the two became a packaged deal, rarely going anywhere without the other, and their closeness and lack of boundaries often made their respective dating life hard.

Everyone who knew him was only half shocked to hear he actually wanted to go to college - his lack of drive in school lead most people to believe that he'd graduate high school and wash his hands with schooling, but the idea of more personal freedom coupled with the structure Jimmy clung to was too enticing. He barely scraped by and managed to get into a state school, and the cycle started over - but this time he tended to skip more classes so he could party or sleep or play video games all day. He failed his first year, which wasn't a shock to anyone, but he didn't get kicked out either, so the cycle continued.

He did manage to graduate (a few semesters later than the peers he started with however) and spent the first six months doing nothing but buying lotto tickets and sitting around doing nothing, living close to campus because student housing was cheaper and he refused to move back home. This weirdly paid off, as Jimmy won the jackpot. Suddenly he had more money than he knew what he could or even should do with - so he decided that he should move to the UK because there was nothing tying him down (especially because Yale was moving with him - he wasn't going to go anywhere without his platonic life partner).

The move was surprisingly easy - though he kept the fact that he was now nearly a millionaire to himself. He decided to get a desk job to keep himself busy, and to have a means of income to at least explain where he got money to do stuff with. The structure of an office was good for him - he's too aimless without someone telling him what to do and when to do it - but despite being in a more 'grown up' environment, he was still stuck in a college boy mindset, and that was very evident from the way he ate, talked, and often dressed outside of the office. It was either charming or a huge turn off - Jimmy found there was rarely a middle ground.

He hasn't burned through too much of the money; rarely wanting to draw that much attention to himself or want to make big purchases, he still has about half of it after all this time, sitting in a savings account. Only the Cameron siblings know about it, as they're more or less his own siblings at this point. He could mature a little more if you asked anyone who knew him, but his personality is pleasant enough, eager to step up and help anyone who needs it with minimal complaining depending on the task, and sometimes his more immature outlook on life can remind people that not everything needs to be so serious all the time.

[indigolover97]

We’re Dripping In It

Chapter 6: Boy Meets Evil

Jungkook’s new position at D-Town keeps him busy and suddenly the free time he used to have is gone. Between classes, homework, dance and vocal practice for his performances, there was hardly any time for him to do more than fall into bed when he got home. Occasionally he’d crash at Yoongi and Taehyung’s guest room but he tries not to intrude on their hospitality too much.

If it had been anyone else, a budding relationship would have been pushed to the side but Jungkook makes an effort to text Namjoon everyday. And Jungkook is pleased to find that the man’s patience and consideration knew no bounds. More often than not, the pair would find the time to meet up after Jungkook’s nightly performances.

Namjoon came nearly every night and saved a spot for them on the couch of the VIP floor.

“How are your classes?” Namjoon greeted with a smile, handing Jungkook a bottle of water as he sat down on the leather couch next to him.

Jungkook groaned, taking the water gratefully as he took a long sip. “I think I got placed with some of the worst professors this semester. We’re barely a month in and I’m already loaded with a packet of homework from each of my classes, plus two different papers due in two weeks.”

Namjoon winced sympathetically, “I’m sorry to hear that, I’m sure your new schedule at D-Town hasn’t helped.”

“Serves me right for putting off the required credits for my major,” Jungkook gripped bitterly, brushing his sweaty bangs out of his face. “Probably should have stayed a bartender, I would have had more time to study.”

“While I’m sure that would make things easier for you,” Namjoon said, smiling kindly at him. “I can see how much you love being on stage. The hard times will pass and you’ll thank yourself later for sticking through it.”

Jungkook sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I hope you’re right, anyway enough about me. What’s been going on with you? Did the visit with your family go well?”

Namjoon smiled widely, his dimples popping in his cheeks. “Yes, the visit with my parents went well. It was nice to see them after so long, I rarely have time off to go to our family home. I took those pictures like I promised.”

“Oh!” Jungkook gasped eagerly, scooching closer over to Namjoon as he pulled out his phone and started showing him photos of his family dog, Moni. “Oh my god, he’s adorable!”

Jungkook drank in the photos of the fluffy white american eskimo dog, giggling at the various silly photos Namjoon took of the excited puppy. He gaped at the beautiful scenic photos Namjoon took as well, listening with rapt attention as Namjoon explained where he was on his parent’s property.

“This place sounds huge,” Jungkook whispered, looking at Namjoon in shock.

Namjoon shrugged and tucked his phone away, “It’s only a hundred acres, mostly woodland and mountain. My mother didn't want to retire to a farm life but my father wanted to be in nature, so they compromised.”

“I’ll say,” Jungkook muttered, trying his best to keep his composure to how wealthy Namjoon’s family seemed to be. “It’s a beautiful place, I’m glad they have the time to enjoy it.”

Namjoon hummed in agreement, “They’ve earned it and retirement life is suiting them better than I thought it would. I was really going home to check on them, but they seem to be adjusting to the quiet life quite well.”

Jungkook nodded in understanding, then decided to change the subject before Namjoon could. By now he knew Namjoon didn’t like talking about his family too much, so he never pressed, figuring they were just extremely private people.

“I’m sorry we haven’t been able to meet often outside of the club,” Jungkook apologized, biting his lip piercing nervously. The metal ring twisted through his teeth and dug through this skin, the dull pain distracted him from his stomach bubbling nervously. Since the art museum, neither he nor Namjoon had been able to find the time to meet outside of D-Town. And Jungkook was starting to worry that the man would grow bored with him.

Namjoon shook his head, “You don’t have to apologize Jungkook-ah. If it wasn’t your work taking up time, mine would. I’m just glad we’re able to meet up regularly at all.”

Jungkook smiled, “I guess I shouldn’t complain then, I don’t think you’ve missed one of my shows this past week. At least I’ll have one regular listener.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about that,” Namjoon chuckled, peering at him slyly. “I’ve seen a lot of regular faces since you’ve started performing. I don’t think Yoongi-hyung is ever going to have to worry about booking a big name here again.”

Jungkook blushed and scratched the back of his head, “Hyung was very insistent that I focus on my classes and performances when he made my contract. I think Taehyungie-hyung wanted to frame it after I signed it.”

Namjoon chuckled at Jungkook’s exasperated groan, “Your hyungs have really taken you in. How long have you known them?”

