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a-heros-heart · 2 years

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The Ascent

Hiya. I’m not dead. Life has a way of being funny and decided to make life busy between now and my last writing prompt post. But we just gotta keep moving forward no matter what.

This is an idea I’ve mulled over in my head for a while. I like hallway fight scenes like in Daredevil, Oldboy, and John Wick and I wanted to try my hand at one.

Felix yawned and stretched as his three thirty psychology class came to an end. He had taken the class at the behest of his twin sister Morgan, who wanted to take a class with her brother.

“Remember class, the deadline to submit your research papers is tonight. Best of luck to those who have yet to begin working on them.” The psychology professor looked directly at Felix who gave a sly grin in response. Felix often gave the illusion he was not paying attention to class, but always received near perfect scores on assignments. Although he could obtain perfect scores, he did not want to add insult to injury to Morgan who practically begged him to take the class.

As they exited the class, Morgan slung her bag over her shoulder purposefully knocking her brother in the head. What she did not expect was for Felix to stumble over and hit the wall, slumping over. Other students gasped and slowed down to view the unfolding drama.

“I didn’t even hit you that hard little brother.” Morgan began. However Felix did not reply. After a few moments Morgan became concerned and approached him. Felix quickly spun around, grabbing his sister by the waist, and dragged her to the door laughing.

“Put me down you menace!” Morgan protested. But Felix continued laughing as he carried his sister to the door, wading his way through the group of students were gathered by the door waiting for the rain to lessen.

It had been raining for days in McCallen and today was no different. The gray skies were rare in McCallen where the days were normally sunny. Felix stopped just inches from the door and noticed Morgan was calm.

“What gives?” Felix asked.

“If you were going to shove me out in the rain you would have done it already.” She wheezed. Morgan wouldn’t give her brother any satisfaction, not even her difficulty in breathing.

“Who says I’m still not going to do it?”

“I am.”

“But what if I do?”

“Felix I played along with your trick and gave you the reaction you wanted to see what you had planned. You wouldn’t really toss me in the rain but you wanted me to believe you would because I guess that’s what brothers do.”

“You’re no fun.” Felix sighed, setting Morgan down.

“Maybe if you paid attention in class you would learn a thing or two about reverse psychology.” She huffed, straightening out her coat.

“Oh I do. I just pretended that I didn’t care so that I could make you believe that you’re one step ahead.” Felix taunted, gently shoving his sister to the door. Morgan stumbled and fell onto the door causing it to fling open, becoming immediately drenched.

Felix became red with laughter as the group of students silently stared on. Once Felix noticed Morgan, his laughter ceased. She gave him the most soul piercing stare that even the fearless hero began to sweat.

“C'mon Morgan. It’s just rain.” Felix pleaded.

Morgan silently stood, straightened her coat, and began walking away from Felix.

“I’ll buy you lunch!” he shouted. Morgan stopped and considered the offer.

One silent, half-hour drive later Felix and Morgan were sat in a Mediterranean restaurant at Felix’s offer. Morgan had not said a word to her twin since the incident. She stared at him, occasionally squinting at him and only spoke when the waiter asked for her order.

“How long are you going to keep this up for Morgan?” Felix whined. In response Morgan slowly blinked and shook her head.

Felix sighed “Look I don’t know how many times I can say sorry. I didn’t know your bag was open.”

Morgan remained silent.

“Alright well I have to make a phone call anyways so I’ll be back.” Felix bluffed.

He stood up and left the restaurant, walking all the way to the corner of the street where the parking garage was. Felix tapped away on his phone for a few moments before the panicked sounds of a young woman caught his attention. He pressed himself against the wall and listened in as best he could.

“-sweetheart. Either your husband finds the cash or he’s going to have to report his wife missing. Might not be able to find her for a coupla’ days.” the gruff voice of an unseen man threatened.

Crouched and counted the pairs of legs he could see. “Two. Five. Nine. Er, fifteen? Has to be at least twenty.” He whispered to himself.

The men gradually walked towards the back of the parking garage continuing to threaten and jeer at the woman who was holding back tears. Felix took advantage of this opening and quickly moved to his car which was close to the entrance. He slowly removed his keys from his pocket and placed one hand on top of the trunk. With his other hand he slid the key into the trunk slot and felt it pop open. Without letting the trunk fully open, Felix reached in and grabbed two metallic suitcases on the right side of the trunk and pulled the cover back down. The men were now by the elevator conversing just out of earshot.

Felix inhaled and exhaled to ease his nerves. He stood, pulling the edges of one case and tapped the top of the other with his foot. Both cases whirred to life and began expanding and contorting to Felix’s body.

“What the fuck was that?” someone shouted.

“Go check it out numbskull.” another ordered.

Both cases formed a suit of armor around Felix, though not as tough as his regular suit. He had constructed a lighter suit for moments when he didn’t have access to his main armor. Felix had dubbed this his ‘speed suit’. Light with just enough armor to stop a bullet, and easily portable.

“Oh shit, it's him!” one of the grunts shouted before receiving a quick jab in the gut.

“We’re fucked!” the other man flanking Sunrise shouted before he collapsed from a strike to the neck.

Sunrise rose and glanced at the men who had begun to scramble. He saw a portly man holding the woman enter the elevator with two other men. The others argued for a moment before some took the stairs while four others approached him.

“You don’t want to do this,” Sunrise warned. His plea fell on deaf ears. Two pulled out knives from their pockets. One slid a pair of brass knuckles on his fists. The last one tapped a bat against his palm.

Without a second warning, Sunrise dove towards the man with the bat catching him off guard. They both fell to the floor wrestling for the bat. One of the men grabbed his leg and was rewarded with a swift kick in the nose. Another received a blow to the temple with Sunrise’s free fist and recoiled. Sunrise stood and lifted his original opponent with one arm. He struck the man in his stomach and released him. The man with brass knuckles had backed away from the skirmish.

“Leave.” Sunrise ordered. The man obliged, dropping his weapons and taking off.

Sunrise dashed to the elevator and tapped the call button rapidly. He was too late.

“Fuck!” Sunrise hissed, punching the doors. He looked up at the floor indicator and noted the highest floor was 15. The light quickly switched from four to five.

Sunrise knew he couldn’t waste any more time. He darted towards the stairwell and kicked the door open. The door slammed against a man sending him reeling backwards. Sunrise grabbed his shirt and shoved him face first back into the door.

“He’s here!” someone shouted from above. The sound of rapid footsteps echoed in the stairwell.

Sunrise met two grunts as he ascended the stairs. He swiftly struck one in the throat and blocked a kick from the other. Using both arms, Sunrise pulled the man with ease sending him tumbling down the stairs. Two more men quickly replaced the ones Sunrise dispatched. One grabbed a horn on his helmet, pulling his head back while the other wrapped his hands around Sunrise’s neck.

With his raw strength alone, Sunrise freed his neck by grabbing his assailant's hands with an iron grip. The man yelped as Sunrise tossed him over the rail. Switching his focus to the other attacker, Sunrise grabbed his wrist and forced it away from his horn. His attacker instinctually released his hand not wanting it to be broken, but fell into the hero’s trap. Using his body, Sunrise shoved the man into the wall with his shoulder. The man crumpled to the floor with the wind knocked out of him.

Before he could plan his next move, two shots hitting his chest plate drew Sunrise’s ire.

“You fuckin’ idiot, you’re supposed to aim for the head!” a voice scolded before firing a shot that ricocheted off the side of his helmet.

Sunrise turned his head towards the shooters and noticed they jumped slightly. Instinctively, Sunrise reached for his cape to block any more shots. His heart sank when his hand grabbed nothing but air. Mentally kicking himself, he walked menacingly up the stairs towards his next opponents.

“Shit! He’s not stopping!”

“I know moron!”

Sunrise held his hand out as he walked, stopping the shots with the armor plating on his palm. When he was close enough and his attackers out of ammunition, he grabbed both of thier heads and slammed them against each other.

The weight of his armor began to take its toll on the hero. His breaths were becoming more ragged as he dispatched foe after foe. Each gunshot weakened his already crumbling armor plates. Despite the overwhelming onslaught of henchmen, Sunrise continued to move up the staircase with an unmatched fury. Each punch numbed his wrist, each kick turned his legs to jelly. Sunrise lost count after the eighteenth dreg he subdued.

Sunrise coughed as he received a strike to his stomach from the last minion guarding the door.

“Wussa matter? You tired you fr-” Sunrise grabbed the leg of his last obstacle as he was taunting him, lifted, and swiftly slammed him into the ground.

Before he had a moment to think, the man grabbed Sunrise’s leg catching him off guard. He fell beside the man groaning as his body hit the concrete. Both men writhed in pain for a moment before the lackey stood up with great effort. He moved over to the nearly unconscious hero and began punching his helmet. After the third punch, Sunrise grabbed the man’s shoulders and slammed his helmet against his attacker’s face, smearing his visor with blood. Sunrise now stood over his unconscious enemy and considered a final kick to the chest, but decided on saving his energy.

Falling to one knee, Sunrise took a moment to catch his breath. It had been less than eight minutes since he entered the parking garage, but to him an eternity had passed. Sunrise was lightheaded and exhausted. Though he had reason to give up, he could never quit once he set his mind to a task. He stood, ready to press onward and placed a trembling hand on the door. Immediately after opening the door his senses were assaulted by the pounding rain and the shout of a man.

“You bit me! You bitch!”

“Help me!” she cried.

Metal rang amidst the rain. Not a bullet. Sunrise determined. He looked down to see a set of keys by his foot. Her attacker had no escape, but he did have a hostage.

A sharp impact on his shoulder sent his thoughts away and his focus returned. The boss had shot him, numbing his arm. Reflexively, Sunrise lifted his arms to protect his face from further fire. Two shots hit his left arm causing him to groan from pain.

“Stay outta my business you freak! This one owes me a lot of money, and I ain’t walkin’ away until I get it!” the boss ordered.

Without a word Sunrise slowly marched forward taking two more bullets to the leg. His armor had crumbled to nothing but metal, metal that made him heavy and hot. But Sunrise refused to relent. No one would escape his wrath, certainly not this man. The loud thunk of his footsteps overpowered the sound of the rain as he approached his target.

“Get outta here you!” The boss had now aimed the gun at the woman’s head.

“Please listen to him, I have kids! I don’t want to die!” she cried.

“Heroes don’t run.” Sunrise huffed. His voice had become scratchy from his coughing a moment ago. He had stopped just a few feet away for safety.

“You think I won’t kill her and not get my money?” Sunrise noticed the man was shorter than he expected. Short and slightly portly, an easy target.

“Shut up lady!” he shouted at his hostage who was now in hysterics.

“Sure, you can kill her. But if you shoot her you won’t have the time to shoot me after. But if you did, I would be very very angry. So what’s going to stop me from feeding you your own spine afterwards?” Sunrise spoke calmly. The man’s face had become slightly paler. “Give me the gun. Police arrest you, and you can be out of prison in a few days. Then we can do this all over again.” Sunrise was now a few inches away from the man’s face which had now become as white as a sheet.

Sunrise offered his open palm. The man thought for a moment, biting his lip. After some time he reluctantly placed the revolver into the hero’s hands and backed away from the woman. “Thanks.” Sunrise closed his fist around the weapon and without warning, struck the man on the nose which gave a loud crack as he fell to the floor.

“G-guh.” was all he could get out before he received a metal boot to his mouth.

“Are you ok?” Sunrise asked the woman. She nodded slowly, still in shock at what had happened over the past few minutes.

“Question is, are you ok?” She asked in return. Sunrise was covered head to toe in blood. His armor was mangled and dented in many places.

“You should see the other guys.”

“You weren’t really going to let him shoot me right?” she asked. Sunrise revealed the revolver’s cylinder. All 5 slots were empty.

“I figured I would let him think he had me where he wanted. Reverse psychology.” Sunrise said, tossing the empty gun at the man.

“Sorry about all this. I had lost my job and needed some money to help my family. A friend of mine said that she knew someone who could get me a fast loan. What I didn’t know was that he was a loan shark.” She began. Sunrise nodded too tired to think of a response. “We used up the money pretty fast. And I couldn’t make the payments back at all. He started with a few phone calls, then sending people to my house. I’m just glad this is all over.” She finished, wiping her eyes.

“Tell that to the police when they get here. Also, get a lawyer. Don’t trust anyone around here except one firm on 3rd and Brighton Street. Ask for a girl named Kylie, she’ll help you.” Sunrise began walking towards the elevator.

“Thank you!” She called out as Sunrise entered the elevator. He silently waved back, as the doors closed.

Summoning all the stamina he had left, Felix ran to his car as the armor disassembled off his body. Once both pieces were back in their original form, he wrapped the blood-soaked cases in his forgotten cape and slammed his trunk shut. He checked his clothes in the side mirror, straightening out any wrinkle. Thankfully, his coat would cover the bruises on his body. Felix took one last moment to calm his nerves before joining his sister.

After a much needed moment to himself, Felix re-entered the restaurant and took his seat in front of his sister who had a bored look on her face.

“Long phone call.” She noted. Morgan folded her hands and placed her chin on it, staring at her brother.

“Yeah, business as usual.” Felix replied, taking a sip of his now warm glass of water.

“Oh, the rain stopped.” Morgan noted with a smile on her face. “Today is looking better already.”

“Mm.” Felix mused, as the sounds of police sirens wailed in the distance.

#hero #short story #amateur writer #fun fact about this #I forgot to write him putting on his cape #and I realized it midway through that one scentence #so instead of going back and writing it in #I just made him forget the cape

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

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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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trainwreckzadr · 2 years

Text

Four Years Later

So, I was deep-cleaning my room the other day for the first time in like two years (god, the dust was disgusting), and I found an old sketchbook of mine. Like, OLD old. The earliest drawing was labeled March 23, 2009--I was 11.

Most of what was in there was TERRIBLE anime art; you know the stuff. Scoopy noses, eyes that float around on the face, characters conveniently holding their arms behind their backs so you don’t have to draw their hands. Edgy character deaths and thinly-veiled self-inserts comin’ atcha full force. But I’m flipping through this thing, and I’m finding that for the first time in forever, I... don’t hate myself for it? I’m actually finding it cute! Like, “Aww, she’s learning.” Mind-boggling feeling.

So I figured, for old times’ sake, what the heck, let’s go reread Trainwreck too. So I googled the name of the blog (because I’m the kind of person who googles URLs instead of just typing them into the damn URL bar), and I happened across THIS comic dub, by Nessa G.:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55skXrjaY-Y&ab_channel=NessaG.

I fucking died.

Seriously, I hope it’s not narcissistic, but I forgot most of the jokes, and everything I drew here was so 100% my own sense of humor that I CRACKED. THE FUCK. UP. (”Fan... squirrels?”) God, I haven’t laughed that hard (or that sincerely) in a long time. And hearing the words I wrote read out loud by another human being was so weird! In a good way, obviously. Thank you for the dub, Nessa. It brought me so much joy. And it’s that video that’s inspiring me to come back to this blog and at least explain what’s going on.

So... Imma be straight with you. (Prepare to be hurled headfirst into a steaming hot pile of TMI.)

When I said I was “busy”, I was flat-out lying.

I was in a bad place, I had been for a while, and I just... couldn’t draw anymore. Like... at all. God, it was terrifying, it just snuck up on me out of nowhere. I think I worked on maybe three or four projects between 2018-2019, all to help out a family member, and then I just... stopped. Drawing became terrifying, talking to people became terrifying(er)... I basically gave up on art altogether, ghosted everyone I knew, and spent the last four years cooped up studying alone, barely eating or sleeping, scared of anything with a shadow... ACK, it was bad. I looked like a fucking skeleton by the end of it.

Now, I’m not telling you this because I want comfort or sympathy. I’ve actually been doing a lot better over the last six months. If I weren’t, I’d never post something like this--I don’t tell ANYONE my genuine feelings unless I’m already over it. Which is... ~Probably Not Healthy!~ hAhaHAhA *finger guns*

But seriously though. I’ve been reconnecting with the people I love, I’ve been eating more and putting on some weight, I got a long-term freelance position with a translation agency, and I had a breakthrough recently that took away a ton of fear... things are going okay. Importantly, I’m also starting to be more mindful of my own behavioral patterns. I’ve been trying to figure out which habits keep getting me into trouble, and work towards changing them.

One of those bad habits is MAKING PROMISES.

I have this tendency to promise the moon to people because I’m scared of disappointing or angering them (and because I constantly underestimate how long things will take me). Then I wind up skipping meals and sleep so I can get everything done, getting further and further past my deadlines, stressing and stressing until, before I know it--SKRRCH!--my entire brain comes to a screeching halt, and I shut down.

Obviously, this is bad for me, because I’m putting a ridiculous amount of strain on my own body and mind. Obviously, it’s also bad for other people, because I’m promising them all this stuff and then ditching them out of nowhere. This is just all-around bad, and it’s gotta stop. Sure, there’s this whole sad backstory as to why I do this, but that doesn’t make it okay to continue the behavior.

SO! What I’m getting at here is! When it comes to picking Trainwreck ZADR back up:

I make zero promises.

Drawing a fan comic--ANY comic--is a lot of work. Towards the end, it was taking me like 6-8 hours for just one page. I think I have finally gotten to a place where I want to start drawing again, but... I’m broke as all flying hell. I don’t have an ATA certification or any experience in translation, so I’m working... the kind of job you can get with no credentials or experience. (Bruh, this shit makes less than minimum wage.)

