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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 12,857

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

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

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

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

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

Ugh, why is this so stressful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

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

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

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

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

Wait. Sexy?

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s those eyes of his.

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

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

“Did you need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

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

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

God.

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

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

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

No. No, no, no, no.

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

God fucking damn it.

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

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

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

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

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

“Gimme the paperwork.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N).

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

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

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

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

“Something came up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah. But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Didn’t you just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what? The cell… ah–”

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

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

“I said, answer me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is the cell membrane?”

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

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

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

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s try another.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a faint clicking sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold still,” he commands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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zozophoenixxx · 3 years

Text

Serotonin Booster :D 🐉

How to train your dragon edition

Here are some things I had forgotten or little details I just noticed on my rewatch, maybe even Unpopular Opinions 🤭👀

✨Race to the Edge ✨

SEASON 5

Meatlug and Toothless messing around in ep1 when Hiccup and Fishlegs are trying to figure out how to stabilize the island 🥺

I remember when I first watched this I was actually in bio and hearing Ruff and Tuff talk about symbiosis was like " WOW IM LEARNING THAT" 😂😂😂

Symbiotic relationship - symbiosis is the interaction between organisms living in close physical association to the advantage of both

It can lead to -> parasitism - a non-mutual symbiotic relationship between species where the parasite benefits at the expense of the host

- Hookfang and Snotlout have a parasitic relationship JAHDHAHSHA

wait I like that instead of calling a relationship toxic now imma be like "this shii is parasitic peace out ✌🏼️"

HICCSTRID FOREHEAD KISSES OMG😭

I like how Barf and Belch are incredibly strong, I feel like it's a fact that's usually ignored about them

Astrid: *talking about Garf* that dragon has a lot of fight in him

Hiccup: *while placing his hand on her shoulder* he's not the only one

I can't ok I love them too much 🥺

WAIT I JUST NOTICED THE FORESHADOWING WHEN THE TWINS WERE REFERRING TO JOHAN AS A PARASITE OMG 😳

THE BETROTHAL NECKLACE 😭😭😭

Fishlegs licking Astrid's hand is hilariousss nonono it's just that scene in general when Fishlegs is trying to help Astrid find the betrothal gift for Hiccup and she judo-flips him and then sits on him like 🤔

Sandbuster - doesn't like the light. Lives underground.

Astrid riding Toothless to save Hiccup. Just badass.

Hiccup giving Astrid the betrothal necklace and telling her that it's ok that she didn't get him anything bc she's the best gift in the world 🥺

And their hug and the way he moved her out of harm's way whenever Snotlout threw the sword

Still sad abt Shattermaster being replaced by the Triple Stryke

I really liked ep3 whenever they were in Berserker island bc we got to see them actually fighting in battle without their dragons it was pretty cool

The beginning of ep4 is also hilarious I can't with Astrid and Snotlout fighting and then also Astrid beating him up JAHDHAHSHA

- I also always wanted to know what Snotlout said to her 😭😭😭 all of them were just extremely concerned and shocked and Snotlout even had to leave the Edge UGH AHZHZHAG

Atali and the Wingmaidens 👏🏼🤩

"Males would neither understand, nor would they be helpful." Atali is a queen

Vanaheim - the last resting place of all dragons

"Sadness is a matter of perspective. It is how you choose to view something that makes it happy, scary, intriguing, or sad"

Ok so is Stormfly a tracker-class dragon or a sharp-class dragon?

Sentinels - Know all the dragons so they know how to deal with each of their tactics. Run Vanaheim. Have never encountered night furies. Good trackers. Blind. They tend to the island

OMG I FORGOT THAT VANAHEIM IS THE SKELETON OF THE KING OF DRAGONS

HAND HOLDING AND KISSES UFFF THANK U

Hiccstrid kiss count: 3😘

It's the way it's so realistic too, the way he smiles at her, the way he holds her hand and looks at her, the way she puts her hand on his chest and he lightly touches it with his free hand I just can't they're too perfect

Snotlout's excitement to see that Fishlegs was Fishlegs again and not Thor Bonecrusher- I mean the dude went running towards him🥺

I love how Hiccup just knows when Astrid's thinking about something

SPARRING HICCSTRID UGHHH I LOVE THIS SCENE

The way he's just in such a good mood afterwards 🥺

The scene leading up to the moonlight flight in ep7. I love them so much.

Hiccstrid Scene: ep7 min 5:42 -> 7:24

Meatlug's shot was the first to free a Singetail from a dragon flyer

Just realized that Johan not being able to get Hiccup's oil was probably also part of a plan to get them away from the edge to attack

Ok but Snotlout actually taking the initiative to be the leader while Hiccup and Astrid were away

The edge 🥺and when he destroyed his own Hut 🥺 I can't 🥺

I love how Mala and Throk were both trying to put the gang in a better mood

Silicates makes Meatlug drool

Tuffnut's Spanish is amazing we love to see a bilingual king✋🏼👑

Just realized that Krogan's name is well... Krogan. I never actually paid attention to the dude.

OMG WE GET TO SEE DRAGO IN THIS SEASON THIS IS CRAZY

I really like the twins in the Wings of War Episodes, the way they attempt to speak Spanish and start pronouncing the Rrrrrrrrs

Spitelout too lmao the way he helped Hiccup 🤩

It was also Spitelout the one that figured out that the Singetails don't like the altitude

I really love how Hiccup actually found a way to fight the flyers without hurting the Singetails, OMG IT REMINDS ME OF AANG when everyone was telling him to just kill the FIRELORD he found the right way

Tuff has a feet fettish

Stormfly and Garff messing around is too funny I love them sm 😭

Snotlout can be so sad sometimes

The twins singing >>

And that hug between Stormfly and Garff, they're just adorable 🥺🤧

HAHDHSHAHA THE WAY ASTRID LOOKED AT FISHLEGS WHENEVER THE SLITHERWINGS SHOWED

Slitherwings - very poisonous dragons! Even their skin is coated in poison. Like snake appearance. Not much is known about its poison and how it works but there is an antidote -> combination of angel fern root, pine sap and Slitherwing venom. The skin coating protects them from Garff's amber

Stormfly is such a badass omg I love her sm the way she protected Garff

Garff is an excellent shot according to Fishlegs

Fishlegs telling Astrid to look at him is just adorable, the way he wanted her to feel better 😭

Have I mentioned how much I love lil Hiccstrid moments? They dont even have to be romantic but just them? Like he just lightly touched her shoulder and told her to be strong and be there for Stormfly 🥺

Snotlout actually being worried about Astrid 🤧

I will never get over Astrid and Stormfly's relationship and how close they are, they would do anything for each other and Astrid just proved that by going up to the Slitherwing and PUNCHING THE LIL SHIT just to get Stormfly the antidote. AND WHEN SHE STARTED CRYING!!! As Tuffnut said "no one has ever prepared us for something like this"

And the Ruffnut being there for her and protecting her 😭😭😭

Astrid can actually draw

Still pissed about the fact that Hiccup never knew Astrid got poisoned NOW I NEED TO READ A FANFIC ON IT

That scene in Snuffnut [ep11] where Throk arrives to take Ruffnut as his wife is too funny. The way Astrid is pissed since the beginning and both Hiccup and Fishlegs are like "umm nope" AND WHEN HICCUP TAKES ASTRID OUT OF THE SCENE AND ALL YOU CAN HEAR IS HIM SCREAMING AND THESE RANDOM NOISES 😩😩😩😂

It really bothered me that Astrid had to stay behind in Looking for Oswald... And Chicken [ep12] just to take care of the twins when we could've had some Hiccstrid 😩😭 but it makes sense because Astrid is the only one Hiccup can actually trust on to keep things under control because even though Fishlegs is kinda sane neither the twins nor Snotlout would listen to him and Snotlout would definitely join the twins or just make things worse somehow. I mean they've both proven themselves to be fully capable but well- yk... Astrid is just Astrid

Astrid and Stormfly's faces whenever the twins said they needes a dragon that loves tracking and chicken😭😂😩

Chicken covering her tracks and Snotlout as narrator 😂

Omg Dagur saw Oswald's dead body... He even had to bury him and wow-

Grim Gnashers - hunters that prey on the sick dragons in Vanaheim.

Chicklet🐥🐥🐥🐥

SNOTLOUT'S TAN LINE OMGGG

"Please let me hurt him. Please? Just-- just a little?"JAHSHAHAJAJ I LOVE AGGRESSIVE DAGUR

Fishlegs saying that "Snotlout can actually be pretty handy in an air battle" is so true. Like we mostly see Snotlout as this dumb, sarcastic, rebellious dude who doesn't care about anyone but himself and but that's actually not true he's actually caring and will fight for the ones he loves but he won't say that because he cares too much about what others think of him 😭

I really dislike Johan sm u guys don't understand like I used to like him and feel bad whenever ppl cut him short but ughhhhhhh it's the subtle things too like him telling Heather to give them the dragon eye, him screaming in Snotlout's ear, not extending his hand to grab Heather, and him putting his hand out to "grab" the lens but just causing Snotlout to drop it

The way Heather jumped to get Windshear and the way Windshear kept telling her to leave and save herself

Archipelago gold = The clouds of corn = pop corn

I can't believe I'm about to start season 6 this is actually so sad

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asahipleaseloveme · 3 years

Text

(TimeSkip) Tsukishima x angst

fem!reader, slight NSFW

Word Count: 1.1k (much longer than I thought)

Author's Note: I woke up and chose to make Tsukki suffer. I'm not sorry. Not really edited, sorry for any mistakes.

Annoying is what he had called you. Or was it immature? Irritating? Either way, it didn’t matter what he had called you, just that he made it clear that he was not interested in you at all. His teammates kept pressing him on the matter. You two had hung out several times. Mostly study sessions, but you would still count them as hanging out. The more they prodded, the more infuriated he became.

“There is NOTHING between me and ______! Nothing. It would take a special kind of person to be interested in someone like that,” Tsukishima practically screamed, his face redder than it’s ever been.

“Ya know, you could really hurt a girl’s feelings talking like that, Tsukishima,” you said as you strolled up to the group of boys. There was a subtle change in his demeanor, but nobody seemed to notice as they were all staring at you. You and Tsukki were supposed to meet up after his practice for another study session. But after hearing his words, you weren’t really in the mood to study.

“I’ve, uh, had something come up and I won’t be able to meet up with you tonight,” you said as you clutched the strap of your bag a little tighter. “Um, I’ll just talk to you later I guess. See ya, Tsukki.” You smiled and turned to leave before even giving him a chance to say anything. You didn’t really care what he had to say, anyway.

“Oh-Okay, _____,” he said mostly to himself, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

The awkward silence was broken with, “Oof, damn dude. That was super smooth, Tsukki. Show me your ways.” Laughter erupted from the group of boys, one of them slapping Tsukishima on the shoulder.

“Shut up,” Tsukki shrugged off his teammate’s hand and began collecting his things. Part of him was hoping that you were still waiting outside of the gym for him. He was trying to come up with a way to apologize to you.

“If they had just dropped it, she wouldn’t have ever heard my stupid-ass lie. Ugh!”

To no one’s surprise, especially Tsukishima’s, you were long gone. He thought about texting you, but didn’t want to bother you since you had something else going on.

I’ll see her tomorrow in class and talk with her then. Hopefully, she’ll understand.