“I think it's going on about four years now,” Jungkook said after a moment of thought. “I lived with them the first three years I was on my own in Seoul. They helped me a lot while I was getting to my feet here.”

“What did you come to Seoul for?” Namjoon asked, putting Jungkook at ease with the gentle conversation.

“I went to high school here in the city, when the travel between my hometown and Seoul became too expensive I started looking for a place to live. I just happened to hear someone talk about D-Town needing new bartenders during my search and decided to try my shot.” Jungkook explained, remembering how intimidating he found Yoongi-hyung to be at first. His cold business attitude and thin red scar over his right eye would intimidate any seventeen year old. But the man had softened the moment he learned of Jungkook’s situation and immediately gave him both a job and a place to stay.

Namjoon opened his mouth to ask another question but was cut off by his phone going off. He sighed heavily as he pulled it out and looked at the caller ID, “One of these days I’ll get a night off without interruptions.”

Jungkook watched as Namjoon silenced his phone but the look on his face said that he would have to leave. He gave Namjoon a gentle smile, “It’s alright, I’m glad you were able to come at all and have some time to talk.”

Namjoon looked remorseful but Jungkook stopped any apologies with a wave of his hand before taking one of Namjoon’s hands in his.

“Please don’t apologize, any time we can get is enough.” Jungkook said softly, squeezing Namjoon’s hand.

Namjoon nodded and squeezed Jungkook’s hand in return, “The day neither of us are too bound up with schedules, I’ll take you somewhere special.”

Jungkook grinned widely, “I look forward to it then.”

“Are you going to your apartment tonight?” Jungkook nodded. “Do you need a ride there?”

Jungkook shook his head, most nights he agreed to Namjoon dropping him off or calling a cab for him, but tonight he wanted to walk under the early morning sky. “It’s alright, I’ll walk this time.”

Namjoon looked like he was going to protest but his phone vibrated loudly in his pocket, he glared down at it. “It seems I won’t be getting a moment’s peace until I answer. Text me when you get home.”

“I will,” Jungkook promised, blushing when Namjoon placed a goodbye kiss on his sweaty forehead before leaving the VIP floor. He sighed as he watched the door close behind the man, finishing the water bottle in two gulps before making his way down to the employee locker room. He tried to console himself with what Namjoon had said, this schedule of theirs wouldn’t be forever, eventually they’d be able to go out on normal dates.

He pulled his sweaty stage clothes off and placed them in the employee hamper before pulling on his spare sweats from inside his locker. He pulled on Namjoon’s jacket before grabbing his backpack and heading out the door, desperate to be home and shower off the grim from the stage. The cold early morning air hits his face as he exits the back door of D-Town, the streets are empty as he makes his way down the familiar blocks.

When he turns on the street corner near his complex he does a double take at the group of men that are loitering near the narrow alleyway, the one where he first met Namjoon. There’s a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging over the mens’ heads, he nearly coughs at the intense smell as he passes. None of the men even glance at Jungkook, much to his relief, and he tries to keep his pace steady as he continues towards his complex.

A scuffle of feet sound behind him and Jungkook forces himself not to glance back, to keep moving forward. He’s almost under the lamp light in front of the front door when someone throws their arms around him. A cloth is placed hard around his mouth and nose before he has time to react. He kicks and flails around wildly, making contact with the men’s solid bodies, until his vision goes dark.

The last thing he thinks before his body goes limp in the stranger’s hold and his consciousness leaves him, is how much his hyungs are going to worry when he doesn’t show up for work tomorrow.

[albedostartarus]

You know what’s funny? All this stupid fucking. and I’m not even growing, my knowledge about photography and layout design is the exact fucking same as last semester. Fashion studio, all that work? Nothing. K came into this semester with the exact same amount of sewing knowledge as me—- started studio 2 weeks late— picked the most difficult pattern and learned to sew it ON THE FLY as she made the dress. I did. Nothing. She’s come out someone with a knowledge of sewing and patterns and all that I want to learn and I did. Nothing. You know why I didn’t pick the stupid fucking sewing project? Because I was boo boo fucking scared, oh no what if I’m unable to sew! Oh no! Boo fucking hoo she went out and did it and all I did was tell her that she had the choice to not do it whenever she encountered AND eventually cleared an obstacle in her process.

I’m not only a stupid fucking person with no technical skill or ability I’m also a horrible fucking person. R got her first internship after the first fucking semester after being accepted to a design program at one of the best universities in the world with a full scholarship while she had a fraction of the resources and experience that I did. S was accepted to bits Pilani and chose not to go bc of the fees, K was accepted to RISD and didn’t go hc of the fees and has nearly a twice as large scholarship to parsons. Z has had way more problems in life than I have, like actual problems not just "oh no! my computers slow!" and she's way better than me, had experience working with design and art before I ever started work on my stupid fucking portfolio that I took a gap year for. It took me a WHOLE GAP YEAR TO MAKE A MEDIOCRE PORTFOLIO RHAT GOT ME A MEDIOCRE SCHOLARSJIP INTO A SCHOOL I DIDNT EVEN HAVE ON MY TOP FUCKING THREE.

Last semester I was the only one who didn’t finish the time class final and I chose to not go to critique and pretended I didn’t wake up bc I didn’t want to face my class knowing that I took up a large project knowing damn well it was a challenge and confidently told the prof I could pull it off then failed due to my own shortcomings.

My grades in 10th were mediocre my grades in 12th were bad and I wasn’t even good enough in the prelimsries to get into CS and was only let it after submitting a special request following the final results which only met the intake by a THIN amount

my skin is full of acne scars and blackheads because I never took care of it my teeth cost my dad several Lakhs because I wasn’t even able to wear a fucking retainer regularly and I STILL don’t and I STILL can’t do the bare minimum of brushing properly and my tooth look like actual shit.

My feet look like shit because I never took care of them my toe nails are chipped and disgusting and there’s the remnants of an untreated blood clot in one of them and ugly patches of hair everywhere

My eyesight fucking sucks because surprise surprise! I didn’t fucking take care of it and cost my family money

I was fat as hell and lately my solution to that has been actively starving myself which in the past has also SIRORISE SIRPRISE cost my family money because I keep having to get blood tests done and get supplements

I can’t talk to people and didn’t have a single friend until 6th and after that still couldn’t talk to anyone except them, I made friends during the pandemic and you know what!!! I’m still FUCKING AWKWARD AROUND THEM!!!’ I CANT TALK TO THE PRIPLE I TRUST THE MOST !!!!! WHATS THE FUCKING POINT!!!!!!

