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k-howlett · 3 months ago

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H(ear)tline Prologue | Bruce Wayne [Batman] xF!Angel:reader

TW: Possible religious insensitivity, Fallen Angel, Canon-breaking OOC, eventual smut(not in this specific installment)

Rating: Gender Specific (Female Reader), Eventual Smut (Teen+/mature), SFW (Prologue), eventual fluff

A/N:

Thank you so much for your continued patience! I am unfortunately knee deep in moving. Breaking and Entering is on Hiatus at the moment because of my inability to appeal a report (I've been too busy to check my email and missed the 24 hour deadline. Thank you so much(/s) to whoever FALSELY reported my artistry and now cost me hours of setbacks. I don't know if I can repost and change the tag but I did file a complaint with tumblr admin and am awaiting a resolution), in the mean time, please enjoy this concept I came up with half-awake whilst packing boxes!

With love and healing,

-Lark

𓂋

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce Wayne was not one for religion. If there was a God, the creator must’ve had a particular disdain for Gotham City and everything in it. The place was a living hell, overrun with the likes of Scarecrow, Bane, Joker, Penguin—an endless parade of villains. It felt as though God had abandoned him, leaving the city to rot.

When a group of young people stopped him on the street, offering free Bibles, Bruce briefly considered lashing out, tearing into their beliefs with the cynicism that years in Gotham had sharpened. But he held back. Despite his doubts, he couldn’t deny the comfort religion provided to those who believed. He recalled attending Sunday school as a child, his mother’s gentle voice praising the beauty of the world around them, her unshakeable faith even in the face of Gotham’s darkness. In her final moments, she had reached out to God. Who was he to strip these kids of that same hope?

Wordlessly, he accepted the leather-bound Bible. It was crafted with care, though the materials were clearly cheap—the gold lettering was already flaking. He considered tossing it when he got home, or maybe donating it to a shelter. He might not believe in God, but he knew that his own moral compass had been shaped by something greater than himself. Not everyone had that foundation; maybe some people really did need saving.

He sighed as he carried the Bible to his office. The last thing he needed was for anyone to think he’d found religion. He had a carefully curated, morally ambiguous playboy persona to maintain. What if the media thought he was turning over a new leaf? What if they took it as a sign he was ready to settle down? The thought of more women throwing themselves at him—especially devout ones—made him shudder.

He tucked the Bible under his arm, the gold lettering pressed tightly against his side. Maybe someone would mistake it for a journal. A glance at his watch made him scowl—somehow, the walk from the coffee shop to the office had eaten up more time than expected. Lucius would undoubtedly have something to say about it later; they had a meeting, and now he was going to be late—again.

Dragging a hand down his face, Bruce felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. The late nights and early mornings were catching up with him, eroding his focus, fraying the edges of his mind. For a moment, bitterness welled up—a rare flicker of resignation. Did it even make a difference? Gotham’s streets were never truly free of crime. Petty theft, gang violence, the constant churn of the underworld—it never stopped. And the ones he managed to lock up? They always found a way out. Arkham was a revolving door, a sick joke of a prison.

For a fleeting second, he entertained the idea of quitting. The notion of a full night’s sleep was almost unimaginable, but his body ached for it. Was there really no reprieve? After all these years, the despair felt like it was swallowing him whole. Gotham was a sinkhole, and he was drowning in it.

But he shook off the thought, setting his jaw with grim resolve. He would not break, and he would not allow himself the luxury of weakness. He’d let his body rot from the inside out if that’s what it took to see his mission through. It wasn’t just an obligation; it was a promise. And though no one would blame him if he walked away, though they might even understand, he wouldn’t bow down and admit defeat. He’d fought for fifteen years—he could fight for fifteen more.

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce tossed the Bible onto his desk and sank into his leather chair, his eyes heavy as they flicked to the desktop screen. Logging in, he was greeted by a flood of emails—requests for meetings from the legal branch, shareholders bickering over stock distributions, and the usual complaints from board members about his lack of attention to this year’s Gala preparations.

His assistant had already informed him of the missed meeting, explaining that Lucius had been pulled into another matter. The issues were piling up, and for a brief moment, his hand trembled as he reached for the mouse. Wayne Enterprises was his father’s legacy, and Batman was his—but right now, the mission would have to wait. He needed to get this under control, and fast.

Four hours of back-to-back phone calls and troubleshooting. Bruce was now lying under his desk, trying to replace a faulty cable. The entire office was down, and with IT swamped, he had no choice but to handle it himself. He needed to review the quarterly reports before the bonuses were announced, and he knew the company had been slacking—summer interns flooding in and Tim away at college had left him without the structure he relied on.

When he finally sat up from the floor, his head collided with the corner of the desk, sending a sharp pain through his skull. The Bible tumbled from the desk, hitting him squarely on the head before flopping open on the ground, a business card slipping out.

Bruce picked it up, squinting at the bold print: "1-800-ANGEL." He frowned. What kind of absurd, erotic phone service was this? The card was nearly blank, save for a single line:

"May you find your faith."

Real funny, he thought, for a number probably meant to fleece desperate souls. They probably charged by the minute. Bruce rolled his eyes, dismissing it as yet another scam targeting the gullible.

Bruce thumbed the card, skepticism tightening his grip. Surely, no one was desperate enough to actually call. He wondered about the legitimacy of the number, and after settling back into his chair, he opened a new tab. Thankfully, the replacement cable had done its job, and his screen blinked to life. He typed in the number, but nothing came up—not even a link to some sketchy website. He tried the motto next, but all he found were articles on religion and local church recommendations. He raised an eyebrow. For a scam, they were doing a remarkably poor job of marketing it.

Picking up the Bible again, he considered the possibility that the kids handing them out might have been given faulty copies. But as he inspected it, the Bible seemed legitimate enough. He cross-referenced it with an online version to be sure, but everything checked out. The only oddity was the card. Flipping through the pages, he eventually found a strange marking on the back cover, stamped with the words "ales et lux."

"Wings and light?" he muttered, dropping the Bible back onto the desk.

Curiosity gnawed at him. Without hesitation, he dialed the number. Whatever this was, he intended to get to the bottom of it. Maybe he’d caught it early enough—he could pull a few strings with the FBI and shut it down before it preyed on anyone vulnerable. But as the line connected, the voice on the other end made him stop cold.

“So you’ve received the calling card of heaven. We’re so glad you have found your faith. Please note this card is for one-time use. For inquiries about time of death, press 1. For prayers and answers, press 2. For information on Christian denominations and healing, press 3. For nondenominational options, press 4. For Native, Inuit, Norse, and Pagan beliefs, press 5. Unsure what category your beliefs fall under? Press star for a list. For all other healing-related questions, press 6.”

Bruce’s scowl deepened as he listened to the automated menu. The damn phone hadn’t even rung—this had to be some kind of twisted scam. He was about to hang up when the final option made his breath catch.

“And finally, to speak to your angel, press 0.”

His angel? A guardian angel? He doubted he had one. If he did, they’d done a piss-poor job watching over him. The loss of his parents, Jason Todd, and Alfred—the man who had been the closest thing to a father he had left—proved that. Anger flickered in his chest. He wanted to speak to this so-called angel, to confront them, to demand answers for the pain he’d endured. What kind of angel lets their charge suffer like this?

He pressed zero, the cold, rational part of him momentarily overridden by the seething anger and hurt simmering beneath the surface—the hurt little boy he’d buried deep inside threatening to unleash all that unprocessed trauma.

He wasn’t expecting such a soft voice to greet him, nor the surprising calm that washed over his mind as it did.

“Bruce? You really called.” The voice on the other end was feminine, light, almost breathless, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

“...Who the hell are you?” His voice was sharp, defensive.

“Well, my official title doesn’t really have an accurate translation in mortal language, but I’m more or less your protector.”

“Protector?!” He growled, the word scraping out like a curse. “You couldn’t even protect me from a goddamn paper cut, let alone a laundry list of loss. You didn’t protect anything—I protect this city, I protect people. You’re not even real! You’re probably just some credit card scammer, phishing for my personal data. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Data mining. Your entire operation is fraudulent at best, and—”

He cut himself off, his voice shaking with anger. It wasn’t just fury at this supposed "protector"—it was fury at the years of pain, at the endless nights spent fighting a war that never seemed to end, at the world for daring to keep spinning while he bled in the dark. How dare anyone call themselves his protector when every person he’d ever loved had been torn away from him? How dare they try to soothe him with some ethereal nonsense when he was the one in the trenches, the one facing down Gotham’s nightmares every single night?

The silence on the other end of the line was almost unbearable, but he wouldn’t back down. He’d heard enough lies in his lifetime to know when someone was trying to sell him false hope.

“…It doesn’t work like that,” the voice finally replied, a hint of sadness woven into its softness. “I can’t interfere with your life in the way you think. Those losses… they were unfortunate, and I know they fuel the anguish that haunts your mind, but my role isn’t to shield you from pain. My job is to keep you alive. Every close call, every moment when death was just a breath away—that was my divine interference. I won’t let you die, Bruce. Not until the time is right and your body is ready to rest.”

Bruce clenched his jaw, anger and disbelief warring within him. He wanted to tear into her, to lash out at the absurdity of it all. This so-called protector, claiming to watch over him, to keep him alive—where was she when his parents were murdered in front of him? Where was she when Jason died, or when he stood over Alfred’s grave, feeling the weight of yet another life lost because of him?

“Don’t patronize me,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I need your protection? You think those near-deaths were some divine favor? I’ve survived because I’ve fought, because I’ve clawed my way out of every hellhole Gotham’s thrown me into. You had nothing to do with it.”

He could almost hear her smile through the phone, a soft, resigned sound that seemed to fill the silence between them.

“You’ve fought harder than anyone should ever have to, Bruce. You’re the purest soul I’ve ever had the privilege of encountering. No matter how much you try to front or deflect, it’s clear you care. You care more than anyone else. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have taken in those kids, or dressed up like a bat to fight crime night after night. You’re like Sisyphus, eternally pushing a boulder uphill. And while you may not want praise or acknowledgment, you need to know—despite everything, you are a good person. You’re a good man. And in many ways, you’re the closest thing to God’s image I’ve ever seen.”

Bruce’s breath caught, anger and disbelief momentarily overshadowed by the weight of her words. How could she claim to know him so well, to understand his pain and sacrifice? Yet, the very notion of being compared to something divine—despite how hollow it felt—struck a chord deep within him.

“Spare me the sermon,” he growled, trying to regain his composure. “You think you can soothe me with this celestial rhetoric? I don’t need your validation. I need results. I need to keep this city safe, and I need to know that those I care about are protected. Save your platitudes for someone who believes in them.”

There was a pause on the other end, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “I’m not here to validate you, Bruce. I’m here to remind you that even in the darkest moments, you have a purpose. And while you may see yourself as a flawed instrument of justice, remember that even in your struggle, there’s a reflection of something greater—a beacon of hope for others, whether you realize it or not.”

Bruce didn’t respond, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. The rational part of him dismissed her words as manipulative flattery, but a flicker of vulnerability, long suppressed, threatened to break through. He forced himself to focus, pushing those thoughts aside.

“Enough of this,” he said, his voice cold and final. “If you’re really here to help, then stay out of my way. I’ll handle things my way.”

He hung up the phone, the echo of her voice lingering in his mind. As he turned his attention back to the stack of paperwork and problems awaiting him, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that perhaps, in some twisted way, she had touched a part of him he had long buried.

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce landed another punch on the goon, watching as they crumpled to the ground. Fighting at the docks was his least favorite—slippery surfaces and treacherous footing made it harder to maintain his balance. He glanced at the wall, the dim streetlight casting an eerie glow on the dilapidated brick.

In the periphery of his vision, he thought he saw the shadow of wings, a fleeting, phantom-like presence. When he snapped around, though, all he saw were the goons he had already beaten. They lay scattered and unconscious, bloodied and bruised. A quick scan of the area revealed the familiar wreckage of a confrontation: discarded weapons and broken crates.

On the ground, a few feet away from a goon he didn’t remember hitting, lay a gun glinting in the faint light. Next to it was a single white feather. The goon in question had no visible injuries, no sign of the kind of violence Bruce had just inflicted on the others. There were no swollen bruises, no blood—nothing to suggest that they had been involved in the scuffle.