He did see you in class the next day, however, you chose to sit on the opposite side of the room instead of next to him like you normally do. You could feel him staring a hole into you, but you did not give him the satisfaction of meeting his glance. As soon as the professor dismissed you, you were out of there as fast as you could go. Tsukishima lost you in the wave of people leaving. Weeks passed and he hadn’t heard anything from you. His texts were left on read and his calls were not returned. He would spend too long staring at his phone waiting for you to reply.

You were focusing on your writing assignment while eating your lunch outside of the library when a shadow fell over you. Your eyes stayed glued to your paper, too afraid to look at the person who cast the shadow.

“______. I know you’ve been avoiding me. And I guess I kind of deserve it. But, I’ve been thinking-”

Tsukishima had been thinking. Thinking about his studies. Thinking about his dumbass teammates. But he had been mostly thinking about you.

Wondering what your favorite color was and how he could incorporate it in his everyday attire.

Wondering what your favorite dessert was. Wondering what makes you the happiest. Wondering if he could make you happy.

Wondering what you might look like in one of his shirts that would be too big for you. Wondering what it would be like to have you straddle him. Wondering what it would be like to plant sloppy kisses across your chest.

Wondering what you might look like underneath him. To hear you moan his name. To see your face scrunched in pleasure.

Wondering what it might be like to fall asleep next to you. To wake up next to you. To have breakfast with you. To hear you cheering him on at his games. To see your face light up when you see him. Like you had done before he said those damning words.

“I’ve been thinking about what I said the other day. And I, um, am sorry. I didn’t think you would hear it, but-”

“But what? You said it because you didn’t think I was around to hear it. So, to me it seems that you meant what you said. I’m sorry you find me so annoying, Tsukishima. But you shouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ve found someone else to annoy. So you don’t have to keep texting me and staring at me. It’s probably better that way anyway. Just in case I annoy you with my existence,” you sighed as you finally looked up at him. His face was just as red as it was the night he said those irreversible words.

“______, I-I uh,” Tsukishima sputtered out.

“Hm, look at that. The smug Tsukishima is at a loss for words. Geez, ______, what did you say to the poor man?” The same teammate who had mocked his outburst after practice a few weeks ago appeared behind the two of you.

“Oh, hey babe,” you said as you put your things away and stood up. He put his arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple. Tsukki’s face remained red as he saw the two of you together. Tsukishima and your boyfriend exchanged glances.

“I’m heading toward the outdoor bio garden. I have a lab due tomorrow. Walk me there?”

“Sure thing, ______. I just need a sec with Tsukishima.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you said, sad eyes staring at Tsukishima. But he couldn’t see the look on your face, his eyes now transfixed on the ground. You felt bad, but you didn’t want to continue to annoy him. So, you left the two to their conversation.

“Oh yeah, Tsukki. I guess I forgot to mention that ______ and I are dating now. I figured you wouldn’t really care since you made it pretty clear that you weren’t interested. She’s pretty cool though, dude. Not sure what you were on about,” he shrugged and slapped Tsukishima’s shoulder and soon caught up to you.

Tsukishima’s fists were clenched, his heart filled with anger. Not at your or his teammate, but at himself.

“Yeah, I don’t know either,” he muttered to himself as he lifted his gaze from the ground and watched the two of you walk off hand in hand.

#tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima drabble #angst #drabble #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! drabble

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mggssocks · 3 years

Text

Followed

Not My Gif!

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Content Warnings: None just fluff :)

Summary: Spencer makes an Instagram and stumbles across reader’s page.

Word Count: 1,899 words

A/N: This is Season 10 Spencer with Season 13 looks. Also, instead of it being Kate on the team, i put Emily instead because who doesn’t love the season 3-7 team? Also I might make a part 2 depending on how much this blows up. Honestly i’d be happy if i got one like. Anyways.. hope you enjoy!!!

masterlist // part 2 // part 3

It was 8:00 in the morning. Spencer walked in the doors of the bullpen to the bau. He sat his satchel down and began to settle in for a long day of work. It was pretty early so the team wasn’t in yet. Except for Aaron Hotchner who had gotten in an hour prior to Spencer and been in his office ever since. Apparently others had the same ‘get to work early’ mindset as Spencer. Spencer opened a case file but his attention was quickly whipped away due to the sound of the door opening. He sees Penelope Garcia with all her attention focused on her phone. Spencer quirked his eyebrows when she bumped into a fellow coworker and her attention remained on her phone while quickly mumbling a quick “sorry”. As she passed his desk, Spencer decided it would be the great time to speak.

“Hey, Garcia.” Her feet came to a stop and her head snapped up at him.

“Boy wonder! I’m so glad you’re here. I really need someone to talk to because if I don’t I’m going to explode!” She sits in the chair across from his desk.

“Is everything alright?” He leaned back in his chair.

“No… no everything is not alright. If anything.. everything is all wrong. Very very wrong. I-“ she takes in a deep breath “I was stalking Kevin’s page because the other day I seen him at the mall with another girl. And while I was 56 weeks down in his page, I accidentally liked a picture.” She explained, in a huff.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Spencer was even more confused now than before she started.

“I liked a picture that he posted 56 weeks ago!” Her eyes were wide.

“How is that a bad thing?” His lips pouted as he’d never understand social media.

“Ugh! Reid, you really need to get with the program and get you an Instagram. That means his picture was old and now he knows that I was looking at his page. You understand now?” She asked.

“Oh. Yeah I understand. It’s bad that he knows you were looking at his page.” He asked as Prentiss, JJ, and Morgan had walked in.

“Yes. And now I must go into the bat cave and wait for him to call or text me and ask what me lurking on his page was about.” She whined as she stomped her way to her office.

“What was that about?” Prentiss asked, setting her bags down on her desk.

“Uhh- rough morning” Spencer shrugged, still not really understanding the whole social media thing.

“Hey do you guys have an Instagram?” He asked the three.

“Yeah but I’m barely on it.” Prentiss answered.

“Same here” says Morgan as he takes a seat at his desk.

“Yeah but I only get on to post the boys and myself sometimes” answers JJ.

“What about Hotch and Rossi?” He asked.

“Yup! Rossi likes to post about his expensive wine and cigars. Hotch posts Jack every once in a while and a throwback Thursday.” JJ says.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed for what seems to be the 100th time that day.

“He doesn’t know what that is” Prentiss looks over to JJ.

“It’s something you post like an old picture of yourself every Thursday.” Morgan explains.

“Do you guys do that?” Spencer asked.

“I did last Thursday.” JJ pulls out her phone and opened the app. “This was right after Emily, Penelope, and I caught a guy who was trying to pick up Prentiss by pretending to be an FBI agent a few years ago.” She chuckled showing him a picture.

Spencer takes her phone in his hand and examines the post. 142 likes. 57 comments. He clicks on her name which takes it to her page. 302 followers. As he scrolls, he sees a picture the team took a while ago and sees a little person profile thing the corner and clicks on it causing other names tagged to each individual team member. Except him. After he examined all of their profiles, he gives JJ back her phone and gets to work like the rest of them. He felt a little left out but he knew it was because of his own decisions and not his team. He liked that they didn’t press him about having a social media because they new he was more old school than anything. And it was ironic because he wastage youngest member of the team with the more old school habits.

When Spencer got home he decided he wanted the social media app. The idea of being able to share with his friends and only his friends excited him. Being able to post about his favorite things for his friends to see without talking their ears off.

He opened his phone and went to the app store, typing “instagram” into the search bar. He followed the sites instructions as he made his account. Using a snapshot he took of his bookshelf as his profile picture. He sees the option to add the people in his contact list which was only his team, mom, and his mother’s caretaker. But everyone’s profile popped up and he quickly followed each and every one of them. Except for his mom and her caretaker of course.

Soon enough, he got a follow back from Garcia, Hotch, Rossi, and JJ in that order. Morgan and Prentiss weren’t lying when they said they weren’t on often.

After two weeks, Spencer hasn’t posted anything yet, not knowing what should go on his profile. Morgan and Prentiss ended up following him back and the app ended up adjusting to his interests. Nothing but accounts about interesting facts, books, and doctor who.

It was Friday night and the team had just got back from a case in Chicago. Spencer opened the door to his apartment and set his satchel down on the couch, exhausted. His mind wonders to get something to eat being that he wonders to get something to eat being that he hasn’t ate since before they caught the unsub. Which was about 5 hours and 7 minutes ago but he still needed to get something into his system. Spencer opened his fridge and sees 3 day old Chinese takeout. He shrugs and pops it into the microwave while looking for a book of his to reread while he eats. After he finishes dinner, he gets on his phone and subconsciously pulls up the app. He clicks onto his explore page to discover something else he likes. While scrolling, he sees a picture of someone reading and clicks on it.

765 likes

Yourfriend’sig whenever people ask me what to give you for your birthday or Christmas, I always tell them to get you a book or something green and it works every single time. Happy Birthday to my best buddy, @yourinstagram !

View all 84 comments

Spencer smiles and clicks the heart button and bookmarks it to look at later. He liked the picture. Both the picture and caption reminded him a lot of his own love for books and the color green (hence his apartment).

Once he got out of the shower, he brushed his teeth. He found himself subconsciously scrolling through his instagram bookmarks to find her post. He doesn’t know what it was but something about the picture brought comfort to him. As he brushed his teeth, he clicked on the post once again.This time, he actually clicked on your account. It was a private account with 186 followers. The bio read:

Y/N... bookworm.

Her profile picture consisted of a black cat surrounded by either a bunch of well taken care of plants or artificial ones. His finger hovered over the blue “follow” button. As he bent down to spit his toothpaste out, his thumb accidentally clicked the follow button. But he didn't realize so until he looked down again to see the “follow” button replaced with “requested”. His heart basically drops out of his ass. He quickly clicks the button again, taking back his follow.

It was now one in the morning, Spencer laid in bed awake staring at his ceiling. Once again, he clicks onto the app. He scrolled down his timeline and saw a picture Penelope posted of one of her new desk animals with the caption “Got her at a thrift shop! Isn’t she cute??”. He saw that Hotch and JJ liked 45 other people. JJ also commented with two red hearts. Spencer likes the post and keeps scrolling. His thoughts wander to the post about the girl again. He’s never thought about a social media post this much since he’s created an account. He wonders what sparked his interest so much about this one. As he makes his way to the post, clicking on her account. Debating if he should follow her. She’s a total stranger. Do the others follow strangers? There’s no way JJ knows 302 people in real life. He mentally shrugs and presses the follow button. Requested. Again.

He swipes out of her account back onto the post now seeing that she commented on it.

yourinstagram thank you, bubs! ily to the moon n back <3333

It was commented thirty six seconds ago. Meaning she’s currently active. Again, Spencer’s heart sinks and he immediately regrets his decision. Going back and unfollowing her. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s a mess. Over a stranger. But he feels like an idiot. Reacting the way that he did just because he saw that she was online. So he goes and follows her.... again.

After clearing out all of his apps, he turns off his phone and lays down trying to get some sleep before work in a few hours. His thoughts wander to her. What she was like. if she was nice or mean. If she was socially awkward or very outgoing. Before his thoughts could get too far into what she was like, he receives a notification from instagram. He opens his phone and clicks on the notification. His heart began to pound when he saw it.

yourinstagram would like to send you a message!

He clicks on it.

yourinstagram You’ve followed and unfollowed me about 5 times in the past 3 hours. Is there something I can help you with?

Spencer completely forgot that other people got notifications and now he felt like some kind of creep.

spencerreid I’m sorry. I came across your friend’s Instagram post wishing you a happy birthday and i guess i got curious and wanted to follow you if that makes any sense.