I have ugly legs ugly face ugly nails ugly waist ugly ass ugly everything, my skins getting worse because I fucked up my sleeping schedule as a teenager

I don’t have a CV a resume a portfolio and haven’t applied to a single job in my entire life. I’m pathetic and can’t even do the most basic things in life and all I’ve done for the past 5-7 years I’d be mediocre and waste my family’s money. Im pathetic. I’m stupid. Im ugly. I’m incapable of even keeping my room SOMEWHAT clean let alone keeping myself looking attractive. And now I’m here in college wasting more of my parents’ money while continuing to be mediocre and stupid.

I deserve to die and everyone in my life deserves so much better than me. I don’t know how many of my friends talk and hang out with me out of obligation and bc it’s like I’m almost forcing them and how many even actyally want to and if they don’t I can’t even blame them because I wouldn’t hang out with me either! I’m everything I hate and more and I keep pretending otherwise in hopes that the people I love wouldn’t leave me.

[likeswallowstosea]

For a moment, Madeline’s smile fades. A real person, the bitterness in his words was impossible to miss, but were they directed at her career, the expectations from her mother and their father she never felt close to living up to no matter how hard she’d tried, or Madeline as a person? How was she even supposed to respond? It wasn’t like he was wrong, if it was Jason or Emily, she’d be trying to school her expression the second she’d caught herself, trying to move past it without ever addressing the sting. But this was Spencer, with how much he’d noticed, and internalized, he’d probably started beating himself up the second her expression shifted. Yet again, she’d caused one of her sibling’s discomfort without meaning to. “We were never really allowed to do that, huh. Just be real people.” 

Sure, there were always those stolen moments, her entire friendship with Remi stemmed from her sneaking off to escape for a bit with him for a while before they were able to leave that bubble for good. But, she couldn’t imagine Spencer’s childhood feeling any less suffocating, in fact, from the way he spoke about it, it was obvious the grass hadn’t been greener on the other side. “We should do stuff like this more often, Spence. I don’t know if I can do a guaranteed weekly thing with my schedule, but I’d be willing to try to if your classes aren’t too intense this semester.”

So, maybe she hadn’t addressed things per se, but at least everything was genuine, even if the act of discussing it felt like pulling her own teeth. “You stole the access codes to the Arcade so you could break in and play? Spencer, that’s illegal.” She sighs, glancing over to her younger brother. But who was she to crush him even more, and after a few moments she sighed. “I’m calling Remi if we need to be bailed out of jail, just so you’re aware. You really need to return those keys though, Spence.”

"It's amazing how much fun you can have when you remember you're a real person, right?" Spencer asked, the words a bit more bitter than he truly intended. In his defense, it wasn't directed towards Madeline herself. In fact, even as kids, he seemed like he was the only one in the family who felt more excitement than awkwardness and dread whenever their paths crossed. Any sort of discomfort only risen from the feeling like somehow he was at fault for the distance between her and the rest of his family. If anything, they should have been brought together to fight against the common enemy like a Hollywood superhero trope. "Okay, so it's totally okay if it's too risky, but.... my friend is basically the manager to the arcade just down the street, and he may have been careless and lost the keys and access codes that had somehow ended up in my possession, and he had to get new ones for himself- point is, he trusts me far too much, and I have twenty four hour access to it, and no one ever bothers me. Anytime someone see's the lights on, they just assume it's staff cleaning up after hours or testing everything out."

[iced-nct]

Anti-Romantic

*Pairing* Class President(?)Renjun x Reader

*Word Count* 1.7k

*Warnings* some language, enemies (?) to lovers au, Renjun being a meanie sometimes. Mostly fluff

*Synopsis* He was a serial anti-romantic. Rejecting any girl who showed an interest in him. That's why you avoided him. At least that's what you convinced yourself to believe.

There was a core memory you had of Class President Huang Renjun, and it was not a pretty one. But as he sat across the lab table from you dividing the project between you, it was all you could think of.

-

It was your sophomore year of college and your older brother had dropped you at school a little later than usual. However, those fifteen minutes made all the difference as you witnessed a gaggle of freshman girls help their friend gather up the courage to approach Renjun. As you passed you could clearly hear him rejecting her, in quite a painful way. It seemed odd for him, as whenever you two crossed paths he was always pleasant. Not warm per say, but pleasant. This girl must’ve caught him on a bad day, he all but spit on her confession to him.

“I don’t date.” He deadpanned.

The freshman ran back to her friends who cooed apologies and reassurance at her. One of them turned to Renjun “You don’t have to be such an ass.” She spat. He just shrugged his shoulders as though he gets called worse daily. You just put your head down and power walked past the scene that was beginning to unfold. After that you pretty much aimed to avoid Renjun, hearing whispers from girls who confessed to him that he also passed on. By the time you both were months from graduating college it was well known that the most desirable bachelor in the school would remain just that. A bachelor. That still didn’t deter stubborn admirers from leaving notes and gifts at his car or on his desk.

Which leads you to where you are now. In honors Biology with Renjun as your lab partner, you were assigned to him late in the semester as you had to make some schedule changes and he was the only one without a partner. So here you sit, across from someone who you hadn’t spoken to since the first few weeks of sophomore year. A small box of caramels sat on the desk between you, a reminder of the fact that Renjun is a serial anti-romantic.

“You can have them if you want” he says to you when he notices your eyes locked onto the satin box.

“Oh, no that’s okay. I was just wondering who would have left them” you thumb the tag, revealing a note asking Renjun to the graduates gala.

He grabs the box from your touch and tosses it in the trashcan behind him. Your teeth grit slightly, pitying whoever was brave enough to confess to the president.

“Like I was saying. We must put all this together by Friday, and I’m busy with student council every night except tomorrow. So, you can just come over to mine after we finish classes tomorrow.” Renjun goes on whilst flipping through his bio notes.

Your eyes just about fall out of your head at his statement and the flat tone it was delivered with. Renjun just invited you over to his house. Scratch that. Insisted you go over. For the project, obviously. But it didn’t help to slow down your heartrate, or the thoughts swirling through your head.