Bruce frowned, his mind racing. He hadn't hit this one, nor had he seen anything out of the ordinary during the fight. The feather seemed out of place, its presence unsettling. It wasn’t like anything he had come across before—an odd detail in an otherwise straightforward altercation.

His instincts, honed by years of vigilant observation, told him this was no mere coincidence. There was something strange here, something beyond the usual street brawls and petty crime. The feather could mean something, or someone, had intervened. And if that was the case, Bruce needed to understand why.

He crouched down to examine the feather and the gun more closely. His eyes narrowed, scanning for any other anomalies or signs that could explain the goon’s sudden unconsciousness. Whatever the cause, Bruce knew he couldn’t ignore it. Not with the pattern of oddities and divine encounters that had begun to surface recently.

He straightened up, the feather clenched in his hand, his mind already shifting gears. There was more at play here than just a fight—something, or someone, was influencing events from the shadows. And as always, it was up to him to uncover the truth.

˚₊‧𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢‧₊˚

Approx. Word Count: ~2,746

pt I: Coming Soon(?)

This is a soft-launch of this series, if you guys would like more parts, please let me know in the comments <3 It helps motivate me to write!

//Series Tag List: Available Upon Request!

Status Page 2024: Here

#bruce wayne #angst #batman #batfam #batdad #batman x reader #bruce wayne fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #female reader #alfred pennyworth #tim drake #dc batman #bruce wayne x reader #angst with a happy ending #eventual smut #angel reader

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solitarily-sofia · 4 months ago

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i wanted to give just a few more of my heartstopper opinions lol

1.) the teachers are great characters and not at all pointless like some people try to make them out to be. heartstopper is targeted to an adult audience just as much as teens and it is soo so important to see adults having moments of discovery the same way the kids did bc its never too late to have good experiences in relationships and even if u missed out on that in high school or college, theres no deadline. i think seeing that message is very powerful.

alice was correct in switching aled for issac bc as much as i miss aled and i think having demi representation would be awesome, issac embodies aled in a good way, provides aroace rep and leaves open an opportunity for a radio silence adaptation!

charlie would definitely propose first. alice has said that n & c both plan on it and buy rings but they dont know who would actually do it. i dont think nick would propose first bc as seen in the past nick always waits untill he is entirely sure charlie is ready for something, such as the kiss, or saying "i love you". but i do agree that they would both plan on proposing to each other 🫶.

last thought is that although it is really cool that so far all the actors physically looked so much like the characters, that is not the most important part of the casting process. i know some people are upset the actor for micheal doesnt nessecarily match the comic description, but i feel like in the clip we got he embodies the character so well that it doesnt even matter.

thanks so much for reading i love sharing my opinion and seeing other peoples thoughts 🩷

Hii I'm so so sorry I didn't even see this until I checked my ask box!!

1. I completely agree, the teachers are an incredible addition to the story. And I think it's very comforting for young adults/adults when watching knowing they don't have to be teenagers to experience wholesome gay romance. It's a great message to send :)

2. I think it's good they switched aled for Isaac in the tv adaption. Like do NOT get me wrong i ADORE aled. But his story goes far beyond heartstopper and it gave great room for aroace representation since sadly there isn't much representation for it. Also I would love a radio silence tv adaption AHHH.

3. I saw this post a little while back from someone on tumblr saying that they think nick and Charlie would try propose on the same day but one of them would go first and the other would be like "I WAS JUST ABOUT TO PROPOSE TO YOU?!" and I thought it was so cute. But I like this too and it would make more sense for Charlie to propose first. GOD I hope we someday hear about who proposes to who because that would be so cute! Or have a mini comic called "the proposal" or something

4. OHH I COULD RAMBLE ON FOR HOURS ON END ABOUT THIS! I watched the new clip and I instantly thought "hell yeah, THATS Michael holden". He embodies him and hit his mannerisms on the nail. I hope to see him quite a bit this season.

Thankyou for the ask, sorry I rambled on and on I just love these unpopular opinions!! :)

#alice oseman #heartstopper #tori spring #osemanverse #michael holden #solitaire #charlie spring #solitaire alice oseman #tori and michael #girlblogger

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ccawz · 1 year ago

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skz as keshi songs

a/n: stray kids vs keshi for my top artist on spotify. but i can’t listen to bandaids without thinking about chan. these are loosely based off the songs, surface-level lyrics.

warnings: word counts differ and are not consistent (85-145) half angst half fluff, realizing you’re (not you) falling out of love (ouch), Chan is not present (alluding to disassociation, not explicitly) alcohol. Before each blurb the category and word count are stated.

ot8! x gn!reader. 1.1k words total. don’t quote me on that

Jisung— hell/heaven (opening line), 85 wc | fluff

“Tell me more.” He adores you. Han Jisung could listen to you talk all day and night about anything and everything and remember every single word you say. “You’re cute when you ramble.”

A break in your sentence makes him laugh, hand falling from holding his head to holding your hand lightly. They’re clammy, but Jisung doesn’t mind.

A timid smile, Jisung melts, and another sparkle gets added to your eyes as you continue, gaze set on his fingers laced with yours across the table.

Seungmin— 2 soon, 141 wc | angst

“I miss you.” The voicemail sounds choppy, and you can hear the bustling sound of a crowd in the background and the loud cheers celebrating their milestone. “These parties aren’t the same without you. I don’t want to be here without you. Where are you?”

Seungmin sounds desperate near the end. You’ve come to the conclusion that he’s drunk, from the way his words slur to the way you know he would never say this with a sober mind.

“What did I do?” He asked. You can hear the tears in his voice. “How could I be stupid enough to lose you?”

The voicemail ends with that, and it has you wondering if the other seven are the same. Seungmin pleading, asking questions only he could answer, and him being drunk.

Your thumb hovers over his contact, and you call him.

Jeongin— It’s you, 104 wc | fluff

The first night you stayed over, Jeongin felt his heart stop when he saw the way his covers were swallowing you whole.

Loving was easy to do when it came to you, he guessed.

His smile grows when he sees you exit his bedroom wrapped up in one of his blankets, loving how cozy you look. “Hi.” The smile is evident in his voice, someone with their back turned would have noticed.

Chan, that someone, turns out of curiosity, biting back a grin when he sees Jeongin make his way toward you with stars in his eyes. He still gets excited to see you.

Chan— bandaids, 132 wc | hurt/comfort, read w caution

Chan couldn’t remember the first time it happened, him sleeping in your room every night. Was it when he was stressed about deadlines? …No, he’d stayed at the studio all day and night. Was it when you invited him over for dinner, and it was too late for him to go home?

Well, anyway.

“You should’ve told me.” Your voice was faint, he would’ve mistaken it for someone walking outside. Chan can’t hear you, feel you, or even see you. His mind is somewhere else, somewhere far, and his world is collapsing in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him, he can feel it now, the light stroking of your hand down his back. The ghost-like kisses to spot between his shoulder blades. “You don’t have to cry alone. I’m here.”

Minho— us, 96 wc | angst

Minho can feel things changing in front of him, and he can’t do anything about it. The touches don’t linger, the gaze feels colder than before, and the kisses seem half-hearted and filled with nothing but bitterness.

He admits it, that he hasn’t been as warm to you lately, but he never loved you any less. He watches you cook breakfast for the two of you with confused eyes. He sees you sneakily pass Dori a pancake crumb and press your finger against your lips to keep a secret.

But he doesn’t feel warmth like before.

Felix— summer, 95 wc | fluff

“Summer’s only three months,” Felix says, breath fanning against your lips. “Don't fall in love, yeah?”

The way you look at him makes his head spin. The same could be said about him, how his eyelashes hit his cheeks when he blinks slowly. Your hand reaches to his face, thumbing over the freckles littering his cheeks. You can feel them warm under your touch.

“I think I can manage.” You whisper back. Inching slowly towards him.

Felix stops just before you could kiss him, smiling at the way you frown. “I was talking to myself.”

Hyunjin— beside you, 116 wc | fluff (?)

Hyunjin glares darts into the person whose arm was around you from across the room. A piercing gaze that has bystanders inching away from the scene, clearing a path when he makes his way toward you.

He leans close, whispering right into your ear. “You’re gonna settle for him?” He muses, “When you have me?” He grins when you turn your attention towards him instead and smiles politely at the person you were with before dragging you away.

“You’re so jealous. It's genuinely annoying.”

He hums, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to your temple, drinking in the flustered expression that came from it. “It’s just you and I.”

Changbin— i swear i’ll never leave again, 128 wc | hurt/comfort

He regrets not being grateful for the messages, your daily reminders for him to take care of himself just as much as he did his members. The pack of sticky notes he never remembers packing were filled with sweet words from you.

He goes through them now, even when you're on the other side of the door, waiting for him to finish packing his things. He doesn’t want to leave.

The first thing you see when he opens it are the tears that are building in his eyes and the quiver of his lips when you move to hold him.

So this was love. The aching, the yearning, and the heartbreak. Changbin wanted all of it. He wanted all of you. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

ot8, your choice— drunk, 145 wc | angst

It happens again. Another after-party, another night of watching your friends get drunk, another night of seeing him being happy without you.

You see him across the room, laughing it up with one of his friends, nursing a cup of whatever miscellaneous alcohol they were serving. Maybe it was an espresso martini, he likes his coffee just as much as he did his booze. He thanked the person who created it.

Later that night, you find yourself thinking about him while staring at the ceiling. Had he found someone new? Someone who could give him the same adrenaline you had when you first got together. Was he thinking of you just as much as you were thinking of him?

You turn on your side, cringing at the wet feeling of tears pressing against your cheek. Did he find it hard to move on like you?

a/n: i was actually going to make Felix’s sad instead of Lino but, maybe next time.

#skz x gn reader #stray kids x gender neutral reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #han jisung x reader #kim seungmin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #bang chan x reader #lee minho x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #seo changbin x reader #changbin x reader #lee know x reader #lee felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #hyunjin x reader #chan x reader

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nobedofroses · 11 months ago

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December 21st

pairing: Joel Miller x reader

warnings: fluff

words: 481

a/n: late and kinda short, but still cute, i think. this one was prompted by the darling @terryboot

more Joel, Full List

🌨️🌨️🌨️

“I’m gonna put on one of the Christmas rom-coms, okay?” you called out to Joel in the kitchen, who was heating up the soup and making you a sandwich to split.

“Ugh, really? Those things are so predictable,” Joel complained as he carried everything in on a tray complete with tea as well. “And the acting is middling at best.”

“Oh, that’s not true, some of them have A-list stars, or at least the A-list stars of tomorrow,” you told him with a smile. “Besides, we have enough decorating to do after lunch that you won’t be paying attention anyway. I want to get all the bases down for everything before Sarah gets home so we can focus on the details when she gets here.”

“Fine, fine, put on your movie,” Joel acceded. “Just know that if you ask me any questions about it because you’re not paying attention, I won’t know the answers because I’m not watching it.”

You stuck out your tongue at him but then the two of you continued with your lunch while the movie started.

Forty five minutes later, you were setting out all of the ornaments you had on a card table while Joel was detangling a string of lights.

“I thought we put these away nicely last year,” Joel grumbled.

“Well, me too, but there’s nothing to do but untangle them unless you want to buy a new set,” you suggested, knowing he would never buy a new set when these ones worked perfectly well.

“No, there’s no point buyin’ a new set when these work perfectly well. I’ll just untangle them,” Joel said with a sigh and you smiled to yourself. “I’ll tell you what, though, we are sure as hell putting them away nicely this year.”

“Yes, dear,” you said absently, closing up one box and opening the next.

Another fifteen minutes went by and you were hunting for the stockings when you heard Joel exclaim, “Holy shit!”

“What?” you looked around, expecting him to have gotten injured or something, but nothing seemed amiss. “What’s wrong?”

“Well they only just won the Christmas choral competition after their original soloist got laryngitis and couldn’t sing and Kate had to take her place!” Joel said passionately and you stared at him with open shock.

“They made it to nationals? But I thought they missed the deadline?” you turned to the tv to see what was going on.