He felt so dumb.

yourinstagram and following me once wasn’t enough for some reason???

spencerreid Sorry about that. I’m new to this whole social media thing and don’t follow any strangers. You are the first person I’m following that I don’t know in real life. Again, my apologies for the disturbance. I’ll unfollow you’re account If you’re uncomfortable with me.

yourinstagram i just hope that you’re not one of my raging exes, someone trying to catfish me, or a psychopath lol.

Spencer smiled.

spencerreid Nope. Just me.

She leaves him one read. Spencer’s smile fades when he doesn’t see any three loading dots. She wasn’t texting him back. As he’s about to exit the app, he sees two notifications.

yourinstagram has accepted your follow request!

yourinstagram has requested to follow you.

********

I hoped you like this!!! If this blows up,i will do another chapter!

#spencer reid #dr reid #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #matt simmons #david rossi #cm #emily prentiss #jennifer jereau #penelope gracia #luke alvez #tara lewis #elle greenaway #spencer reid x you #cat adams

96 notes · View notes

anxiousgaypanicking · 3 years

Text

What You Need (Intrulogical)

Two days without eating and three without sleeping sounded like the normal schedule for college student Logan Berry. He's in class all day and works all night just to barely pay off his rent every month. Constant bills leave little room for bare necessities, and it's clear that his current lifestyle is very damaging. While looking for solutions, he comes across one that seems... mediocre at best, but he's desperate. What is this solution? A sugar daddy.

this is a sugar daddy story. that means there will be sex. kinky sex, especially further on. im not going to put a warning at the beginning of each chapter so heres your warning for the entire book. each new chapter will most likely have a different smut scene, so read with caution

Also! This is a copy of my story from wattpad that im posting here because i want to get into using tumblr :DD so... pog!

Part 1

"You look like shit," Janus comments, taking a seat next to Logan in their lecture hall. Logan can hardly muster a groan in response, leaning uncomfortably over his notebook in order to review the notes he had taken the day before.

He looks up at Janus, giving Janus a good look at the bags under Logan's eyes, no doubt from him being forced to stay up all night working.

"Another night shift?" Janus questions, and Logan nods.

It's all he could take, due to the fact he had school in the mornings and studied for a bit after school. But, he had to make money somehow, seeing as getting evicted and/or starving was out of the question.

Janus sighs, kicking his feet up onto the table in front of them, earning a glare from Logan.

"That's not proper classroom etiquette, you know," he grumbles, which earns a grin from Janus.

"And? What are you gonna do about it?" Janus asks, sass clear in his voice. When Logan rolls his eyes and sets his head down on the desk, Janus laughs. "That's what I thought. Absolutely nothing."

"Why do I put up with you again?"

"Even I don't know the answer to that question." Janus snickers, as the room slowly fills up. There's not many kids, so they're all spread out in the hall. Most people sit apart; hardly any of them even have the energy to become acquainted with each other.

The professor walks in minutes later, announcing his presence with an over-exaggerated "good morning class" that makes both Logan and Janus groan.

Logan picks his head up off his desk, rubbing away the drool that had pooled on the front of his notebook, before he opened it up.

The professor spoke way too fast, and Janus didn't even try to listen, while Logan's tired brain tried to keep up with everything that was being said. Janus went back and forth between zoning out and musing at Logan's determined attitude.

Despite the fact it was early, and Logan was clearly tired, he still valued his education and everything the professor said.

After this class, they had another one. In fact, their entire day was filled with classes, as that was the way school worked.

What a shame.

Janus and Logan had very different classes, with their morning lesson being the only one they shared, but that tiny bit of social interaction was enough to keep them from living their college life in complete solitude, so it was enough.

Logan went through today like he went through every day; a groggy mindset and the school's free, cheap coffee being both his source of hydration and the thing keeping him awake.

He participated when he could, but that wasn't often. More often than not he had his face buried in his notebook, frantically scribbling down notes in an attempt to keep up with his professors, and jot down his own thoughts.

Normally, he could work fast, but it's hard to focus on so little sleep and sustenance.

After school, Logan sluggishly walked home, as per usual. He'd have a couple hours to study (or sleep) before he had to head to work.

And normally, he would do either of those things, but upon walking into his dinky apartment, grabbing a cup (which was one of the two he owned - flatware is expensive), and filling it with some questionable tap water, he decided he really had to look into more ways to make money.

With a sigh, he set his cup down, moving to his tiny couch instead. It was uncomfortable to sit on; stiff to the touch. He pulls his computer out of his backpack; it was one of the nicer things he owned, and his parents helped him buy it seeing as he needed one for school.

It was old, and very outdated, but it worked, and that was enough.

He patiently waits for the search engine to load up (understanding that his apartment's cheap wi-fi ran slowly, but he didn't have the money for his own router so this would have to do) before typing in "what are quick ways to make money?"

He was provided with a bunch of job options that he didn't even bother looking at.

He already had a job; he definitely didn't have time for a second one. Not with his already full schedule.

So why was he even looking? Did he want to gamble? Or join some sort of pyramid scheme? Maybe he was just looking to make sure there was nothing better out there.

And that's almost the conclusion he came to, until he came across a site that had "sugar daddy" in the URL. A sugar daddy...? Logan, surprisingly, didn't know what that was.

He clicks the link, opening a new tab as well to look up what a sugar daddy was while the link loaded.

He scans over the definition.

"A rich, older man who lavishes gifts on young people in return for their company or, more typically, sexual favors."

His face scrunches up. Money in return for sex? Isn't that... isn't that prostitution? Isn't that illegal?

Surprisingly, no. It's one of the few exceptions to that law. And Logan stares at that link for a few seconds, considering it.

Well...

He sighs, closing his computer, as he sinks deeper into the uncomfortable couch. He lets his eyes rest for a second, momentarily soothing the burning that's always there nowadays.

He can't let himself fall asleep, though, as he knows there's always the possibility he'll sleep through his alarm, and he can't even risk getting fired from his job. That was currently his only source of income, which helped him pay bills and get some food every once in a while.

With a sigh, he reopened his eyes, and his computer, bringing him to a sign in page on the sugar daddy website.

Was he actually considering this?

...yes.

He quickly types in his name and age, as well as inputting his gender, and inserting a profile picture (albeit a very awkward one), before typing up a short bio.

"I just don't want to starve."

Yeah, mood.

Afterwards, he's brought to a Tinder-esque screen, showing other profiles with a red thumbs down and a green thumbs up on the bottom of the screen. When Logan hovered his mouse over them, they lit up, showing they were buttons.

"Hmm," he hummed, pushing his glasses up as he scans over the first profile, already cringing at the age. "67." Yikes.

Well, he'll do what he has to, but maybe with someone a little bit younger... if there even were any younger people on here. Logan honestly was hoping for a miracle, unrealistically so.

But, he pressed the thumbs-down button nonetheless, deciding he'd at least try.

"58." Eh.

"49." Getting better...

"23."

Woah. Twenty-three? This fucker was only a couple years older than Logan was.

Logan quickly skimmed over their profile. The profile picture was blurry, and normally Logan would take that as a bad sign, but he was desperate.

"Remus Prince, 23

here for a fun and sexy time ;))) will treat my sweet lil baby right ;000"

Well, it was childish, and Logan found himself slightly annoyed with the usage of emoticons and the improper capitalization, but, he really would rather sleep with a younger man.

With one final re-evaluation of this decision, he clicks the thumbs-up button, taking him to a chat feature. Oh, interesting.

Logan, who was pretty socially stunted, hummed, as he tried to figure out an appropriate way to start this conversation.

'Hey.'

Well, that was a good start. He set his computer to the side, standing up to grab his cup of water and carry it back to the couch. When he sat down, he saw he already had a reply. Damn, did people just have constant free time?

'hey there cutie ;))'

'i take it ur lookin for a daddy <33??'

No, Logan was just on this website for fun. He rolled his eyes, and then cringed at the idea of referring to this man as his 'daddy.' Ew. He'd stick to Remus for now.

'In a sense, yes, assuming your referring to the 'title.''

He had to be sure.

'pfft- nerd'

';) just joking'

'and yes, that is what i meant smh. so when do you wanna meet, baby?'

Logan frowned slightly at being called 'baby,' not being able to properly identify how it made him feel. Weird, definitely. Ugh, this was all confusing and, God, he couldn't believe he was actually doing this.

'Tomorrow,' Logan answers. before providing the time after he'd be out of school. They could talk in the few hours Logan had before work, and perhaps he could get a better sense on what being a sugar baby was going to be like.

Remus accepts (adding many unnecessary emojis and emoticons along with a simple "that works"), and Logan sighs as he shut his computer yet again.

He discards it in favor of pulling out his notebook and reviewing the notes he had taken today.

School took his priority until his job started, and provided a good distraction from the now looming concept of meeting his future sugar daddy.

Wow, he still couldn't believe he actually resorted to a solution like that. This option is.... mediocre at best.

It was so unlike him, but desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposes.

In order to distract himself, and also kill some time before he has to head into work, he studies the notes he had made, repeating and re-writing in an effort to burn them into his memory. He does this for a couple hours, up until his phone rings. It's an alarm, labelled "get ready for work."

He ends up doing just that, combing through his hair and quickly scrubbing his face in order to look more presentable. He then fixes his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles and trading out his tie for his work apron. He didn't put it on right away, as he still had to walk to work, but he did fold it neatly over his arm.

He speed-walks to his job, and works throughout the night.

Of course, he was aware of the recommended eight-to-ten hours of sleep people were supposed to get in order to be healthy, but Logan had been functioning just fine on the three hours of sleep he got daily (if even that).

Logically, three hours was a complete sleep cycle. It's just recommended by doctors that people get three cycles.

But Logan didn't have the time to sleep for nine hours a night. Not unless he wanted to drop out of college and move back in with parents (both of which he definitely did not want to do).

He completes the tedious tasks his work gives him, hardly socializing with any of his co-workers, all of which looked equally as tired as he did, before heading home. Perhaps one would be more afraid of walking home alone in the middle of the damn night, but Logan knew the sun would rise in half an hour or so. That, and at least kidnappers would give him a temporary relief from work and school.

And murder would permanently relieve him from both! There was no downside.

When he gets back to his apartment, he folds up his apron and puts it away, before packing all his notes and supplies back into his bag. He checks himself in the bathroom as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

The purple bags on his eyes were growing increasingly prominent. That wasn't great.

He checks his phone after a moment, before humming as he trudged back into the living room and slipped on his shoes, deciding that he'd try and sleep after school today-

Nope! He groaned, as he remembered his meeting with that sugar daddy. What was his name again? Logan tried to think back to it, before his phone rang, the alarm for school going off, distracting him. He dismisses it, adjusting his bag, before heading out the door. Curse morning classes.

He ends up in the lecture hall earlier than most everyone else, as per usual, although Janus is already at his seat. Legs kicked up on the table. As per usual.

"Good morning," Logan greets him, setting his bag down and pulling out his notes.

Janus hums in response, scrolling through his phone. His phone that Logan had never seen before.

"Is that a new phone?" Logan questions, raising an eyebrow. He knew Janus had more access to money than he did (as he often came to school with new rings or fancy tailored clothes) but there was nothing wrong with his old one.

Janus looks at Logan, momentarily confused, before he blinks in realization of the question. "Oh, yeah. It looked cool, and my old one was a bit slow."

"Ah."

Logan couldn't even imagine just spending money carelessly on himself. His phone, while outdated and cracked, could still call, text, and set alarms. If it wasn't broken, why would he need a new one?