So, jaded though it sounds, if I’m going to be investing that much time and effort into anything other than my translation career, it HAS to be something I’m being paid for, because anxiety or no anxiety if I am not out of my parents’ house by the age of 25 I am going to jump off a fucking bridge. Into a lifeboat. Which I will then sail to the Arctic tundra to live out the rest of my days in obscurity, sucking frozen algae out of a straw for sustenance.

BUT, on the other hand... god, there were so many jokes and gags in Trainwreck that I never got to see to fruition. Watching Nessa’s video made me remember that.

Zim was going to kidnap a goat while wearing a very silly hat. Zita was going to be possessed by a demon, and then “zITARATH” was just gonna BE THERE for the rest of the comic, in the background, nobody addressing it. “Nice dress, Zita!” “tHANK YoU. IT WaS SEWN from tHE SKIN OF MY ENeMiES.” “*gasp* It’s homemade??”

Oh my god, and there was a second song!! I wrote a whole song to the tune of Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious where the Tallest find out about The Zadr(TM) and use it as an excuse to fire Zim! I don’t remember most of the lyrics, they were on my old laptop, but I know it started with “You’re~ in~ an~ interspecies, highly inappropriate relationship!♫♪♪ “

God, that would be fun to draw.

So... possible compromise. No clue how many people are still hanging around, but just a shot in the dark: Would anyone be willing to commission me to finish this comic? I have no clue what my rates would be, cuz I, uh... *ahem* I really haven’t thought that far ahead. I’d have to google copyright laws too, but I... think it’s allowed...??

Alternatively, I could set up a Patreon, and post X number of pages X often depending on how much the monthly income is.

Last option, if there are only like three people still here and you’re all just as broke as I am, I could at least rummage through my old sketchbooks, post whatever snippets I can find, and just tell you where the plot was gonna go. It’s the least I can do after ditching you guys for so long.

So... yup.

Please let me know what your thoughts are about where this comic should go. I’m gonna go finish an assignment, eat something, and possibly fall asleep. I’ll check back with this later to see if there’s any response.

By the way... I’m genuinely sorry for ditching you guys without saying anything. Seriously.

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts:

Epilogue:

--/--

6 Months Later

“Stop- Katsuki, stop it!” You huff a frustrated sigh, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Why can’t you just sit still?”

“Because this is takin’ too goddamn long! Waste of fuckin’ minutes.”

“Well this is important to me, so you’re gonna sit back and shut up and-“ You nearly scream when he shifts again, almost dislodging the measuring tape you’d wrapped around his wrist. “Sit still! Jesus, angry man, it’ll literally take two seconds if you just stop fighting me!”

He grumbles, something low and petulant under his breath, but then falls back against the couch fully. Bakugou finally relents, hand going slack in your hold as he shuts his eyes.

You were gonna kill him, no seriously, you were gonna murder him. He was being so difficult, way more difficult than usual, and you had a sneaking suspiscion it was because he was tired- because, as you’d quickly found out, from only a few months of dating, Katsuki was an absolute toddler about sleep. You’d come to understand that him being tired led to him being cranky, and him being cranky led to him being so goddamn annoying and combative that it made you want to tear your hair out.

He was lucky you loved him so much- not that you told him that yet.

You’d known you loved him for months now, could feel it the way your body heated if you thought of him, the way your blood sang if you so much as heard his name. It was a full body sensation for you- the way you loved him. There was just no escaping it; no escaping the way he’d carved himself a spot in every single part of you. You couldn’t imagine life without him, didn’t even want to try- but you couldn’t tell him so.

Every time you’d tried you were tongue-tied and stuttering and red in the face. The words were thick in your mouth, clogging up the back of your throat. You just couldn’t figure out how to say them; no matter how many times you’d tried.

You flip his arm over, measuring the space between his thumb and his wrist. You’re trying to be delicate and gentle, but truthfully you really just wanted to get this done quickly.

With the deadline for your last college project quickly approaching, you’d spent the last few weeks doing nothing but devoting all your time and losing sleep over it. It seemed like no matter what support item you’d devised, it didn’t seem perfect- didn’t seem inspired enough to turn in for your final grade. So you dedicated yourself to watching clips and looked at hero rankings and pretty much sacrificed your social life entirely, just to stew over it. It took watching Bakugou’s own hero highlights with him to snap you out of your funk. You wanted to smack yourself; he’d been in front of you the entire time! Of course, it had to be an item for him. So you got to building and designing with renewed spirit.

Katsuki was an amazing fighter, you knew this, and his prowess in battle and raw power alone was quite literally unmatched by almost every opponent- but, the only thing holding him back was that he didn’t do so well with civilians. Try as he might, Bakugou’s loud, flashy, quirk just didn’t paint him as particularly friendly, and his brash personality didn’t help either. And, since you’d long ago given up trying to soften his character, but maybe you could help with his quirk. You figured that was pretty much your degree right?

So, for the past month or so, you’d been secretly working on a gauntlet attachment for him. You’d designed it to quiet his explosions, similar to a silencer on a gun, in hopes that civilians would stop reporting hearing loss after being saved by your very loud boyfriend. Truthfully, you knew it wouldn’t fix all his problems, but maybe then his ratings would go up a tiny bit. And, you figured, if you then just built the prototype you designed, then it could serve as a birthday present for him too. Two birds with one stone, right?

If only it was that simple.

It wasn’t. You were a perfectionist and you’d been pouring your blood, sweat, and tears for weeks now, but it still didn’t feel like enough. It felt like you were running out of time. Even now, while actively taking measurements for said project, you felt uneasy spending time with Bakugou.

“You done yet, woman?” He peeks an eye open.

“Almost.” You grab your phone, typing the measurements into your notes. “See how easy and quick this went when you stopped being annoying?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to be so fuckin’ annoying if you’d just tell me what you’re makin’ already.”

“Nope. Already talked about this, Katsu,” You let go of his hand. “It’s a surprise! You don’t wanna spoil your birthday surprise, do you?”

You’re joking, smiling widely at him and fluttering your eyelashes. He doesn’t look very amused. Katsuki just squints at you for a moment before poking your side.

“That’s fuckin’ stupid. You’re being annoying. Stop it.”

“Fine. Well I guess since you don’t want it, maybe I just won’t give it to you then.” You tease, moving to leave the couch. “Maybe I just won’t give you any of the gifts I was planning to.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, huffs like he is very inconvienced, and grabs your wrist. He pulls until you’re falling into him, crashing into his chest and settling on his lap.

“I didn’t fuckin’ say that, idiot.” He grumbles, hands falling around your sides. “Stop putting shitty words in my mouth already.”

“I can’t. Pretty sure that’s my job actually.” You laugh, bracing your hands on his chest as you straighten. “Besides, you say like 3 words and all of them are swears, angry man. Someone’s gotta be the talker out of the two of us.”

“It shouldn’t be you. You’re better quiet.” His words were cold, but he was rubbing warm circles into your lower back. “Fuckin’ silent.”

“Wow- we sure are cranky tonight, huh, angry man? Is it bedtime for baby, already?”

“You’re not funny.”

“No, I’m pretty funny.” You laugh, brushing the the wild hair away from his forehead with a gentle hand. “But seriously though, if you’re tired, I don’t have to stay. I don’t mind, I can leave if you just want to sleep.”

He screws his face up at that, comically offended and dramatic as he drops his face into your shoulder. Katsuki’s arms wrap around your sides, pulling you close until you’re flush against his chest. He tightens his grip and doesn’t seem like he plans to let go any time soon.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, angry man, I get it. I won’t leave right now- but I can’t stay for too long.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“That project, remember? I’m nearly done.”

He huffs again, arms curling tighter around you. You’re a little confused- truthfully, he usually is more physical than verbal, especially when he’s tired, but he’s never this physically affectionate. His voice is a near snarl when he speaks again.

“I fuckin’ hate that stupid as shit assignment.”

“Yeah, well, you hate pretty much everything; so I can’t say I’m exactly suprised, Katsuki.”

“No. Seriously.” He gruffs, fingers twitching at your sides. Katsuki takes a deep breath, biting out his next words quickly. “Haven’t seen you in fuckin’ days.”

“Aww-”

“Say another goddamn word and I’ll take it back, woman. Try me.”

“Okay. I won’t.” You giggle. “But I really am serious, I can’t stay over tonight. Got work to do still.”

“That’s stupid.” Bakugou says and then he’s squeezing you once again, keeping you trapped tight against his chest. “You’re being stupid.”

“Wow. Thanks.” You snort, looking up at him. His mouth is pressed into a tense grimace, so you try patting his cheek playfully. “You know though, one of these days you’re actually gonna have to start using your nice words- can’t just continue insulting me or I might just disappear forever.”

He doesn’t seem to like your joke. Not at all.

“I’m kidding. I’m not going anywhere.” You console. “I’m only picking on you, you know, so don’t be so sensitive, angry man. You insult me all the time.”

“When the fuck did I insult ya?”

“Katsuki-“ You utter in disbelief, your hand moving to play with the hairs on the back of his neck. “You literally just called me stupid! And you said you liked me better silent! Like 2 minutes ago!”

He shrugs, and you can feel his face heat against your neck, but he doesn’t say anything.

“You’re awfully lucky I like you so much.” You sigh. “Because otherwise I’d have to kick your teeth in every time you opened your mouth.”

“Like you could even get that close to me, shitty woman.”

“Strong words for a man currently making a home in my collarbone, Katsuki.”

“That’s-I- You know what,” He starts, extending an arm and pushing against your shoulders to create distance. “Say shit like that again and I swear to god I’ll...”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll- I’ll fuckin-“ He stutters, face red and fists clenched. “I’ll-“

You think he looks adorable- all huffy and red and embarrassed where he sits. Katsuki’s eyebrows are pinched together in that competitive crease you’d come to know so well, his mouth curled around a familiar snarl. You were sure it must’ve looked terrfying to anyone else- but you weren’t just anyone else. You were his soulmate and you knew exactly how to get him to calm down.

You caught his face in both of your hands, crossing the distance until your lips met his. Bakugou tried to set the pace, because he always tried at first, armed with bruising pressure and dominance and uncoordinated aggression. You weren’t new here though- you had a lot more tricks of your sleeve than he did.

You ran a hand up his spine, your nails just barely catching on to the fabric of shirt, trailing the back of his neck until they landed in his hair. He damn near melted into you at that, and he pretty much dissolved when your other hand ran under the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re gonna what now?” You asked, pulling away slowly. You’re breathless and blushing yourself but that never stopped you before. “C’mon, Katsuki, tell me. What you were gonna do?”

“I-huh?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” You giggled. Unable to help yourself, you pecked his lips again. “You seemed so determined though!”

He’s still dazed- red and embarrassed as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes. You can’t stop the victorious smirk that rolls across your face.

“You’re an evil fucking woman.” He finally says, breathless. “Shitty too.”

“Mhm, I know.”

“Shouldn’t sound so fuckin’ happy about it. ‘S not a compliment, idiot.”

“I know.” You pat his chest, pushing away from him until you’re standing on your own. “Now, c’mon, up. Sleep time, right?”

You see the look on his face, and it almost kills you to crush it.

“No, that doesn’t mean I’m staying, angry man. I’ll take a nap with you and then I’m going home.” You offer your hand out to him. “Sound good?”

"Whatever.” He doesn’t seem all that pleased and he bats your hand away lightly, standing on his own. He starts down the hallway towards his bedroom with stomping steps and you follow. “You better actually go to sleep though- ya got ugly fuckin’ bags under your eyes, woman.”

You stop in your tracks, a wheeze escaping you. It didn’t matter how many conversations you’d had with him, how many times he’d accidentally insulted you with his blunt words, it still surprised you every time. And maybe it was your tired state, all the sleep lost over the past few weeks finally piling up, but his words hurt a little this time- hit a nerve and made you angry.

“Alright, well, on that note. Maybe I will go home!” You huff, thumping a fist against his back. “That was so mean! What the hell, angry man! I’m literally busting my ass right now and that’s what you have to say to me? That I’m ugly to you? That’s fucking rude! I didn’t- I’m leaving. I don’t even have enough time for this anyway and I-”

He spins around quickly, pressing you into the wall as he grabs your arm. You can’t hit him anymore, not with the sturdy grip he has on your wrist, but the look on Katsuki’s face really makes you want to. He looks insulted, tired, but mostly just annoyed by your reaction. You swear you could kill him that moment, but then he’s gathering you into his chest and you’re melting against him. He’s still your soulmate- no matter how angry he makes you.

“N-not like that. Idiot. Not ugly.” He mumbles against your hair, voice tight and shy. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was blushing furiously. “I meant- I- you’re not fuckin’ sleeping. I can see it. So you have to sleep.”

“I-what?”

“I’m not fucking stupid. You’re tired- it’s obvious. Have been for weeks.”

“You noticed?”

“Course I fuckin’ did.” He shifts on feet anxiously, swaying you a bit in your arms. “See your stupid face all the time- I can tell that shit about you.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” You pull back a bit in surprise, trying catch his eyes. He won’t let you, eyes zeroed on the wall, just behind your head. His face is a violent shade of red. You roll your eyes fondly, gently guiding him to look at you with your hands on his burning cheeks. “I shouldn’t have flipped, but that still wasn’t very nice. You really should’ve just said what you meant the first time around, but it’s fine. I understand. School’s just been tough with final assignments and stuff, you know? I’m alright though- just a little tired. Like you said.”

Katsuki doesn’t seem pleased with your answer, his eyebrows creasing as he grumbles something under his breath.

“What? Couldn’t hear you, angry man.”

“I said-” He starts strong, nearly confident until his tone quickly falls off. Then he’s mumbling again and crushing you to his chest so he doesn’t have to meet your eyes.

“W-what are you trying to say?”

“God, you always make me say such embarrassing shit!” He growls, voice loud next to your ear. “I said- I said- you’re doing too much, idiot! You haven’t been around much and it’s fuckin’ makin’ me mad and worryin’ me and all that stupid, disgusting, annoying, shit! So just give yourself a fuckin’ break, already!”

You’re pressed close to Katsuki, and when you press you hand flat against his chest, you can feel his heart racing wildly under your fingertips. He must’ve been upset about this for a while, you realize- to be expending this much energy, when usually he’d be dead on his feet at this time of night. You feel a little guilty for it, but more than anything you’re gooey and warm all over.

“I-I’m sorry. For worrying you.” You soothe, pressing a chaste kiss to his chest. “And I know you tell me not to apologize to you, but I mean it this time. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ll take better care of myself. I promise.”

“Good. I-”

“Hmm?”

“N-nothing.” He stutters, flushing violently all of the sudden. He spins on his heels quickly, dragging you down the hallway and into his bedroom. “You have to stay now.”

“No- I can’t. I told you.”

“And I fuckin’ told you to chill the hell out and take a break.” He barks, digging through his dresser and throwing a pair of sweats at you. “Stop being fuckin’ difficult. You’re staying.”

Truly, you want to fight him. Your brain is running wildly, a million different ideas and worries battering around inside your skull- but he’s right. You are tired. Have been tired for weeks now. If you went home now, you knew you’d just talk yourself into working some more. So maybe a tiny, tiny little break wouldn’t hurt, right? Just something small. A single night.

“Fine. But I’m leaving early tomorrow morning.”

You knew you made the right decision when he smiles at you; a small, tiny, pleased, little thing that just barely curls the edges of his mouth. It seems like it’d be hardly noticeable, but you’d been dreaming of that smile for months now. He very rarely graced you with it, very rarely shared something so delicate and uncharacteristically soft but it winded you every time.

Katsuki fell asleep almost immediately after pulling your down into bed with him. He’d barely curled around you, hardly even let his head hit the pillow before beginning to snore. That smile stayed though. He kept it even as his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened.

That same overwhelming warmth you’d been feeling for weeks overtook you again- that same blistering, endless affection rendering your limbs shaky and your breaths unsteady as you stared at him.

I love him. You realized. More than anything.

--/--

As it turns out, letting Bakugou drag you into some much needed rest is exactly what you needed.

The next morning you’d left his place, mind refreshed and completely reinvigorated to once again start working on the gauntlet attachment. You’d love to say it was just the sleep that fixed you up- but you knew the truth. It was him- him and increasingly strange ways of showing affection.

Settling down into your desk chair, you pulled the schematics you’d drawn up once more. There wasn’t much left to build, only a few more parts you’d need to fabricate with your quirk, and then you’d be ready to put it all together.

Using past records of his costumes, and studying various clips of him in his current costume, you’d finally felt certain that you’d gotten it right. It was a pain conducting the research, especially because you’d had to contact the support companies personally, but in the end you were happy you did it. You wanted this to be a possible improvement for him, but you also wanted it to fit in with his current arsenal. It was a risk for sure, giving your prototype as a gift, and you’d be totally crushed if decided to not use it, but you’d take the chance.

Bakugou had only mentioned the problem a single time in the past, and even then it was a passing comment, but you couldn’t seem to let it go.

I’m sick of kid’s always fuckin’ cryin’ when I save them. My explosions aren’t that fuckin’ scary, are they?

He’d said it in the middle of a rant, his eyes pressed tightly together as he paced angrily, but something about his tone struck you. When he said it, he didn’t sound angry. Bakugou sounded upset and frustrated and almost hopeless. You knew it bothered him more than he let on, and from then you wanted to help him- but you couldn’t imagine stripping him of his quirk.