“That was half an hour ago, are you really not paying attention?” Joel asked incredulously and you just laughed.

“I thought you weren’t going to watch,” you teased, coming over to stand in front of him.

“You’re blocking the TV you know,” he pointed out, but his hand came to your waist.

“Well it’s a good thing these things are so predictable,” you told him, leaning down to kiss him with his hand to keep you steady.

🌨️🌨️🌨️

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #fluff #blurb #nobedofroses #snowy fics 23

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seventeenplug · 2 years ago

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Yoon Jeonghan X Reader (Get out)

Pairing - Non idol Yoon Jeonghan X Not gendered reader

Genre - angst + sad

Warning - mentions of being drunk - hitting - throwing items

Summary - As you waited and waited for your boyfriend to celebrate your two years together he appears drunk once more, and in mids of a fight confesses to his unfaithfulness.

Word count 1.6k

It was one of those nights again, he was out with his friends, one drink turning into five and then into ten, he could barely remember what he had first before he started mixing them.

Was it whiskey? Was it beer? Why was it hitting so strongly... that, he couldn't say for sure.

Maybe because he had a light dinner, leaving the office at late hours and deciding to head into a bar with his friends instead of home to his girlfriend who awaited him with dinner ready.

He didn't know, he had no clue of the day it was.

He forgot completely that you two had planned for a night in for your 2 year mark.

Work was hard, deadlines were closing in rather quickly and he couldn't just finish the work by himself for his team mates to get the credit that they never gave.

You sat alone at the dinner table, the lights were down, candles shined a warm light within the place, lightning up the path up to the table, where a vanilla candle burned. You had cooked for the entirety of the evening, having taken a break from work specifically to plan and care for the day.

What was it worth to him when he was out doing something unknown to you whilst you sat at the table, mascara sliding down your face as hot tears fell faster, sipping your glass of red wine.

It was well past midnight, your glass was empty, so was the bottle, which you had drowned your sorrow in.

You had tried multiple times to contact him, but it was of no effort, it went straight into voice mail, letting you know that it had either been turned off or had no battery.

Dragging your hand through your hair, you sighed, a shaken breath leaving your dry lips as you stood up from your chair, tears now dried onto your face simply leaving a trail of mascara behind.

But that's when he walked in, door unlocking, immediately alerting you who stood frozen in place just in front of the dinner table.

He closed the door, his back to you, as he locked it, you tried not to, but you couldn't help but laugh as he finally turned around, clearly drunk.

Laughing as if it was the funniest thing ever, when really, all you wanted to do was cry more at the mere thought of Jeonghan forgetting your 2 year celebration and going out for drinks instead, getting bat shit drunk and going home to you in said state.

So, you laughed, and laughed, tears falling once more, you didn't know if they fell from the laughter or due to the situation you were in.

Was this all he cared for you?

"Why... why are you laughing?" he asked, a single eyebrow raised as he eyed you weirdly.

"Do you know, how fucking embarassing this looks right now?" you asked him, although you chuckled, he could, despite his drunked state fully understand the venom dripping in your tone.

He looked around, his eyes locking onto every feature that you had changed within the place, the candles, uneaten dinner, the lights...

"What did I miss?" he asked clearly confused.

"Not much, you know, just an everyday mark" you shrugged, taking both plates into your hands and heading to the kitchen, the man following closely behind you as best he could.

"Y/N, come on. Just say it" he sighed, running his hand down his face, mind completely blank of what this could possibly mean.

"Nothing. Go to bed"

"Just fucking spit it out. For fucks sake, Y/N. Do I look like I fucking know what you want?!" He yelled in anger.

"Fucking hell, always pissing me off. This is why I'm barely home. At least she-"

"She?" you questioned, eyes finally meeting his which widened in sudden realization, mouth open agape as he stared back at you in something you could only describe as guilt and shock at the same time.

"Y/N, I didn't mean -"

"You have another woman" you say once more, he averts his eyes from yours, too ashamed to look at you. You can only scoff, eyes falling to the ground before you raise them once more in anger.

"I have done, everything! Everything to make this work and what, you have the decency to mention, SHE?! On our 2 year anniversary?" You laugh dryly.

You watch his eyes, once more widen, finally realizing the date, checking his phone's calendar to confirm that it was in fact the date. Even more guilt filling him inside.

With quick steps he tries to reach you, but you push him away, one hand behind you holding the counter for dear life whilst the other was on his chest keeping the distance between you two.

"Who is she" you ask once more.

"She's just a coworker, she means nothing! Nothing to me" he says, all drunkness put aside as he speaks.

"She's clearly important for you to want to spend time with her. I bet she doesn't piss you off" You speak confidently, you had to put this front, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching you broken, so you watched him, as his act fell to the floor, still trying to convince you otherwise.

"Leave"

"Y/N... please, she-"

"I don't care. I said leave" you repeat, eyes glaring at his which now gathered tears. But he made no effort in moving. And this is when everything went wrong. Your anger simply grew, this man wasn't the man you had fallen in love with, he wasn't the Jeonghan you knew. You didn't even know if that had ever been the man you loved.

Was it all a facade?

The hand that was on his chest curled up into a fist, hitting at his chest, the tears that fell down his cheeks, now matched yours which fell once more.

Your hand hitting at his chest with strenght as you sobbed. He took it all. He deserved it, he knew he did.

You had every right to despise him. hate him. But he didn't want to let you go.

"Leave!" You screamed at him through your tears, your sight blurry as you stared blankly at his shirt.

He grabbed at your hand, pulling you into his embrace, but you couldn't accept it, not after knowing of the affair.

You broke out of his hold, slapping him across the face, lip quivering as you groaned. His face turning to the side, his own eyes glossy, sniffing and wiping his face with the sleeve of his work shirt.

"Get out" You glared sternly.

"We can work this out-"

"Can I cheat too then?" You asked him... quiet. You smiled looking down at the floor once more, pushing your tears back.

"Get out. It's over, Jeonghan" you sighed, turning around and focusing on the dirty dishes already a safe distance from him who stood frozen to his spot watching your now calm state.

"Y/N" he called out.

You turned around, the plate breaking as it hit the wooden floors just besides him, jolting him, the glass barely missing him.

"I don't want you here! I want you gone! Just leave!" You yelled, strudding down the corridor you walked into your shared bedroom, opening the closet doors and pulling out every piece of clothing he owned throwing it inside his traveling suit case.

He was still stuck in his place, he just couldn't believe this is how it would end, how he had broken you.

He forgot, and not only that but he ended up confessing to his affair, something he had planned on breaking off just the day before, but he couldn't, already in-too deep with said woman, but looking at you right now, he also couldn't just leave you...

Now, he didn't have to make that choice, it was made for him.

He was given no other choice but to leave you.

The possible love of his life...

His heart ached as he watched you walking out of your bedroom, 2 suitcases trailing behind you, with what he knew would be his wardrobe.

He gulped dryly, eyes casting down on the floor, too ashamed to look at you. He deserved it.

"Take them, and leave"

"I love you -"

"If you love me, then you won't want me to be in pain" you said in between breaths, trying hard to contain your tears that had just stopped.

"I never meant to hurt you, we can still fix it, please. Just give me one more chance" he tried once more.

"Do you love me?" you questioned him, eyes fixated on his every emotion, he nodded, eyes filling with hope as he stared at you.

"Then, you'll leave" you whispered.

He gave up after that.

There was no going back after everything was said.

So he grabbed his two bags and with one final look, he exited the house, the most sober he had ever felt in his entire life.

Leaving you behind who sobbed watching his every step, too broken inside to beg him to not go, to stay and hold you.

Too disgusted to even want to touch him, afraid to see even the tiniest trace of the woman he had betrayed you with.

Somewhat wishing this was all a lie, a badly played joke on you... You laid on the sofá, the tears fell on their own, you couldn't even feel the tears that still fell on their own falling asleep to your own sadness.

Posted the 10th of January 2023

Sorry for disappearing, I had a few issues after new years eve and then I just came back a few hours ago from a trip where I lost wifi connection and have an exam on the 12th ;-;

But I have already 2 drafts almost finished so hopefully I'll post them this week!!

#seventeen #kpop #imagine #yoonjeonghan #seventeenxyou #seventeenxreader #kpopimagine #kpoponeshot #seventeen x you #kpop x reader #jeonghan #seventeen jeonghan #kpop imagine #kpop fluff #fluff #kpop idols #seventeen x y/n #kpop imagines

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rosze-v · 2 years ago

Text

the gazebo by the lake

pairing: Hanma Shuji x Reader

synopsis: by the lake, your stalker and Hanma Shuji’s potential victim

tag : Fluff, Mention of offing someone, I mean its Hanma bro, he’s a literal trigger warning, but Hanma is cute here, NOT PROOF READ

w.c : 1.3k

a/n: Hello, this is a collab for Heaven and Hell by @benkeibear . I hope you enjoy it and I’m very sorry for turning it in so late, but it needed to be done since the deadline is today. I hope you have an amazing new year! Thank you for reading.

Have you ever felt the sensation of having long limbs wrapping itself around your body, while your ears are alarmingly, deafening from the owner of said long limbs, excited screams? You were peacefully making your way to your usual hangout spot with Hanma Shuji, the weather felt nice and the bird’s chirps sounded happier, yet from a far, you could already see the abomination that is Hanma.

Hanma was getting bored waiting for you and he misses you so much, he’s literally bouncing on his feet waiting for you. So, when he saw your silhouette, his body moved first before his brain works, and so here he is, running full speed at you with the biggest grin known to the world. You knew what’s going to happen, this bitch has done it before and you’re ready, maybe.

You stopped in your tracks; legs stretch to the side for better balance as you put down your tote bag. Then within few seconds, the flurry of limbs attached itself with a jump onto your body as Hanma screams.

“WHY ARE YOU SO LATEEEEE”.

“I caught the wrong bus Hanma, I’m sorry”. You could already see the pout forming on his lips as you pat his head, and asked him to get down cause he’s heavy.

And of course, you were right, Hanma’s bottom lip jutted out while he looks down at you with eyes that’s saying ‘its not fair’.

“That’s why I told you I’ll pick you up”.

“I didn’t know that I would get it wrong! Now, now, let’s go”. You calm him down, take your bag and pull his hand to your destination. The little hangout spots the both of you have was just a gazebo by a lake, where you met Hanma for the first time. You could remember the dread in your stomach when you saw a bloodied man walking over to the gazebo and plopping himself at the seat next to you. You remember gulping your saliva and every fear you have, and asked him whether he want to have some water. Then somehow, Hanma whose face was blank turns to shock at the fact that you’re there. From there, the beautiful friendship the both of you have blossoms and leads to the odd pair of knuckles and blood, and you the studious and flowers.

Once the both of you settles down, you pull out some snacks and drinks, then begun the catching up sesh between the both of you.

“So, how’s the gang? How’s Kisaki?”. You asked while munching on some pocky sticks.

“We’re doing okay, sometimes we can’t really meet Mikey but Kisaki is handling everything well. Sometimes it gets boring though”. Hanma shrugs, trying to snatch the pocky in your hand, as you slap his hand away with a scrunched face.

“The fuck Hanma, get your own stick man!”. Hanma rolls his eyes as he snatches the whole pocky pack, giggling at your expression of disbelief.

“What about you? How’s life?”.

“Meh it was okay, just works sometimes gets tiring you know. Especially with my crazy ass boss. Then you know, I’ve been getting this creepy voice notes from an unknown number”. Hanma’s eyebrow perks up at your confession as he straightens his back. You could sense Hanma getting curious and you wanted to slap yourself for uttering those words. It was supposed to be a secret since you, frankly, don’t want to see another incident of Hanma coming over to your house with blood in his hands, literally after killing your abusive ex-boyfriend.

You were going to change the topic when Hanma cuts you off.

“No, no, tell me about this”.

“But-”

“No buts, get on with it”.

You sighed and nodded as you begin your story.

“I think it started a month ago, I received these voice notes from someone, but when I listen to it, it was only the sound of someone breathing…”. You could see Hanma clenching his jaw and balling his fist as you then explain that you’ve blocked the person, and even change your number, but still, you receive all the weird voice notes. You confessed that it terrifies you and so you tried telling the police, but still the police couldn’t do anything about it.