With that short exchange, both of them went back to their own devices (literally, in Janus's case) as they wait for class to start.

However, Logan finds that he can't focus, instead thinking about what this afternoon's meeting would have in store for him. The sugar daddy - who Logan had remembered was named Remus - seemed flirtatious over text (although Logan was bad at identifying romantic social cues due to lack of exposure, so he could have just been really friendly), but Logan couldn't picture meeting him.

The unpredictability of the event annoyed him, and what annoyed him even more was that he didn't even know what Remus looked like! His profile picture was blurry and extremely hard to make out.

Guess he'd discover what he looked like upon meeting him, as that wasn't dangerous.

He tries to focus throughout class, once again leaning over his work and scribbling rapid notes, but his mind can only listen to the teacher for so long before he's thinking about the meeting again.

Ugh, if he knew he was going to be this distracted by an interaction that hasn't even happened yet, he would just not have scheduled the meeting at all.

Janus seemed to notice that Logan wasn't focusing solely on the class as he usually would, but didn't ask about it. He didn't want to intrude, and he knew Logan would probably give a vaguely concerning answer anyway.

So, instead, Janus left Logan to sort through his own problems alone, like any half-decent friend probably would.

Logan ends up being distracted throughout the rest of the day. Funny how one instance can absorb all of one's mental energy. He still paid attention as well as he could (as he would have otherwise been upset with himself), but near the end of the school day, he finds himself rather antsy. He's not nervous, despite the fact he has fair reason to be. No, he's overly curious, and eager to live through a new experience.

Even if he was unhappy about how his life had managed to come to this. Not that there was really anything he could do about it, without throwing his life out of order.

At the end of the day, he walked home as quickly as he could. He needed time to himself to prepare for Remus's arrival. Not physically, as he looked presentable enough in that regard, but mentally.

When he gets back to his apartment, he checks his phone for the time, before tossing his bag near the couch. There's still about ten minutes until the time Logan requested meeting Remus at, but he's anxiously awaiting his arrival nonetheless.

Those ten minutes pass, and Logan has pulled out his schoolbook, reviewing equations for the upcoming exam in his science class. Another ten minutes go by as Logan gets immersed in the material, before there's a knock on the door.

Logan blinks, drawn out of his finally focused state, before he checks the time. Ten minutes past when he and Remus had scheduled.

Was he late? If he was, that wouldn't be the best start to a first impression.

Logan got up and opened his door, revealing a tall, thin man with pale skin and messy brown hair. He was wearing a pale green tank top and cargo shorts, and had brown eyes that seemed almost red when the light hit them right.

He also had a thin mustache gracing the space above his top lip.

The man grinned and leaned against Logan's door frame.

"Heya there, babes," he greets, before just walking inside. Logan's too stunned to really say anything, so all he can do is shut the door behind him. "You're Logan Berry, yeah?"

It takes Logan a moment to find his voice, so jarred by the young man in front of him. He looked younger than Logan. And not as rich or as fancy as Logan had pictured him. He honestly expected a well-groomed man in a regal suit to show up to his door.

Yet, he was greeted with... this.

"Yeah," Logan answers, after a moment. "I take it you're... Remus."

"Bingo, baby!" Remus says, with a grin, as his hands find Logan's waist. That, mixed with the nickname, made Logan feel weird.

An unidentifiable way, but mostly just hot.

Remus snickers. "Man, you're cute. I really lucked out, huh?"

"Uh, I guess," Logan responds, standing stiff in Remus's hold. "You look younger than I expected."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Logan averts his gaze and shrugs, feeling awkward and inexperienced in this situation. And everything was moving very fast; Logan had no time to process and retain a lot of the information being thrown his way.

"Yeah, that's fair. I just know some people have a kink for age differences. Although, you're the same age I am, so I guess that wouldn't make much sense."

Logan listened to him talk, eyebrow raising slightly at the age kink comment.

He knew what the definition of a kink was, but an age kink...?

"Ah," Logan says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. There's silence for a moment, before Remus snickers again.

"Wow, you're really awkward."

"And you're really blunt," Logan counters, knowing that Remus is right. He doesn't know what to do here; he's never been in this situation before.

Remus laughs at Logan's words though, pulling him closer, which causes Logan to flush at the contact. He... he had never been this physically close to anyone before.

"Are you blushing?" comes Remus's voice, and Logan just sighs.

"Clearly."

Remus backs up a bit, his hands moving from Logan's waist to his face, cupping it, before tilting it this way and that way. Logan looks confused, and still unsure of what to do with his own hands.

Remus's peppy face falls for a moment, looking like he was studying Logan, before he clears his throat.

"Have you ever had a sugar daddy before?" he asks, and Logan wonders if it's really that obvious. He would have brought it up at some point anyway, because he's confused as hell, but this works.

"No."

Remus hums. "Have you ever had sex before?"

"No."

"Have you ever been in a relationship before?"

Yes, platonically, but Logan could tell that he meant romantically, which prompted Logan to answer "no."

Remus laughed, his face lighting back up. "Damn, you're new to all of this then! This'll be fun."

Fun? What did that have to do with Logan being new to this whole ordeal?

"So, you do at least know what having a sugar daddy means, right?" Remus asks, as he pulls Logan to the couch via an arm around his waist.

He expects to sit down next to him, but he ends up getting pulled into Remus's lap before he can even process what's happening.

However, Remus does finally take the time to ask "you're comfortable with this, right?"

"Having a sugar daddy?"

Remus snorts, his hands rubbing Logan's thighs. "Well, partially. I was more so referring to me being all touchy. It's technically part of the job, ya know, sex for money and all that, but since you're new to this, it's worth making sure."

Logan has to think about that for a genuine minute, because he is indeed new to this, and it's making him feel weird, but he decides it's a good kind of weird.

So he nods. "Yeah. I suppose I'm comfortable with this. It's just new to me."

Remus grins, his hands sliding back up to Logan's waist and pulling him closer. "Are you comfortable with kissing, too?"

Logan's face flushes involuntarily at the question, and at the sight of Remus smirking at him with hungry eyes.

"I- well- I've never kissed anyone before."

"Virgin in all regards, huh? Don't worry, I'll teach you all there is to know. Perks of the job." Remus cups his face, his voice lowered. "Provided I have your consent, of course."

Logan gulps, his face hot, as he nods.

"Verbal consent, Lo."

"Yeah- yeah you have my consent."

Remus smiles, before leaning it fully, pressing his lips against Logan's. Logan still feels awkward, and unsure of what to do, but he guessed the best way to learn would be to just do what he thought he should.

So, he moves his own hands, which were previously laying lax in his lap, onto Remus's shoulders, and Remus grins into the kiss, before tilting his head and deepening it. His tongue slips past Logan's lips, before Logan suddenly pulls away.

"What was that?" Logan asks, before Remus has the chance to ask if he's okay.

Remus looks puzzled for a moment, before he grins. "That was french kissing, silly. Man, despite looking like a nerd, you're really clueless."

Logan frowns, which prompts Remus to kiss him yet again.

"I just don't understand this. I need to do more research on it, it seems," Logan says, mostly muttering to himself. Perhaps it would have been better if he researched kissing and sexual techniques. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so inexperienced in this situation.

However, Remus seems to disagree. "What you need," he begins, his hands on Logan's waist suddenly tightening. "Is for me to take care of you." He suddenly changes their position, pinning Logan to the couch, while Remus smirks over top of him. "Lucky for you, I'm surprisingly good at that."

Logan's face is dark red, and he's speechless yet again. But he doesn't need to talk, as Remus's lips reconnect with his, and Logan closes his eyes and lets himself relax into it. His normally stiff shoulders ease, and his arms slide back around Remus's shoulders, subconsciously pulling him closer.

Once again, Remus deepens the kiss, but this time Logan was at least expecting it. What he wasn't expecting were Remus's hands untucking his shirt and sliding up it. He shivers at Remus's hands running up his chest, before moaning when they reach his nipples.

Remus snickers, as he breaks the kiss. "Damn, you're really cute, Logan."

"Uh-huh," Logan responds, arching his chest into Remus's touch, as they pinch and twist at his nipples. "You've said that already."

"I'm gonna keep reinforcing the idea," Remus says, sticking out his tongue. Then he helps Logan take his shirt off all the way, fully exposing Logan's chest.

"Wow, you're very thin," Remus comments, hands lightly running over Logan's ribs, which were way more prominent than is healthy. "How often do you eat?"

"I'm not the best at reading social cues, but are you sure this is the best time to ask that question?"

Remus stares at him for a moment, before shrugging. "Not necessarily, but after this I'm buying us dinner."

"What?" Logan says, as he sits up slightly. "Why?"

Remus looks at him if he's stupid, before remembering that Logan is new to this. "Okay, so, this is probably not the best time to give a lesson, but sugar daddies pay their sugar babies for sex. I thought you'd at least know that."

"I did. I thought that was money."

"Well, it can just be money, but they also get paid in other things. Like jewelry and clothes, or food. Necessities and gifts."

"Oh," Logan says, as he pushes up his glasses. "I suppose that makes sense. You don't have to though."

"Don't have to do what?"

"Buy dinner."

And once again, Remus looks at him as if he's stupid. "Logan, we're literally about to have sex. This agreement - the one between daddies and babies - is we have sex and then I pay you. Me not paying you would sort of defeat the whole purpose."

Logan blinks, before just nodding. Yeah, that seems fair.

Remus seems happy the conversation is over, as his attention turns back to Logan's chest. He leans down and licks a stripe up it, an action that Logan would cringe at if he didn't find it weirdly hot.

Remus's mouth then latches onto one of his nipples, tongue messing with it, before he sucks lightly around it. Logan's hands gripped tighter at Remus's shoulders, his nails accidentally digging into his back, and he lets out a moan that makes him slap a hand over his mouth afterwards, his face dark red.

It's not his fault his body was so sensitive. Remus's touches just felt so good. And the way he was eyeing up at Logan made him flush darker.

Logan had to look away, tucking his face into the crook of his elbow as Remus moved away from his nipple and turned his attention to Logan's pants instead. He quickly makes work of unbuttoning his cheap jeans before tugging them down and tossing them to the side, hardly hesitating before pulling Logan's boxers down as well, his embarrassingly hard cock springing up at the action.

He feels strangely vulnerable under Remus, as he's now naked and on display while Remus is still fully clothed.

And Remus is eyeing up and down, licking his lips, as if Logan's his next meal.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Remus asks, and Logan gulps and nods.

"Yes, I'm sure," he says. It's for the money; that's why he took the offer in the first place, but now he found himself extremely curious about the situation he had gotten himself into.

Remus nods at his answer, reaching into the pocket of his shorts, before pulling out a small bottle and a small, square package. Noticing the curious look Logan gave the bottle, he hands it to him, before working to pull off his own clothes.

"Lube," Logan states, while reading the bottle. Unsurprisingly, he didn't learn about safe gay sex in school, because all they teach, if they teach sex at all, is straight sex.

Which is stupid, considering not everyone is straight, but whatever.

"You need it," Remus explains, pulling his shirt off. "It's to make sure you don't feel pain while I fuck you. Also to keep your asshole from tearing. It's a necessity for anal sex."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Remus hums, working to unbutton his pants. "I always carry a bottle considering some people just don't have it lying around, and nothing else should be used as a substitute."

He snickers as Logan reads over the small print over the bottle.

"Like you, for example. You look like you've never seen lube in your life."

"I haven't."

"Yeah, makes sense."