It, his explosions, were important to him. They were his power and his pride and they helped him save people. He was so, so proud of them, and it broke your heart to think that they were the only thing left holding him back. So, you figured, what if he kept the force but lost the sound? Kid’s normally liked bright lights a lot more than loud sounds, after all.

Grunting with effort, you began fabricating gears and wires and screws between your hands. It took hours and nearly all of your energy, but you’d finally done it. You had everything you needed to finish his gift.

The next few weeks flew by in a flurry of construction, and deadlines, and sleeplessness but by the time his birthday rolled around, you were ready. Your schematics had been turned in and approved by your professors, you’d passed your final project, and you were finally finished building the prototype. Everything was going great- but you knew why you were really happy.

The last few weeks had been packed for you, and you’d hardly had time for anybody. You felt guilty about it, of course, and you only felt worse when you only heard Bakugou’s voice over the phone each night, but there was no helping it.

Or, at least, there wasn’t- but it wasn’t crunch time anymore. You’d suddenly found yourself with an wealth of free-time, and you knew exactly who you were gonna spend it on.

--/--

Using the key he’d given you, you slipped into the apartment, closing the door quietly. It was difficult in the dark, stumbling slightly with the gifts and cake currently held in your hands, but you’d managed it. Everything had gone smoothly on the way there, you’d just put the cake safely in the fridge, and now you could wake your soulmate up to the best birthday of his life.

What shame he had to go and ruin it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You jumped, heart seizing in your chest.

“Jesus- fuck.” You yelled in the dark. You blindly felt your way out of the kitchen and into the living room, towards the sound of his voice. “Bakugou! What the fuck, man?”

“What the- no! Me! I should be the one fuckin’ saying that!” His voice was raised, and you couldn’t see his fists but you knew they were probably clenched tightly into fists. “Almost blew you up, idiot! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh my god.” You huffed, hands rubbing at your tired eyes. “I was going to wake you up! Surprise you! Because it’s your birthday and it’s- wait, what the fuck are you even doing up? It’s like 6:30 AM, on a Saturday!”

“What the hell are you even on about? I’m always fuckin’ awake right now!”

“Yeah! On a work day! When you’re working!” You can’t help but be frustrated; you wanted to be cute and sweet and Bakugou had ruined it entirely. As he so often did. “But you’re not even working today! It’s your day off! And I know you sleep in on those, so why?”

“Couldn’t fuckin’ slee-”

“What do you mean?” You interrupt, finally flipping the light switch and flooding the room with light. “Swear to god you’re dead to the world the second you hit the pillow! Literally happens every time I stay over. You’re out by 8:30! Why is today of all days the day you choose not to sleep?”

He doesn’t say anything in response to your outburst, and that’s when you finally look at him. It had been almost 3 weeks since you’d last visited, and he didn’t look like you remembered him. It wasn’t anything super obvious at first, but upon closer inspection you could see the deep bags under his eyes, and the pale, lifelessness of his skin. He was telling the truth; apparently, he really hadn’t be able to sleep- and it didn’t start just last night either.

“Hey. Katsuki,” Your irritation from earlier faded. Suddenly filled with concern, you stepped towards him, taking his face in your hands. Bakugou tried to turn away, but you didn’t let him. “What’s up, huh? You alright?”

“Fine.”

“No. You’re not. You look tired. Are you sick?”

“No.” He mumbled, his hands falling on your waist as you stood in front of him. “I’m fine. Workin’ a lot or whatever. I’m fuckin’ fine.”

You nod, eyebrows rising in surprise as he suddenly pulls you in. He presses his face into your stomach, arms around your sides as he shuts his eyes. There it is again- that unusual physicality. This strange behavior had stopped for a while recently, but now it seemed to be back in full-force.

“Do you wanna try sleeping again?” You ask after a beat. “I’ve got birthday stuff for you, but we can do always do it later. We’ve got the whole day, right?”

“What- you plannin’ to actually be here or some shit?” He grumbles, with a lot more intentional bite than you’re used to hearing from him. “I’m surprised. Didn’t know an idiot like you still had the fuckin’ brain cells to remember.”

You’re shocked, rendered completely still and stiff in his hold. Was he- was he mad at you?

“What?” You try to push away from him, to get a look at his face, but he doesn’t let you. Bakugou’s arms only tighten and you’re left even more confused. “Are you upset with me? Are you tired? What’s wrong?”

“You really fuckin’ piss me off.”

“What?”

He only growls under his breath, voice raspy and deep. “Whatever. You don’t fuckin’ get it. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“No- but I-” You stutter, feeling out of place. Katsuki sounded so frustrated and angry and you couldn’t figure out what was wrong. “If you’re upset with me we need to talk about it. What happened? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t respond to your question, only knocks your feet out from under you and stands with you in his arms. You’re dumbfounded. He has never, not ever, carried you anywhere. He’s never even made an attempted to lift you! Something was seriously off with him today- and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what it was.

Katsuki was mad at you. You knew that, he’d said it himself. But then why was he carrying you down the hall to his bedroom? Why wasn’t he kicking you out?

He kicks open the door, pushing it shut loudly behind him. He looks pissed when you look up at him, his eyebrow’s creased together in an agitated line, but even so, Katsuki sets you down on the bed gently. You’re hardly able to catch your breath when he’s climbing in on the other side, pulling you close and lying practically on top of you.

“What? I- Katsuki?” You asked desperately, brain reeling. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand?”

“I’m fuckin’ tired, woman. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t! Not when you’re upset like this- seriously, what’s wrong?”

“You. You’re what’s fuckin’ wrong!”

“What?”

“God, you’re so fucking dense!” He growls, angry voice vibrating against the skin of your neck. “Fuckin’ showin’ up in the mornin’ like nothin’s wrong? Been avoiding me for weeks now!”

“What- no! We literally called last night! What are you talking about?”

“We called for 2 fuckin’ minutes before you fell asleep! And you-” His voice drops suddenly, and then he’s pressing even closer to you, starting up once again. “You piss me the hell off, you know! Sayin’ shit about how you’re gonna do better and then leavin’ for weeks? Not talkin’ to me? What the fuck is that? And then you sneak in here and scare the shit out of me! And you’re running your stupid fucking mouth about the whole day when you’re not even gonna be her-”

Oh. Oh.

He was mad because you’d been busy; because the last time you’d seen him, Bakugou had told he was worried about you, and you blew him off. The last time you’d seen him, you’d promised that you’d take better care of yourself and then you didn’t. All you did was continue working yourself to death, and while you didn’t regret it for even a second, you hadn’t kept him in the loop. You’d barely even managed to call him each night, and even then you’d fall asleep half-way through every conversation.

“Have you been worried this whole time?” You asked quietly.

Bakugou takes a deep, shaky breath, and you can feel his eyelashes flutter against your neck.

“You were worried.” You whisper. “Weren’t you?”

He nods minutely.

“I-I didn’t realize. I told you- but I didn’t realize. I was so focused on school, so busy, I’m so sorry.” You press a kiss into his hair, your heart sinking when his shoulders tremble. “I missed you too.”

“I didn’t fuckin’- I didn’t-”

“I know. I said it. I’m saying it. I’m sorry, Katsu. I missed you.” You sigh, tightening your arms around him. “Is that why you’re not sleeping well?”

Bakugou is silent but he tenses, going completely rigid under your hands. Your stomach drops.

“It’s-I’m good. Really, this time. Everything’s done. I’m completely finished and everything is gonna go back to normal.” You cradle his face, making him look into your eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. We’re good.”

“Are we?”

“What?”

Bakugou shakes your hold, tucking his head until you can’t see his eyes anymore. You can hardly see any of his features, but you see the wobbly line of his mouth. Can feel the shaking of his fingers. When he speaks again, it’s quiet. Barely there.

“Didn’t mean it, last time, when I said your eyebags were ugly. You’re not ugly.”

You blink, hardly able to recall the conversation. Wasn’t that the last time you had visited? Weeks ago? Why was he still thinking about it?

Bakugou huffs again, apparently frustrated by your silence.

“So I’m s-sorry. For insulting you. So now you don’t have to disappear again.”

Your eyes widened.

“You know though, one of these days you’re actually gonna have to start using your nice words- can’t just continue insulting me or I might just disappear forever.”

You remember how upset he’d been when you’d made the joke- how his shoulder’s dropped and his eyebrows caved and his mouth smoothed out into a thin line. Was that really the last time you’d visited? Did he think you were mad at him this whole time?

Guilt flooded you, awful and thick and viscous as it tore through your stomach. You had to make him understand. You just had to.

“No. I- Katsuki. Look at me. Look at me.” You insist until he’s looking at you. His eyes are the dullest you’ve ever seen them- more vulnerable than ever before. “I didn’t- I was just busy, I promise! Not upset. I didn’t mean to ice you out like that. It’s fine! I know you didn’t mean it.”

Katsuki growls, grasping for your hand and hiding his face behind it. “I didn’t- I’m sick of stupid angry shit I say ruinin’ stuff for me. So don’t just fuckin’ say it’s fine if it’s not.”

“It is. I promise. We’re good.” You soothe, caressing his burning cheeks with your knuckle. “That was a bad joke, okay- I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t have said it if I knew it was gonna make you worry so much. I promise I was just busy these last few weeks. Nothing you say is ever gonna get rid of me, alright? Not even if you tried! Because I love you and I-”

“You what?”

You freeze, shifting uncomfortably as your cheeks heated up. This was not how you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him like you meant it, not just tacked onto the back of a bunch of other statements. He’d heard though, and no matter what you wanted, you couldn’t run from it.

“You what?” He asks again.

“I-I love you. Katsuki, I love you.”

Bakugou jolts, nearly jumps out of his skin and then he’s digging his face into your neck. He’s hot, his skin nearly burning, and there’s a strangled, clipped noise leaving his mouth. You’re filled with so much adoration in that moment that it nearly chokes you, but it’s freeing too, because you’ve said it. Finally. After waiting your entire life for him, after knowing him for so many months, after loving him for so long, he knew.

“I love you.” You repeated again, giggling breathlessly. “I love you, you dummy.”

He finally lifts his head, expression so full of awe and disbelief and childlike confusion. It’s just like the first time you’d really kissed him; like he couldn’t figure out why you loved him. It was like those first few days all over again and you couldn’t help it. You loved him so much.

Grabbing his chin, you pulled him in, guiding until his lips met yours. You felt him smile as you kissed him, and you realized you were wrong. That first real kiss might’ve been nice; but it wasn’t heaven- itwas only the gateway to paradise. But this? This was the real Elysium.

His body moved against yours, so close and warm and pliant. He was letting you set the pace, without resistance or force or argument for the very first time. There had been a lot of past kisses, you had hardly been able to keep yourself off of him, but none of them had never felt like this before. He’d never trusted you like this before. You got to be the one taking and taking and taking where’d you spent so long giving.

It was consummation. Finality. Your perfect ending.

You pull away, panting for breath. He follows, resting on his forearms and dropping his forehead to yours.

“I-I- I love you. Too. Idiot woman.”

You laugh under him, cackling loudly as you turn to press a kiss into his forearms. Of course he’d said it like that. It’s tough love or not at all with Bakugou Katsuki- and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Stop laughing!” He orders, face screwed up uncomfortably. “You’re always fuckin’ laughing at me! You fuckin’ witch! Stop it! It’s- I’m not- I take it back! I don’t- stop makin’ fun of me, shitty wom-”

“Hey, Katsuki?”

“Oh my fucking god! You laugh at me and then you go thinkin’ your just gonna interrupt me while I’m yellin’ at you? No fuckin’ way! I’m not gonna allow that shit in my own fuckin’ house and I-”

“Katsuki.”

“Jesus christ! What?”

“I love you.”

He freezes entirely, collasping his entire weight directly on top of you. He’s so hot it’s like his skin is burning. You wrap your arms around him with a happy giggle, burrowing your own blushing face into his hair.

“I love you.” You whisper, slow and earnest against the shell of his ear. “I really, really, really love you, angry man.”

He startles again, jumps in your arms and only seems to run hotter. He groans something strangled and defeated, until he’s sinking into you again, pressing you against the mattress.

“S-s-stop fuckin’ saying it. You’re doing it on fuckin’ purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“You fuckin’ know, you witch woman.”

“No, I really, really, dont.” You say indulgently, laughing as you drop kisses into his hair. “Care to share?”

“No. Fuck no. I’m fuckin’ done sharing. Forever.”

You rolls your eyes, once again enduring his very familiar dramatics. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Katsuki. I was just happy to hear it- that you love me too.”

“Well, remember it, because I’m never fuckin’ saying it again.”

“Not even if I say it to you?”

“Especially not fucking then.”

“You’re so difficult sometimes, I swear. You’re really lucky I love you so much.” You say softly, before scratching idly at the back of his head. “Now, c’mon. Get off me. I didn’t forget- you need to go to sleep.”

“I’m sleeping here.”

“No you’re not, you man-child. You’re gonna crush me.”

“Good.”

“No, not good. You wanna celebrate your birthday with a murder charge?”

“Yes.”

“Katsuki.” You laugh, pressing against his chest. “Seriously. Up. You’re supposed to use those muscles to save people not kill them.”

He just groans loudly, flopping backwards gracelessly. Katsuki is pulling the blanket up and shutting his eyes, and you think everything is finally okay. Until he clears his throat. Until keeps clearing his throat.

“Oh my god,” You huff, opening your eyes. “What’s wrong now?”

“Say it again, idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. You know what I’m asking you.”

When you look at him, he’s got his eyes screwed shut, his cheeks red. You thought he was adorable- just the cutest man in all of Japan. You knew what he was asking, of course you did, and if he hadn’t been so upset earlier you would’ve made him work a lot harder for it. As it stood now though, you just scooted closer to him; shifting until you were right next to his blushing face and sharing the same pillow.

“I love you.” You say, running a gentle thumb over his heated cheek. “Now go to sleep, okay?”

You can see the smile he’s fighting, the way his lip twitches and he raises a hand to cover it. Then he’s pulling you close and digging his head into the pillow.

All is quiet, and finally, finally, he gets some sleep.

—/—

Katsuki, on a good day, was an absolute beast to wake up- on a day off however? The man was damn near impossible to stir.

You were squatted next to the bed, trying to pull the pillow out from under his head as he held it in his grip. It was absolutely unfair- even at his groggiest your soulmate had the strength of a one man army. It was seriously pissing you off.

“Are you kidding me right now?” You’re grabbing at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers away from the pillow but he’s not budging. Katsuki’s got his eyes shut tight, and he’s dutifully ignoring your every word. “I’m serious! It’s noon! Get up already!”

He finally peaks one eye open, just barely enough to see your irritated expression. Katsuki huffs, rips his pillow away from you completely, and flops on his other side. His back was to you, and normally you’d be thrilled about the free chance to drool over the planes of muscle- but this wasn’t a normal occasion. It was his birthday and you’d already made him breakfast and he was refusing to get up and eat it.

“Bakugou Katsuki, I swear to god, if you’re not up in two seconds, I’m not gonna kiss you for a fucking week!”

This does seem to illicit a response from him, because then he’s flipping back over, mouth pulled into a snarl.

“You think I care? You starved me out for fuckin’ weeks already!”

You want to roll your eyes. You thought he was being awfully dramatic and you knew you really shouldn’t stand for it- but he wasn’t technically wrong. However inadvertently, you had been neglecting him, and maybe it was time to treat him instead. Just this once.

“Oh my god, you silly man, come here.” You relent, climbing onto the bed and hovering over him. “If you wanted a kiss you should’ve just asked.”

“I-didn’t! When the fuck did I say that because I-”

You pressed your lips to his, effectively shutting him up. It was a trick you’d learned early on, but damn if it wasn’t still useful. You pulled away right when he started to get handsy.

“No. Bad.” You say, batting his hands away from slipping under your shirt. “I didn’t just waste all that time trying to get you out of bed just to be pulled in. Now, c’mon, you have breakfast to eat and presents to open- it’s your big day, birthday boy.”

“Fuckin’ exactly. Let me do what I want.”

“No, because if I let you do what you wanted you’d sleep all day and only wake to go blow something up.”

“Sounds like fucking bliss.”

“Alright, well then I guess you’re gonna have to experience nirvana all by yourself because I’m going to eat.” You pat his chest, climbing off the bed and standing straight.

Bakugou grumbles under his breath, but then the blankets are rustling and he’s rising to follow you out the door. He tears into the breakfast you’d made him, shoveling eggs and bacon and pancakes down his throat at an almost inhuman pace. You would cringe, but you’d seen this scene already many times before.

“You ready for presents, now?” You ask, putting the dishes in the sink.

“Sure. ‘m not a fuckin’ kid though, you didn’t have t-”

“I wanted to. Seriously. So be quiet and be a little selfish for once. Please.”

He nods tightly, following you into the living room. He’s settling on the couch, once again rubbing at his eyes when you bring the gifts over. There’s three of them in total and he chooses to open the smallest one first.

“Fuck- this a new watch?”

“Yep.” You nod. “To replace the one you blew up last month.”

“When the- how the hell did you-”

“I have my ways. Now, seriously, promise me you’re gonna be careful with this one.”

“Okay.”

“Katsuki, that’s not a promise.”

“I’m not gonna just fuckin-”

“Say it.”

“No! Why the hell should I have to fuckin’ say shit just because you were spyin’ on me, you freak!”

“Katsuki.” You glare him down. “Promise me.”

“Jesus fuck, woman. Fine. I promise I won’t blast this one to pieces, alright?” He rolls his eyes. “Ya all happy and cheery now?”