“Fuck them, fuck they mean they can’t do shit?!”. Hanma said as he stood up, pacing himself and trying to calm down. You’re getting worried that Hanma might blow his fuse and so you shut up.

“Well then, does that fucker still send you those voice notes?”. Hanma was expecting you to nod with a terrified look on your face but instead a smile graces your features.

“I told him to fuck off”. You said with all your chest as you give Hanma a grin. You could see the confusion washing over his face as you continue.

“I was so frustrated that I gave him a gift”. You then took out your phone and beckon him to come over to your side, in which he did and then peeks at your phone. There he saw a chat between you and the stalker. He was expecting everything but that. There he saw you sending the stalker ‘satanic’ pictures, and then a voice note at the end. You play the voice note and there he could hear whisper of words that sounded scary. It took him some time to process and the biggest laughter burst from Hanma. You of course, laugh along with him, slapping his back.

“You really blew my mind!!”. Hanma snorted and you immediately folded, mouth open and body shaking yet no laughter came out. He didn’t expect that your term of ‘telling someone to fuck off’ is sending them satanic pictures and sounds. It was bizarre, but it worked. After some time laughing, the both of you could finally sigh a breath of relief.

“But you know from all that, I guess the stalker don’t really ‘love’ you as much as he thinks he does”. Your face scrunched up in confusion as you stare at him.

“I mean, you could send me a voice recording of you saying how you hate me and i’d still listen to it all day.”

“That’s a weird way of confessing Hanma”. You said, chuckling but Hanma’s face is dead serious.

“You’re… are you for real?”. Who would have thought that after laughing your top off, you would be entertaining the fact that THE Hanma is actually into you. So you waited for his explanation.

He nodded and finally speaks up.

“I mean, its kinda obvious I have some feelings for you know”.

“I… well…”.

“Kisaki told me that he noticed that I hold you in a special space or whatever”. Hanma gestures with his two fingers while avoiding your eyes.

After that it was silence as you try to figure out how to come forward to him. A few minutes pass and Hanma could feel his stomach sinking by the minute. He was going to tell you to forget it but you cut him off.

“Well, Kisaki should have said that I like you too”.

Hanma whose head hung low before, quickly perks up like a dog hearing his owner coming back home. The gloominess before quickly turns into excitement as he scoots closer to you and went on to held your hands in his.

“Are you for real now? You actually like me?”.

“I did tell Kisaki about it but he told me to wait for you to be the one who speaks about it”. You said shrugging at Hanma. Hanma squints his eyes and bit his lips as he angrily says.

“That fucking bitch…”. You could only chuckle as another awkward silence ensues. Hanma was rubbing your knuckles when he finally breaks the silence.

“So what are we now?...”.

“Well, what do you want us to be?”.

“Well, I want you to be mine”. You look up and your eyes met him, and you didn’t expect him to be staring into you with look full of fondness. A smile slowly reaches his eyes as he squeezes your hands, waiting for your answer.

“Then, Hanma, I'm yours”.

#hanma shuji x reader #hanma x reader #hanma shuji #hanma fluff #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo revengers fluff #☆HeavenandHell #rsz.w

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stainedglasstruth · 1 year ago

Text

PARTIES: @lukas-dark-miracles & @stainedglasstruth TIMING: Late May LOCATION: Something Wicked News SUMMARY: Lukas goes into the office to drop off some papers and finds Arden working late. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Lukas liked his freelancing writing position. It meant that he could make some money that wasn’t tied to his Sire - not that he had a problem with that. It also meant that he could write which was something that he loved to do. Even when he was a priest - often the quiet time before masses when he wrote his homilies was part of a comforting routine. He grew to miss it over the years - the ability to give advice was something that he always loved to give- so it felt natural to pick up the metaphorical pen and write advice columns. So, with the deadline being the next day, he had gone to the office to drop off some of his proofs. While they were sent digitally - he always felt better if there was physical ones as well.

He hadn’t expected to meet anyone at the office as the sun had set a little while ago. So, when he heard the scuttle of life he for a moment paused his hands still holding the envelope as he cleared his throat to make the other aware he was there.

“Oh Hello,” Lukas said, his head tilting slightly at the younger woman. “I haven’t seen anyone else at this time. Forgive me I haven’t gotten to meet most of the team - I’m Lukas the freelancer.” He reached out his hand for a shake wondering if that was the smartest for him to do.

—

The awful stench that had been hanging in the air for nearly a month was really starting to kill Arden. On a bad day, a strong perfume could set her off, so between the stress of everything that had been happening recently and the stinkiest perfume that was the smell of sulfur and burnt charcoal that lingered outside, she was in hell. That was to say, she wasn’t at peak performance these days, and she was a little behind on her work. So, she had stayed late at the office, intent on playing catch up.

She was just about to finish up and head home when she heard someone clearing their throat over the music quietly drifting from her computer. Startled, Arden’s head whipped up as she tore her gaze away from the screen. There was a strange man in the building, and that realization did nothing to calm her heart rate. She was opening her mouth to ask him what the fuck he was doing there– in a more polite manner, of course– when he began to speak.

Lukas the freelancer, right. She knew of him, of course, but had never seen him before. Because he apparently came in– her eyes flicked down to check the time, and fuck, when did it get so late– in the evenings. Hmm… Maybe he worked another job during the day?

“Hi,” she greeted, examining the man. He was older than her– maybe mid thirties– seemed to take care in his appearance, strikingly blue eyes behind his glasses. She couldn’t get a good read on his vibe yet. “Yeah, I usually head out a lot earlier, but I needed to catch up on some things. I guess I lost track of time, though.” Standing, she accepted his handshake. “I’m Arden. I must admit, I was beginning to wonder about our mysterious new advice columnist; it’s nice to finally meet you.”

—

Lukas had meant to introduce himself to the other newspaper writers, but he found timing to be complicated at the best of times. It wasn’t exactly that he couldn’t come out at earlier times, but he found it uncomfortable to do so. He figured as he grew in his new life he’d feel better about it, so he hadn’t managed to push himself to do so. After all, he had time immemorial to meet people, and he didn’t need to worry about it. Still, he thought it was nice to finally meet someone on the team.

He briefly shook his hand, careful not to pause too long on it. He found that people felt too warm to him as of late. Although he knew well enough that people couldn’t necessarily tell by a touch he was a vampire, he was always cautious of it. He didn’t want to frighten the younger after all. Lukas laughed at the idea that anyone was wondering about him. “ Sorry to be a mystery. I just usually am busy during the day. It’s nice to meet you as well, Arden,” he said, saying her name mostly so he could remember the name to her face. After all, he’d need to be at least a bit weary of her looking into him. He didn’t think it was such a big deal when he came back from the dead, but he thought it might be a bit annoying if he was looked into.

“Tell me, are you the same Arden that just wrote the piece about the Metal Crab Cult?” Lukas said, pushing up his glasses a bit. He had a habit of reading the paper only so he knew what his co-workers seemed to like to write. While he was a freelancer it was important to do. “It was wonderfully written, in any case. A fascinating bit of journalism.”

—

It was a quick handshake, but jeez, his hand was cold. “Oh, there’s absolutely no need to apologize. Is this more of a side gig for you?” she asked, voicing her earlier thoughts.

Oh no. Arden wanted to laugh, but also to shrivel up and die. He’d seen the joking crab article she’d made for that crab shirt person. She’d also just needed to write something fun, though she had put probably a little too much effort into it. “You saw that? Oh shit, well that’s mortifying,” she chuckled, grimacing slightly. “I wrote it as more of a joke than anything.” If Nath had put it up on the website without telling her, she was going to kill him.

And by kill she meant annoy the shit out of him because she wouldn’t be able to pay her rent if he wasn’t alive to give her a paycheck. He was also a pretty good boss, she supposed. Ugh.

“But th– I appreciate you saying that,” she smiled, pushing past it. “I quite enjoy seeing your column every week.”

—

Lukas nodded slightly with a smile and said, “Yes. I find writing very enjoyable but I am pretty preoccupied with other matters. I do get to write the occasional op-ed for other papers though.” Some of them were Catholic papers, which Lukas did find a bit amusing if it wasn’t technically sacrilegious.

Lukas' head tilted slightly at the other’s thoughts on her own article wondering if he should have even mentioned it. Reflexively he almost said language - a habit of him being well a priest but he managed to stop himself before he did. “Oh - still it was an interesting piece of writing, even if it was for a joke. You have quite a way with words.”

It was true, at least for Lukas. He did enjoy reading the younger's work, and most of the work the newspaper did. It was one of the reasons he had applied. “Thank you,” He said with a smile. “I do hope people like it after all, although I do have to say sometimes I get some very strange questions. It can be rather difficult thinking of good replies. Still, that’s part of the fun isn’t it?”

—

Other matters. That was very unspecific. She could understand him not wanting to share much about himself with her, a total stranger, but man, the mysterious freelancer really seemed to want to stay mysterious. It was a slightly annoying trait to someone like herself who enjoyed solving mysteries and getting definitive answers. It simply piqued her curiosity even more. “Oh, that’s great,” Arden smiled. “I do some occasional freelancing on the side myself– op-eds are fun. Are there any topics you tend to flock to?”

He looked confused at her explanation, though she couldn’t exactly blame him. There wasn’t a good way to say ‘a stranger on the internet thought it’d be funny, and I committed to the bit’ without sounding strange. “I appreciate you saying that.” The smile she gave him was genuine, even as she tried to push the embarrassment aside. It’s fine, she’d just think about this moment in the middle of the night and wish for the sweet release of death.

Her eyebrow raised ever so slightly as he thanked her. Lukas was almost certainly not a fae, then. That meant, as much as she didn’t want to have that conversation again right then, she should warn him. “You know, there’s a superstition about thanking people here– something about owing a debt to another– so most folks try to avoid it. Just as a heads up,” she shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “The column has been pretty fun. You’re a good writer, and it’s obvious you’re trying your best to help people. And there definitely are some interesting questions, yeah,” she laughed.

—

Lukas nodded at the idea that op-eds were fun. It was interesting to him to debate an opinion, but that didn’t often happen as of late. After all, She was rather hard to debate with and he was often not wanting to upset her. “Honestly anything that catches my eye - but I know that’s not a particularly good response,” He said with a bit of a laugh that managed to go to his eyes, “I speak a lot on subjects mostly in the humanities and somewhat related to philosophy, I believe the last one that was just published was a response to an op-ed on how artificial intelligence spells doom for Descartes thought experiment.” He had thought it was rather silly, but knew that most people weren’t particularly eager to discuss it. It was at least safer than him admitting he was also writing on religion which - he probably shouldn’t be.

He tilted his head slightly at her advice not particularly understanding it, but accepting that maybe it was true. Although Lukas was from Wicked’s Rest and hadn’t heard anything about it before. Then again it might have been her subtle way of saying she wasn’t human. “Fair enough. I hope you don’t take offense.” At her laugh he smiled again and said, “I appreciate it. I think if someone asks for advice that they should at least be taken seriously, although I must admit sometimes it is hard to understand some of the questions. Still, that’s what research is for.” Pausing for a moment he continued and said, “I don’t mean to pry, but is that why you're still here? Are you working on something? I’d admit that I’m not sure if I can help but I am willing to try.”

—

“That’s fair,” Arden shrugged. It might not be the most specific response, but it was honest, and it was certainly easier to write on topics that you found interesting than slogging your way through a piece you didn’t give a shit about. “Being knowledgeable and opinionated in so many different topics is a good trait to have. Even more so for a columnist.”

Her eyes lit up when he mentioned his latest piece. “Oh, that sounds fascinating. I must admit, I’m a bit of a novice when it comes to philosophy– I’m more familiar with some of the more well-known and bigger picture ideas than I am with the specifics. But it is a topic I do enjoy contemplating.” She should really see if her mother still had some of her father’s books on philosophy. That would mean going to the house and having a conversation with her mother, though, and that was something she would rather prefer to avoid.

Her hands flew up in a placating manner as she shook her head. “Oh, no, none taken,” Arden reassured. Just don’t need anyone unknowingly getting bound to a fae. “I think that a very admirable way to look at it. This town does tend to attract some more eccentric individuals, so I understand there being some difficulty at times. If you ever need help with research, feel free to reach out. I’m a nerd,” she admitted with a grin, “I find it satisfying.”