“Did you hear what I said?” His voice pulling you from your thoughts, you shook your head in response. “I said since you don’t drive, I can meet you at the parking lot and take you. I’ll drop you at home after as well.” The way he says these things is so smooth that you almost forget who’s talking to you.

“But what will your fans think?” You mutter to yourself just a little too loudly.

“My fans? Hm. I don’t really care” He finally looked up from his textbook at you, his eyes resting on yours with intent. You just nodded along, hoping that maybe you’ll catch a cold tonight and can’t come to school tomorrow.

-

There was no miracle cold that kept you from school on that cloudy Wednesday, and the school day seemed to have breezed past. After grabbing your biology books and coat you headed out to the parking lot to find Renjun. He was never hard to spot, wherever he went his admirers followed. Your heart sunk when you saw him standing by his black Audi, surrounded by girls. As soon as he saw you, he opened the passenger door for you to get in. You did so with haste, not wanting to listen to the defeated cries outside the door. Renjun climbed in the drivers’ seat and took off before you had time to fasten your seatbelt.

“Sorry about them. I’ve never driven another girl home.” He says, without ever taking his eyes off the road.

Shrugging seemed to be the only viable option. All you could think of is what would happen at school tomorrow. Hoping that you wouldn’t be chased around campus by a pack of angry women. Renjun seemed to live close to the school, in a brand-new high-rise building. What really amazed you was that he lived here alone, the rent had to be triple what you paid.

“You can leave your stuff in the closet. I’ll make tea.” Renjun padded off into the kitchen, leaving you standing in the entryway.

You hung your coat in the closet and set your bag on the rack above it, only taking your pens and books to the table in the living room. Making yourself comfortable on a cushion on the floor and spreading your information out on half of the coffee table, you waited patiently for Renjun to return. He came into the room with two mugs of tea a few moments later, the scent of peppermint tea filling the air once the mugs were placed on the table. You gave a small smile in thanks.

“Where should we start?” You asked, while starting to thumb through your textbook.

“We could start with why you’ve been avoiding me for two years.” He replied nonchalantly, you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Did you think I didn’t notice? You stopped being friends with Jeno and Jaemin because it meant seeing me” He chuckled a little.

“I meant with the project. Where we should start on the project” You tried to coax the conversation away from where you knew it was going. Trying to steer clear of talking about your former best friends and why you avoided Renjun.

“I knew what you meant. But I’m curious. They tell me it’s because you liked me” He egged you on.

Sighing in defeat you closed your textbook and stared at him. “Yeah. I did.”

“Well, why did you never say anything?” His eyes narrowed and his head cocked to the side.

-

You went back to that morning of sophomore year, furious at your older brother for making you late. The day had been planned around you being on time, texting Jeno and Jaemin to make sure they were aware of your tardiness. The plan was in motion, your friends texting Renjun to meet them by the front doors of the main building on campus. You practically fell out of your brother’s car before he had even fully stopped, not wanting to waste any more time. But when you saw Renjun reject that girl, you couldn’t do it. You didn’t want to be humiliated the way she had been. So instead, you continued walking, texting your friends about what happened and avoiding them for the rest of the day. Which soon turned to weeks of ignoring, and soon it was years.

-

“Because I saw how you rejected that freshman. And heard of every rejection since then. I didn’t want to be one of them” tears falling freely down your cheeks. The memory was harder when you had to stomach all of it like that.

This time it was Renjun’s turn to be taken aback, his eyes wide with shock at what you just confessed to him. In a swift motion he was beside you, his large hands wiping away your tears. With your face in his hands, he forced you to look at him, his eyes softened when they bore into yours.

“Did you ever wonder why I rejected that girl?” His voice soft, as if he was scared that he could break you. You shook your head at his question. “I knew you were coming. Did you really think the guys wouldn’t tell me?” You couldn’t resist rolling your eyes, of course your friends had told him. Of course he knew.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Now it was your turn to interrogate him. His hand dropped from your cheeks to your lap, resting over your own.

“I’ve always been blunt with responses. Especially when I’m nervous” He started. “That morning I remember being so giddy about you coming to meet me. But then those girls showed up before you got there. I couldn’t stop myself. The words came out before I even had a chance to process what was happening, and I know it’s no excuse but if you give me a chance-“ You cut him off by leaning forward and softly pressing your lips to his.

Renjun looks surprised at your decision to kiss him. But he wastes no time kissing you back, cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You both continue like this for a few minutes, until you end up sitting on Renjun’s lap with your head on his shoulder and his hand rubbing your back.

“You cut me off before I could ask. But I was wondering if you had a date for the graduates gala?” he looked down at you with hope filled eyes.

“No one has asked. Why?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Well in that case… (y/n) would you allow me to accompany you to the gala?” Renjun smiled at you.

His smile was contagious, it had spread from him to you and before you knew it you were kissing him again. The excitement bubbling in your stomach at the thought of Renjun being your date to the gala.

“Of course I will” You broke the kiss to answer him.

Your heart fluttered as he pulled you into another kiss. Though your mind couldn’t get over the fact that he wasn’t an anti-romantic, he was just waiting for you.

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 12,857

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

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

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

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

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

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s watching you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

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

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

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

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

Wait. Sexy? 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

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

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

“Did you need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

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

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

God. 

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

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

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

No. No, no, no, no. 

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

God fucking damn it.

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

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

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

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

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

“Gimme the paperwork.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

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

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

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

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

“Something came up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah. But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless. 

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you. 

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements. 

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.  

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis. 

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N). 

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet. 

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright. 

“What is the cell membrane?” 

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain. 

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance. 

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer. 

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you. 

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin. 

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.” 

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.  

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips. 

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior. 

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.   

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine. 

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus. 

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision. 

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather. 

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait… 

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper. 

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.  

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade. 

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise. 

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts? 

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit. 

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.  

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg. 

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by. 

“Hold still,” he commands. 

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit. 

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form. 

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?” 

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face. 

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you. 

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance. 

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think. 

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–” 

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips. 

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass. 

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need. 

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness. 

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice. 

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head. 

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again. 

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms. 

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good. 

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face. 

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting. 

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips. 

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release. 