“Very.” You smile brightly, moving to grab the second gift and place it in his hands. “Here’s the next one, open it.”

You watched him set the watch aside carefully, before taking the second gift. He might’ve been grumbling, but he couldn’t completely hide the smile trying to stretch across his face. You were glad you made the effort- he deserved every good thing and more.

“This is a jar.” He says flatly, looking down at the unwrapped gift. “What the hell?”

“It’s a swear jar. You know, for practicing how not to offend everyone within a .2 mile radius.” You deapan, taking the excess wrapping paper from him to throw it out. “You gotta work on it, Katsu- news has to censor you so much that your public appearances sound like EDM music.”

“I’m gonna blow this up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“No. You’re not.” You laugh. Then you lean towards him, sidling up close and lowering your voice as you run thumb across his jaw. “And, hey, if you figure out how to make it through the week without filling it up, I’ll give you something really, really nice as a reward.”

“Reward?” He’s asks, quickly putting down the jar. You know the look in his eyes, and you’re not surprised when his hands wander to your waist. “’s empty now, right? Think I fuckin’ deserve it. Huh, sunshine?”

“Nope. Sorry, Katsu.” You smile sweetly, dodging as he leans in for a kiss. “It’s saturday- week doesn’t start until tomorrow!”

He groans, loudly, falling boneless against the couch and tugging you with him.

“You make me want to blow my fuckin’ self up. You know that, you shitty woman?”

“Aw, thanks. Now, cheer up- you’ve still got one left to open.” You say, patting his grimacing face.

You shake his hold, just barely avoiding when he tries to pull you back as you grab the last present. This box is a little different from the last two, you’d spent extra time trying to make sure it was wrapped nicely and you’d even tied a ribbon around it. You hoped he’d like the gauntlet attachment- you didn’t think you’d be able to hide your disappointment if he didn’t.

“Yeah, so this next one,” You start, placing the box in his hand delicately. “I made it for you myself. Designed it too.”

He pulls the ribbon on the box, tearing away the paper. It’s like time stops for a moment, rolling nerves arresting you and choking your breath. You’re nervous and you feel like shaking and you so desperately want him to like the gift. Want him understand just how much work you’d put in for him and just how easily you’d do it all over again.

“Yeah so it’s an attachment for your grenade gauntlets, right?” You start, right when he’s pulling the device from the box and holding it in his hands. “I was thinking- wouldn’t it be nice if you could quiet your explosions sometimes? You know, for when you’re saving civilians and kids and stuff so they’re not so scared. Basically it works kind of similar to a suppressor on a gun, dispersing and slowing down the blast just a little to muffle the sound, but it’s just a little more high-tech and way more powerful- to match your quirk. Obviously. And it’s adjustable so, if, for whatever reason, you needed to wear it outside of your costume, you can collapse it slip it on like a bracelet and-”

Bakugou is silent. He’s almost frozen as he stares down at the gift, only twisting the gift around in his hands to get a better look. His eyebrows crease, and your stomach drops.

“No- it’s- please don’t get mad! It’s not supposed to offend you or anything! I-I know you don’t need my help to save people, you can do it all on your own, I know that.” You rub your arm anxiously, eyes averted to the floor. “I’m just trying to help- you know, because you always talk about your ratings going up, and I’m sure you could totally do it on your own, I know you could, but I just wanted to help you cause that’s what I do, support, and I can’t help you out on the field and I-”

Pop.

Pop pop pop pop pop

When you finally look up at him, you’re blinded by the smile on his face. It’s bright, and beaming, and brilliant as he fires off explosions. You can see the light dancing on his hands, the force of combustion shooting his arm back, but it’s quiet. It sounds like pop rocks and bacon grease and popcorn instead of cracking thunder and collapsing buildings and then he’s laughing- he’s laughing something full and joyful as he stands, holding his hands up right next to his ears and setting off more explosions.

“You hear this shit?” He yells, that wide smile dazzling you all over again. “Fuckin’ works!”

The nerves disappeared, the tension seeping from your body entirely as he grinned at you. It was worth it. Entirely worth it- you’d give anything, start all over and do it all again from the start just to see that smile.

“You wanna hear?” He asks suddenly, nearing you with his hands raised. “Listen!”

“No! No- I’m- I’m good, Katsuki.” You laugh, batting his hands away from your head. “I can hear it just fine from here, no need to singe my hair.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“I know.” You smile up at him, poking his broad chest. “So you like it? Right? Because it’s just a prototype, first draft, you know, so if there’s anything you want to change about it, let me know. Or if you just don’t want it I-”

“I’m fuckin’ keepin’ it.”

“Huh?”

“I’m keepin’ it. It’s cool as shit.” He smiles down at you, eyes crinkled at the edges. “Besides, stealth, right? Could blow a fucker up in the next room and you wouldn’t even know it!”

“But I- I made them for you to save people? Like to help them?”

“And they could be used to blow shit up more effectively too. Win fucking win.” Katsuki pulls you in suddenly, arms falling familiarly around your waist. “Good shit, sunshine. Thanks.”

“Of course.” You sigh, looking down at your feet. “That’s what I was doing- when I was gone. Designing it for my project grade and then building it for you. Sorry I got so carried away, I didn’t realize I was gone so long, you know?”

“You’re still stupid for it, but it’s fine. Fuckin’ get it.” He grumbles. “You’re done now or whatever, right?”

“With school? Yeah I mean, I’ve still got graduation and stuff but otherwise I’m pretty much-

“Move in with me.”

“Huh?”

“God, you always make me fuckin’ say it again!” He flusters, voice loud and raspy. “I said- move in! Here! You’re fuckin’ disappearin’ all the goddamn time to wherever the fuck and I’m sick of it!”

“Y-you want me to move in?

“That’s what I just fuckin’ said! Idiot!” He thunders, face a violent red when you look up at him. “And I’m not gonna fuckin’ say it again so you either have to say yes or no because I-”

“Yes. Obviously. Of course I’ll move in!” You say, warmth filling your chest as you throw your arms around his neck. “I love you, of course I will!”

You see the smile he can’t contain- one so dazzling and arresting, as he looks at you. One exactly similar to the brilliant one from earlier. You couldn’t believe that sentiment made you emotional- the thought that you made him just as happy as explosions did, of all things. But it did make you emotional. It really, really, did.

“What’re you- stop cryin’.” He says suddenly, calloused fingers catching your tears. “Why’re you cryin’? I didn’t even say anythin’ rude this time!”

“No, it’s not that.” You sniffle, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles. “I’m just happy. Really, really happy. I love you, you angry fucking man.”

Katsuki leans in for another kiss, and you don’t dodge it this time. You meet him in the middle and melt into him just as much as he melts into you. You can feel his hand under your chin, the other on your back, and you don’t think you’ve ever been warmer than in that moment.

You’d been waiting your entire life for him. For all of this. You were warm and loved and so very, very happy that it nearly knocked you off your feet.

Or it would’ve- but when your knees weakened he just held you closer, righting you without missing a beat. You suddenly loved him for that, and for everything else too. You loved him for all that he was and his angry words and his subtle gestures. He was sizzling gunpowder and sharp steel and seared ashes, but he was the softest landing you’d ever known too. There was no hitting the ground with him, and he’d never let you fall alone.

You’d know Katsuki was forever since the day your tattoo appeared, but it didn’t truly sink in until you’d learned to love him. Until you’d known him. Now you knew him like the back of your hand; you saw his face behind your eyelids, heard his voice in your dreams, and thought about his touch every waking moment. He was your other-half, as scary and loud and intense as he was, and you wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

He pulls away suddenly, and when you glance up at him he’s staring right at you.

“I love you.”

Your breath catches. You thought you were thrilled to hear the words last night- but it was nothing in comparison to now. Bakugou was finally looking at you, catching your gaze and holding eye-contact and his voice was soft like you’d never heard it before. His tone was bare, no anger or attitude or bite- just him and three little words that took your breath away.

In that moment, Katsuki is the only person in the entire world. There was no one else and no other conclusion, and of course you ended up here. He was the only ending you’d ever surrender to. The only finality that could ever possibly taste so sweet.

And suddenly, all at once, you loved him all over again.

//-//

i- sob. plS this was so much fun to write and im gonna miss it sm !!

once again, thank u to everyone who liked and commented and reblogged any part of this! this is the first ever multi-chapter fanfic i’ve ever written , and i really really was nervous about my characterization and writing and stuff, but you all made me feel so welcome here. i appreciate it sm. way more than any of you know.

anyways, thank u once again for reading lovelies and i hope u all stay safe. i love y’all. <333

#bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugou x y #bakugou soulmate au #bakugou soulmate textfic #bnha fic #mha series #mha soulmate au #soulmate au #bakugou imagine #bakugou series #bakugou fic

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jaesqueso · 3 years

Text

Relax (m)

I do not own any rights on the above image (found on weheartit).

pairing: co-worker!taeyong x fem!reader

summary: You're feeling very stressed with work so Taeyong drops by to help you relax

word count: 1,618

warnings: oral sex (receiving), fingering, office smut

a/n: just because I have this crazy idea that Taeyong gives great head! (sue me) anyways, do give me some feedback please! ❤︎

☽ ・・・・・ ☾

Swamped. That’s how you’ve been feeling in your work for the past two weeks. One of your colleagues quit her job and left the company right as you two were about to finish a big project and since your boss was having trouble finding a replacement for her it was up to you to do all the work. On one hand it was better that you didn’t have to waste time explaining the whole project to someone new so close to the deadline, but on the other you could really use the extra help. These days you felt like you barely left the office, coming in early in the morning, leaving late at night, crashing in bed as soon as you get home.

Today was the worst day of all as you’ll have to present the project on the next day, and you felt like you still had so much to do, maybe this time you will actually have to stay the night and run home for a quick shower in the morning before the meeting.

Too focused on your computer screen and the papers scattered all over you desk you barely notice the knock on your door.

“Y/N?” You look up and see a head poking through the door.

“Mr Lee.” You greet Taeyong as he steps into your office, closing the door behind him. You look at the clock in your wall and realise it’s already an hour past your regular exit time.

“Another late night?” He worried looking at your tired eyes. “You really shouldn’t be doing this to yourself, you should go home and rest.”

“Oh I can’t…” you lower your head and rub your temples. “I still have so much to do, I’m not even sure I can finish it, I’m starting to second guess every single decision I’ve made so far…”

“Hey,” he moves closer to your desk, “You’re gonna do great, you always do.”

“What if this time I don’t?” You look up at him. “I don’t want to let everybody down…”

“You’re not going to,” he smiles gently as he continues “they put you in charge of this project because they trust you, so you should trust yourself too.”

“But what if I mess it up? I can’t lose that promotion…” you look back at your papers trying to refocus on your work. This project could be your way up in the company and you’ve been working so hard for it you can’t mess up now.

“Well, if it’s up to me you’ll still get it.” Taeyong is part of the management team, although he’s not directly your boss he will have a say in that promotion you are longing for, he’s even going to attend your presentation the following day along with the other members of the board. You two occasionally saw each other in the office making the typical co-worker small talk, but over the last two weeks you got a bit closer as he usually left the company later than everybody else and you pulling extra hours every day. He always made sure to walk you to your car, doing an effort to get to know you better. You weren’t sure about his intentions but you were keen to keep your relation as professional as possible as you didn’t want to cross any line and compromise your job. Yes, he is damn handsome, but you wouldn’t dare making a move. With time you realised that behind this cool and relaxed attitude he has on a daily basis, he is a very hard working man and got where he is through his blood sweat and tears. He quickly became someone you really admire.

“Well, I want to get it because I deserve it and I did a job, not because I persuaded the board.” You smile at him, quickly looking back to your computer.

“You mean you’ve let other managers walk you to your car too? And here I was thinking I’m special!” He pretends to be hurt and offended.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” You giggle. “But, by the away, you can just go ahead today as I’ll still be here for a while.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a break and relax?” He gets up and walks around your desk dragging his fingers through the borders. “I could help you out.”

“That’s very kind of you but you’re not even familiar with the project.” You keep typing on your keyboard.

“I’m not.” He walks behind your chair. “But I was actually talking about the relaxing part.”

“W-what?” You widen your eyes. He cannot mean what you think he means, you’re probably just too tired and mishearing things. “W-what do you mean-”

You stop talking as he places his hands on your shoulders giving you a soft massage. You close your eyes and slowly relax your shoulders, it feels like your are being touched by an angel. As he presses into your tension points you involuntarily let a moan slip through your lips. You open your eyes again trying to understand if he heard it.

“Does it feel that good?” Shit. You’re too embarrassed to even reply so he lowers his face next to your ear and whispers “Cause I can do even better.”

You feel the warmth of his lips against your neck. A shiver runs down your spine as his hands go down to your chest over your blouse, but you suddenly come to your senses and grab his hands stopping him from going down to your breasts.

“Mr Lee…” your voice is trembling.

“You know you can call me Taeyong out of office hours.” He rotates your chair so that you are facing him now. He kneels down in front of you and snakes a hand slowly up your skirt brushing his fingertips in the waistband of your underwear. Because you were rushing to get to work this morning you didn’t even bother to put on some tights.

“T-Taeyong…” your breathing got heavier. “This is wrong-”

“My name sounds lovely coming out of your mouth.” He stops you, slowly dragging your panties down your legs as you involuntarily lift up your hips. He then pulls you to the edge of the chair pushing up your skirt and exposing your cunt.

“We really shouldn’t do this-” you spoke these words but internally you were begging him to continue.

“I told you I’d help you relax, so don’t worry, just sit back and enjoy.” He smirks as he spreads your legs, eyes never leaving yours.

You open your mouth to say something but only gasp when he lowers his head blowing some air into your pussy realising you are already wet for him. He sticks out his tongue and takes an experimental lick. You drop your head back at the feeling. Happy with your reaction he starts sucking your clit. You clench your hands around the armrests of your chair biting your lip, too embarrassed to make a sound.

Your breathing gets heavier as he circles is tongue around your sensitive bud. You’re not sure where he got his technique from but the movements he’s making are getting you too hot too fast, it’s like he put a spell on you with his saliva mixing with your own juices.

You feel a finger teasingly brushing around you hole spreading your wetness. He then slowly pushes it inside never stopping the movements of his mouth. How does one have such coordination? As he starts pumping his finger in and out, you can no longer hold the moans trapped in your throat.

“That’s it baby, don’t hold back.” Taeyong leaves your clit only to encourage your sounds and then continues his service adding a second finger inside you.

Your moans get louder and your grip on the armrests gets tighter as you feel the orgasm build up inside you. You start to squirm around, pleasure getting too much to handle, so he wraps his free arm around your thighs holding you still. He realises you are getting close so he curls his fingers on your inner walls touching just the right place to send you over the edge.

You moan his name as you come undone, arching your back off the chair. He removes his fingers out of you but continues with his tongue to help you ride off your high. This was probably one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had in your life, no one ever ate you out like that.

As you come back to reality you ear a phone ringing. Not recognising the ringtone you assume it’s his. Taeyong gives your clit a last kiss and gets up removing his phone from his pants.

“What’s up?” He answers the phone putting his fingers that were just inside you on his mouth, cleaning them up looking straight into your eyes. “Sure, no problem. See ya.” He hangs up.

You then realise you are still sitting in your chair, skirt up, no panties, legs spread, your juices dripping out of you, looking like a real mess. You quickly sit up adjusting your skirt, too embarrassed to pick up your underwear from the floor.

“Well, I gotta getting going,” he says walking to the door, “but I hope you are feeling more relaxed now. If you ever need another one of those just let me know.” He winks and opens the door.

You gulp at the possibility of having his mouth pleasuring you like that again.

“Oh and by the way,” Taeyong looks back at you with a smirk before he’s about to close the door, “good luck on the presentation tomorrow, I know you’ll do great.”

Shit, the presentation!

#taeyong smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #gimme gimme feedback #thanks for reading

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ghoste-catte · 3 years

Note

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

#answered #anonymous #writing advice #i guess?#am i qualified to give this?#no #but im doing it anyway

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anyotherwriter · 3 years

Text

Split Decision [5]

Masterlist

You ever write something and wonder why and think, "that doesn't make any sense at all"? Because that's me. But I wanted to have this ready today. I've never been good with deadlines or schedules and I'm making an honest effort. It was rough. My daughter really put me through it today and my brain feels like it packed up and left for a six week vacation. I won't sleep if I don't post this and get it off my list of things to do. I proof-read once, I think. I have an ending to the series still but don't know what the fuck any of the middle of this story is anymore because I went way off the outline I wrote.

Anyway. Gif is not mine, credit to whomever made it. Regular TWD warnings, continue reading at your own risk I guess. You can find the playlist for this series (and Daryl in general) in the masterlist.

And if anyone ever tells you that being a stay at home mom is a gravy train, punch them in the teeth for me. Okay, love you, bye.

\\\\\\\\\\\///////////

It seemed as if the buzzing in Y/N's chest was shaking the entire room. She was lying on a bed in the infirmary trying to distract herself by counting the spots in the drop ceiling… or were they dried blood spatter?

The winter was about a month from letting up and Siddiq was tired of watching Y/N hobble around when he knew how to fix it. "I read it in a few books, I can do it." He told her several times. She wasn't quite sure how he'd manage to convince her this was a good idea. It wasn't, not even a little bit. Maybe he just wore her down, annoyed the shit out of her enough that she capitulated to get him to shut up.