Logan hands the bottle back when Remus reaches for it, only then fully realizing that Remus was just as nude as he was.

He takes a moment to scan over Remus's body. He's thin, as Logan could tell when he first arrived, but he's also paler underneath his clothes. He has a few scars littering his chest, arms, and legs.

Logan would ask what they were from if Remus didn't immediately snicker.

"See something you like?" he asks, playfully, earning an eye-roll from Logan.

"Not necessarily."

"Ouch, you wound me, Logan."

Logan rolls his eyes again, before going back to evaluating Remus's body. Mainly, just trying to study it enough to commit it to memory, while Remus works on squirting some lube onto his fingers.

Logan's eyes shamelessly look towards Remus's cock, eyes widening slightly at the sight of it.

His own cock was a little above average, but Remus's was definitely bigger than his. That thing was going to go inside him?

The thought made Logan shiver and blush involuntarily, but Remus didn't seem to notice, instead grabbing Logan's thigh with his clean hand and lifting it up slightly.

"What are you doing?" Logan asks, still propped up on his elbows, as Remus grazes his teeth over Logan's thigh.

"I'm going to stretch you," Remus says with a hum. "Since you're new to this, and specifically a virgin, it's important to prep you before you take my big cock." It's said semi-seriously and semi-flirty, but Remus's tone is enough to make Logan go red in the face.

He himself couldn't believe he was blushing at some flirty words and a few sensual touches, but alas, he was.

"Okay?" Remus asks, drawing Logan out of his thoughts. Logan nods, before responding with "yeah, okay."

Remus smiles, before slowly easing one finger into Logan. Logan gasps at the feeling, hands grasping the stiff cushion beneath him.

It felt... weird. Not bad, but definitely strange.

Remus slowly pushes the finger in and out of him, before sliding another finger in him, scissoring him open. Remus seems pretty focused on making sure Logan's properly stretched, but he also takes the time to nip at Logan's thighs, earning a few gasps and grunts from Logan.

He'd leave a few hickeys over his body, but he wanted to make sure Logan was comfortable with sex before he did anything a bit more extreme. He'd have to ask Logan about some of his kinks and boundaries when they weren't literally about to fuck so he could plan ahead.

Remus ends up pushing a third finger in, steadily pumping them in and out of Logan, before Logan tries to roll his hips down involuntarily, feeling the urge to get more pleasure.

Remus grins at this, before pulling his fingers out, earning a whine from Logan.

Remus shushes him with a quick kiss, wiping his fingers against Logan's couch (not like Logan noticed anyway) as he quickly tears open the condom package. He doesn't break the kiss as he spreads Logan's thighs apart, one of them being smashed against the vertical cushions, and the other was practically dangling off the couch.

"You gotta relax for me, okay baby?" Remus says, voice smooth, as Remus quickly works to lube the condom up as an extra precaution, before he lines his cock up with Logan's entrance. Logan nods, not sure what he's about to feel (assuming it'll feel at least similar to Remus's fingers) so he's partially unsure of how to brace himself.

He's surprised, however, as Remus's cock slowly slides into him, and he tenses as his hands tightly grip the couch.

"You okay?" Remus asks, hands slowly massaging Logan's thighs. "You're not in any pain, right?" He sounds slightly concerned, although he really still just seems casual.

"No- no pain," Logan breathes out, biting his lip. "It's just... weird. I'm not used to it."

"You'll get used to it eventually," Remus responds, with a grin. "Provided you wanna stick with me."

Logan rolls his eyes, as this was definitely not the right time to even mention that, considering Remus's cock was halfway inside of him at this moment

Remus is still for a moment though, giving Logan a moment to adjust and to completely process what was happening.

After a minute or so, Logan finally nods his head, his body relaxing completely.

"Good?" Remus asks, his hands sliding until they reach Logan's hips. His hands grip there a bit firmer, and Logan shifts slightly, before answering "good."

Remus's hands hold tight to Logan's waist, as he manages to slide his cock in fully.

Logan lets out a whine as it's fully inside of him, his hands moving to tightly grip Remus's shoulders. Remus rubs his hips, before leaning down to kiss over Logan's collarbone.

He still wants to bite down, and he doesn't hesitate to drag his teeth over the unhealthily prominent bone, but he resists biting. For now, at least.

When Logan starts shifting a bit to get more friction, Remus smirks, and he slides his cock halfway out, before thrusting harshly back in, causing Logan to let out a high moan.

Remus's smirk grows, as Logan bites his lip, his nails digging into Remus's shoulders.

"Remus," he breathes out, head laid back against the cushions, silently begging him to do that again. He'd verbally ask himself if not for the weird feeling inside of him that sent blood rushing to his face, which provided a pretty sight for Remus.

Remus obviously understood (he'd had enough sex to understand cues), as he pulls out again, almost fully this time, before slamming back into him, causing Logan's back to arch, as he cries out Remus's name, his legs closing instinctively around Remus's waist, effectively pulling him closer.

Although, Remus didn't seem to mind that much, as he connects their lips for a messier than usual kiss, as Remus had begun thrusting into Logan at a steady, albeit slow, pace. And while it wasn't as extreme Remus could go, or wanted to go, it was a lot for Logan, especially all at once and so suddenly in his life.

But, it's not like he could exactly complain in between all the pathetic noise involuntarily spilling from his mouth. Babbles of nonsense, as his body is introduced to more and more exciting stimulation.

Then, Remus suddenly hits something inside of him that shoots pleasure up his spine, his eyes rolling back into his head as his toes curl, as he whines out Remus's name.

"That spot feel good, baby?" Remus asks him, and Logan can only nod in response, his eyes now screwed shut in pleasure as Remus continues to thrust into that spot, earning loud moans and pitiful begs from Logan.

"Fuck..." Remus mutters, his nails digging into Logan's hips, puncturing the skin slightly. Logan would complain about how the germs from Remus's hands could potentially cause the very small wounds to become infected, if he wasn't too busy drooling and moaning.

"You close, Lo?" Remus grunts out, earning a gasped out "yes!"

Remus chuckles lowly, as one of his hands releases Logan's hip and instead grabs hold of his red cock, stroking it fast and irregularly compared to his thrusts. The action had Logan moaning, before he comes across his chest with a whine of Remus's name.

Remus, however, doesn't stop the assault on his cock, continuing to stroke it and thrust into Logan mercilessly. Logan whines at the overstimulation, laying lax against the couch as he continues to let Remus please himself, before Remus's nails dig hard into him and he groans, coming into the condom.

He stays inside of Logan for a moment, both of them catching their breaths, before he pulls out, sliding the condom off and tying it shut, before he gets up to go find a trashcan to toss it in.

When he comes back to the couch, Logan's eyes are shut, glasses askew on his face.

"Logan," he says, as he grabs his clothes and starts sliding them back on, ignoring the fact he was covered in sweat and had just gotten done having sex.

He receives no answer, so he gently pokes Logan's cheek after gathering all his stuff. "Logan?"

Still nothing. He hums, before shrugging. If he was tired enough to sleep, might as well let him sleep. He did end up stalking around his small, and rather poor looking apartment though, in search of a blanket. He finds one, neatly folded on the edge of Logan's bed, and he smiles as he brings it back into the living room. He pays no mind to the fact Logan's covered in come as he drapes the blanket over him.

Then, he pulls out his wallet, and sets multiple bills on the table, placing a half-full cup of water that was sitting on the table already on top of it, to keep it in place.

Then, whistling a strangely eerie tune, he walked off, making sure to lock Logan's apartment door behind him, for Logan's sake.

And, damn, this would be one hell of a thing to wake up and remember.

Part 2

#intrulogical #sanderssides #sanders sides #thomas sanders #thomassanders #logansanders #logan sanders #logic sanders #remus sanders #remussanders #loganxremus #logan x remus #sanders sides fic #sanders sides smut #agp fic #intrulogical sugar daddy au

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miyagihawk · 3 years

Note

Could you maybe write one where Robby or Hawk asks y/n to prom? You don’t have to if you don’t have the time <3

thank you so much for requesting !! this will be my first robby one yayyyy

promposal | robby keene x reader

warnings: fluff, maybe swearing?, also quite cheesy but i love cheesy

summary: prom season is arriving, and you don’t have a date. but you’re kind of hoping a certain someone will ask you.

word count: 1,516

(this one’s set around season 2 and y/n is in miyagi do with sam, robby, and demetri)

“Ugh, prom. Just another excuse for horny teenagers to publicly grind on each other and dress up all nice for it,” Demetri scoffs as you two pass a promposal on the way to Bio class.

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re always such a pessimist. I think prom is cute,” you argue.

“Of course you think it’s cute, you’re a girl. Girls like dressing up and all that romantic shit. So you’re going?” he asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know, I mean no one’s asked me but maybe I’ll just go with Sam or something. I take it you’re not going?”

“Oh I’m going. I hate it, but it’s still part of the high school experience,” the black haired boy wiggles his fingers at you and you laugh. “What about Robby?”

Your heart flutters at the mention of his name.

You’ve had a crush on Robby ever since you met him when you joined Miyagi Do. His kind eyes and dedication to karate made you fall for him fast. With practice at the dojo everyday, he’s become one of your best friends, along with Sam and Demetri. But you’ve hidden your feelings for him because you’re sure he doesn’t feel the same.

“Um... what about Robby?” you question nervously, wondering if your feelings have been obvious.

“Oh come on, he’s obviously going to ask you to go with him,” Demetri muses, and you two walk into your class.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shake your head, setting your books down on your desk.

Robby has never said anything about prom. He doesn’t even look like the type of guy to go. But you feel yourself hoping that what Demetri is saying is true.

“Oh Y/N, Y/N. Always so oblivious,” he taps your head before going to his own desk and ending the conversation.

Demetri is probably messing with you, but the whole period you zone out, thinking about what prom with Robby would be like.

Karate training was cancelled for some reason, so you took the extra time to catch up on your schoolwork at home.

Suddenly, the sound of your ringtone pierces the air, making you jump at the sudden break in silence.

You read the caller ID and it’s Sam. She never really calls you, so you begin to worry that something is wrong.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Y/N! Oh my god, something’s wrong! You need to come to the dojo, like right now!” Sam exclaims, making your chest pound with anxiety.

“Wait what, Sam! What happened?” you frantically sputter. Thousands of scenarios flood your mind all at once. Is there a fire? Did the dojo get trashed again? Is someone dying?

You hear shuffling and whispers on the other side of the phone before Sam blurts, “Just come Y/N! Hurry!”

In a panicked manner, you rush around your room to put on your shoes and get your car keys. Regularly a 15 minute drive, it takes you 5 minutes to get to the dojo. You got a few honks and middle fingers as you stepped heavy on the gas, but the urgency of Sam’s voice made you not care.

You slam your car door shut and run around the front to the backgate. But before you could open it, something covers your eyes and all you could see is black.

You realize that they’re hands from someone behind you and in your frenzied state, your first instinct is to elbow the person’s chest.

After the hit, your eyes are released and you hear a groan from behind you. You turn around in fear to see who you were expecting to be a murderer. But it was Robby Keene on the ground with a pained look on his face.

“Oh my god, Robby what the fuck are you doing? I’m so sorry,” you rush over to where he lays on the floor. He clutches his chest where you hit him and you place your hands over his in worry.

“I was trying to be romantic,” he chuckles, sitting up to face you. He was grinning, even though you just sucker punched him with the sharpest bone in your body.

“W-What? I thought you were a serial killer! What happened, where’s Sam? Is she okay?” you stammer, not even noticing what Robby just said.