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs. 

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders. 

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you. 

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy. 

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​, @libiraki​ <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here. 

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

[a-supernatural-writer]

Blood Oranges | Part 1

Summary: The holiday break is on the horizon, finals are weeks away, and you and your older brother are attending college in Vermont, ready to be done with school and be back home with your parents. Though, while fiddling around with your parents old camcorder, you come across some old tapes that look a little all too familiar to you and your brother.

Word Count: 3,570

Warnings: swearing

Poly Lost Boys x FemReader | slight male oc x male oc

Note: I decided to hope in the train of “another dimension” tropes. I hope I do it justice and I hope you all enjoy it! Also inspired by @theyreonlynoodlesmike and @slasherboyos and their stories. If you don’t already know them or have read there stories, please do so! They are amazing in every sense of the word. Again, I hope you enjoy!

Blood Oranges Main Masterlist

Next Part

“Y/n.”

Your hands froze, hovering over the keyboard of your laptop. Someone whispered your name. Your eyes looked up from the screen, thinking that maybe your teacher started going around the room to see how everyone was doing. But your eyes didn’t see anyone in front of you and your teacher was at the very front of the lecture hall, doing whatever they were doing on their own laptop.

Maybe it was your supernatural podcast you were listening to. Maybe your brain was playing tricks on you and misheard a word. Probably. That happens when you listen to music sometimes.

Fingers danced across your keyboard once again, the paper not due for another week but you did not want to spend your entire vacation doing work. Might as well get some of it done.

“Y/n.”

It happened again.

You pulled out an earbud and whirled around in your chair. Nobody was behind you. You furrowed your brow in confusion and then slowly turned back around, eyes searching around the lecture hall. Mostly every student had their earbuds in their ears and backs hunched from looking down at their laptops.

One of your fellow classmates glanced away from their screen, catching your confused expression, and pulled out one of their ear buds, “Hey, you good Y/n?”

Your head whipped to them, taking a moment before answering. You nodded, writing away the whispering you were hearing, “Yeah, I thought I heard my name being called. I’m probably exhausted.”

It was a believable excuse. It was almost the end of the semester, Thanksgiving break was only a day away and all your teachers decided to dump two assignments to be due at the same time. Everyone, not only you, was losing sleep from staying up late or pulling all-nighters to complete even a fraction of their work.

Your classmate groaned in agreement, “I feel you girl, I swear this semester we're all just surviving.”

You smiled under your face mask. This semester was defined by that word; survival. With colleges being somewhat back to normal in the midst of a pandemic, teachers were slowly but surely getting everyone back to their regular schedule. Though it made every single student feel like they were running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. Everyone was making it by the skin of their teeth.

Your classmate stuck their earbud in their ear and went back to their work, ending the short lived conversation. Following in their footsteps, you did the same, turning up the volume of your podcast just a tiny bit, drowning out the silence in the room.

Thankfully, you were able to continue working without another voice whispering your name. Instead, your focus was on your final paper, in which you finished half and left the class when it was officially over.

Still keeping your supernatural podcast going, you curled your hands into fists in your coat pockets, trying to keep them warm.

Autumn in Vermont… The cold never really bothered you, which was surprising because your home was back in California, but there was always a point where you couldn’t take it. Today was one of those days. If the wind wasn’t blowing, you wouldn’t be shivering as you walked along the paths round campus.

Your college was a quiet prestige one. The college could have anyone confuse it for a castle. Every building is made of stone with gothic architecture, large patches of green with bronze statue water fountains scattered about the campus.

God, you almost felt like everyday you walked into the movie, ‘Dead Poets Society’. You weren’t complaining, but you felt intimidated almost every time you set foot in one of the buildings.

“And here she is, my baby sis, Y/n.” Your older brother, who was only older than you by one year, jumped into your path, walking backwards as he filmed you with an old camcorder. It was given to the both of you by your parents to share. Though he used it way more than you did.

You raised a brow, amused by him, still walking as he filmed you, “Hi, Freddie.” You pulled down your mask, revealing the rest of your face. The school had a policy about wearing masks at all times inside any of the buildings, but you were allowed to not wear them outside.

Freddie grinned, his own must tucked underneath his chin, “As you can see, my sister is heading towards her natural habitat…” He turned around and filmed toward the direction of the on campus coffee shop, “Starbucks. After what I’m guessing a boring morning class?” He flips the camera back towards you.

You laughed, pausing your podcast and placing your earbuds in your pocket, “How right you are. But, I’m thinking of the artisan coffee shop in town.”

Your college was connected to a smaller town that was built for the students over the past couple of decades. Coffee shop, bookstore, couple of markets and even a small town square for seasonal events.

“Oh, how riveting.” Freddie comments.

“Coming with?” You asked. Usually in the morning the two of you would have your own separate time away from each other and meet up for dinner before heading back to your shared dormitory.

Freddie hummed, turning around and falling into place right next to you, facing the camera towards the both of you, “Venting about how shitty classes are while consuming caffeine? I’m down.”

Somehow along the way into the college town, you got Freddie to turn off the camcorder. It was always attached to his hip, and he mostly only filmed you and his friends in your free time.

It was when the two of you were sitting down at a window seat in the coffee shop did you scold him for turning it on again, “Dude, seriously?”

You leaned back into your seat, your fall coat hanging on the back of your chair along with your shoulder bag with your belongings in it. You crossed your arms, a shiver going up your spine as your cold hands touched your bare arms. You wore only a black short sleeved shirt under your coat with your dark jeans and boots. You never wore anything sensible for the cold.

Freddie almost matched you to a ‘T’, a slate gray t-shirt with nice jeans and matching boots, his own coat hanging on his chair, “What?” He complained.

You shook your head, “How much space do you even have on there?” You picked up your beverage, another shiver running through you, but from the heat of the cup.

“Uh, at least ten more hours on this tape and then I got a few blanks in the case and some other ones that need to be converted. Plus I grabbed some of mom and dads tapes from home.” Freddie explained as he filmed the food that was on the table, moving towards the window to record the outside world.

You had to admit, the college town was nice, the trees were a beautiful mixture of reds, oranges and yellows. The cobblestone walkways were splattered with their color, and multiple shops had a mixture of Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations up.

“Shit.” Freddie whispered in a panic, placing his camcorder back on the table and looking away with a light red dusting his ears.