“Oh,” she looked down at her desk, a nearly finished document open on her screen. “I was just catching up on some work– some things that needing editing or double-checking, mostly. This smell’s been triggering my migraines, and I’ve been trying not to overdo it, so I’ve been a little behind I’m nearly done for the evening, however, I appreciate the offer.” She flashed him a smile before cocking her head to the side. “What has you coming in, though?”

—

Lukas gave a light laugh at the idea and said, “I appreciate that, although I think it probably makes me pretty awful at dinner parties.” He wouldn’t really know, he didn’t tend to go to small gatherings of people - or hadn’t for a long time. Still, his Sire often said it so he figured it was probably true. After all, most people probably didn’t want to talk to him about such specific topics.

He nodded slightly and said, “I thought it was at least. I’m hoping it does well enough as a piece.” He wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t more familiar with philosophy, most people didn’t spend their time on such specific questions and answers - especially with much bigger things happening around. “That’s fair enough. I assume that you are more focused on news and the like, which I think is rather important. However, if you do want to know more on philosophy I never mind talking through it.” He found that it was easier than reading it at the very least. While he knew it was necessary to be specific when writing philosophical texts, it didn’t make them any less tedious. “Epistemology can be rather tedious when you can’t talk about it, ironically.”

Lukas nodded, still noting that he might want to stop saying thanks to people in case. At the offer of help he couldn’t help but chuckle a little and say, “I might have to take you up on that. I’ll admit I’ve been having to use the internet to look up some words but I don’t think they are really in the context that it was given.” He hated to admit the fact that he was bad at language - but being a priest and then mostly talking to a centuries old vampire for the majority of his life had limited his vocabulary in a very specific way. “I think I’m fairly good at figuring out what their asking, but I’m not that proud to admit where I might not.”

Lukas nodded slightly, knowing that the smell had been bothering a lot of people. He wasn’t quite sure why it wasn’t with him, but he had decided to not look particularly into it. After all, he wasn’t looking for more mysteries. “I’m sorry to hear that. I think resting would be the best when you can.” At the question he remembered that he was probably waiting to long here. It wasn’t necessarily the conversation, although he did find Arden fascinating in her replies. He didn’t really want to go home and knew as soon as he left he would have. He didn’t realize the other would have figured that out. At the fact being exposed he gave a sheepish grin and said, “ You are quite right I did have a mission - I have to admit I get pretty distracted by conversation, but you should finish your work. I just needed to drop my papers off and I’ll get going.” Moving towards the closed door he put his carefully printed drafts into the bin making sure that they didn’t move fixing his glasses as soon as he was done.

—

She laughed. “Maybe you’re just not having dinner with the right people, then,” she shot back, thinking of the wide variety of nerdy dinner conversations she’d had over the years.

It was understandable, that desire for a piece to do well, that anxiety that the work you thought highly of and worked hard on wouldn’t be as well received as you’d like. Arden gave him a reassuring smile. “Well, I’d love to give it a read when it’s published. And, AI is a pretty hot topic these days; I’m sure it’ll do well.”

“That is true,” she nodded. “I’m also a bit more familiar with the ethics side of things. But I might take you up on that offer sometime. I agree, though, it is a subject that is much easier to discuss than read about. And I’d be happy to help where I can.” She dug into her pocket, pulling a business card out of her wallet and offered it to him. “You have my work email, but if you ever need to reach me, my phone’s the best place to contact me.” “And, hey, it’s a good thing, being able to admit you need help.” It was one she certainly struggled with.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Arden shrugged. “I’ve been trying to take it easy, and working on finding some medication to help out, too.” At his bashful expression, she felt the need to reassure him. “It’s okay, I was literally just about to finish up, and I appreciate the conversation.” It was true, she was pleasantly surprised to have been able to finally meet and speak with him. As he walked over, she sat back down into her seat, quickly checking over the open document. “I’ve probably kept you longer than you intended, though, I apologize. I understand if you need to get going,” she flashed him an apologetic smile.

—

Lukas chuckled with the other and shrugged, “You’re probably right. I’ll have to expand my dinner parties.” After all, soon enough he would have a lot of people around him. Maybe some of them would be interested in philosophy. It was certainly possible.

“I’ll make sure to send you a copy,” Lukas said with a nod especially at her assessment. After all, AI was the latest in a craze of apocalyptic dread. It might actually be fascinating to write on that as well. He’d have to remember that. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Lukas nodded thinking that it was usual for people to start with ethics, although he didn’t have too much fun speaking on that particular subject with Her. When you simply didn’t care about the subject, it got a little - wonky. It was hard trying to form the words to describe that though. Still he took the other’s card and nodded, “I’d love too. I always thought if I hadn’t become a writer I would have liked to be a philosophy professor, so you can let me know if I chose the right career.” It wasn’t fully a lie, although he had always wanted to be a Priest. What was a priest if not a writer and speaker after all? At the confirmation that she wouldn’t mind helping he nodded again and almost said thank you - but instead said, “I appreciate it.”

“I hope you find some,” Lukas said simply his mind now going out the door and down the street trying to figure out what else he was going to do with his night. He supposed he could start checking on his flyers to make sure they were properly viewable. “No worries. I am always interested in talking to others and it’s nice to finally meet other writers here.” He said with an easy smile. It was true enough, even if he hadn’t properly sought any of them out. While he was sure he could move around earlier in the day, he really didn’t prefer it. He felt a lot more comfortable at night, and probably would for a few decades more. “It was wonderful to meet you, Arden. I wish you luck on your next article and that you get home soon.”

—

“I would appreciate that. And anytime,” she smiled. Sometimes you just needed someone to hype you up a bit in your writing. Her mind flashed back to that evening at the Red Eye. Arden had gotten off the tiny stage feeling miserable, and Andy had entirely turned her evening around with her compliments. …it had also helped that she was adorable, though.

A philosophy professor, that was interesting. She grinned at the comment, smile softening at the mention of her finding medication. “I appreciate it.” Even if his attention was already elsewhere, she would take all the well-wishes given on that specific matter because fuck these migraines.

“Likewise, it was nice to finally meet you, Lukas.” She caught his eye, mirroring a smile back at him. “I appreciate it. I hope you have a goodnight.” The door shut behind him, and she was left alone with her thoughts once again.

Well, she had met the mysterious advice columnist, although meeting him had not helped make him much less mysterious. If anything, Arden was only more curious about the man now. He seemed nice, and she had enjoyed talking to him, but… He didn’t come in before sunset and his hand was icy cold. Sure, there could be other explanations, and even if he was, that didn’t necessarily make him bad. Still, there were red flags, and, even just generally, something about him put her a little on edge. Her eyes lingered on the door for a moment before she turned back to the computer with a sigh.

#lukas-dark-miracles #wr lukas #writing #wickedswriting #collab

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arialysse · 2 years ago

Text

Benevolent Martinet.

A Sugar Daddy!Albert Wesker x Reader AU Fic.

In collaboration with: @atquos

Summary:

After catching your ex-boyfriend cheating on you, your life changed drastically. From deadlines to overpriced rent, your friend has suggested to you to try for a sugar daddy, something that has never crossed your mind before. But what’s the worst that can happen, right? You tell yourself. What you didn’t expect however, was the multi-billionaire CEO of Umbrella Corp to be on the list.

Warnings: Destructive thoughts

This chapter is quite the fat one, buckle up.

Chapter 5: The Unveil.

Chapters: [1], [2], [3], [4], [6]

When you opened your eyes, you were met with a headache so excruciating you wanted to die. With a groan of discomfort, you shifted restlessly on the mattress, trying to go back to sleep. So comfy… Just 5 more minutes brain, please… The ache only worsened with each passing moment, causing you to sit up with a frown and a huff of exasperation. You brought a hand up to massage your temple, trying to remember what happened.

Then… Oh…

Last night, the dinner with Stephen, after taking a few more sips of wine you couldn’t remember much. You must’ve gotten drunk and passed out! Oh god this is so embarrassing! I don’t even remember ever getting to bed, Stephen must’ve carried me again! You covered your face in embarrassment, you sure as hell hoped you hadn’t done or said anything shameful. For some reason, no matter how hard you’ve tried to dig into your memories of last night, everything drew to a close.

Your eyebrows creased as you rubbed circles on the sides of your forehead, trying to soothe the throbbing pain. Wait… What time was it? You winced when you turned your head quickly to the side, the clock read 6:34am. You panicked, shoving the covers off to dress into your school outfit. You bolted across the room, digging through your bag for clothes that you remembered packing the day before.

Soft knocks from the door made you pause. You turned your head around only to see Tove entering your room holding a tray of something and it felt as if you were a kid getting caught trying to steal some cookies. She gave you a confused smile, “Good morning, Miss (Y/N)! Umm… What are you doing?”

“I- Uh… I need to change….? Classes start in like 2 hours and I’ll be late if I don’t catch the earliest train by 7.” You stuttered, staring at her with an awkward look. “Ah, no need to worry about transportation. I was told by Master Arthur that you would insist on attending your classes, so we have prepared a transport and breakfast for you.” Trove shot you a kind smile.

“B-but I can’t.” You start, trying to ignore the pain from your head. “Why ever not?” The short-haired lady tilted her head in bewilderment. “I-I’ve already owed a lot to you and Stephen, I’m afraid that if I owe him anymore, I’d be living on the streets.” You laugh pathetically, avoiding her gaze. “I’m not quite sure I understand, are you telling me that you are indebted to us financially?”

You nod slowly and she hums, still puzzled, “Did Master Arthur request that you return this ‘debt’ financially?”

You shake your head, “No, but I believe that nothing in life ever comes for free and I doubt everything I’ve received so far, both services and food, is free.”

She giggles, a sound that surprises you. “Unless Master Arthur specifically demands repayment, then I assure that there is no need to worry about that.”

You were about to protest again when your head pounds, causing you to hiss and wince. “Ah, yes, I believe that you are suffering from a hangover. Master Arthur has prepared necessary medication for you, please ingest it.” She steps toward you, holding out the tray for you to take the contents. Anything for this stupid pain to go away, you thank her, quickly shoving the pills down your throat and taking a large swig of water.

“I will be back shortly with a proper set of clothes. In the meantime, you may wash up.” She exits the room, leaving you alone before you could even protest. With a sigh, you head inside the bathroom, washing your face and brushing your teeth to get ready for the day.

When you exit the bathroom, Tove enters the room yet again, with a dress and a cardigan on her arm. She sets the article of clothing on the bed neatly, picking up any lingering fuzzes on the clothes. “Once you are done with getting changed, we will be heading downstairs as breakfast is ready.”

You nod, thanking her as she leaves with a bow. You eyed the garments laying on your bed. The dress was milky white, it was also a minidress but this time, it was off-shoulder and had net fabric embroidered with flower and lace covering the outer part of the dress. You blush when you see a pair of black stockings lying beneath the dress. The cardigan was knitted in beige, looking slightly oversized on you.

Without trying to delay any longer, you put on the dress, noting how it was silk on the inside, making the dress extremely comfortable as it hugs your curves exquisitely. You fiddled with the ribbons at the ends of the dress on your thighs as well as the one in the chest area. You put on the knitted cardigan and relished the warmth the snuggly fabric provided.

At first, you were a little hesitant putting on the stockings, but after convincing that you shouldn’t waste Stephen’s money, you slipped it on.

You thank Tove silently for providing house slippers as you were sure that you would’ve fallen from the silkyness of the stockings. You went over to the desk and slung your bag over your shoulder, double-checking that you had everything.

While walking toward the door, you pause abruptly to check yourself over on the full-length mirror that stood beside the dresser. Stephen really had taste making you wear these, you hoped you won’t disappoint him. You bit your lip nervously, fiddling with your hair and trying to silence your self-consciousness.

With a deep breath, you walked away from the mirror, stepping out of the room. Tove complimented your look, causing you to laugh nervously. She took the bag from your shoulders, informing you that she will be placing it in the car as you eat. Originally, you told her that you could carry it downstairs yourself but she insisted and you easily caved in on her offer.