"Ya aint gotta do this." Daryl said from his place across the room anxiously chewing on a fingernail. He could tell the moment he first saw her this morning that she was scared and unsure. He didn't want Y/N to feel pressured to do something she didn't want to do just because a doctor had never done this before and wanted to "give it a shot". It didn't settle well with Daryl but he also knew that he couldn't stop her if she wanted to go through with it. He'd been glued to the same spot, listening to the questions and the answers (if there was one), the concerns and how it could potentially make all the problems worse. The only thing that was certain was the panic that laced her voice, no matter how much she tried to square her shoulders and put on a brave face.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Y/N attempted to be sarcastic, but the look in her eyes made Daryl's knuckles clench in frustration. They had already been over this, all of the 'worsts'. Rosita chuckled from beside her as she neared the bed and turned her attention to Siddiq.

"Can't walk right no more. More pain." He said to her, his voice low, but voicing the two concerns that bugged him the most. They stared at each other for a minute. She could tell he was concerned, not missing the way his brow crinkled a bit. His eyes showed worry. She reached out her hand for him. Daryl hesitated at first but then crossed the few feet that separated them. He took her hand firmly as she started to lay back and tried to fluff the flat pillow beneath her head. He leant on the bed beside her with his free hand, hovering over her a bit. She shut her eyes tight. He looked over to Rosita briefly, her eyes fixed downward into the denim of Y/N’s jeans. He hoped that Rosita would say something, maybe try to reason with her… talk her out of it. But she stayed silent.

"Tell me again how you did this the first time?" Siddiq asked as he prepared the area around him and unpacked his supplies. He stood at her feet now hoping he didn’t get kicked in the process. He, too, was nervous. It was a simple thing in theory. Modern medicine before the apocalypse made resetting a bone an easy task. Re-break, re-mend.

"Fell down a small rock face. Only about a ten foot drop, I still remember the sound of the snap." Y/N said breathless as Siddiq removed her boot and then her sock. He rolled her ankle in his hands a few times, trying to pinpoint where the popping was coming from with his forced motions, and felt for any disfigured bones in the area. Without x-rays, he would never be able to be a hundred percent sure. That’s where his uncertainty came from. It wasn’t enough to make him call it off. He was confident that he could help. There was just a nagging feeling in the back of his mind trying to push forward to remind him that he could create even bigger problems for her in the future.

"How did you set it yourself?" He asked to distract her and tried to clear his own mind. He was the one they relied on to fix people, not to break them. He took a slow deep breath of his own as he nodded at both Rosita and Daryl. Y/N had missed this, but she didn’t miss the way Daryl leaned down closer to her.

“Ya sure? It’s gonna hurt ya.” Daryl asked. She opened her eyes and was made aware of how close he had gotten to her. She could see a bit of stress-grays peppering his chin and the small ring of green that surrounded his pupils before it exploded into blue. She nodded and shut her eyes tight again. “I don’ want ya hurtin’.”

"Took a while to climb back to my pack” she started, trying her best to push past what Daryl had said and answering Siddiq’s question. “The mountains are harder to navigate when you're injured. But when I got back to my camp, I broke a smaller branch in two and-" And then silence consumed the room for about five seconds. Then the silent scream turned into a loud and tearful scream. The initial shock of pain from the ankle that Siddiq had just rebroke started to grow and grow and grow. It reverberated up through her leg and into the hip.

Daryl watched her eyes grow wide in time with the snapping of her bone, a sound that would haunt Daryl, and he dropped his torso lower over hers and his other hand snaked into her hair as he massaged the crown of her head with his fingers. He allowed her to muffle her cries in the breast of his shirt as he held on to her. Rosita tried her best to hold Y/N’s legs down so Siddiq could work.

"Yer a'ight." He said gently even though his brain was yelling at him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He shouldn’t have let her agree to it. There was probably a better way, but he didn’t know of any. Siddiq had spent the last two months trying to help her with pain management, even having her sit with her foot buried in the snow from the calf down to numb it. They were temporary fixes but nothing stuck. They could see how much the pain affected her and Daryl stuck by her and hoped he could offer her comfort if she needed it, in any way. He’d fetch ice packs, rest her ankle across his lap as he’d gently massage it, let her lean on him on a particularly rough morning...

The tight grasp she had on the shoulder of his shirt began to loosen as her cries turned into ragged deep breaths.

"You couldn't count to three or something?" She mustered out, her words sounding shaky and heavily muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Her breaths came out quickly, the rise and fall of her chest harder with Daryl's weight rested over her. She was thankful for something solid to hold on to, even more thankful it was him.

"Would that have made it easier?" Siddiq asked with a small smirk on his face. His eyes were focused on her ankle as he set it the best he could. That nagging that reminded him this may not work was trying to come back, but he wasn’t going to let it affect his efforts. He wanted Y/N to be comfortable and pain-free if he could help it. He just hoped she'd give it an honest shot at healing, something he'd have to rally a small group to drill into her head.

"Fuck no." She exhaled deeply. Y/N was coming back from the initial shock and was now hyper focused on every move Siddiq had made at her feet, but also on the archer who hadn't lifted his weight off her yet. He smelled like campfire and oil and cigarettes and his hair was tickling her upper lip. His fingers were still moving around in her hair. She continued her hold on his shoulder and not letting him stand straight just yet. The weight of his chest pressed on top of her was keeping her distracted enough as they continued in silence for a few more minutes until her ankle was wrapped tight and secure. The loss of Daryl resting on her as he started to push himself up made her whine again. She hoped she could mask that one as a pain reaction as her cheeks flushed a bit. He then helped her sit up; she refused to let his hand go. The jostling of her new injury caused her to flinch.

"You really have to stay off it." Siddiq demanded with his full attention on her. He knew there was a very good chance she wouldn't listen. "If it heals wrong again, you'll probably be in more pain than before."

"Remind me why I let you do this again?" Y/N mumbled as she stared down at her foot. Luckily she couldn't see the swelling and bruising beneath the wraps. Siddiq handed Daryl a pair of crutches and Y/N groaned.

"A lot of ice, no walking, stay hydrated, eat." Siddiq said to her plainly. He didn't sugarcoat much for Y/N anymore the way he would for most of the Alexandrians, not after she merely attacked him for trying to help her that first time. So he treated her accordingly. "Don't do anything stupid."

Y/N rolled her eyes and she sat staring at the crutches that Daryl offered out to her. She didn't make a move to grab them.

"Take 'em." Daryl encouraged and she pouted. "Ya won' like the other choice."

Y/N recalled the last time she had crutches. She'd fallen in gym class in middle school and sprained her ankle, the same one that was currently broken again. She remembered the armpit pieces messing up her shirts and rubbing her skin raw. She remembered a few kids making fun of her for being so clumsy, one even tried to trip her. She wished she had the balls back then that she did now to take a crutch and whack that annoying bully across the chest with the aluminum.

She felt a heavy sigh leave her as she finally dropped Daryl's hand, taking note of the crescent moons her nails had left behind. But Daryl grew impatient and started towards the door. He opened it, making Y/N think he was going to leave her there. But he only peeked out for a few seconds and then handed the crutches to a very short someone waiting outside. She could hear Judith asking Daryl if she was okay. He then came back into the room, walked up on her quickly, and slipped one hand around her back and the other beneath her knees. The quickness of his movements hit a hard stop when he quietly asked if she was ready, careful not to jostle her ankle too much, and picked her up off the bed. Y/N made a small squeak as she tightened her arms around his neck as he began to carry her out of the infirmary, down the steps, and back to her room. Judith trailed beside them, crutches awkwardly clutched in her small hands. Nobody saw the way Rosita rolled her eyes.

After a minute of feeling Daryl's arm wrapped around her back and the hand that held her tight on the side, she glanced at his face. It seemed blank and void of emotion as he stared straight ahead. They were getting odd looks from passers-by and Judith took it upon herself to keep them at bay. She was telling people that Y/N was just fine. But Y/N wasn't. Sure, she willingly let an apocalypse doctor snap her ankle on purpose and it hurt like hell; that she was fine with. The thing that was making her want to implode was how Daryl hadn't seemed to put more than six feet of distance between them today on his own volition. She'd told him several times he didn't need to stay, she could find someone else to help if he was too busy, and that she'd be okay. But he'd shake his head, or mumble a "nah" or ignore her completely and stay anyway. That is why she wasn't "fine". She'd given him several outs and he hadn't even considered one of them.

"I have to tell you, Dixon," Y/N almost whispered. His eyes peered down at her for a few seconds before looking straight again "This is a much better choice."

And she laughed at the way his neck and ears turned red. She just hoped he would hang around for the next six weeks the way he did today. Maybe longer.

****

The air would change in her bedroom to match the person visiting. When Siddiq would drop by, it felt professional. He'd examine her foot and change wraps if needed. The bruising was fading well and when no one was looking, she tried to rotate her ankle. Bright side was that it still worked. That was something. He'd give her some pain killers, make sure her water was filled, and leave.

Judith would bring her a new book or a deck of cards and want to play to pass some time. Y/N would tell her about cool places she'd been growing up and the places she never got the chance to. Judith would always listen intently and the atmosphere would stay light.

Rosita brought a sense of duty with her. She cared about Y/N's well-being and missed their late nights where they would just sit in silence together on the wall. So she'd come to Y/N's room to do the exact same thing, typically bringing food with her or some minor gossip from around the community while still being a little reserved.

Aaron felt like a warm hug. He asked her how she was feeling and if she needed anything. He let her vent about hovering and people not letting her do anything. She complained about how she just wanted to leave the room without someone hot on her heels acting like she was fragile. She'd often thank Aaron for letting her get it all out and he'd offer her a hug every time. He, too, would bring food with him.

When Daryl showed up, the room would feel small. Since the day he’d carried her into the basement and placed her in her bed, he’d show up like clock-work. He would triple-knock and wait until Y/N would call him in. He didn’t typically talk when he came in, leaving Y/N to carry most of the conversations. He would just make himself comfortable on the floor with his back resting against the wall right beside her bed. Sometimes he’d bring supplies with him to make new bolts. Other times, he’d bring a few guns to clean. Rarely, but a few times now, he’d come in with nothing and fall into a light sleep. With any minor movement or sound of discomfort or even a sneeze, his eyes would open back up. So in the times he did decide that he was comfortable enough to find some slumber, Y/N would be as still and quiet as a mouse.

Tonight seemed like a sleeping kind of evening for him when he walked in. He carried himself slowly, like his limbs were too heavy to go any further. He glanced at her when he first opened the door before stepping over to his usual spot and making himself comfortable.

"Daryl." She called quietly. She had the tape playing beside her at full volume but turned it off completely when she saw his eyes close slowly. He offered a small hum in response. "Did you ever have those glow in the dark stars on your bedroom ceiling?"

"Nah."

"Me neither." She'd say, her voice sounding wistful. "We'd travel a lot and go camping and outdoorsy stuff and when we'd put the fire out, we would sit there and star gaze for a bit before bedtime. Even when I had real stars, I always thought about those stupid bright green ones they'd sell at the dollar store."

When she'd look in his direction, he'd be looking back.

"Wha' happened to yer dad?" He'd ask softly.

Y/N was surprised he had asked but also equally surprised it had taken him this long to. It wasn't like she'd kept him a secret; she'd talk about him often.

"He must've been sick. We traveled into the mountains, heading east, when we just got comfortable. We were able to trap small game and build shelter and walkers can't climb rocks. It made sense to stay. So we camped there for a while, even braved the winter in an abandoned bear cave. It was rough, but we did it. Then one morning, I was collecting some berries and walnuts and I heard the growling. We didn’t encounter many walkers up there, but we’d get a straggler every now and then. When I turned to kill it, I froze. I didn’t expect it to be my dad.

“I cried and I screamed and I… I didn't understand what happened. I was stuck in this place where it was my dad but at the same time it wasn’t, ya know?”

Daryl did know. Small, faded flashes of his brother came to mind. He didn't say anything, though, but still left the wall to scoot closer to the side of her bed. She had her hands folded on her stomach as she stared at the ceiling.

“I froze too long and he got too close. I didn’t have enough motion to put him down kindly. I lost my footing and we both toppled down to the ground and I was trapped. The only place to go was down; that’s when I broke my ankle.

"You know what bugs me the most?" She asked, turning her head to look at Daryl. The flicker from the lamps and candles around the room cast a warm glow across his cheeks. He hummed again. "I couldn't bury him or anything. When I dropped down, his body followed. But it didn’t catch on the ledge with me. It hit the edge and I heard his bones smash as he continued to tumble down the steep side of the mountain. I didn’t look for his body.”

"Aint yer fault." He said.

"I know." She said with a sad smile. "But it doesn't make it hurt any less."

"Wha'dya do after tha'?" He asked. He noticed that her eyes were beginning to droop and her speech was getting slower. She was close to sleep, too.

"Camped out for a while, let my ankle heal. Then packed up and headed east again.”

"Why east?" He whispered.

"Never seen the ocean before." She mumbled. She unclasped her hands to seek out his arm with her right. He didn’t hesitate to cover hers with his. The position looked awkward for her arm and his was starting to fall asleep as he rested his weight into it, but he didn't pull away. And as she fell asleep, he only thought about Oceanside. He'd seen the beach plenty of times, never once giving a damn about it. He hated the way the sand would slip into the opening of his boots and cake down by his toes. He hated the way the salt in the air made his skin feel. The waves were too loud. Hunting was sparse and he wasn't a fan of fish. But sitting there watching her sleep, he decided that when she could travel safely again and it was warmer, he was going to take her there.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixion imagine #trash day #twd fanfiction #daryl x reader

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sugarsymphonyy · 3 years

Note

alright, akaashi taking care of his catgirl!reader while shes in heat,, I've been thinking about this for a week straight I loooove the idea teehee

YES ! THIS !! I LOVE YOU !!!

Akaashi x Catgirl!reader in heat

Warnings : NSFW, catgirl(duh), edging, overstimulation, Dom!Akaashi, squirting, very very light degradation, PRAISE, orgasm control, oral (receiving), dacryphilia, fingering, toys

I'm so certain that when he's dom, he's soft with his words and a huge meanie with his actions

Like- he's gonna be so sweet with you, tell you how well you're doing for him, call you his good girl, his sweet little princess, etc...

But then edges you for hours, makes you make yourself cum on his cock, then when you finally beg enough to cum, he'll let you cum again and again and again

Also- I'd like to take this time to point out the fingers on him

His hands are canonically bigger than Bokutos simply because his fingers are so long 🥵

Thank him, you know how to use your manners, use them

SO NOW

IMAGINE

You and Akaashi both knew your heat was coming soon. It was nothing new, but he had just a little bit more work to finish up for his job, and his deadline was soon. You agreed to wait a little bit, you knew this was super important, and he promised it was just a little work anyways.

So naturally, after an hour and a half of waiting patiently for his help, you decided to go check on him. Face red, panties already half soaked, you strutted over to him.

"'Kaaasshhiiii~" you whined, running your hands over his shoulders then down his chest. Your tail flicked softly back and forth, lightly wrapping around his neck.

He looked up at you, "I know princess, just wait a little bit longer for me, okay?" He had kissed the back of one of your hands and smiled softly. "Just be a good girl for me a little bit longer princess."

You whined and then sat down on the ground next to him, rubbing your legs together, allowing him to work again. This didn't last long. After a couple of minutes, you get up and move to sit on his lap, then started grinding.

"Fuck... baby, I'm almost done, wait just a little longer." He still your hips with his hands, holding on tightly to be sure you stopped. "Just a little longer, then I can help you all night."

And as tempting as it sounded, you were already such a horny mess that all you could do was whine back at him and tried to grind again. "I need you now~" was all you could get out. "Pleaseee! I need you to make me cum~"

He tightened his grip on you and looked you dead in the eye, "Not yet" he hissed out, slightly agitated, "now be a good little princess, and wait"

You whimpered and got off his lap, deciding to go back to sitting on the ground where you were before. Akaashi smiled down at you, "good girl, now, I'm almost done. Wait just a little bit longer, I promise I'll make you cum if you do."

You nodded, not really as agreeing, but more as acknowledgment, you had your own plans. "Okay, 'Kaashi~"

...Like hell you'd wait any longer for pleasure, so you decided to take matters into your own hands and slipped off your now fully soaked panties. "Mmng~.." you whined, bringing your hand down to your folds and running your fingers along your slit, then up to circle you clit.

Akaashi just sighed, saved his work, then got up and look down at you. "You just couldn't wait, huh?~" You whined and whimpered, moving the fingers on your clit a bit faster.

He picked you up and took you to your bed, then laid you down softly. "Really are such an impatient, slutty princess~" He pinned your legs open, holding your thighs down. "Just so eager to be fucked stupid, hm?"

You nodded quickly, "pleaseee!~" Your tail was flicking all over sporadically, completely out of your control. Akaashi just smiled down at you, then went between your legs and sucked your clit. "Ah!~"

He chuckled against you, the vibrations adding to your sensitivity and only making you louder, encouraging Akaashi to keep going. "Fuck... you taste so good~"

You grinded down on him more, gripping his hair tightly and moaning loudly, needing more of his tongue. He only sped up, shoving a couple of fingers in, only for you to yell out pathetically, already trembling.

"So sensitive, hm? Already trembling for me" he said against your cunt, then curled his fingers to hit that soft, spongey part right inside you. "Fuck!~ 'm gonn.... 'm gonna cum 'Kaashi!"

He pulled his mouth away from you, stilling his fingers inside you. "Not yet, you don't get to cum yet... you were so impatient earlier, gotta teach you how to wait now" he softly rubbed the inside of your thigh, then slapped it, making you cry out with pleasure.