That caught your attention. You followed Freddie’s quick glances over to the register where people ordered their coffee. You smiled once you saw what, or actually who, made your brother so flustered, “Why don’t you go and talk to him?” You asked, daring to take a sip of your beverage, hoping to not get your tongue slightly burned. You failed.

The ‘him’ that you were talking about was a boy in the same year as Freddie, very curly brunette hair rested on top of his head, slightly tanned skin and dark brown eyes. He wore a very worn out leather jacket that had a few patches sewn into it, light jeans with white nikes and had a single dangle earring of a star in his left ear.

His name was Jason. And your brother had a huge crush on him. The two worked together on projects before and have hung out a couple of times, but Freddie was a little shy when it came to boys. Especially the brunette.

“It’s not like the two of you haven’t hung out before.” You reminded him, setting down your cup. It was still scolding hot and you did not want to burn your tongue even more.

Freddie rubbed his neck, “Yeah but that was for projects. We haven’t spent time together outside of that.” Freddie looked back at Jason. Even with the face mask, Freddie thought Jason was still pretty.

“Probably doesn’t even recognize me.” Freddie looked back at you and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“Then why is he walking over here right now?” You asked, grabbing the camcorder and flipping it around on the table to face him and Jason, who was now walking over to your table.

Freddie whipped his head and was greeted by Jason who had his mask tucked under his chin, backpack slung over his shoulder and a to-go coffee in his hand. The curly haired brunette smiled down at Freddie, “Hey, Freddie, Y/n, how are you guys doing?”

You greeted Jason with a friendly smile; he was very sweet, “Doing good.”

“Good.” Freddie repeated your words, not trusting his voice at the moment.

You bit your lip amused as Jason talked to your flustered brother. “Nice. I just wanted to stop by really quickly and say hi to you guys before I headed out to my last class for today. Oh! And I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go get coffee over the break?” He asked Freddie.

Freddie stuttered for a quick moment before answering, “I would love to but, uh, we’re going back home to Santa Cruz for the week. We aren’t staying on campus.”

Jason blinked and then chuckled, “That actually works out. Usually I would stay in my apartment off campus for the holidays but, my parents are actually in Santa Cruz too. I’m heading back there tonight actually.”

Jason and you connected eyes for a second and you smiled at him, already knowing this tidbit of information, “What a coincidence!” You exclaimed.

Freddie glared at you as you continued to speak, “You should totally stop by. I’m sure our family would love it.”

Jason smiled at you grateful for the invitation, “Totally. Here…” Jason placed his coffee on the table for a moment and pulled out a piece of paper with his number on it, “Give me a call once you get back home.”

He hands the paper to Freddie and picks up his coffee, “I’ll see you guys later!”

You and Freddie waved Jason goodbye. The minute Jason was gone from your sights, You picked up the camcorder and aimed it at Freddie, “And that ladies and gentlemen is how you help your brother get a date.”

“You planned that, didn't you?”

“Oh, one hundred percent dear brother of mine.”

You licked your lips as you laid in your bed, flicking through your watchlist to find a particular movie you and your brother enjoyed immensely. You headed back to you and your brothers shared dorm room for the night after you grabbed dinner at one of the restaurants in town.

Your throat felt dry and you just felt thirsty. With a huff, setting your remote off to the side, you reached up and grabbed a water bottle beside your bed. Leaning against your pillows, you took big gulps to quench your thirst, but even finishing the entire bottle did nothing.

With a crunch, you threw the bottle into the shared trash can, licking your lips once again. Maybe you were dehydrated? Hopefully another water bottle will make the dryness in your throat go away.

“Catch.” Freddie walked into your shared room, tossing a blood orange at you and keeping one for himself.

You sighed when you caught the citrus fruit, grateful for him grabbing one for you, “Thanks.”

When your brother sat on his bed, the two of you immediately started peeling away at the skin, revealing the dark red fruit underneath it. Neither of you said anything as you both dug into your fruit, the juices soothing the dryness in your throat and washing away the thirst that lied on your tongue.

Freddie was in the same boat as you, he closed his eyes as he devoured his food. Blood oranges were a regular part of both of your days. Your parents made you grow up having these at least once a day or a couple of times during the week. Neither of you questioned it as blood oranges gave both of you a satisfaction that never went away over the years.

The two of you could compare having a blood orange to drinking an ice cold glass of water on a hot summer's day. It was delectable; heavenly almost.

Without a word the two of you threw away your peels and you grabbed the remote, “The Lost Boys?” You asked, standing up and walking over to your desk as you found said movie.

“Yup.” Freddie agreed, pulling out a box of tapes from under his bed and setting them down beside him.

You pressed play and turned your back to your brother, flipping open a textbook and one of your notebooks. Neither of you really had to watch the movie to know what was going on. You’ve both watched this movie enough times to know it scene by scene, word for word. It was your favorite.

Before you could fully hunker down and work, you looked over your shoulder and caught the first few minutes of the movie. A smile stretched across your lips as you watched the boys appear one by one on the screen.

First was David, then Dwayne, then Paul and last but not least, Marko; the four main vampires of the movie. It was such a shame that they were to die at the end of the movie. Majority of the people that you’ve talked about this movie with have all agreed on the same thing; the four should’ve lived.

Too bad nothing could change that.

You turned away from the TV, focusing on your books. You and Freddie were heading back home tomorrow, so you took what time you had on campus to really focus on your work. No doubt your parents would distract you from actually getting any work done and rope you into family activities.

You were all ready packed and set to go for your nine and a half hour plane ride. A plane ride that you would probably sleep through.

You paused your writing when your brother shoved a tape in your face. You blinked, breaking from your world of studying, the movie was close to being over, you were at the scene where the Frog brothers were about to stake Marko through the heart. You never really did like the Frog brothers. They were a little annoying.

“Can I help you?” You asked, looking up at your brother confused.

He glanced down at the tape in his hand, “Am I hallucinating? Or does this tape say ‘Santa Carla’ on it?”

“What?” You set down your pen and quickly grabbed the tape from your brother's hand. Maybe you were hallucinating too. ‘Santa Carla 1986’ clearly written on the tape in what looked like your fathers handwriting.