“Nothing happened Y/N, calm down. We just needed you to come here,” he rests his hand on your shoulder to calm your panicked breathing, and your cheeks tint pink at his touch.

“I- So- Nothing happened? Why am I here?” you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. There’s just so many things happening at once and you were kind of expecting a disaster.

Robby stands up and reaches his hand out to where you’re kneeling on the concrete. You take it in yours and feel yourself calm down from the chaos of the last 15 minutes.

“Can I cover your eyes now that you know it’s me?” he laughs, and you nod in confusion.

His fingers place over your eyes once again, blocking all of your vision as he leads you to walk to the backyard. You stumble a few times, but he finally stops your walking once you guys have reached a certain spot.

“Ready?” his voice says close to your ear, making you shiver from his unexpected proximity. He counts down from 3 to 1 before pulling his hands away and freeing your eyes.

You blink a few times to adjust to the brightness of the scene, then you see the beauty in front of you.

Fairy lights are strung around the big tree, lit up just in time for the setting of the sun. The pond holds floating candles that drift delicately around the water and a picnic blanket with food lays on the grass next to it.

The dojo looks nothing like where you guys sweat and train and sometimes bleed. It looks like a fairytale, and your mouth is slightly open at the realization that it’s all for you.

“Robby, what is-” you turn around to where he’s still standing behind you.

You almost want to cry at the view of him holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. His signature side smile widens at the little gasp you let out when you see him.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you go to prom with me?”

No way. There’s no way Demetri was right. You stand there frozen at his question, not believing that it’s real. The boy of your dreams, asking you to prom. The boy of your dreams setting all of this up for you.

“Y/N?” his voice snaps you out of your trance, and your confused expression turns into a huge smile.

“Of course. Yes!” you beam, catching him by surprise when you jump into his arms to embrace him. He laughs into your shoulder as you squeeze him tight in appreciation.

“I love it all, thank you Robby. You really do know how to make a girl feel special,” you say in between bites of chocolate covered strawberries.

“Well you are special,” he smiles, admiring how cute you look with your cheeks filled with fruit.

“I’m so killing Sam by the way. I really thought I would come here and see a dead body!”

“I’m sorry, it was my idea. Kill me instead,” he chuckles at the recent memory of your worried frenzy.

“I will. But after prom,” you joke and pop another strawberry into your mouth.

After some cute banter and more yummy food that Robby made, you two lay down on the blanket to try and see the stars. The smog of the Valley doesn’t give much of a view, but if you look hard enough it’s there.

The conversation has faded out, and you’re deep in thought. Does this mean he likes you? Are you guys together now? Asking you to prom doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

“So... is this a friends going to prom together kind of thing? Or is it a couple going to prom together kind of thing?” you blurt, interrupting the pondering silence between you two.

Yours and his eyes stay stuck on the night sky. He thinks for a moment and you play with your fingers in anticipation.

“It’s up to you... but I like you Y/N. A lot,” he admits, setting fireworks off in your stomach.

All this time, you’ve both had feelings for each other. But you’ve danced around it like it’s a fire pit that can’t be touched. You almost want to laugh in disbelief, because you were so sure that you would keep your heart locked and live forever with longing stares. You thought you would be stuck watching him with someone else because you’d never have the guts to actually say what you feel. But you’re wrong.

Robby’s head is turned towards you now, and you take your eyes off of the stars to look at him. He looks nervous, waiting for your response to his confession.

Instead of talking, you reply with a long awaited kiss.

#cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai x reader #cobrakai #robbykeene #Robby Keene #robby cobra kai #robby keene imagine #Robby Keene x reader

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bondedtrauma · 2 years

Text

send a url and i’ll tell you what i think of them! / ACCEPTING let me talk about u!!!!!

@miasmalungs asked : ❤️ + me

tomy 🤝 me

loving horror aesthetics

lobotomy i LOVE ur filthy rot brain. the aesthetics that your blog + muses hold are so FUCKING!!!! GOOD! we don’t have NEAR enough interactions on this blog NOR MY MULTI. i’m gonna bodyslam u into discord for plotting. also i hope u like the nickname ‘tomy’ because it’s sticking for life. i love your psd for your icons! it makes me want to switch my own to match lol. it can fit a lot more of an expression in a bigger canvas and brrrrr it scratches my brain. your blog aesthetic is so perfectly creepy and i ADORE IT. i love our alpha conversations ooc on discord too! some of the shit u and leo be saying tho.......my god i added both of the biggest crazies on this hellsite. also ur graphics are all gorg and i love seeing u post edits/reading new bios!

as for MUSES: HISAO is such a rat i love him SO MUCH. i want to write more with him and kaneki ofc -- they have such a funny dynamic and even if ken pushes him around he really loves his company :) he’s starting to see him as a dad figure that he always craved as a kid and it makes me....angsty. 12/10!!!!! AGELOS is a character i just KNOW elli’s savior complex would just jump out at. i havent interacted with him yet but i just read his bio / interactions and ;w; WEEP!!!! i’m taking him away from u bc ur too mean to him. i wanna kiss their little forehead and tell them tht theyve done enough.

IZZABEL is so interesting to me ! i havent interacted with them yet, but i see her threads on my dash with other ppl and im always just so ENTRANCED by her. the best word i can use to describe her is just haunting. they are another oc i just wanna hug and say everything will be okay!!!!! i hope she finds peace at one point UGH. deserved. ELLIOT has such an intriguing backstory! the mystique of finding out that you dont actually know as much as you thought you did about someone is always a harrowing experience, and i feel like that could be explored so well within lovelace’s psyche. mwah i love that trope tldr LOL.

i haven’t yet interacted with JUNIOR, but i’m always SO excited to see his threads on my dash. he is the literal definition of ‘ little shit ‘ , and i feel like sekiko would wanna punt him across a football field. i crave that interaction LOL. i don’t know much about him quite yet, but i want to learn ! hanako being his fc fits ur blogs aesthetic too oml...pats him on the head. he seems like someone who would bite. does he bite? EUN is my favorite muse on ur blog. like hands down i adore him. i actively look forward to seeing his threads with you and my mutuals. he is SO FUCKING FUNNY. like he’s not even trying to be but the threads have me cracking up each time. also his BROTHER is hot and thats extra points. he’s such a brat and elli would mother him 100%. if he ever tried a pick up line on sekiko she would laugh in his face. ALSO putting the rest under a read more because its getting long lol

DAEJEON yes sirrrrr!!!! im proud to say i was the first like on ur first starter call for him after his creation. clocked in a .4076 miliseconds because i’m just built that different. i love the interaction that he and elli held, and i think they could have a really cute platonic/sibling dynamic!! she just needs to be looked after 24/7 she gets into so much trouble just because of her naivete all the time. another possible plot could be them working together seeing that she interns in cyber forensics :) i always love ocs with chainsawman characters as a fc and MIER is no exception!! i love the uncanny valley vibe he has going and want to see more of him on my dash!!!! LET ME INTERACT WITH HIM!!!!

grabs SYBIL by the neck and squeezes him like a squeaky toy. I LOVE HIM. i love characters like him and idc if its problematic i just adore them. hes so creepy and rude and the idea of him wearing/creating masks is SO cool. he and sekiko’s past threads have cracked me up and we should have more of them!! GIVE ME A STARTER FOR HIMMM I COULD FIX HIM. GORI is so heartbreaking!!!! i have a thing for being TERRIFIED of losing my s/o and gori’s backstory is so sad :( i can’t imagine having to raise a kid after such a Wild(tm) incident. he has all of my support and i want to give him a forehead kiss....

JURO my love!!!!!! he’s reminiscent of frankenstein’s monster for me, and i just LOVE him. he’s so precious to me tbh idek why i have such an attachment to this muse. i just DO. grabby hands give me more of him!! SEVEN is such a perfect twist on the guardian angel trope. we haven’t had many interactions, but he was so kind to sekiko and i just want to hug him!! he seems so gentle and kindhearted but know you hes probably secretly fucked up LOL. CASINO is the coolest name ever so i wanna get that out of the way LOL. i love disturbed characters and i love putting elli in front of them with her ‘ i can fix them ‘ mindset. please let her try to fix him. he’s so gross but i LOVEH IM!!!! nasty, nasty, NASTY. i wanna know why sybil let him go 👀 and, lastly, tomatsu! i don’t believe i’ve seen any interactions with him yet, nor interact, but his design is SO COOL. i want to see a thread of him going feral <3

tldr: follow lobotomy for pretty graphics and wild muses!!!! plot wiht me tomy

#( IM SO SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG i wanted to cover each muse!!!! )#i. ⊱ writer. › ooc.#( i love seeing u on my dash and hope for more interactions soon!!!! ily!!!! )

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blueberry-sunghoon · 3 years

Text

"meet me at the ice rink after school" | park sunghoon

words: 5.3k

genre: high school romance, fluff

warnings: none that i can think of

i hope you like this story :))

☆September 2013☆

One late summer afternoon, you and your best friend Sunghoon were at the ice rink, your all-time favorite hangout spot. Of course, your skating skills weren’t nearly as stunning as Sunghoon’s, but throughout the years he had taught you enough so you could manage yourself on the ice. Sunghoon liked to show off new moves he had learned every time he saw you, and he loved to see how your face lit up with amazement when he pulled it off perfectly.

You mainly liked each other’s company, though. When you both were skating with each other, you were free to tell each other everything from your joys to your worries, trusting that the other would laugh with you or be there to comfort you. To each of you, skating with the other felt like home. Today especially, you both needed that. It had been a long day for the both of you; it was your first day of fifth grade, which also happened to be your first day of middle school.

“Today was rough,” you said as you skated alongside Sunghoon.

“Yeah. I didn’t think we would end up not having any classes together. Being apart from you for the whole day… ” Sunghoon sighed before he finished his sentence, “that’ll take some time to get used to.”

“By some miracle, we ended up in the same class every year from kindergarten to fourth grade,” you replied. “Obviously I didn’t think we would have every single class together until 12th grade, but I didn’t think about how hard it would be to be without you.”

“Me neither,” said Sunghoon. "After we got off the bus in the morning and I said goodbye to you, I only saw you once more the whole day. Unfortunately, we were in the hallway and you were way too far away for me to say hi to you. But sitting through eight classes without you in any of them felt really weird, like there was something missing.”

“I didn’t see you at all. All I could do was sit through all my classes, lonely because I barely knew anyone. I missed you, Sunghoon. I don't know how I’m going to do this,” you said with a cracked voice.

Sunghoon noticed you were about to cry, so he stopped skating and hugged you tightly. He let you rest your head on his shoulder as you cried. “It’s okay, y/n, don't cry.”

“It’s not okay!” you retaliated. “How am I supposed to survive middle school without you?”

“We won’t be without each other,” Sunghoon assured you. “I’m still alive, you know. We can still hang out like this after school. And once school clubs open up, we can find one we both like. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll make some new friends; you’re good at that. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise.”

There was something so reassuring about Sunghoon’s voice that made you feel better. He was right; he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if you couldn’t be together in class, you would still see each other all the time. “Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said softly.

“Mm-hmm,” he said as he pulled away from the hug and wiped away one last stray tear from your face. “Are you good to keep skating?”

“Yeah,” you answered, and the two of you continued to skate. The two of you were quiet for some time, and then a lightbulb went off in the boy’s head.

“y/n, what’s your locker number?”