He softly planted small kisses along your thigh. "Be a good girl and wait to cum a little longer" He flattens his tongue and licks your pussy again, causing you to jolt, before he pulled away again. You whined pathetically at him, wanting more. "Be patient for me baby" he insisted.

You nodded and whimpered, trying to grind your hips against anything, to get any sort of stimulation. Akaashi gripped your hips tightly in one hand, stilling you, "I told you to be patient, or else you will have to wait a lot longer" he warned. You nodded and stayed still for him.

He slowly started to move his fingers in you again, pumping at an agonizingly slow pace, "There's my good girl~" His fingers curled to hit inside of you just right to make you scream.

You tried so hard not to move your hips, but its starting to get impossible now. "Please.. please more..!" All he did was kiss and bite the inside of your thighs, still moving his fingers slowly in you.

You really were trying not to move much, but it was starting to get too difficult after 5ish minutes of slowly being fingered and every once in a while having a tiny bit of clit stimulation. You kept begging and whining throughout the entire thing, but all of it got you nothing more than what you already had.

He only smiled a little bit at your attempts for more. "My precious little princess wants more? Look at you, such a crybaby~" and you really were. Fat, hot tears were rolling down your face, leaving Akaashi to wipe them for you. "You're so pretty when you cry for me..." he punctuated it with a sharp thrust with his hand, making you yell out in pleasure.

He kept up a quicker pace this time, only to have you moaning out loudly for him and how good it felt. "Awww, listen to yourself princess, you sound like the sweet little bitch in heat that you are~" he sucked on your clit, driving you insane. You were already dumb, humping against his tongue subtly, trying not to get caught. But, of course, it wasn't subtle enough.

He laughed at you lightly, vibrations going right to your core, making your mind hazy. You were clenching around his fingers harshly, making it hard for him to even move. "My good girl wants to cum?" You could only nod quickly, trying to string together coherent words, but failing miserably. He pushed his fingers even further in you, "cum then, cum like the needy little thing you are.."

You shook violently as you did, gushing around his fingers that didn't stop moving, driving further into madness. "Such a messy little thing... my pretty, messy girl" his tongue worked smaller, faster circles on your clit, licking down to your hole and his fingers then back up again every so often.

Your mind was blank, clouded by pleasure and pain from being so overstimulated, back arching and screams coming from your mouth. You were being sent hurdling into your next orgasm, and Akaashi could tell. "One more for me, just like this, then I've got a surprise for you"

He knew you wouldn't be able to respond with anything other than frantic nods and loud moans due to your heat making you much more sensitive than normal. You squirmed against him, the pleasure too much, and had your second orgasm. This time, it racked your body even harder, making you choke on a small sob of pleasure.

Akaashi slowed his fingers and mouth to a stop, kissing your thighs lightly, praising how well you've done. "Stay right here, I have to go get my good girl her surprise, okay?" He stood up, softly planting kisses up your torso, across your shoulders, then to your lips. You nodded to him, "m'kay..!" still a bit out of it, but excited to see what he was going to get.

When he came back, he was holding something behind his back. He walked to you, lightly slapping the inside of your thigh, making you whimper loudly. You tried to focus your eyes on him, but failed. He went back down between your legs, taking the small bullet vibrator out from behind his back and turning it on, trailing it along your thigh, getting closer and closer to your twitching cunt.

You whined and squirm, already feeling overwhelmed with all the previous and current stimulation, but still needing more. He circled around your clit, then down to your hole, gathering slick and pushing it in. Even on its lowest setting, it's still almost too much. "Such a sensitive little thing you are" he said softly, licking and biting at your clit again.

He turned up the vibrations slowly, getting more and more intense with his mouth on you. You looked absolutely fucked out now, and he loved it. "You look so pretty when you're all dumb for me, my good girl~" He pulled the vibrator out of you, swirling it around your clit, then pushing it on you roughly.

You thrashed against his arms, babbling out nonsense, incoherent thank yous leaving your mouth as your cum splashed against him. Akaashi chuckled deeply, not removing it until you were sobbing and pleading for him to slow down and to give you a break. He did so, turning off the vibe and putting it next to you both, standing up between your legs and leaning you over you. "So pretty for me like this.." he kissed up your torso and chest, to your lips softly.

"Feel good?" You nodded in response, still not able to fully form words. "You did so good" you whined lightly in response, on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. "Sleepy, baby? How about we get you cleaned up first, yeah?" You shook your head no, gripping his forearms, wanting him just to stay there with you as you fell asleep.

AHHH THIS TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO GET OUT IM SORRY!!! But I hope you liked it! I really had fun writing this one❤

Send in more requests if anyone wants to!

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #akaashi x y/n #akaashi oneshot #akaashi x reader #akaashi smut #akaashi thirst #akaashi haikyuu #haikyuu akaashi #haikyuu lemon #haikyuu smut #Ask.Sugar

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ask-joeydrewstudios · 7 years

Photo

((this is totally subject to change at random and I don't know when or how or if it even will (probably as canon becomes more clear haha edit from the future, My City Now, canon is void regardless this is actually more or less how it happened) so I'll just give you the current version. Its a little cliche but hey I will write this AU as I please xD weird blend of rambling and fic under the cuttt because i dunno what im doing anymore))

So it's 1928, and Joey Drew Studios had just released its first animated short. Oh boy, did it take off. It was picking up attention like nobody's business, and one of the people who it had taken the attention of was a then 15 year old Henry. He was already skilled with a pencil and interested in drawing, it was something he loved dearly and had been doing for a long time. He always had a sketchbook and at least three pencils on him, and he would draw at every given opportunity. This included on public transport, which is what would lead to what he calls one of the greatest moments of his life.

He sits down on a train one afternoon and, with not much else to do, pulls out his sketchbook and a pencil. He still had that cartoon on his mind, it had been a few weeks and he was still thinking about it. He'd already filled a few pages with doodles of Bendy and other cartoony looking characters drawn from memory or imagination, and he was looking to fill another during the hour long train ride. He had a page he had started the night prior, so he got back to work. It wasn't long before the man sitting next to him closed his own book and expressed an interest in what he was drawing. Not much longer after that they were having an entire conversation based around art and animation and what Joey Drew Studios had been doing, all while Henry showed off the other toon drawings he had done, as well as some various studies and drawings. The guy seemed quite impressed with his work, and was even more impressed to hear that Henry was of such a young age.

"Nice to see someone like yourself so passionate about drawing, and already so far along in mastering your craft." He had said with a chuckle.

"Of course sir, there's nothing more in the world I love more than drawing."

The conversation continued, and near the end of the ride Henry mentioned how he'd like to work at the animation studio one day, but he thought it was unlikely since they probably had high standards and dozens, maybe hundreds of other people probably looking to get in.

"I wont stop dreaming, though. You never know what'll happen..." Henry’s gaze wishfully drifted up from his sketchbook and to the window across from him.

"That's a good attitude to have, and you're quite right: you never do know what could happen." He paused. “Could I see your sketchbook for a second?”

“Uh, sure, go ahead.” He handed the pad of paper over, and the man produced a fountain pen from his coat and flipped to the very back page. He began to write something, Henry couldn’t see what from the angle the sketchbook was held at. He finished writing, and handed it back to its owner.

I don’t think I’ve met anyone with such a clear passion for drawing as you have, and you’re already quite skilled. I’d like to stay in contact.

There was a mailing address, and a phone number.

Best wishes, Joey Drew

In the corner of the page there was a small doodle of Bendy, smiling and winking. Henry stared at the page confused for a moment, and then it clicked. He looked back up at the man, looked properly at his face for the first time which he'd kept partially obscured under the brim of his hat and a popped coat collar until now...

Yeah. Never know what'll happen. He'd just spent the past 47 minutes talking to Joey Drew himself and he didn't realize it until now.

...he'd just spent the past 47 minutes being a total dork to Joey Drew himself. Oh god, what were the odds?

"You’re-”

“Yup!” He cut him off, not wanting him to announce his presence to the entire train. He offered his hand. “And you would be...?”

Crap, all this time talking and they hadn’t introduced themselves. He couldn’t tell if he was making a great first impression, or a terrible one.

“Henry.” He shook his hand, despite the fact that his own were shaking. “Pleasure to meet you.”

"Likewise.” Joey leaned towards him with a smile and spoke in a hushed voice. “Maybe when you're a little older, and you've gotten even better, you can come work with me at my studio like you said."

Henry was almost in tears, still in awe at the fact that he'd met The Man Himself somewhere as undramatic as a train. He shook his hand, and he had offered him a job. His dream job. This is not at all what he was expecting when he woke up this morning. All he could do was nod as Joey quietly went on about how he loved his energy, and how he felt they were destined to work together. He wouldn’t tell the kid, but he reminded him of himself in a weird way. He knew if he didn’t make the offer, their paths may never cross again and he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

They kept talking until the train stopped, and Henry had to leave. Part of him didn't want to get off the train, but part of him did if only to finally be able to calm down. Joey sent him off with a pat on the shoulder and a smile, and when Henry took one more glimpse of him right before exiting the train he saw him give a little wave, and he returned with his own slow, shy wave and a dorky grin. Joey kept his smile as he returned to his book, Henry freaked out to himself the entire walk home while clutching his sketchbook to his chest, and his parents didn't hear the end of it for weeks. They kept in contact through the phone and letters, the latter of which always had little doodles contained within them. Joey encouraged him to keep drawing and would give advice on art and later life itself when Henry came to him with troubles, and Henry would make sure to keep up with as much studio news as possible and would give his thoughts on any new cartoons the studio produced. He saw them all multiple times. Some of his thoughts even ended up having an impact on future cartoons. Joey wasn't supposed to, but he would share extra information about them sometimes - unused ideas, things they had to cut, all that Cool Behind The Scenes stuff. The second he was able, Henry went off to work at the studio like he'd dreamed for what had been years at that point. Joey was happy to have him. They've been working together ever since.

Like I said this is entirely prone to change because we know so little about their history in canon. As much as I love the “Joey and Henry were friends before Bendy was a thing, and they made him and the studio together” idea, I like the “Henry found Joey through Bendy’s success” idea just a little more :P henry met joey because he was drawing fanart of his oc on a public train and ended up working on the cartoons he was such a fan of. honestly, goals.

also i low-key might not change this even if canon contradicts it because its really precious and wholesome and this is an au anyway. this blog’s gonna turn into a game of “just how far can I pull this out of the way of the game’s canon...”

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #joey drew #henry batim #headcanons #fanfic #mun writes #i love the hc that joey (before the toons were a concern) would just hire random people he met because they were skilled and passionate #like he really admires people who put their SOUL into the work #you'll notice that between all the studio's staff - everyone pours their hearts into everything they do #joey will take passion over skill any day #every line you draw every note you write every word you sing - you gotta *care*#after the toons come into the picture he's gotta be more selective about who he hires for security reasons #but he still wouldn't hire someone who is just here for a paycheck #you either care about your craft or you gtfo #(you also gotta be skilled obviously and be able to work under tight and fluctuating deadlines but passion is the first thing he looks for)#anyway I need to stop half-trying with these ITS ALL OR NOTHING #WRITE A FIC OR RAMBLE DON'T AWKWARDLY MANAGE BOTH #[SCREAMS INTO PILLOW]

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hangovercurse · 3 years

Text

Midterm Season

You have exams coming up and Colson isn’t happy about it at all

Request: “you should do one where the person is studying and colson is distracting her very fluffy”

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: As someone who has 3 exams in the next 2 weeks, I could use some of this rn

Word count 1242

masterlist

Colson was very proud of you. He loved that his girlfriend was getting a master’s degree. Every chance he got, he’d talk about you and how smart you were and how hard you worked.

But he also hated every minute of it. Because every moment you were studying or at class or working to pay for class, you weren’t spending with him. He especially hated when exams came around, because you wouldn’t come out of your office for basically a whole week.

And guess what time it was. Midterms. By day 3 Colson was basically dying from touch starvation. You had 2 exams on Friday and another the following Tuesday, so to say you were stressed out was an understatement. And Colson’s whining wasn’t helping your mood.

For the fifth time that day he walked into the room, leaning in the door frame. “How’s it going, babe?”

You didn’t even look up at him, too focused on the textbook in front of you. “It’s going, Cols. Just like it was an hour ago.” You didn’t mean to be short with him, but he was really getting on your nerves. If you didn’t pass these exams, you could end up an entire semester behind, which means you would miss the hiring spree that happened after spring graduation. You couldn’t afford any distractions, but that’s all Colson wanted to be.

You didn’t see his shoulders slump at your words. He walked further into the room, flopping onto the futon that laid behind you and pulling out his phone. “Colson, I can’t entertain you right now.” You sighed, flipping between two textbook pages to try and compare diagrams with text.

He frowned, looking up at you. “I just wanna spend time with you. I know you’re busy but I thought I could at least sit in the same room as you.” He mumbled, trying to remind himself that you weren’t mad at him, just the world.

You didn’t respond, just kept taking notes from your book. Colson would occasionally chuckle at something on his phone, and after the fourth time you wanted to take it from him and throw it across the room. “I can’t focus when you’re in here, Colson.” You sighed, angrily. “Seriously, can you get out? I really need to do well on these tests so I need to study.”

“Babe, I’m literally just sitting here.” You stared at him blankly. “So you’re saying that my presence is bothering you?”

“Your words, not mine.” You sighed, turning back to your notes. A part of your brain knew you were being unreasonable, he wasn’t really doing any harm by being there. He just happened to be the only thing nearby you could take your stress out on.

Colson wanted to get mad at you, tell you that you were being cold. But he also knew that he put you through this whenever he had an album deadline, so he understood. So, he swallowed his pride and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your neck. “Colson, what are you doing? I just told you I need to focus.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, “I know, but you’ve been studying for almost 72 hours straight. You need a break.” You rolled your eyes, focusing back on your material. Colson sighed when he realized you were just going to ignore him. “Please take a break? For me?” He pleaded, tilting his head to try and find your eyes, but you were still staring at your textbook.

“Let me finish this chapter, then I’ll take a small break.” You were lying, but you thought if you told him that, then he would leave you alone. It didn’t work.

“Nope.” He mumbled, lips pressing into your hair again. “We’re gonna make dinner together and then you can go back to pretending I don’t exist.” You didn’t acknowledge his words, flipping a page.

He grumbled, moving around to stand on the side of the chair and wrapping an arm around your middle. In an instant he picked you up bridal style, much to your dismay. “Colson, stop.” You tried to push him off of you, but he was much stronger than you. He laughed, walking you out to the kitchen. “Colson, this isn’t funny, put me down.”

He finally set you down on the kitchen counter, his arms wrapping around your middle. You pushed his chest, a frown on your face. “You know I have to work, why are you being so fucking needy?”

He tilted his head, a smile on his face, “you’re really cute when you’re mad, you know?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to push him away from you once again. “I don’t do this when you’re working on music, why can’t you just leave me alone for a few hours?” His smile was only making you more upset. “You’re not even taking this seriously, Cols. This is really important to me and its like you don’t even care. I can’t entertain you every goddamn minute.”

His eyebrows furrowed, getting serious. “Babe, I do care that this is important to you, but I care about your health more. I don’t think I’ve seen you ingest anything that isn’t caffeine or pretzels for three days. You won’t take care of yourself, so I have to. And if that means you getting mad at me, so be it.”

You rolled your eyes, shoulders slumping. “I can take care of myself later. But there won’t be a me to take care of if I don’t pass these classes.”

Colson sighed, hands grabbing yours, “baby, your grades don’t define you. Okay? One bad test isn’t gonna ruin your life. Yeah, it’ll suck, but it’s nothing you can’t overcome.” He kissed your forehead.

You leaned your head against his chest, letting out a defeated sigh. “I just really want to get a good job and I won’t get a good job if I don’t graduate on time. And I won’t graduate on time if I don’t pass these classes and I won’t pass these classes if I don’t study.”

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Y/N Y/L/N, you are the smartest person I know. Just being in grad school is an accomplishment. On top of that you are an amazing girlfriend, an amazing pseudo-mom, and the most amazing person I’ve ever met. Any employer would be lucky to have you.” Colson tilted your head up with his hand, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “But you gotta live long enough to get employed, and that’s not gonna happen if coffee rips a hole in your stomach.”

You nodded, a frown still on your face. “I’m sorry I was being so mean earlier.” You grumbled.

Colson chuckled, backing away from you and towards your cupboards, “I’ll forgive you if you make dinner with me. And come to bed before 3am tonight.”

You sighed, hopping off the counter, “I suppose I could sacrifice one night for you.” You walked over to the stovetop, where he was placing a pot on the burner. You wrapped your arms around him, head resting against his back. “I love you.”

He smiled and turned to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and picking you up. You giggled and wrapped your legs around his middle, hands clinging to the back of his neck. He pressed quick pecks all over your face, “I love you too.”

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff

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seraphdarlimg · 3 years

Text

wish I were (pt2)

harry acts like everything is good and dandy but reader sees Heather wearing the sweater

part 1 here

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST WORD COUNT - 1,892

A/N: hehe because it was december 3rd, I just had to get this chapter done to post even if it might be a little late but here ya go

____________________________________________________________

My guitar rested on my thigh as i brought my head down to lay on the fret, staring at the blank piece of lined paper in front of me. I sighed, turning my head away and just bathed in the silence of the separate room from the main studio. The weight on my chest might of suggested the frustration out of my creative block, unable to produce words or lyrics for the past weeks. Or that I was progressively losing the will to even pick up an instrument, as strumming the strings took a lot of energy for me to do.