You shrugged, holding the tape out to Freddie, “Maybe dad wrote it wrong. All the other tapes say Santa Cruz right?” You chalked it up to your father making an honest mistake.

Freddie groaned, taking the tape back, “Yeah, but all after 1986. The next one is from 1988, skipping over the previous year.”

You watch as he walks back over to his bed, opening the camcorder and switching out the tapes. He closed it and walked back over to you as he fiddled around with it, “Plus, what are the odds that dad wrote ‘Carla’ instead of ‘Cruz’? Santa Carla is fake! A fictional town made for a movie.” Your brother gestured toward the screen.

Your eyes landed on David’s vampire face. He was trying to drag Sam into the shadows after they killed Marko. Well, after Edgar killed Marko. What kind of bullshit was that?

You crossed your arms as Freddie sat on the edge of your desk, “So? What are you trying to get at?”

Freddie shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe he wrote it on purpose?”

You stared at him deadpanned, “Freddie, do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

He glared at you, “Maybe it is ridiculous. But it’s not like it could be a joke or anything. The Lost Boys didn’t even come out until a year later. And what are the odds that dad just happened to write Santa Cruz wrong?”

“Fine, I’ll admit it’s weird. But dude, he did convert these tapes onto newer ones in the mid-90's to work on our specific camcorder.” You brought up a good point.

You signed, “What’s even on the tape?” You asked, standing from your chair, looking over your brother's shoulder as he pressed play.

It started off with your fathers voice in the background, narrating as he filmed your mother. They were much younger, they looked like they were in their early 20’s. That wasn’t the thing that surprised you. What surprised you was when the video panned upward, you were shown the entrance of the boardwalk. Specifically, a boardwalk that had ‘Santa Carla’ in big, bold glowing letters at the entrance.

“Maybe they were there when they were filming the movie? I mean, they put up a lot of fake set pieces on the actual boardwalk.” Your brain tried to come up with a logical excuse. No way what you were seeing was real.

Freddie shook his head as the video continued, “I don’t think so.” Neither of you could say anything as you watched. This couldn’t be real.

Your eyes widened as your parents walked into ‘Max’s Video Store’. Again, you tried to write it off of them walking into a movie set by accident, but the next words that came out of your mothers mouth made you think twice.

“Hi, Max!” Your mother greeted one of the most disliked characters in the movie. The boy's sire, the head vampire; Max. There he was in all his attempts to be a ‘trendy dad’ glory. He greeted your mother and father by name and seemed to be actually good acquaintances with each other.

Freddie paused the tape, nothing but the sound of the movie filled the space in your dorm room. How could either of you explain that? “It’s gotta be the actor. Vampires down show up on film.” Freddie brought up. Well, that was theoretically true throughout vampire lore. They can never be filmed or have a reflection.

Screams from the movie caught your attention, but the second your eyes landed on the screen, the image went snowy and white noise made the hairs on your arms stand up.

“Did you change the input?” Freddie asked you, never taking his eyes away from the screen.

You were terrified. The remote was on the other side of your desk, far from your reach. Plus, changing the input wouldn’t give your flat screen TV a snowy picture. It would just change to a bright blue screen, “No.”

The white noise seemed to grow louder and the snowy picture glowed brighter. Both of you squint your eyes as the image slowly turned bright white.

“Y/n?” Freddie raised a hand to cover his eyes to save him from the constant brightening white light.

You winced, following his actions, though it seemed like covering your eyes did nothing as the light flooded the entire room, impairing you from actually seeing anything. For a brief second, all you could see was white and then the next, it disappeared in a flash.

You felt a sudden weight on your shoulders and a soft breeze grazing against your skin. Did either of you open a window? You couldn’t remember.

You rubbed at your eyes, vision blurred and seeing flashes and colors of light. God, you felt like you stared straight at the sun for a good minute.

No longer did you hear the white noise, nor did you hear the movie, instead you heard laughter and shoes hitting the pavement.

With one last rub of your eyes, you finally were able to see your surroundings. Your heart dropped and your brain went numb, “What the fuck?” Was all you could say.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” Your brother said beside you, just as shocked as you were. If you didn’t feel like you were losing your mind, you would’ve punched him for the joke.

Just across the street from where the two of you stood were crowds of people entering a boardwalk that you’ve only seen on screen.

The camcorder in Freddie’s hand beeped, almost as if to say ‘play me’. Freddie hesitantly played the tape, the video footage now starting in a different place, almost as if it skipped over some footage or was cut together that way.

Your fathers voice rang out and said four words that shook you down to your toes.

“Welcome to Santa Carla.”

[1kook]

right place, wrong time

— a someway, somehow jungkook drabble summary Home was Jungkook, it had always been Jungkook… but it wasn’t this Jungkook. warnings angst, heart ache, its actually kinda sad :/ lmfao, jk is a little... uh... como se dice.... jerk without realizing it.... justice for oc.... also there’s a scene where oc throws up so !! rating m wc 1.5k

notes THIS TAKES PLACE 5 YEARS BEFORE SWSH ITSELF ! OK ! enjoy <3 i wanted to try writing angst again <3 also i have no self control i said i would post this in 7 hrs yet here i am. and its not proofread <_<

When you were kids, the fact Jungkook’s birthday fell early on into the school year was a huge deal; everyone in your class was invited, both new and returning students, and the event itself was practically the opening scene to the school year itself. As you got older and he began to move away from colorfully decorated parties, his early birthday still earned him a lot of attention, had everyone at your high school congratulating him from the moment the first bell rang until the last. There weren’t any grand birthday bashes during high school, but the Jeons were a loving family, party or no party, and always got him a cake to celebrate each new year. 

Up until you left for college, you had never missed Jungkook blowing out the candles for his birthday. Be it a backyard party bustling with kids or a smaller affair at his favorite restaurant, you had always been invited, always cheered for him with each new year of life he welcomed. 

As a kid, you had always been adamant on getting the spot closest to him as you sang happy birthday, beaming at your best friend like he was your entire world. His childhood photo albums had been proof of that, filled with a chronological sequencing of every birthday he’s had with you at his side, your smiles changing with the times— from missing teeth to full of braces, you had always been at Jungkook’s side. 

As a young-adult, you had to bite down your pride and watch Sojin fulfill that spot. 