“56. Why?” you asked.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon said slyly as a sneaky smile crept up onto his face, “I was just curious.”

~~~

The next morning in second period, you were daydreaming instead of paying attention to the teacher. Among many other things, you were thinking of why Sunghoon wanted to know where your locker was. I’m sure it was nothing, you reasoned, but for some reason you couldn’t push the thought away.

After what seemed like forever, the bell rang and the class was dismissed. Your locker was right outside of that classroom, so you went there to switch out your things. As soon as you opened your locker, however, you were surprised to see a sticky note posted on the inside of the locker door. You were more surprised to see Sunghoon’s handwriting on it. Sunghoon had written you a note. It read,

What do you call a factory that makes okay products? Satisfactory!

You playfully scoffed at the joke before you continued to read the note.

Now you have this corny joke to remember me by all day so you won’t miss me as much. I’ll see you after school :)

From, Sunghoon your favorite person

P.S. My locker number is 179. Do what you will with this information ;)

You were so happy that your best friend had done something that special for you. You took the note and carefully placed it inside the cover of your binder so you would never lose it.

179, huh? You made sure to write Sunghoon a note in reply and put it in his locker before the day was over.

And so began a tradition between you and Sunghoon. Every day you would place a note in the other’s locker, whether it was a corny joke or a word of encouragement if one of you had a big test or a blank note on April Fools day. You never skipped a day; the only way one of you wouldn’t receive a note was if the other person wasn’t at school that day. This continued far beyond the fifth grade. You kept this up all the way through middle school, and now, almost all the way through high school.

☆March 2021☆

You and Sunghoon were now high school seniors, still each other’s closest friend.

Friend. You now shuddered to think of the word. You didn’t regret being by Sunghoon’s side for as long as you both could remember, but over the last two or so years you had developed feelings for him. You wished so badly that you could be more than friends, but you never brought the subject up to him because you didn’t want to risk what you’ve had since you were babies. The sophomore version of you figured that it was probably just a phase, that soon enough your little crush would go away and you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

How you wished that was the case.

Instead, your feelings were stronger than ever, and you found yourself constantly worrying. High school graduation was only three months away, and after that, the two of you were heading off to different universities. Would I have missed my chance by then?

Sunghoon, who was sitting next to you in history class, tapped his pencil on your desk, shaking you from your thoughts. You whipped your head in his direction, confused. He then pointed his pencil at the teacher, who was looking at you and expecting an answer. “I asked you a question, y/n.”

You glanced around the classroom and noticed that the whole class was staring at you. Embarrassed, you mumbled, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, I didn’t hear your question.”

Mr. Kim sighed in frustration. “I asked you what year the French Revolution started.”

You hesitated for a second. “Um, was it 1799?” you guessed, unsure of yourself.

“No,” he replied sharply. “1799 would be the year it came to an end. The revolution started in 1789. y/n, this is the third time I’ve caught you daydreaming during my class this week. I suggest you start paying attention.” And with that, he continued teaching.

You heard a few snickers around the room and you felt humiliated. You felt more blood than you thought you had rush to your face and you slouched down in your seat in shame.

Sunghoon glanced over at you sympathetically. He gave you a sympathetic smile as if to say, “I’m sorry,” and you reciprocated his smile.

You tried your hardest to pay attention to Mr. Kim for the rest of the class period, but it wasn’t easy. In fact, you were so far gone that the bell’s ringing at the end of class escaped your notice. As Sunghoon was packing up his things, he noticed you staring off into space, so he tapped his pencil on your desk once again. “Class is over, y/n,” he said. You saw that half the class was already gone and Mr. Kim was giving you an evil look. “Oh,” you said as you began packing up your things.

By the time you started to pack up, Sunghoon had already finished. You were lucky that he was nice enough to wait for you. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you said apologetically.

“Don't apologize, y/n. I have no problem waiting for you,” he replied. “I have lunch right now anyways, so it doesn’t matter if I’m late.”

What did I do to deserve such an understanding friend?

Finally you finished packing up your things. “I’m ready to go now,” you said to Sunghoon as you put your backpack on.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s go.” You walked with Sunghoon into the hallway.

“Is it an A day or a B day?” you asked as you walked alongside him. “I’m either going to study hall or AP Bio right now and I have no idea which one.” You hoped it was an A day, because you needed some time to yourself after what just happened in history.

“Today is a B day. You have a double period for Bio.”

You sighed in frustration. “Ugh.”

The two of you went quiet for some time. Then Sunghoon finally broke the silence. “y/n, are you okay?”

You quickly glanced at your friend, not knowing what he was referring to. “Yeah. What made you think otherwise?”

“You seem so unfocused lately.”

“Okay, Mr. Kim,” you said sarcastically.

“I’m serious, y/n. And I’m not just talking about history class. Like, you’re always on top of things. These days you seem so forgetful. For example, you’re the one to always remind me whether it’s an A day or a B day, yet today you had no idea. I know you tend to daydream easily, but these days you just seem so out of it. Is there something on your mind? You know you can tell me anything.”

I like you, Sunghoon. I like you a lot, but I have no idea how to tell you. I’m scared of ruining our friendship. I have the constant feeling of running out of time before we go to college, and I don't want it to be too late before I finally get the courage to tell you how I feel.

Of course, you couldn’t tell him any of that. All you could say was, “Don't worry, Sunghoon. I’m fine.” You felt a bit guilty because you rarely hid things from Sunghoon. He was aware of nearly everything that had ever worried you. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about this.

Sunghoon didn’t believe that you were as fine as you said you were. He thought that there was no way something wasn’t bothering you, not with you like this. However, he wasn’t the kind to pry, and he trusted that you would come to him once you felt comfortable. He said, “Okay. If you ever need anything, you know I’m here for you.”

You simply nodded, and the two of you continued to walk in silence until you approached the AP Bio classroom.

“I’ll see you later,” you said.

“Yeah. Um, I have ice skating practice after school today, but I’ll FaceTime you as soon as I get home. I’ll see you then.” He then smiled at you and said, “Keep your head up, okay?”

Once again, you responded by nodding your head. Sunghoon waved you goodbye and he was off to his next destination.

You watched hopelessly as he walked away, and you didn’t enter the classroom until he was completely gone from your sight.

~~~

As soon as you got home from school, you went straight to your room and onto your bed. You pulled your sheets over your head and closed your eyes, trying hard not to think about anything. You were mentally exhausted from thinking so much. Of course, your efforts to not think about the things that stressed you only made you think about them more. Finally, you felt yourself drift into sleep.

After some time, your eyes fluttered open and you checked your phone to see the time. You were out for two and a half hours. You wanted to face your problems instead of avoiding them, so you sat up on your bed and decided to call your friend Sunoo. Sunoo’s good with stuff like this, you thought as your phone rang. You bit your nails as you anxiously waited for him to pick up.

“Hey,” you heard Sunoo say finally.

“Hey Sunoo,” you replied. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, how about you?”

“Well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath to get rid of the nervous energy before you explained. “See, there’s someone that I like. A lot. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way, but I don't know how to tell him how I feel. We’ve been friends for a long time now, and the last thing I want to do is ruin our friendship right before we head off to different colleges.”

“Oh,” said Sunoo. “Sunghoon, right?”

You felt your heart skip a beat and you raised an eyebrow. That’s suspicious. That’s weird. I’m pretty sure I never told Sunoo that I like Sunghoon. In fact, I didn’t tell anybody… “Um, yeah. How did you know it’s Sunghoon?”

Everyone and their uncle knows you and Sunghoon like each other. I’m pretty sure you two are the only people who don't know. You guys make it painfully obvious, Sunoo thought. “Um, uh, well I know Sunghoon has been your closest friend for a long time now. I figured if there was anyone you liked, it would be Sunghoon.”

“I suppose so,” you said.

“You should tell Sunghoon how you feel.”

You didn’t answer. You wished there was another way around this problem, but there wasn’t. The only option you had was to tell Sunghoon how you felt about him.

“y/n? Are you there?”

Shaken from your thoughts, you hopelessly said, “I can’t, Sunoo. I’m too scared.”

You heard Sunoo sigh before he responded. “There’s a chance he might like you too. But you have to shoot your shot, y/n. Because if you don't, one day you’ll be forty years old, wondering what might have been if you had told the boy you liked when you were 17 how you felt.”

You hated how right Sunoo was. “Sure, there might be a chance that he likes me too,” you started, not believing for a second the statement you just said, “But what if he doesn’t? I will have ruined our friendship.”

“I doubt something like that would ruin your friendship,” said Sunoo. “The bond between you two is incredibly strong, probably stronger than you realize. It’s gonna take a lot more than that to break you guys up. Of course, if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, things might be awkward for some time, but eventually things will return to normal. Sunghoon would never leave you no matter what, and I know you wouldn’t leave him either.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But how do I even go about telling Sunghoon that I like him?”

“y/n, you’re way overcomplicating this. It’s a lot easier than you think. All you have to do is say the words: ‘Sunghoon, I like you.’ Repeat after me: ‘Sunghoon, I like you.’”

“Sunghoon, I like you,” you mumbled with clenched teeth.

“Louder, y/n, I can’t hear you,” Sunoo teased in a singsong voice.

You took a deep breath. “Sunghoon, I like you.”

“That’s more like it,” Sunoo said, satisfied. Then, all of a sudden he got an idea. “Don't y’all leave notes in each other’s lockers every day?”

You weren’t sure where Sunoo was going with this. “Yeah, why?”

“Slip a note in his locker asking him to meet you at the skating rink tomorrow after school. It should be easy to tell him then.”

You had to admit that it was a good idea. Wait. Tomorrow? “Tomorrow? That soon?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sunoo answered without hesitation. “I don't see why not. Otherwise you’ll keep pushing it off and you’ll never actually do it.”

At this point, you were almost infuriated by how right Sunoo was.

“Okay, bet. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“You better. In fact, I’ll make sure I call you before I go to bed to ask you how it went.”

You laughed a little. “I hear you laughing!” said Sunoo in a playful tone. “I’m serious, I will call you.”

You heard your mom call you for dinner. “Yeah. Listen, Sunoo, I have to go now, but thanks so much for the talk. I really needed that.”

“No problem, y/n, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.”

You put down your phone. I can do this, you said to yourself, feeling more determined than ever.

~~~

Not even five minutes after Sunoo got off the phone with you, he received another call. Who could that be? He thought to himself as he looked away from his homework and at his phone. A sneaky smile appeared on his face when he saw who was calling him.

“Hi Sunghoon,” said Sunoo as he picked up the phone.

“Hey,” said Sunghoon. “Uh, I called because I need to talk to you about something.”

Sunoo could see where he was going. “Of course. I’m all ears.”

“Well, there’s someone at school that I’ve liked for a while, but I really don't know how to tell them. I’m also worried that I might ruin our friendship.”

The smile wouldn’t come off Sunoo’s face, no matter how he tried. Are y/n and Sunghoon really that oblivious? “Park Sunghoon, it’s about time you talked to me about this.”

Sunghoon was confused. “What do you mean?”

“It’s y/n, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Sunghoon, more confused than before. “But what do you mean ‘it’s about time’?”

“Sunghoon, everyone knows that you like y/n. I’m not sure you could make it any more obvious. The way you look and smile at them when they’re talking to you says everything. You’re obviously whipped. When I first noticed, I was so excited for you, and I wanted to talk to you about it. But I didn’t want to bring it up first because that might have made you uncomfortable. So I waited. It’s been two long years.”

Sunghoon could feel his face flush red with embarrassment. Sunoo really said “This you?”

“Oh,” Sunghoon replied softly. “Well, does y/n know? Do you think they like me too?”

No, they don't know. They’re just as oblivious as you. It kills me how unaware of each other you guys are. Sunoo took a deep breath and chose his next words very carefully. “I can’t say. The only way you’ll know for sure is if you ask.”

“But I can’t tell y/n how I feel. I might ruin our friendship.”

Oh my god, thought Sunoo, it’s almost like they share the same brain. Sunoo assured Sunghoon that he wouldn’t ruin his friendship by telling you how he felt about you. Then, to spice things up, he decided to give Sunghoon the same suggestion he gave you.

“Wait, you might be on to something,” said Sunghoon.

“I know,” said Sunoo, “it’s a gift of mine.”

“That’s actually a good idea, Sunoo. I’ll try it. I have to go now though, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Alright, see ya.”

Sunoo hung up the phone, feeling quite proud of himself. “I love it when a plan comes together,” Sunoo said out loud as he continued his homework.