The oversized hoodie I brought kept me warm, but i knew that wasn't satisfying enough. However the idea of wearing one of his hoodies I've place in a closed box in the corner of my apartment hurt too much and that now I'm back in the studio after weeks of trying to avoid coming here at all costs. After the New Year's party, I've done nothing but wallow up in my apartment alone, trying to come up with songs as quickly as possible just so I could get this project done and over with. That proved to be difficult however, especially with Harry trying to call on a normal basis.

"Helllooo bubs, why haven't you been showing up at the studio eh?" "You said at the beginning of this project that I could work at home whenever I want. I'm just taking you up on that offer." "Of course, you'd remember me sayin' that. How've you been love, haven't seen you in a while though." "Fine, just been doing my job." "Well yeah, can't write all these lovely songs without your talent, can I? You gonna come in tomorrow then?"

I hesitated for a second, biting my tongue when I felt my eyes pool up again. "I'll just send a pdf of lyrics to you Harry." "O-oh. Well that would conventionally work... yes but you have to come in tomorrow though." "Why? Just text me what you like and don't like about the verses and I'll fix them." "Bubs you know how I feel about in person collaboration. Plus the deadlines are coming up and it'll be easier and faster to have you in the studio." "Okay." He hesitates this time and I could see his brows furrowed together as well as having a hand on his hip. Most likely wearing lose sweats and the knitted cardigan he's been falling in love with over the months. His hair a bit longer than it was last time I saw him and his pink lips quirked to the side in thought. Maybe the bags under his eyes are gone, has been looking more happier lately. More happier than I could of made him to be over the months. "Are you okay?" "I have to go Harry, I'll see you tomorrow." "Oh see yo-"

He was the first one to greet me when I arrived, and I wanted nothing more than to burst out sobbing when I see his smile. It took everything not to do so, giving him a tight lip smile and quick side hug before sitting down farthest away from him. For the first hour and a half of discussion, I didn't say much and zoned off a lot, tuning in and out of the conversation Harry leaded about a song he had written recently. I felt his glances on me when I turned away, probably sensing my unwillingness to comment so he was considerate enough to not put me under the spotlight in the discussion. In the middle of it, Harry's phone started ringing and he didn't waste a second to excuse himself to answer it. "Hello? Oh hey darling, you almost here?" I froze when he grows a cheesy smile on his face as he walks further to the other side of the studio before telling us to continue without him. I took a deep breathe, not mentally prepared to be in the same room as her. Has she always been coming to the studio or did I just choose to worse day to finally come in? I try to focus doodling in my little notebook, but it grew harder and harder to focus on anything else but the way he crosses his arms and laughs while on the phone with her. From the corner of my eye, it was definite he's completely captivated just hearing her voice and I could just picture the angelic tone of it. I didn't realize I was tapping my pencil till I hear Sarah calling out my name, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Are you okay, haven't seen you in a while." I nodded, putting on a smile. "Yeah sorry, been getting a lot of work opportunities and just a bunch of family stuff that's exhausted me." Sarah gives me a look that resembles one of a mother who knows their child isn't telling the full truth, but she nods and pats my hand. "Completely understandable. But that's exciting, new artists been reaching out to you n' all that?" "Ha surprisingly, considering saying yes to all of them." my smile was growing genuine a little, thinking about how content I was with my career. Being a lyricist and songwriter was a definite risky path to take in terms of stability, but it made me happier knowing I was able to to do. "Oh of course, you can totally do it. Probably wanted to see what all the hype was about when Harry couldn't stop talking about you at every social gathering he's been at." Sarah chuckles, rolling her eyes playfully. "Yeah?" I quickly looked down, feeling my eyes water as the pang in my chest came back. "Mhmm, acts like Thomas and Mitch don't even exist." I laugh lightly at that, fiddling with my fingers as I focused down on my notebook. I found myself in an awkward situation, not knowing how to continue the conversation but knowing I didn't want to try. I love Sarah, but I was close to break down right there if I tried and it was not the place to do so. Not when everyone is trying to meet deadlines and Harry was about to walk in with Heather at any moment. "Hey, I actually have a lot of emails to respond to so I'm gonna be in the other room." I stood up, taking a guitar and my notebook. "Might actually be better for me to focus in." "Sure, we'll let Harry know." I gave her a grateful smile, walking out into the hallway to a different room. I let out another shaky breath, feeling overwhelmed once I was finally alone. But before I could close the door, I hear her. I peak out to see both her and Harry standing at the entrance of the building, huddled close together. "Sorry I forget it gets this cold in LA sometimes." She says, looking up at him while he rubs the sleeves of his sweater that was wrapped perfectly around her. It was a simple orange stripped sweater. A vintage that Harry bought in Vienna and became one of his favorites. It was just a simple polyester sweater, but it became my favorite too. So it was hard to give it back after wearing it that night we kissed, but fuck was it harder to see her wearing it. Now as I sit alone with no sense of motivation to do anything else but wallow in my own pity I thought about a lot of things. I should be angry, be fuming and cursing at Harry for how he's been acting. I should confront him, make him feel as hurt as he made me for choosing her. Or maybe I should hate Heather, despise her for taking the chance I had with him. But deep down I know I couldn't hate Heather. She's such an angel, it wasn't her fault he's still hung up on her. And as much as the image of his arm wrapped around her kills me, I couldn't hate him either for the same reason. She looked prettier in his sweater than I did. "You okay in here bubs?" As if the tears welling up in my eyes and heavy weight on my chest wasn't enough, the sound of knuckles against the door and his voice calling out my name made me almost sob. "Yeah, I'm good. Door's open." I quickly try to compose myself when he enters the room, giving me that warming smile of his. "Just wanted to check up on ya, been quiet since you got here." Harry looks at me with concerning eyes as he places a hand on my shoulder before crossing his arms and leaning against the wall in front of me. Keep your hand on my shoulder, the second it was there all the nerves went away. I wanted to say but instead I fake a smile again, waving it off and shrugging. "Oh no, just have a lot on my plate don't worry." He nods, feeling his eyes on me while I try to avoid his by opening my laptop and skimming through my inbox. "Sarah told me about different singers reaching out to you." He points at my laptop before taking a seat on the chair to the side. I nodded, humming while I typed out quick responses. "Yup, thanks by the way but now I gotta sort out a whole schedule for this year." I took a glance up to see him focused on my song journal on the table in front of us.

“So...you and Heather huh?” The sheepish smile he has tugs my heart strings but I tried to keep from fumbling with my fingers.

“Yeah uhh...” He scratches the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on his hands and looking like a young kid with a crush. “Started talking again and catching up, been working out stuff between us since the party.”

I tilt my head to the side, motioning him to continue. “She’s gorgeous...”

“She’s amazing.”

I finally looked away from him and onto my screen, letting out a little chuckle.

“So you guys are back together?”

“No no, we’re just sort of figuring things out at the moment.” Though it was an answer I was hoping for, the look in his face was none the less comforting.

“Well, hope everything goes great. You guys look perfect together.” I managed to say, going back to typing while he only responds with a nod and hum.

There was silence. Does he not feel it too? Uncomfortable silence was never a thing between us but it was prevalent here. "Not gonna leave early are you though?" He says out of no where and I stopped typing for a sec to give my attention to him. "Not going to ditch me for someone else of course." He says it with a laugh, playing it off like an obvious joke... but the way he looked at me. Part of me wanted to scream at how oblivious and selfish that statement sounded coming from him, as if he has no idea the drastic shift our relationship has taken. But I see the vulnerability in his eyes, sensing the subtext in his question that is practically asking me to stay. Stick by his side and help finish this passion project he's dedicated to put out, not only for his fans but for himself. Be with him to figure out what to do next, even if I would be in a different county or continent and working with someone else. Keep in touch throughout because I've become an important person in his life. Even if that person who used to fill that spot came back, he's still here and asking me to stay with him in a similar sense. It wasn't the kind of love I wanted, but never the less, it was still love from Harry. Did the smile I wear at that moment reach my eyes? When I placed my hand on top of his in reassurance, was the hesitance obvious? Maybe he did notice the little signs, but he took my hand in his anyways and placed it against his heart.

"Of course, 'm always gonna here Harry."

____________________________________________________________

part 3

A/N: guys my heart hurts writing this lol. There’s gonna be one or two more parts of this series, but thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated :)

#Harry Styles #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #one direction #harry styles blurb #heather

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Text

@kumathecatalyst made my brain go bbbbbrbrrrrrrrrr

Billy let his head fall back, resting against the side of the house.

He had lost track of time in his drunken haze, and was an hour past curfew.

No way his dad would let him in.

He thought about finding some girl, convince her into letting him drive her home, into letting him stay the night.

In whatever capacity that means. Rumors will only help him here, help him blend in.

He gave himself until the end of his cigarette. Then he would head inside are start sniffing at chicks.

He knew that Vicki girl was watching him earlier, and he’s pretty sure Tina is the one throwing the party. Maybe he can sweet talk his way into her bedroom. It’s beat having to go anywhere.

He stared at the dwindling cigarette.

It was cold out, but Billy was still drunk enough that it felt nice. It was too hot inside, everyone tugging at him, pushing him around, trying to cling onto him.

He took a deep breath, was about to stub out the dying cig against the side of the house when he heard humming.

A tune that nearly made his heart stop.

Harrington came around the corner, stumbling, and very drunk, holding a red cup with one hand, his stupid sunglasses with the other.

He stopped for a second, looking down at his feet, taking a shaking breath.

“It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor, would you be mine?” He laughed bitterly, pouring out his drink. He watched the spiked punch splatter in the grass at his feet. His eyes tracked up, landing on Billy as he clumsily sang, “could you be mine?”

“Mr. Rogers, huh?” Harrington just stared. “I like that show.”

“It’s good.” Steve was slurring, just a touch. “Mr. Rogers wants to be my friend. He says so. Every episode.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea of the neighborhood.”

“Wish I had a neighborhood.” Harrington threw his empty cup into the bushes.

“You do.”

“No, like, a Mr. Rogers kinda neighborhood. Where everyone was nice, and, and people liked me, and I had friends. Mr. Rogers is my only friend and he’s not even real.”

“He’s real.” Harrington huffed dramatically at Billy.

“But he lives in the t.v. He’s not here. He’s not real in my life. Or I’m not real in his.” He furrowed his brows, looked like he was getting confused.

It was cute.

And Billy suddenly realized he didn’t know Harrington’s first name.

That Tom kid just kept referring to him as Harrington.

“I’m Billy.”

“I know.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but I don’t know your name, Dumbass.” Harrington’s eyes went hollow. It was fucking creepy.

“It’s Steve. But Dumbass works too I guess.” Billy made a mental note never to call him dumbass again.

“Well, you know. Now that we know each other, we can be neighbors.” Steve’s face lit up slowly, like the words were sinking in one by one.

And then he threw himself at Billy, hugging him tightly around the middle.

And Billy realized, horrified, that Steve was sobbing into his neck.

Billy reached up, patting his back.

“Why don’t I take you home, Steve?” That was somehow the wrong thing to say, as Steve just started crying harder.

“No one takes care of me.”

“Whoa, who said anything about take care of? I was just gonna drop you off. Let your mom do all the heavy lifting.”

And then Steve’s legs seemed to give out under him.

“Mom’s not home. Never home.” A chill spread through Billy’s whole body.

“Is she, did she pass?”

“No. She just chooses not to be around me,” Steve wailed. Billy was very much in over his head.

But he may have found a place to sleep tonight.

And if Steve likes Mr. Rogers, he’s gotta have the channel at home.

Because that was the thing about moving to Hawkins. It meant leaving everything behind. Including, Mrs. Beverly down the street that let Billy come in and watch The Neighborhood with her.

She was old and kind, gave him cookies and turned a blind eye if he got choked up during an episode.

“Hey, Steve, just let me drive you home, okay?” Steve nodded into his neck.

Billy led him to his car parked far down the road. He didn’t want any assholes hitting it.

He had pounded some water before heading outside, and felt alright. Still a little hazy, but he’ll get them there in one piece.

Steve had calmed down some, just kinda had tears sliding down his face now, Which was better than his body wracking with harsh sobs.

He silently pointed at streets Billy was meant to turn down, and Billy, for once, drove slowly enough that it worked out.

Steve was still humming the theme song, his voice cracking every so often.

He pointed to a big house at the end of the street, and Billy pulled into the long drive way.

He glared at the huge fucking house. Steve made no move to get out of the car.

He was holding onto his seat belt, the car silent without his humming.

“Do you wanna come in?” His voice was tiny, like he already new the answer.

“Sure.” His head snapped up to look at Billy. Billy just killed the ignition and pulled himself out of the car.

He watched Steve, smile on his face, as he stumbled awkwardly out of the passenger seat, nearly falling over in the process.

Billy got one hand on his elbow as they walked to the front double doors.

“You wanna-I got Mr. Rogers on tape.” Steve was just holding his keys out for Billy.

There were only a few, one clearly a car key, so it was a matter of three different keys.

Steve seemed like he just didn’t wanna bother.

“I got a buncha episodes. We could watch one.”

“Sure, if you want.” Steve beamed at him. Billy just focused on getting the door open.

The second key worked and the heavy lock slid open.

Steve’s house was cold.

It was immaculately clean, like some kinda model home.

It looked like nobody lived in it.

Steve brought Billy through the entry hall to a door just off the kitchen leading into a basement.

This was better. The couch was worn and there was a blanket strewn on it like Steve had been curled up underneath it.

Billy realized this is probably where Steve spends most of his time in this empty house, the almost cozy television room downstairs.

There were shelves lined with tapes, all sorts of movies and neatly labeled television show recordings.

Steve had probably every episode of The Neighborhood in a section all on it’s own. Billy picked a random episode and hoped it wasn’t one guaranteed to make him cry.

He figured Steve’s breakdown was enough for one night.

Steve sang along to the theme song under his breath.

It was so damn cute.

He was slurring still, drunk and lazy, sitting low on the couch with the blanket pulled up to his chin.

It looked hand knit.

He had put some over Billy’s lap when he sat down.

The episode turned out to be fine.

For Billy that is.

It was an old one, one from about two years ago.

One about friendship.

And Steve seemed to be okay.

And then the story moved to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe.

The puppet people were on their way to a picnic at King Friday’s palace.

But Lady Aberlin was in a rush and forgot to get Daniel Tiger and bring him to the picnic.

And Daniel Tiger explained how hurt he felt, forgotten and left out by his friends. How they had fun without him and that made him feel bad.

And Steve was crying again.

“They, they just forgot Daniel-” Billy could barely make out what he was saying.

This was no pretty crying. This wasn’t a few dainty tears.

This was water covering Steve’s cheeks. This was snot and borderline hyperventilating.

And Billy has never felt more out of his depths.

“They don’t care about Daniel! They don’t love him!” Yeah, this was not about Daniel Tiger and the fucking picnic.

“Steve, of course they love Daniel. Lady Aberlin came back, and, and she apologized! Sometimes, you know, friends can just be shitty,” Billy offered. Steve wailed. There were tears dripping off his chin now.

“I wouldn’t know!”

“C’mon, man. Didn’t I say I was your friend?”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I’ve seen you fucking ugly cry three times tonight. I feel like I know you pretty well.” The episode was still playing, Mr. Rogers now explaining in that soft voice of his, that telling friends our feelings can help make us feel better. Billy pointed at the television. “Tell me your feelings! Mr. Rogers said it’ll help.”

“I, I, no one loves me. Nancy doesn’t love me, my old friends want fuckin’ nothing to do with me, and, and my parents don’t even like me, and I’m always left behind.”

“Wait, Nancy’s that girl, right? That Tom guy said you ditched him for her.”

“No. I ditched him because he was being a fucking asshole.”

“Them Steve, you kinda can’t complain that he wants nothing to do with you after you ditched him.”

“I tried to talk to him. Like, a month later. We were best friends since we were five, and it was one stupid fight, and I tried to talk it out, and he told me to go fuck myself.” Damn.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Steve had stopped crying by now, but his face was still wet. He was fucking covered in snot. Jesus Christ. “I tried. He just realized he was better off without me.”

“Or he was hurt and trying to protect his pride or some shit.” Steve deflated a bit.

“The Nancy thing is, that one’s real. She said she was just pretending. We’ve been together for a year. And I, I love her. And she’s just pretending.” Steve suddenly sat up, flipping the blanket down to let out his top half, scooting to sit against the armrest facing Billy.

The credits were rolling on the tape.

“Y’know, I offered to like, not go to college for her. I missed the early application deadline because my whole plan up until like two hours ago was to rot in this shitty fucking town for her. To settle down with her. To marry her. And she’s fucking pretending.” He finally wiped off his face. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. I fucking don’t.”

Billy didn’t either.

Well, he had a few suggestions, but you could always suck my cock, right here and now felt a little crass for the situation.

“You said early application. You’ve still got the regular deadlines.”

“I wanted to do early because Nancy had been helping me with my grades all fucking year. She helped me bring them up a lot last year and without her, man they’re gonna tank.”

“Nah. You got me now. I can give you a hand.”

Steve gave him a look, one eyebrow raised.

“What? I’m smarter than I look.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Billy reached out and slapped Steve’s arm. Steve pouted at him, rubbing the sore spot. “Owie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say owie.”

“That hurt, Billy. What would Mr. Rogers say?”

“He’d agree you were being a pain in my ass.”

“Rude.”