You had missed his last two birthdays since entering college. Your first year away from home, everyone you knew warned you about not going home too early into the year, something about how it would solidify your homesickness and you’d never be able to assimilate afterwards. So you had congratulated Jungkook from Taehyung’s phone screen, greatly appreciating the way Taehyung angled the phone away from Sojin as best he could. Then your second year, you had been drowning in that first wave of projects and essays, and simply couldn’t squeeze a five hour drive there and back into your schedule. Jungkook understood; there was no party this year, just a simple family dinner. The video call ended soon after you congratulated him, his attention drawn away by the voice of another woman you knew all too well. 

For his twenty-first birthday, Jungkook was adamant that you attend. He had told you about it before you had left for the new semester, bent over by the front wheels of your car, making sure everything was in tip-top shape before you went off again. His t-shirt was drenched in sweat, trails running down his hairline, over the prominent veins of his neck.“I want you there,” Jungkook had said, taking your offered hand as he stood back up. He must have miscalculated— or maybe it was on purpose —his step, because when he stepped forward, he was all too close. He didn’t let go of your hand. “Please?” 

Your eyes flickered over his chest, to his neck. He smelled like home, or at least the image of it you had created in your mind during your last two years away. Home was lavender fabric softener billowing over you in waves, the faint traces of this morning’s cologne, the subtle scent of his metallic work tools. It was his chocolate curls tickling his eyebrows, his easygoing smile, the way he pulled you closer, made the scents wash over you all over again. 

It was Jungkook. It was Jungkook. It was Jungkook and his warm touch. It was Jungkook and his softened gaze. Home was Jungkook, it had always been Jungkook… but it wasn’t this Jungkook. It wasn’t this Jungkook and the hickey on his neck. 

The sight made your stomach recoil, eyes quickly averted from the site of the crime. He had gotten here later than usual, said something about having to take Sojin somewhere first. So that’s what that meant. Jungkook, unaware of the fact the collar of his t-shirt has let you in on his private life, squeezes your hand. “You’ll come, won’t you?” 

And you were stupid and you were in love, so of course you said yes. 

It’s a cookout this year, his backyard filled to the brim with relatives and friends and so many cans of beer you don’t know what to do. His parents are ecstatic for your return, babbling on and on about how much he missed you for the last two birthdays. You take it in stride, and maybe in a different timeline you would have believed it, but not this one. Aside from greeting you at the door and taking your keys off your hands, you had barely seen the birthday boy all day. You mingle with old friends, his relatives, tentatively sip at your can of soda. You’re tired, the long drive having sapped the majority of your energy for the day. 

Sometime around sunset, you meet eyes with him across the yard. Jungkook smiles, he always smiles. You okay? he mimes with a thumbs-up, and you want to say yes, but Sojin is sitting on his lap, an obnoxiously loud display, and when he puts his hand back down, it immediately finds its home on her thigh. You send him a half-hearted shrug, play it off like you're still a little carsick from the long drive here. 

(Truthfully, you are sick, but you’re not sure it’s from the drive.) 

Even at twenty-one, his family maintains their tradition and sings him happy birthday. With your return, his mother delegates you to cake cutting duties again, so you’re on standby for the song, at his side with the cake cutter in hand. Jungkook is grinning from ear to ear, Sojin attached to his hip, his arm sling around her shoulders. His family sings and sings, and Jungkook is happy. His eyes jump around the table, taking in the sight before him the way he does every year. And when they reach you at his side, Jungkook beams, reaches for your hand beneath the table and squeezes, all the while keeping his girlfriend closely hugged to his other side. 

You cut the cake. Sojin gets her slice and promptly whisks Jungkook away. 

By ten pm, you find yourself in his upstairs bathroom puking your guts out. It’s the carsickness, you tell yourself, or maybe the cake frosting, throat gagging around nothing, tears clinging to your lash line. But is it really?

“__?” someone says, and you make a weak attempt to turn towards the door. You don’t know what you expected— had you actually wanted Jungkook to find you in this sorry state? —but it isn’t Jungkook. “Shit, what happened?” Taehyung worries, hurrying to your aid. And you’re grateful that there’s someone here to help you, to save you from yourself and your stupid, heartbroken thoughts. But it’s not the man you want it to be, and that has you squeezing your eyes shut tightly, until the mascara on your lashes imprints itself against your under eyes instead. 

The man you want bumps into you downstairs, catches Taehyung helping you into the spare bedroom to lie down. “__?” Jungkook calls out, eyes big and scared. “Where— what’s going on?” he asks, thrusting his plate into Sojin’s hands before rushing to your side. He grabs your forearm, and the touch burns, so you yank yourself away. 

Faintly, you hear Taehyung explain. “She’s sick,” he says, pulling you closer. “She’s been out of it since she first got here. I think it was the long drive.” Yes, it was the long drive, you agree. 

Jungkook, unfazed by your first recoil, reaches for your arm again. “I’ve got her,” he tells Taehyung, underestimating his strength when he tugs you closer, has you stumbling into his chest. His rough handling makes your stomach tighten, your head feel dizzy. 

“Jungkook,” you gasp, hand on his chest. “Wait— I’m—“ And he’s trying to move you back up the stairs, probably into his bedroom to lie down. But the sight of the stairs and his overwhelming scent and the hickey on his neck, the hickey Sojin left on his neck, makes you nauseous all over again. 

Taehyung yelps in your defense. “Jungkook,” he scolds, carefully maneuvering you out of Jungkook’s harm’s way. “You’re making it worse.” 

From a few feet away, Sojin calls out his name. “Jungkook?” she says and her voice is so sweet, yet so sticky; it makes you gag. “Baby, they’re calling for you outside.” 

And everyone is saying his name, so he doesn’t know where to look, doesn’t know who to prioritize, not when everyone wants his attention. He looks at you, and your heart soars for a millisecond. Then it plummets when he settles on Sojin instead. “I— you’re right, Tae,” he sighs, backing off, letting go. “You got __, right?” Taehyung nods. “Call me if anything happens.”

And he leaves, slips his hand around Sojin’s waist and guides her out the door. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even tell you to get better soon. He just leaves. 

Taehyung lays you down, doesn’t say a word when you start crying because he probably thinks it’s about your stomach and the vomiting. “It’s okay,” he soothes, helping you out of your shoes. “Does it hurt?”

Yes, you sob. It hurts very badly.

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