She escorts you down to the same dining table. As you stepped down the black, marble stairs, you took in the view of the buildings from the massive windows. The sky was a brilliant mix of orange-blue, a breath-taking view from where you stood. You noted that you must be somewhere at the top of the building if the structures below you looked small.

You feel your stomach curl anxiously upon reaching the wide dining table, afraid of what Stephen’s reaction was going to be. Oh and you hoped he wouldn’t comment anything about last night, even if you couldn’t remember most of it.

Laying your eyes on Stephen, you observed that he had his right elbow on the table as he leaned against his thumb, his index finger covering his lips while his other hand held up a newspaper, engrossed on the words from behind his shades.

“Master Arthur, Miss (Y/N) has arrived.” Tove announced as she walked toward him. His head shot up and when his eyes landed on you, you noticed that his jaw tightened. His gaze never left your form as he folded the newspaper absentmindedly, handing it to Tove shortly after.

You shrink under his gaze, feeling as if you did something wrong. A familiar feeling of deja vu came into your mind, as this was exactly how you felt yesterday. He stands up and you gulp meekly.

“Come here, sweetheart.” You hear him command lowly, his voice touching something foreign within you, sending pleasurable tingles shivering down your spine. As you stood before him, his familiar, muscular cologne invaded your nostrils. You felt slightly warmer as you waited for what he was about to say, examining the black fabric of his vest. It was only now that you finally began studying his outfit.

He wore his usual white button-up, his sleeves folded to reveal his watch. His black necktie was tied to perfection, resting below the collar. Above everything, he wore a black vest, you could see that there was a pocket on the left side of his chest. His recognized dress pants were bound onto his hips by a leather belt and everything about him screamed “professional” and “classy”.

“Are you done checking me out?” You snapped out of your thoughts, gawking up at him with a fierce blush coating your cheeks. He chortled, the sound pleasant in your ears as usual. “I merely jest, sweetheart. You look quite… ravishing yourself, I must say...”

His last words sounded slightly breathier, which made your stomach twist pleasantly. You could only stare at him with slightly parted lips, a beet-red face and pounding heart. A moment later he clears his throat, bringing up a fist to cover his mouth, “Let’s get you seated first, beautiful.” With a hand on your back, he gently guided you to the other end of the table, withdrawing the chair from beneath the table like a real gentleman.

You thanked him sheepishly and sat, adjusting the edges of the skirt a little. You feel his predatorial gaze on you as he settles down himself and you gulp. Fortunately, Tove comes out with the cart of food.

She sets the 2 plates of breakfast down, followed by a refill of coffee for Stephen and a glass of apple juice for you. Tove then leaves not a moment after, the silence between you and Stephen thick as you both ate.

“U-umm… is- what’s on your mind?” You ask, in hopes of breaking the awkwardness. “Oh, nothing, nothing at all, sweetheart. I apologize for my silence, my mind is just… occupied with somethings.” He shoots you a devious smile. “O-oh? Like what?” You blurt out before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, sweetheart… You wouldn’t want to know.” A smirk plastered his features as he took a bite of the egg, causing the yolk to break, the viscous liquid slipping from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he brings his tongue out to lick the runny fluid, bringing up a finger to wipe the rest off. Instead of cleaning it on a paper towel, he cleaned the residue with his flexible appendage.

You slowly shifted your gaze upwards, only to be met with his.

Shit. You had been caught staring.

Your face bloomed a brilliant red and you quickly ducked to look down at your half-eaten food, biting your lip. What was that?! That was sexy as hell- What?! No! Brain shut up! That is highly inappropriate! You tried focusing on trying to eat -and not choke-, dismissing the weird feelings that were sprouting from inside you.

As you downed your apple juice in one swig, you hear him stifle a chuckle, bringing up his steaming cup of coffee to mask his laughter. “Now that I think about it. You are quite horrendous at handling your liquor, aren’t you?” He took another sip.

“I’ve been told that too many times… Which is why I don’t really go drinking with my friends as much because they take vid-...” You paused, looking at him hesitantly, “Did- Was I-...”

He sets the now empty cup down, bringing his elbows onto the table, leaning against his intertwined fingers. “Oh, yes… The night before… You were…” He trails off, remembering the events of last night. Annoying? Shameful? Hideous? You thought as you waited for him to continue.

“Remarkably outspoken.” He finished and you died a little on the inside. You covered your face with your face and groaned in embarrassment. “I-I’m so sorry! If I had said anything awful to you!”

“Not at all,” He stands up and steps toward you, holding his hand out for you to take. You quickly placed your hand in his larger ones and stood up.

Suddenly, he tugs you roughly toward him and you stagger, losing your balance. With another hand on your shoulder to steady you, he leans down next to your ear, his rich, breathy voice whispering, “But I’ll let you in on one thing. It has been a while since a lady was able to fluster me as you did.”

He stands back up with a sincere smile, as if he hadn’t pulled whatever he did on you. “Shall we depart then, sweetheart?”

The car ride was relatively silent as you were still stunned from the words that left Stephen’s lips just earlier. What did you say? What did you do? What did he do? What did the both of you do? What happened after that last sip? Your mind was racing with thoughts, as you scramble to try and recall what happened after you started feeling dizzy. Stephen remained quietly seated beside you with folded legs, tapping away on his tablet.

You fiddled with your hands nervously. Wait, now that I think about it, my headache is gone and my injuries from 2 days ago have almost already healed. What exactly were those pills? or in those pills? Maybe I should splurge on some. They seem to work like magic. Maybe I can ask Stephen where I can get it from. Hopefully it’s available at the nearby pharmacy.

“Sweetheart?”

“Y-yes?” You utter pathetically.

“I said we were reaching soon and if you needed anything else?” He covers his tablet and sets it down beside him, focusing on you.

“I- uh… Where can I get those bottles of medicine that you gave me?”

He tilted his head, “Oh? You’re interested in that? I apologize for disappointing you but, those are only sold to corporate partners. They are not available out in the open.”

You dropped your gaze, “Ah, I see, it’s alright then.” There goes your plan of overworking yourself to pay him back.

He places a hand over yours, causing you to look back up at him. “I can arrange an offer with them to supply more of it for you, if it is your wish.”

You shake your head vehemently, “No, no! It’s fine really! It’s just… It works amazing.” You touch the fading bruise on your cheek, “Usually I take a week or 2 to heal from bruises but after ingesting the medicine you provided, it’s already almost gone.”

He smiles, placing his hand over yours on your cheek, “I’m glad to hear that. I will inform them of their success.”

You feel your face heat up as his gesture and remain speechless as the car comes to a steady halt. He pulls away, “Have a great day at classes, sweetheart. Notify me when you are ready to leave. I will return to pick you up.”

“It-It’s fine, I can take the public transport that reaches the nearest-” Wait… why does it sound like you’re living with him or something? Besides, you were supposed to call Olyvia and leave after the dinner yesterday.

You yelp when he moves toward you, his face inches away from yours, as he leaned into your ear. “Be a good girl this once and just listen to me, won’t you?”

Your jaw dropped at his words and you gasped audibly with a crimson face. You were astounded by your ability to not pass out from the blood that was rushing to your face whenever you spoke to this man. Before you could retort, the chauffeur opens the door.

He chuckles, “I shall not keep you any longer. Take care and goodluck with your classes, sweetheart.” You could only nod and step out stiffly while clutching onto your bag.

As you left the car, you were met with several looks of astonishment, murmurs and whispers directed to you. The heaviest stares though, were from your red-headed and white-headed friends. You hear the chauffeur shut the door, going back into the driver’s seat and then taking off.

You watch as the car disappears into the distance, then turned around to face the two. Mei had a hand over her mouth in surprise, while Ruby smirked, waggling her eyebrows. “Someone’s been naughty.” You quickly denied, “H-He insisted, okay? I can’t really say no…”

“Well, at least someone’s able to overpower your stubbornness. Kudos to that man.” Ruby grinned, and you feel your blush darken. “Hold on for a moment, Ruby. (Y/N), weren’t you supposed to be at Olyvia’s? What happened?” Mei asked worryingly.

“I- Uh-” You looked away from them, “I-it’s a little complicated…” You stammered, fiddling with the straps of your bag. “Tell us.” Mei insisted, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “W-well… Uh, he and I had a kind of fancy dinner last night at his place and… he may have gotten me drunk…?”

Mei’s gaze hardened instantly, “Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?” You shake your head fervidly, “No, no! He just carried me to bed I think, and then I passed out.”

Ruby, who still wore a grin, tapped lightly at the worried female’s back, “Chillax, Mei! If he did anything to her, don’t you think she’d have marks or felt it by now?” Mei seems to think about it for a moment, “I… You are right. I apologize for going off on you.”

You shook your head, smiling at her, “Not at all. I appreciate your concern, really. Thanks, Mei.” She nods, shooting you a smile of hers. “Well, well, well. What do we have this morning?” You hear someone tease from behind. Suddenly, an arm over your shoulder made you stumble, you turned your head to frown at Niall, who wore a shit-eating grin on his face. “Good morning to you too, Niall.” You grumble.

“Already leeching off of Mr. Sugar Daddy I see. Gotta say, he has an impressive sense of style dressing you up like this. You look way more magnetic compared to whatever rubbish you always wear.” You sneer at him, “Am not! And I’d very much prefer whatever ‘rubbish’ I always wear than this… It’s too… attention-snatching for me…”

Niall lifted his arm away from your shoulder, “Isn’t that the point of clothes? Other than to cover up your private parts. You might as well look fabulous while doing it, you know what I mean.” The male wiggled his eyebrows and pointed at himself. You sigh with a shake of your head.

“Ooo~” You hear another familiar voice sing from behind. Olyvia hopped right beside you, eyeing you from head to toe. “Miss Universe has returned~” You bush and cover your face.

“Olyvia, I believe you were supposed to pick (Y/N) up from that man’s place. What happened?” Mei questioned the silverette with a frown. “Huh, oh… right, that. I did call her, but that dude picked up instead and said something about drinking wine and that she’s in safe hands.” She shrugged, earning a sigh from the short-haired female.

“Well I mean, she relatively seems to be unharmed. Other than the injuries her shitty ex gave her. Speaking of which, what magic did he perform on you? Your bruises are like, almost gone.” Ruby reached a hand out to touch your cheek gently. “I have no idea what he gave me to be honest. He just told me that it was safe and that it will help with the healing process.” The red-head retracts her hand, “Damn. Can I get some too?”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, “He says that it’s not out in the open and is strictly for his business partners.” Ruby let out a defeated ‘damn’.

Soon, the four of you decide to hurry to class, before being penalized for being late.

Needless to say, you were severely distracted by trying not to check your phone for any messages from Stephen. It was extremely difficult to focus, as whenever your hand was free, your thoughts began drifting to what he said or had said.

“Oh, sweetheart… You wouldn’t want to know.”

“It has been a while since a lady was able to fluster me as you did.”

“Be a good girl this once and just listen to me, won’t you?”

Be a good girl…

Good girl…

You drop your pen and bring your hands up to cover your face, whining silently. For some reason, the way he praised sounded different. It sounded… sexy. Your stomach coiled pleasantly at the thought of his words. Then you felt a nudge.

You peeked through your hands, seeing Olyvia leaning against her knuckle with a smirk. “Busy thinking about Mr. “Stephen”, are we?” You groaned and pushed her arm away. “I heard him yesterday, you know? I tried calling you but you fell asleep.” She shifted her gaze to the screen, pretending to take notes as your professor babbled on and on. “W-what did he say…” You query meekly, glancing at her.

“In short, he said ‘Sorry for making your friend wasted. But don’t worry, she’ll be safe with me.’ He sounded hot by the way, so congrats to you for scoring that man.” You see her wink at you slyly, then go back to reading her written notes.

You sigh, trying to control your emotions. You can’t afford to get caught with a red-

“Miss (Y/N), could you answer this question?” God dang it.

You stood up and stuttered the answer, your classmates giggling at your bashfulness. “Are you sick, Miss (Y/N)? Your face is a little red. Would you like to visit the infirmary?” You hear your professor ask in concern. You shake your head, “N-no sir, just a little headache, I’ll be fine, t-thank you.” He nods and you sit back down as he resumes explaining.