Steve looked better. His eyes were a little bit brighter.

“So, Daniel Tiger. Did talking about your feelings help?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, just a teeny bit.

“Yeah, it did. Thanks, King Friday.”

“Oh, you better take that back! I am not King Friday.”

Here’s a clip from the episode they watch. It’s lowkey fucking brutal. (The clip is “Daniel Feels Forgotten” under the Daniel Striped Tiger section)

#yikes writes #billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

I know you don't usually write PRU stuff, but if you ever feel inclined, here's a ficlet idea! so: Newt is trying to fight off the Precursors by constantly reminding himself that He Is Human. but whenever newt thinks about what makes him Feel Human, the answer is always hermann. so newt starts conjuring up vivid mental images of hermann (doing mundane, hermann-y things) to ward off the Precursors. bonus point if, like, newt fondly remembering smth innocuous (like the scent of Hermann's chalk dust?) is enough to actually sever the alien mind control.

Anonymous asked: Maria!!! Would you ever write an angsty post uprising prompt? Or even a pre uprising? Anything with Newt fucking around with Kaiju and being sad i am HERE FOR 👏

in honor of the sequel’s 3 year anniversary, let’s try something a little different 👀 THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME RE: LENGTH....I'll leave it up to interpretation whether or not the bonus is wholly fulfilled.... also on proofing this I realized it might need content warnings? so vague refs to disordered eating and alcohol drinking (ie, newt’s body is inhabited by aliens who forget how human stuff works)

-----------

Honestly, Newt’s life has been kind of a shitshow lately. He’s too, like, high strung. Too many responsibilities. Not enough hours in the day to get that shit done. He’s even higher strung than he was during the war, which is nuts, because certain doom was lurking around every corner. Maybe that’s why it’s not that nuts, though. The war was chaotic—and Newt’s fueled (or, used to be fueled?) by chaos. The kaiju were unpredictable. The kaiju didn’t run on a 9-5 schedule. The kaiju didn’t expect Newt to have three new jaeger prototypes on their desk by noon on a fucking Saturday, which is usually the day Newt spends two hours in his expensive bath tub and drinks a nice bottle of wine, and definitely not a day he wants to spend giving himself a stress migraine and shouting at underlings to make themselves useful. On top of that, his usual cafe got his coffee order wrong—when Newt had to run in to get it, himself, on a Saturday morning—and it only had half the espresso shots he really needs for the day. No wonder he’s going grey at forty. Fucking nightmare. Stable employment is exactly the kind of chaos that’s bad for Newt—give him the kaiju any day, thanks.

“Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt pushes his sunglasses up, and scowls at whichever one of his employees has dared to interrupt his catnap. The fluorescent overheads are brutal on his poor eyes right now. The lab needs more natural lighting. Maybe if he complains, they’ll knock out some walls in put in a few more windows. “Did you find any Aspirin?” he says.

Wordlessly, Newt’s assistant passes him a bottle. Newt pops the cap off and takes at least four. The coffee he washes it down with is cold. “How are the last simulations coming along?” he says, flicking his sunglasses back down. He seems to have so many migraines these days. It’s the contact lenses, he thinks—making the switch over from frames so late in the game. Screwing with his perceptions. Newt went thirty years with frames, after all. “We only have two hours before—”

“We’re almost done,” his assistant cuts in. “We’re working as fast as we can, Dr. Geiszler.”

“But are we gonna make the deadline?” Newt says.

She fidgets, and moves her clipboard to her other arm. “Well—we’ve had some—issues.”

Newt stands up with a long sigh. Double overtime, probably. Sunday lost to this shit too. That new bottle of wine waiting for him on his kitchen counter bought for nothing. “Gotta do everything myself, huh? Unbelievable.”

He follows his assistant over to the main lab down the hall, where his team of j-techs are hurrying around. Hardly anyone in proper lab attire—no labcoats—someone in sweatpants—Newt wasn’t the only one who had his Saturday ruined, probably. No one else is going grey, though. “What’s this shit?” he says, stopping in his tracks with one foot through the doorway. The high-tech holo-smartboards have been pushed aside, and instead, someone’s wheeled in a huge…chalkboard.

“Technical issues,” his assistant says. “The other floors are having the same problem—something in the new interface update that downloaded last night, we think. They’re all out of commission. Technology is working on it, but for now, we had to pull that out of deep storage.”

Two of his scientists are scrawling across the board quickly—one with white chalk, the other with pink. They’re debating something in hushed tones. Newt hasn’t seen a chalkboard in years. It doesn’t fit with Shao Industry’s whole chic, sleek, futuristic aesthetic. So—bulky. And messy. “Of course it would happen today of all days,” Newt sighs. The sight of it makes him feel odd, and he can’t seem to drag himself any further into the lab and any closer towards it.

His assistant says something. Newt doesn’t hear—he’s listening, instead, to the squeaking of chalk across the blackboard. So noisy and obnoxious. It reminds him of years and years ago, of working in a grimy little basement, of…

“—look it over. Dr. Geiszler?”

“Hm?” Newt says. It was like a layer of fog had begun to lift from his thoughts, but the interruption sends it rolling right back in.

“I said we’re ready for you to look it over. Only if you want too, of course,” she adds, nervously.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

Newt’s never had anyone fear him before, not like his employees seem to fear him—he’s not sure he likes it. His scientists shut up the second he looms over (well—under, Newt’s never loomed over anyone in his life) their shoulders to inspect their work so far. The squeaking stops. One of them lowers their piece of chalk. “Wait,” Newt says, too-loudly, surprising them and himself. They both look at him with the same nervousness as his assistant, like he’s about to start shouting or something. “Keep doing that.”

“Keep…?”

“Writing,” Newt says. “On the chalkboard.”

The scientist frowns at him. “Um, okay,” she says. “What am I supposed to write?”

“Anything,” Newt says. “Seriously. Anything.”

She hesitates.

“Anything,” Newt repeats.

She picks up the white chalk, and writes out her name, then doodles a few random pictures—a DNA helix, a flower, a cat face, a star. Newt shuts his eyes, and breathes in deeply. That smell. He snags the forgotten piece of pink chalk from the ledge. “Can I have this?” he says. He doesn’t wait for them to respond—though they both nod yes frantically, and bewilderedly—before writing out his own name on the board. Dr. Geiszler. It looks wrong, so he writes Newt beneath it. He shuts his eyes, and writes Newt again. Why does he feel like he’s done this sort of thing before? This thing is ancient—before his time at Shao—he wouldn’t have used it before they carted off to the basement. Newt, Newt, Newt Was Here,he writes, Newt +, and then he stops.

He opens his eyes. “Who’s Hermann?” his assistant says.

Newt + Hermann. Newt didn’t realize he wrote it. “Someone I knew,” he says, faintly. “Years ago. He was my—” He swallows. He feels strange. “My colleague?”

Strange. Dizzy. The Aspirin isn’t working. Definitely the contact lenses. He could afford laser eye surgery now, if he wanted, maybe he should look into it. He grips the ledge of the chalkboard, swaying, and grits his teeth; his two scientists back away from him slowly, no doubt worried he’s about to hurl all over their shoes. He might, to be honest. Newt + Hermann. Hermann was his colleague. Hermann was his— “Are you feeling okay, Dr. Geiszler?” his assistant asks. “You look…”

“Tell Shao I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Newt says.

“What?”

“You guys got this shit handled without me,” Newt says. He pockets the chalk. “I’m not—I’m not feeling myself. I think I need to go home and lie down. Seriously, you’ve got it under control—all these numbers look, uh, good, I trust you. If you guys don’t get it finished you can just tell Shao it’s my fault, okay?”

She gapes at him. “Uh,” she says. “Okay?”

Newt doesn’t go home. He goes to the nearest shop he can find instead, and makes a beeline for the art supplies aisle. Only a few boxes of chalk in stock. Four multicolored, two all-white, one yellow. He drops them all into his basket but the yellow, which he rips opens and immediately smells. Newt + Hermann. Hermann always smelled like chalk dust—he always had a fine layer of it on his clothing, patches of it on his blazer, his sweatervest, even on his undershirt. Newt used to tease him for that. He closes his eyes, and breathes in again. Funny—all those baths, all those bottles of wine, and this stupid little box of chalk is what’s finally making him feel calm for once. Quieting down his brain. He didn’t realize how loud it’d gotten in there. When Hermann would kiss Newt, he would sometimes stain Newt’s clothing with chalk, too, and Newt would pretend to be annoyed, but he never really was.

Someone is speaking to him. An employee. They’re staring at him, a cautious distance away, and Newt’s not sure what they’re saying.

His vision’s gone blurry—he didn’t realize he’d started crying, either. He wipes his eyes on the cuff of his blazer and sniffles. “Sorry,” he says. The box of yellow chalk is wet. “Um. Do you have any more of these in the back?”

He takes the bus home for the first time in years, one hand stuffed in his little brown shopping bag the whole time, wrapped around a box of chalk. When he gets back to his apartment (his big, lonely, apartment), he pulls out the only food in his fridge—some leftovers from a Shao Industries event three nights ago—and settles down on his big, lonely couch. He can’t stop thinking about Hermann. Five or so years, maybe more, not thinking about Hermann, and now suddenly—it’s like the floodgates have opened. He thinks about Hermann’s haircut. (Bad.) He thinks about Hermann’s smile. (Silly, and sweet.) He thinks about Hermann’s dumb accent, and the clack of Hermann’s cane on the floor, and Hermann’s chalk squeaking over his chalkboard, and how it felt when Hermann would wrap him in his arms and kiss him and whisper things to him. Hermann’s sweaters always smelled like mothballs and stale cigarette smoke. Terrible combination.

Newt’s stomach growls. He’s finished the small bit of leftovers without realizing, and is apparently still hungry. He would kill for some sushi takeout right now. Or pizza, God. Yeah, it’d be screwing with his new diet and fitness plan—he casts a guilty glance over at his brand new exercise bike, which is gathering dust in the corner by his TV—but he’s tired of doing stupid kale and juice cleanses or whatever, just to please—well. He’s only human.

He is?

He walks up the stairs to his bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror. Stupid vest. Stupid tie. Neat hair, clean-shaven cheeks, contact lenses. Newt’s only human. “I’m human,” he tells his reflection. Is he human? He felt human standing by that old chalkboard back in the lab, and holding that box of yellow chalk in the aisle of that little shop. He felt human when he was remembering things. Because of—Newt blinks at himself. Because of whom?

“Hermann,” he says, and smiles at the way the name makes him feel. He should text him, maybe.

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

“I must say,” Hermann says, “I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation. You’ve done a rather fine job of ignoring my calls as of late. I’d thought— Ah, thank you,” he adds, as Newt holds the door open for him. He steps into Newt’s apartment and cranes his neck around, squinting curiously, and then shoves a bottle of red wine at Newt’s chest. Hermann is much more personable than Newt remembers—what little Newt remembers—and he wonders if it’s age or something else. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while. It’s the one you gave me as a part of a gift for my thirty-seventh birthday—you remember? Oh, but isn’t it so terrifically, er, modern in here.”

“Is it?” Newt says. He’s never given much thought to his apartment before, but he stares around at it now in mild interest. It is very chic, isn’t it? Monochrome. Impersonal. Not something Newt would’ve picked for himself. “Yeah, I had some interior decorators come in and do it for me.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “How…”

“Modern,” Newt offers. He puts the bottle of wine on his marble kitchen island. “Thanks for this, by the way, but I’ve actually been trying to cut back on the—” He bites back drinking. No need to alarm Hermann. “—Calories, so if it’s cool with you I’d rather not open it. I’m doing a, um, a new fitness program.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “I suppose that explains that, then, doesn’t it?” He points at the dusty exercise bike. Newt watches his gaze move from that, to the barren leather couch, to the short staircase which leads to Newt’s shut bedroom door. Newt can practically see the gears working in his head. “Will—ah, what was their name, that little flight of fancy of yours—a dalliance, one might say—will they be, ah, joining the two of us?” He looks at Newt out of the corner of his eye. “Alice, was it?”

“Who?” Newt says, blankly.

Hermann breaks out in a broad grin, which he quickly tries, very badly, to turn into a sympathetic frown. He pats Newt’s arm. “There’s the spirit, then, Newton! All in the past, I presume? Hardly any use in dwelling on a broken heart. Then again—it’s not as if you were together long enough to warrant those sorts of dramatics, were you?” he says, cheerily. “What I mean is—certainly it wasn’t as if you had any sort of deep or emotional connection with—?—oh, I’ve forgotten the name again.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He’s not really sure who Hermann’s talking about, but just based on that fact alone, he would assume Hermann is right. “I guess not?”

“Precisely as I expected,” Hermann says, with a satisfied nod. “Rotten grounds for a relati—for a fling. You deserve far better, Newton.” Hermann touches Newt’s arm again, and this time, he doesn’t move his hand. It makes Newt’s skin prickle pleasantly. “You look well these days, though I admit it’s a bit of a shock to see you without your glasses,” Hermann continues, flicking his eyes up and down Newt twice. He lingers on Newt’s left hand, over the bare spot where—until this morning, when he suddenly realized how stupid it looked and yanked it off—he was wearing that Elvis ring. “Ending things must be treating you kindly. I don’t suppose I could dash to your loo?”

“Loo?” Newt says. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s that door there, right off the living room.” He drops down onto the leather couch. “Knock yourself out. I’ll be right here.”

Hermann disappears into Newt’s bathroom, and comes back out three minutes later with combed hair, a straightened collar, and the vague smell of cologne. He’s tucking a small bottle into his top pocket. “I found a box of hair dye in your medicine cabinet,” he declares, smugly. “I knew there was no bloody way that was natural. Though I’m not surprised it fooled Alice.” He rests his cane against the glass coffee table and sits down next to Newt. Right next to Newt. The whole sofa to pick from, and he’d rather their thighs touch. Newt doesn’t mind—actually, the contact is strangely grounding, like Hermann’s hand on his arm had been earlier. He’s here, in his living room, with Hermann, his friend Hermann, his colleague Hermann, his—well, question mark—Hermann.

“Hermann, can I ask you something?” he says. “Something important?”

“By all means,” Hermann says, leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes. Even over the cologne, Newt can still make out that mothball-chalk-smoke smell.

“Do you take your coffee with sugar?” he says.

Hermann laughs. “Do I—what?”

Newt repeats the question. The smile slips off Hermann’s face, and he draws away, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “yes, usually, only I’m not sure what—”

“Sugar, and some milk,” Newt says. “It was the same with your tea. And you had a mug that you would use—you wouldn’t use any other. It was blue, and it said—” He exhales through his nose. “It said TU Berlin. That’s where you got your PhD.”

After Newt sent Hermann a text about dinner last night, he sat down with a pen and pad of paper and made a list of everything he could remember about Hermann. He started with what Hermann looks like, and who Hermann is, and then moved into the harder stuff like what Hermann likes and the sort of things Hermann used to do. He stayed up all night doing it, until his hand cramped and his head hurt even more than it had that morning, and then recited it over and over to himself in a whisper as he fell asleep. Hermann has brown eyes. Hermann likes blackberry jam on his toast. Hermann wears little glasses on a chain. Hermann uses a cane with a tiny little nick in the brass of the handle. The list is in his pocket now; it makes Newt feel calm, and even calmer when he reaches into his pocket and touches it. He exhales again, hard, and then inhales. “We were together,” he says. “When we closed the Breach, you told me you loved me.”

“I did,” Hermann says, quietly.

“I said it back,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

Slowly, Newt reaches out and puts his hand over Hermann’s. Hermann makes a strange noise in the back of his throat—like a sigh, or maybe a groan. His pulse twitches erratically under Newt’s fingertips. “I bought chalk,” Newt says.

“You—” Hermann echoes, his voice choked. “You bought chalk?”

“It reminded me of you,” Newt says.

He’s not surprised when Hermann kisses him, but he is surprised at his knee-jerk reaction: to pull away, or push Hermann away, and to order him to get out of his apartment. He’s surprised, because those aren’t his thoughts. He doesn’t want Hermann to leave—he wants Hermann to stay longer, and kiss him more, and help him remember more. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann says. “Newton, Newton—” He moves his mouth to Newt’s neck, kissing, breathing, and whispering his name, and Newt shuts his eyes and forces himself to remember his list.

“Tell me things about you,” Newt begs. “I want to remember you.”

Hermann’s laughter, hesitant and confused, comes out in a puff of hot air against his skin. “Remember me?” he says. “I’m not sure— Are we not a bit—?”

“Hermann,” Newt says.

He grips the back of Hermann’s sweater, digging his nails in Hermann’s skin through the layers of fabric. Hermann must hear the urgency in his voice, because he shakes his head with another laugh, kisses Newt’s jaw, and says, “Well, alright. What am I even meant to tell you?”

“Your favorite color,” Newt says. Hermann kisses his chin. “Your favorite song. No, wait—” He nudges Hermann away from him, just enough so that Hermann can see him smile. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Feeling rather egotistical tonight, aren’t we?” Hermann teases. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through the side of Newt’s hair. One of the spots Newt dyed—it was too grey. He catches Hermann’s hand by the wrist and pulls it away gently, but only to press himself up against Hermann’s chest instead. He can feel Hermann’s heartbeat. “I like—hm,” Hermann says. “I like your stubbornness. I like your passion. I like…”

His voice vibrates in his throat—Newt can feel that, too. He listens.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #if Alice was a real person her picture would be on Hermann's dartboard #it probably is anyway #Anonymous

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