You turn to see Olyvia stifling her laughter behind her hand. You pout and glared at her with a red-face.

When lunch came around, you and Olyvia packed up and headed out of the lecture hall. “Niall asked if the cafe was cool.” You told her that you were fine with it and you both made your way to meet the others at the location.

It wasn’t a long walk, thankfully. Your college provided all sorts of dining options because it was a large establishment. You both stop in front of the cafe that was aptly named “Chill Beans”. “They told us to sit somewhere first. Do you feel like taking seats inside or outside?” You shrug, “Anything is fine with me.”

You both walked over to a table outside, ducked under a patio umbrella that shielded the area from the afternoon sun. While waiting on your friends, Olyvia headed in to take your orders.

You checked your phone for any important mail or messages. A smile greeted your face when you saw a message from the app you’ve come to know and love.

Stephen Arthur:

Good afternoon, sweetheart. How was your morning? I do hope you’re eating a proper lunch. You will make me terribly worried if you do not do so.

Me:

Hey Stephen! Morning classes were a bit boring but I'm used to it. My friend is ordering a lunch set for me as we speak, so don’t worry :) what about you?

Stephen Arthur:

I am having lunch with a few of my business partners myself. Would you like me to share what I am currently having?

Me:

Sure!

Stephen Arthur:

1 photo attachment

It tastes mediocre. But everything does, without you near.

You covered your mouth, cheeks instantly heating up at his text. You examine the photo he sent. He was having a plate of squid ink pasta, the silvery utensils neatly placed beside the glass plate. Beneath it all, a mahogany cloth covered the table.

Me:

That looks good! Eat well, Stephen :)

Stephen Arthur:

I do believe a fair exchange is in order. Since I have shared with you what I’ll be having, it is your turn to share yours, sweetheart.

Me:

Reasonable. I’ll be sure to send it to you when my food arrives.

Oops, gotta go, my friends are here. They’ve been teasing me the whole morning and I refuse to be a victim of their mockery anymore, take care Stephen! :)

You shut your phone and greeted your incoming friends. You see Mei entering the cafe, helping Olyvia with the trays of food. Ruby and Niall were as usual, complaining about the classes, asking for your opinion once in a while.

Soon enough, Mei and Olyvia came out with the orders of food. You angled your phone where it looks best and snapped a shot, sending it to Stephen right after.

Me:

1 photo attachment

My lunchies :)

When you looked back up, you were met with several grins. “Updating Mr. Perfect?” Ruby sassed, poking at her salad. Oh boy, here we go. They spent the next few minutes mimicking and mocking what they thought was happening between you and Stephen. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, sighing at their stupidity.

“Miss (Y/N) (L/N)?” You hear someone call from behind. You turned around and felt your jaw drop. It was the headmistress herself! You stood up quickly, bowing at her. “G-good afternoon Headmistress! Y-yes I’m (Y/N).”

The old lady examined you from head to toe pretentiously behind her glasses. “Follow me, I need to have a word with you in my office, young lady.” You glance back at your friends in confusion. They only stared right back at you with the same expression. You slung your bag over your shoulder and excused yourself, trailed the headmistress to her office.

The walk was silent and tense, as your head swirled with nervous thoughts. What happened? You only took a day off from classes, maybe you didn’t have any referral letter? Or were you doing badly for your classes? Did your professor earlier inform the headmistress that you looked off? Was it the way you were dressed?

She opened the large, wooden door, tilting her head to tell you to get inside. You stepped into the massive room, silently waiting for her to give you permission to do anything else. She walks by you, strutting over to her desk, the clicking of her heels accentuated her every step. “Take a seat, Miss (Y/N).” She pointed to the chair before her desk. You gulp, walking over and taking a seat quietly. “Do you know why you are here today?” She asks, turning on her desktop.

“Um… Is it because I’ve been doing badly in classes?” You fiddle with your bag nervously. “No… Not quite. You see, we’ve received a very troubling complaint in regards to you.” She tilts her head back, trying to see what was on the screen.

“What?... From who?” You murmur anxiously, clenching your fists.

“Miss (Y/N), tell me, did you or did you not assault your superior in your workplace?”

You shake your head, so this was what it’s all about. “What? No!”

She sighs in disappointment, “I have received video evidence of it. You do not have to deny your actions. I am severely displeased with your actions and your lies.”

You feel yourself start to choke, it feels harder and harder to breathe. You wanted to tell your headmistress that it was a misunderstanding and you were trying to protect yourself, but no words could come out. You stared at her with a lump on your throat and your mouth agape.

“I do believe that there is more to uncover and from the complaint, you will be going to court next week, yes? Until then, you are forbidden to step foot into this premise. I hope you learn and understand that your actions will have consequences and that you have brought shame upon the name of this college. Go now.” She berated sternly, causing you to scramble out of your seat with tears in your eyes and unspoken words lodged in your throat.

You avoided the weird looks the people around were shooting you as you dashed into the nearest washroom. You locked yourself inside a stall and sobbed, covering your mouth to stifle the whimpers. You needed to tell your friends what happened, right now. When you brought out your phone, about to text them, you saw the one person that you actually needed the most right now.

The one person who you’ve only just met, yet brought so much warmth and comfort in your life.

You tapped on the phone icon and sobbed quietly, waiting for him to pick up.

At first, you were beginning to give up hope, scolding yourself as he was busy and deserved to spend every last minute of his lunch break resting. You should just hang up, he’s a busy man, you don’t deserve a second of his time talking to him about your problems. You’re not worth it. You’re shameful. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the negative thoughts spiraling in your head.

You feel a wave of relief wash over you temporarily when you hear his familiar voice greet.

“Hello. Do you need something?”

“S-stephen…”

At your whimper, you hear him excuse himself from his friends, making you feel guilty for interrupting his conversation.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“I- She- Told me- Go-” You blabber incoherently, your mind running faster than your lips could catch up.

“Calm down, darling. Listen to me, can you take a deep breath, for me?”

You took a shaky breath in.

“There we go, that’s my girl. Now hold it and count to eight then release, can you do that?”

You held your breath, counting to eight inside your head, then exhaling.

“You’re doing so good for me, let’s repeat this a few more times. I’ll be here with you every step of the way, I promise.”

After a few more breathing exercises, you finally found your composure.

“Do you need more time? Or are you feeling better?”

“I-I’m okay now,” You sniffle, “S-sorry…��

“None of that. Tell me what has gotten you so upset.”

You told him about what happened in the principal’s office. As you blabber on and on, you were only met with silence on his end as he listened intently.

“I-I shouldn’t have tried defending myself- This- All this wouldn’t have happened if I just shut my mouth-”

“Sweetheart.” He growled, making you flinch.

“I-I’m sorry… I’ll just go now… I can go back alone, I just-”

“No.”

You feel your heartbreak, great, not even Stephen wants you now. You sob pathetically, feeling the familiar start of a spiral.

“Stay put, sweetheart. I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Y-you don’t…!” You hear the call end just as you were about to retort. You sat on the cover of the toilet, stunned into silence. You swallowed all other thoughts for now and texted your friends whom were already asking about your whereabouts. After explaining the situation, they told you that they’ll head to where you are right now.

You brought your knees up to your chest, the whole situation making you nauseous. You were causing so much trouble for the people around you. You’re always such a trouble-maker. You’re worthless, nobody should care about you. You deserve to rot, you deserve to die.

You should have never been born.

You feel blood trickle down your lips from how hard you bit, trying to hold in your cries and hushing those thoughts. You tried recalling what your therapist told you before, “It’s all over. And you are in the present, so focus on what you can do about that instead.”

You thought you were getting better, you thought you were finally able to escape the ghosts from your past, but they seem to come back every single time. You needed to head back to the mental institute to get more of those pills, the very pills that can help shut those thoughts up. You hated it, the same sound that traumatized you over and over, you wished that it’d just disappear.

A knock on the toilet stall brought you out of your thoughts. “(Y/N), it’s Mei.” You stood up from the seat shakily and unlocked the door and you were immediately greeted with concerning looks from Mei and Ruby. They gave you a tight hug and comforted you as you wailed onto their shoulders.

They took a few more minutes to properly calm you down, soothingly running hands behind your bag and whispering words of assurances.

When you were feeling better, they guided you out of the bathroom, where Niall and Olyvia stood waiting. You told them in detail of what happened and they all frowned, upset at the headmistress.

“How could she do this? She doesn’t even have the full video and she’s already making such a choice? We need to get in there to talk to her now. You need to explain your side of the story, get her to see that it wasn’t your fault at all!” Ruby exclaimed angrily, waving her hands around in frustration. “Ruby’s right. She doesn’t know that some parts of the story are missing, you need to go back in there to tell her that.” Olyvia agrees with folded arms.

“B-but she seemed so dead set on her decision! I can’t afford to get expelled now! I can’t-” You were cut off when your phone began ringing. You picked up already knowing who it was.

“Sweetheart. I am at the entrance, do you want me to wait here for you, or would you like me to come find you.”

“I-I’ll just go to you. I’ll be right there.” You say and then hang up. You marched out of the building with your friends following in tow, making sure you were safe. You saw the familiar figure of Stephen, leaning against the door of the car with folded arms and an indecipherable expression.

That’s when you suddenly hear a sharp gasp from behind you. You turn around to see Niall with his jaw wide open, as if he just got the biggest shock of his life.

Then realization slapped you harshly. It never occurred to you that your friends were going to meet Stephen.

“A-are you Albert Wesker? THE Albert Wesker?” Niall croaked, breaking the tension hanging thickly in the air. Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Who’s Albert Wesker? That’s Stephen, the man I was talking to you guys about.”

You hear Stephen sigh, his fingers curling around the bridge of his nose. “U-Um…” You piped meekly, “You know what let’s just go, Stephen. I-I’ll see you guys later…” You grab Stephen’s hand, your other one reaching out for the door handle.

“Wait.” He says, making you pause.

You turned to look at him, “What is it?”

“There seems to be a slight misunderstanding. I am here not only to pick you up, but also to have a word with the head of this college.”

“Huh…?” You could only utter pathetically.

“I was hoping you’d guide me over to the office.”

“I’ll do it!” You hear Niall exclaim with a raised hand. Stephen turns to look at him, “Then, shall we?”

The walk to the principal’s office was silent, save for the whispers from your friends who were walking ahead of you and Stephen. Who was Albert Wesker? Niall called him that. Strange… What is he hiding from me? What else could he hide from me? Why is he hiding it from me? Am I not trustworthy enough? You bit your lip, wracking your brain for an answer.

A firm arm wrapped itself behind you. You looked up from the carpeted floor, then to the man walking beside you. He remained tight-lipped as he observed you from behind his shades. You then shifted your gaze away, bringing up your hand to play with the edges of your tote bag. He retracts his hand and the silence remains until you stand before the same door you came crying out a while ago.

“Alright, y’all ready? I’m going to knock now.” Olyvia nears her hand on the door.

“Leave it. I shall enter the office just with Miss (Y/N).” Stephen demanded, eyeing you to follow him. Your friends didn’t dare to protest as he knocked and entered the room with you in tow.

You stood beside him as he shut the door, placing a hovering hand behind your back.

“Who is i- Oh my!” You hear the headmistress jump from her seat, “I-if it isn’t Mr Wesker! Please, take a seat!” He glances at you briefly, you follow him without question, taking a seat beside him on the leather couch.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of, Mr Wesker?” She took a seat on the couch at the other end, preparing a cup of tea for him.

“I believe there was a complaint regarding her.” Stephen points to you, you nervously looked at the headmistress. “Ah… I see what it’s about. I will show you of her bad deeds but before that, what is your relationship with her?”

“Does it matter? I expect an answer.” He demands strictly. “W-well if you are here to speak on her behalf, I can only allow pare-”

“I am her guardian. Her parents do not have any relations with her.”

“I see.” She walks over and grabs her laptop, displaying the video. You cringed and looked away, closing your eyes at the horrid memory and his disgusting words. A warm hand pressed against your back, “That is enough.”

The headmistress pauses the video, “Do you see now? As much as I’d like to help, there is not much I can do because of the video proof I got from the company. I hope you understand that it would cause a lot of outrage and a dent on the reputation of this school if this goes out of hand.”

“Therefore your solution is to send her away and possibly dismiss her from her classes? With all due respect madam, that is possibly the foolish conclusion I have ever heard of.” Stephen leans his elbows against his knees, lacing his fingers, his lips stretched to a thin line. The headmistress was taken aback, “What do you suggest then?”

“Firstly, which company sent you the video.”

“It’s from Tricell. There is no way I can close an eye on that corporation.”

You hear Stephen scoff, “No matter. Second of all, you do realize that the video was cut, do you not?”

The old lady tilts her head, “Yes I am aware of it. They informed me that their camera had stopped working afterwards and that was all the footage they got.”

Bingo. Now you know why you were painted as the villain.

“What else did they write?” He asks.

“They had told me that after she had slapped him, she continued to assault him then fled right after.” She shot you a frown. You looked away and chewed on the inside of your cheek.

No! That’s not what happened! You wanted to scream, but you stayed silent, as your vision turned cloudy.

“Have you gotten the chance to listen to her side of the story?” He leans back, sitting up straight.

The headmistress points a finger at you, “There is nothing to listen about. The video has said enough and even she is guilty of her actions. Mr Wesker I-”

“Silence.” He warned. There was without a doubt that he was fuming.

The headmistress remained silent, you feel goosebumps rising on your arm at his displeasure. Note to self, never make “Mr Wesker” angry.

“Go on, tell her what really happened.” He remained still as he prompted you to explain. With a shaky breath, you tell the events of that night, of what really happened and the fading injury for proof. After you were done, you see the headmistress take a seat on the cushion, conflicted.

“I-I’m sorry Miss (Y/N)- I hadn’t realize-” She cleared her throat, “Even so, this is a large corporation that I cannot ignore. I wish that there is more I can do but-”

You flinch when you hear Stephen click his tongue. “That was all I am here for. I do not need to hear another word coming from your mouth. Farewell.” He grabs your arm and you stagger out of the office with him. Your friends didn’t have a chance to ask you how it went as you were dragged all the way out of the building.

He releases his hold on you and opens the car door, gesturing you to go in. You slipped inside the car hesitantly and he joined you, shutting the door.

“Where to, sir?” The chauffeur asks through the speaker.

“Umbrella.” Was Stephen’s only reply as he pulled out his phone.

Umbrella? Where have you heard of that name before? You furrow your brows, trying to remember where you’ve seen or heard of that name.

“Hello? Albert! I knew you would call back! Did you miss me?”

“You will meet me in my office at present. I have no care if you had plans.”

“Oh~ someone is a little angry today~ Of course my love, I will be there-” He dropped the call before the lady on the other end could finish.

She had called him my love. What was the relationship he had with the lady? Where was he bringing you to? Why are people calling him ‘Wesker’? Were you in trouble? What is going to happen now?

What is going to happen to you?

You clench your fists and bite your lip nervously. You feel the telltale signs of another breakdown. You closed your eyes trying to focus on your breathing.

Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t-

You feel a larger body envelop yours tenderly. A soothing hand running circles along your back, effectively snapping you out of whatever trance you were in.

“It will be alright, sweetheart. I am here with you.”

You refused to cry, you couldn’t, not here and not now. Until you finally get the answers you were looking for, you need to stay strong. You hold back your tears, bringing your hands up to return him the hug.

After a short silence you heard him murmur softly next to your ear, “Are you feeling better?” You nod wordlessly, hiding your face on his shoulder.

Soon, the car halts, you apologize and shift to pull away. His only response was to clutch you closer. You yelp when you feel the car wobble then get elevated by something.

You were on an elevator… For cars… You stared out the tinted windows in awe. You have never been on one before or much less seen one. The elevator stops, and the large doors of the lift open. The chauffeur opens the door and you are carried out of the car by Stephen.

He walks with you in his arms into a massive room with an impressive view. You watch as the chauffeur bows and presses a button, shutting the doors and disappearing out of view. Stephen sets you down on a plush, velvet couch. Then walked over to his office desk, pressed a button on his phone and requested something from the person on the other end.

He marches back toward where you were seated, as you twiddled with the ends of your dress in silence. He quietly sits down next to you, the atmosphere between you two tight. You had so many questions that you needed answers for, but you didn’t know how or even where to begin. So while you collect your thoughts, you remain noiseless.

“I apologize.”

He broke the silence, “I am sure you have a good deal of unanswered questions about me, so I will give you what you need. What would you like to know about first?”

You turn to face him, refusing to look into his eyes. “Who are you, really?”

He sighs, “My real name is Albert Wesker.”

“Why… Why did you lie to me about it? This whole time? I trusted you…I thought-” The slight sting of tears caused you to pause and take a deep breath. “I-I never once lied to you about me, I told you everything about me, so, why?” You whimper.

You saw his jaw tighten as he tried to find the right words to say. “Sweetheart, I…” He pauses pensively, “I am afraid.” He confessed dejectedly, avoiding your gaze.

“Afraid of what? What could I ever hope to do to you?” You exasperate in frustration.

“Leave and break my heart…?”

You stared at him, frozen in shock. Your heart shattered at the tone of his words. His gaze remained on the ebony marble tiles, “I am terrified of the thought that once you know who I truly am, that you’d walk out the door and never come back, or treat me with indifference.” He clenches his fist, “Forget it. This is not about me. It is about you. Is there anything else you would like me to answer?”

You open your lips, when suddenly the door opens and a woman comes barging in uninvited.

“Albert~! I’m here!” She announces as she struts hurriedly to him, throwing her arms around him. You flinch and yelp, standing up and moving away. He, however, rejects her advances and pushes her away. She pouts, “Come on, Albert~ Don’t be such a spoiled sport now~” She turns her head and it was only then she finally noticed that you were present.

“Oh. And who is this? New assistant?” She scrutinizes you head to toe with a grimace, “Oh, Albert, you could do so much better. Piss off now ugly, it’s Albert and I’s private time.”

Albert grabs her wrist and twists it, not so hard that it would break, but strong enough to get her attention, causing her to whine in protest.

“Excella Gionne, let this be my first and last warning to you. Should you insult my girlfriend again, everything we have ever had a contract for, will be terminated.” He warns with a growl, standing up and leaving her to fall onto the couch. Girlfriend?! You scream internally, since when?!

She yields and he releases her. Excella adjusted herself on the sofa with a roll of her eyes, “So? What did you call me here for? I’m sure it’s other than telling me you have a new girlfriend.”

A servant enters the room then, arm holding 3 glasses of something. He walks over to where you all were, just as he was about to set the last glass down, Excella roughly yanks it away from his grasp, nearly spilling the contents. He frowned but bit his tongue and left with a bow.

“One of your employees is up to no good, Excella. I expected you to have better reigns on your minions.” Albert says, placing a hand behind you, ushering you to the sofa opposite of where the fancy lady sat. “Oh? Which numbnut is it this time?” He shoots you a look, and you utter the name of your ex-manager.

“Ah, that ugly pig.” She sips on the liquid, “I heard that he’s going to court next week against a girl who assaulted him. It wouldn’t happen to be…” Her brown eyes trail over to you. You swallowed nervously, biting the inside of your lip. “Hmm… Well, I say you deserve what’s coming for you, girl. After all, you started it, yes? You slapped him first.”

“B-but he-”

“Ah, ah, ah. I won’t hear a word from you. That pig may be an imbecile, but he is still my brother’s son nonetheless. Besides, I’ve watched him grow up and he is never the type to lay a hand on a woman. So, I say you deserved to get sued.” She smirks and sips on the remainder of the liquid.

“I believe we are done, then.” Albert announces, standing up and walking over to his desk. “Ah, yes we are! Go on now ugly duckling and cry somewhere else, no one wants you-”

“Take her away.”

Suddenly you hear the room door slam open, 2 towering men in suits march over to where Excella sat and grab her arm.

“What?! Why are you doing this, Albert?! All over a peasant girl? This does not have to be such a major issue if you dump her and go with me! Let go of me you big idiots!” She struggled as she was dragged out of the room, “This is not the last you’ll see of me Wesker! I will be back for you and that hideous bitch of yours!”

The door shut and you heard muffled threats coming from outside, slowly disappearing.

You kept your eyes on the doors. Because of you, Albert lost a business partner. His business might’ve depended on her and you ruined their relationship, all because of your petty business. You clench your jaw. If I hadn’t spoken to him, if I hadn’t told him about the incident last night. If I hadn’t replied to him.

If only I was never born.

You shut your eyes as the familiar, appalling phrase resurfaces in your head. You tried to control your breathing, you couldn’t cry again. You don’t deserve to. You just potentially ruined someone’s life and you’re crying? You’re so selfish.

“Sweetheart…?” You hear his voice call.

“I-I’m-” You whimper, “I’m so s-sorry… I-” Another choked sob, “I-I shouldn't have- I…” You look up at him pleadingly with tears flooding in your eyes, “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess…” You buried your face in the sleeves of the cardigan in mortification. “B-because of me, you just lost a business partner. If only I hadn’t spoken to you. I-If only I was-”

You feel him tower over you, bringing you closer to him, until your forehead rested against his chest. He embraces you, tightly, softly, firmly. Your limbs trembled as you reached up to clutch the back of his vest.

“No more. Please.” He pleaded, his tone making you cry harder. “Sweetheart. Please do not ever think that you are alone in this. I would be happy if you shared your burdens with me, I would want nothing else than to carry the weight of your difficulties with you, and I will say this over and over again, until you see it.”

You both remained held to each other as you sobbed into his shoulder. Like earlier, he was patient, gentle and you find yourself calmed by how he caressed your hair. You took a moment to inhale his scent. His strong, comforting scent that made you feel at ease whenever he was around.

When you both finally pulled away, you apologized for making a mess on his shirt. He placed a hand on your head, “Anything to see that beautiful smile of yours.” You feel your cheeks redden, the burning question at the tip of your tongue.

“D-did you really mean it?” You finally ask, after gathering enough courage.

“About you being my girlfriend?” He looks at you intently, “Only if you want to.”

Your heart jumped at his words. B-but I can’t- Not yet, as much as I love to. I just got cheated on and broke up recently. I don’t want him to be a rebound. I don’t want us to burn out. He’s too perfect to lose. I want to be with him for as long as I breathe. In order for that, I need to focus on healing and being the best version of myself, first.

“Steph- A-Albert…?” You test the foreign name.

He smiles, “You may call me whatever you wish, sweetheart.”

“U-um… I… I just recently broke up and I don’t want us to be a one-time thing. If I want to be with you, I want both of us to be fully committed and emotionally available. B-but… I need more time… I need more time to heal and learn from my mistakes so that I don’t make the same ones when I’m ready to be with you.” Your blush deepens as you avoid his gaze.

He brings you into an embrace yet again. “Of course. Take all the time you need. I will be here, waiting for you always, my darling.” He kisses the crown of your head tenderly.

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AO3 Link

Wattpad Link

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Currently screaming crying, throwing up.

When is it my turn.

#albert wesker x reader #albert wesker #reader insert #resident evil #resident evil wesker #resident evil 5

118 notes · View notes

palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 12,857

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

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

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

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

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

Ugh, why is this so stressful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

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

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

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

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

Wait. Sexy?

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s those eyes of his.

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

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

“Did you need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

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

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

God.

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

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

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

No. No, no, no, no.

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

God fucking damn it.

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

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

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

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

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

“Gimme the paperwork.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N).

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

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

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

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

“Something came up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah. But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Didn’t you just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless.

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you.

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–”

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements.

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis.

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N).

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet.

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright.

“What is the cell membrane?”

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain.

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance.

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer.

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you.

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin.

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.”

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips.

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior.

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine.

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus.

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision.

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather.

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait…

There’s a faint clicking sound.

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper.

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade.

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise.

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts?

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit.

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg.

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by.

“Hold still,” he commands.

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit.

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form.

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?”

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face.

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you.

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance.

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think.

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–”

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips.

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass.

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need.

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness.

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice.

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head.

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again.

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms.

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good.

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face.

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting.

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips.

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release.

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs.

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release.

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders.

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you.

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy.

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @libiraki <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here.

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

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

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