~~~

It was third period the next day. Calculus was your favorite subject, and the one you usually paid the most attention in. Not today, though. All you could think about was going to Sunghoon’s locker and putting the note in there. Once you did, there would be no going back.

You pulled out the note you had written from your folder. Meet me at the ice rink after school today, there’s something I want to tell you :) was what you had written. You stared at the piece of paper as if it would eat you alive. Your hands became sweaty and you could feel your heart racing. How could something so simple torment you so much?

The sound of the bell ringing interrupted your thoughts. Calculus was over, and it was time to go to lunch. You packed up your things and left the classroom. This was usually the time of day when you would slip your daily note into Sunghoon’s locker, so today before you went to lunch, you started to make your way there. It was the same time that Sunghoon would normally do the same thing (except he was on his way to physics), so you two would cross paths in the hallway.

Today when you crossed paths, you quickly said “hi” with a smile to each other. Of course, you both knew that you were going to each other’s lockers, but what you didn’t know was that you had the exact same message for each other.

As you approached Sunghoon’s locker, your heartbeat quickened and your temperature rose, making your glasses foggy. With shaky hands, you put in the combination on the lock and opened his locker. You stood there for a moment, negative scenarios flashing through your mind. You thought about what you would be risking (which, by the way, was everything). We’ve built so much over the years. Do I even dare?

You fixed your gaze on the small, blue, diamond-shaped magnet on the door of Sunghoon’s locker. Every day since fifth grade, you would use that magnet to attach your message to his locker. He had managed to keep the same one all these years. You were so used to seeing it everyday, yet soon enough you wouldn’t be seeing it anymore. That reminded you that you didn’t want to lose your chance with Sunghoon. It’s now or never.

You took a deep breath, then attached the note to the inside of the locker door. Before you could think about taking it back, you closed the locker shut and headed off to lunch. There was no turning back.

After lunch, you went to your locker to switch out your books. Once you opened it, you saw Sunghoon’s note... It wasn’t anything near what you were expecting. Your heart skipped a beat, and your eyes opened wider than you thought they could. "Meet me at the rink after school, there’s something important I need to tell you."

As if you weren’t more nervous today than you had ever been in your whole life, Sunghoon’s note sent you into anxiety overdrive. What could Sunghoon possibly have to tell me? There were endless possibilities. You thought for a second that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to tell you the same thing you wanted to tell him. But you immediately rejected that idea and laughed it off. Don't be ridiculous, y/n.

You convinced yourself that it likely had something to do with his ice skating - he probably had been invited to a championship or something like that. It wasn’t the first time Sunghoon had invited you to the rink so he could tell you something important. It was just a coincidence that you both had big news that day. You switched out your books and walked to your next class feeling confident.

~~~

When you made it to the rink after school, you saw that Sunghoon was already there, putting on his skates. “You’re late,” he teased.

“Yah, no I’m not! Just cuz you got here first doesn’t mean I’m late. I’m here after school, aren’t I?” you said as you playfully punched his arm.

Sunghoon burst out into laughter. “y/n, what was that? That didn’t even hurt.”

“I could have made it hurt if I wanted to,” you teased. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

You went to get your skates, and a few minutes later you both were skating alongside each other. You and Sunghoon were talking to each other, but it was mostly small talk. It was obvious that you both were preoccupied with what you wanted to tell each other.

“How’s your sister?” you asked.

“She’s doing good.”

A pause.

“Have you decided on a topic for the English essay?” Sunghoon asked.

“I’m most likely going to do the Civil War. You?”

“I’m doing the Industrial Revolution.”

“Nice.”

Another pause.

Sunghoon sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair, a habit you noticed he had when he was nervous. “Let’s get rid of the elephant in the room. We both have stuff to tell each other," he said.

You felt your heart rate go up and you found yourself playing with your fingers to ward off the nervous energy. “Mmm-hmm.”

Sunghoon noticed that you were a bit uneasy. “Do you want me to go first?”

As much as you wanted to say yes, you didn’t trust yourself to not chicken out at the last minute. It took every nerve in your body for you to say, “I’ll go first.”

“Okay. I’m ready when you are.”

“It’s definitely a big one,” you said. You stopped skating, and Sunghoon followed. You were so nervous that you couldn’t even make eye contact with him. I can do this, you thought to yourself as you began.

“Well, Sunghoon, we’ve been best friends since the beginning, you know? And, um, through all these years you’ve been there for me through thick and thin. You’ve honestly been the best friend I’ve ever had. Well, you see, it’s been about two years since I started feeling differently about you. I’ve been dying for so long to tell you how I feel, but I was scared that I might ruin our friendship. But I’ve been thinking a lot about my feelings lately, and I just can’t hide this from you anymore.”

Are they about to tell me what I think they are? Sunghoon thought to himself.

You took a deep breath before you continued. “I guess what I mean to say is,” you said as you finally looked up to make eye contact with Sunghoon, “is that I like you, Sunghoon. Could we be more than friends?”

At this point, you were insanely anxious. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you thought you could faint. And it didn’t help that Sunghoon wasn’t saying anything, just staring at you. What you didn’t know was that he was just as anxious as you; he was just better at keeping it all in than you. He could hardly believe that he had just heard those words from you.

You immediately broke eye contact with Sunghoon and looked off to the side so he couldn’t see how embarrassed you were. “Or not,” you mumbled. “I mean if you don't wanna be more than friends that’s okay I mean we can still be friends that’s completely fine I just hope I haven’t ruined everything oh God who am I kidding what have I done-”

You were interrupted by the sound of Sunghoon sighing. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him smiling from ear to ear. You turned your head to face him and said, “What?”

“Stop rambling already.”

Before you had time to process what he said, he leaned in and quickly, yet softly, kissed your cheek. You were in utter shock and disbelief, and you felt your face go hot. A tiny smile came across your face.

Sunghoon saw your glasses fogging up and that’s when he knew you were blushing. He decided to tease you. “Aw, I make you flustered.”

You became playfully defensive and flicked his hand. “Yah! No you don't.”

Sunghoon laughed. “Yes I do,” he said as he swiftly took your hand and intertwined it with his. He swung your hand up and down and his smile got even bigger as your eyes lit up. “You look like the pleading eyes emoji right now.”

You let out a nervous yet happy laugh. “Sunghoon, you’re killing me.” Never in your wildest dreams did you think this moment would ever come to be.

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “In all seriousness though, y/n, I really like you too.”

“I’m so glad I was able to get that out,” you said as you let out a happy sigh. “I’d been keeping it in for a long time. I was so worried about messing up our friendship and especially over the past few weeks I’ve been worried about once we go to college, we’ll be physically apart. Thankfully, though, yesterday I talked to Sunoo about everything and he really helped me muster the courage to tell you how I feel.”

Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat when you mentioned Sunoo. There’s no way. “Oh, you talked to Sunoo? I heard he’s good with stuff like that. What did he say?”

“You know, he told me that it was better for me to shoot my shot so that down the road I wouldn't regret not taking a chance. And he was right. I don't regret this at all.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me, because I would really like to be more than friends with you. And, um, I’m not worried about going off to different colleges or being physically apart. I believe in us; we’ll find a way.”

“Then I’m not worried about it either,” you said, relieved.

“I’m glad,” Sunghoon said. “Does Saturday work for a date? I can pick you up at your house around 7:00.”

“That sounds great, Sunghoon.”

“Perfect,” said Sunghoon, his smile bigger than ever. “You wanna keep skating now?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’d like that.”

You and Sunghoon continued to skate, and the rest of the afternoon was filled with happiness and laughter. The smiles never came off either of your faces, and neither of you had even thought of letting go of the other’s hand. The two of you were so happy in this moment and you didn’t want it to end.

All good things must come to an end, though, and your afternoon with Sunghoon was no different. Sunghoon felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his hoodie and he pulled it out. His mom had sent him a text. “My mom’s asking me where I am,” said Sunghoon with a twinge of disappointment. “I guess I can’t blame her; we’ve been here for almost four hours. I should get going.”

“No problem Sunghoon. I should probably get home as well. I need to get started on my homework.”

You and Sunghoon left the rink, still holding hands. You two were parked next to each other in the parking lot, and there you said your goodbyes. Before you went in your car, however, you thought of something. “Hey, Sunghoon, did you have anything in mind you wanted to tell me when you invited me here? You know, anything not related to what I told you?”

“Nope. That was exactly it,” Sunghoon said with a smile. “Believe it or not, I also talked to Sunoo yesterday evening.”

“No way,” you said, a bit dumbfounded. “Did you actually?”

“Yeah. Looks like great minds think alike.” He gave you a wink, and before he turned around to get in his car, he said, “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

#enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #park sunghoon #enhypen blurbs #enhypen fluff #enhypen soft hours #enhypen writers #enhypen reactions #enhypen timestamps #enhypen angst

102 notes · View notes

jamaiskookie · 3 years

Note

i would like more soundcloud rapper yoongi x idol y/n please it’s so cute

v-live alert! -myg

pairing: idol! y/n x soundcloud rapper! yoongi

wc; 2.9k

a/n: lots of you asked, and so you shall receive. ps, i wrote this really rushed but i kinda love it. lmk what you think, love you guys <3

[V LIVE] Surprise LIVE!

the v-live notification. or, more accurately, the sound of war. alternatively, you dance around your studio on a livestream and yoongi has a mental breakdown.

masterlist PREV

“i miss you too!“ you say, replying to one of the first comments that pop up on the live.

you probably should’ve showered before going live... and you probably should’ve changed out of sweats.

whatever.

it’s not like your fans haven’t seen this before.

half of your pre-debut pictures are just downright disgusting.

the number of viewers on the top of your phone begins to climb up to the thousands, increasing every half a second.

it always amazes you how many people show up to your lives. sometimes you wonder if your fans genuinely have nothing better to do. how do they always show up so fast?

the comments begin to flood with greetings and exclamations of ‘oh my god i’m so early!11!1’ and the multicoloured heart pop up on your screen, building up an impressive stream of likes.

“where am i?“ you read through the comments and look around, as if you forgot where you were. “in the studio.“ you grin when the comments flood with questions asking if dreamcloud is getting new music.

you can’t answer, of course, but it’s fun to see. you squint at your phone, which is propped on an elaborate setup that you spent the past twenty minutes preparing.

(three books on one eyeshadow palette and a selfie stick gingerly placed on a small stool)

((you pray to every deity out there that it won’t fall))

“i was just bored,“ you shrug, speaking to the screen. “so i decided to come on here and talk to you guys. how have you been?“ you ask.

hundreds of comments answer.

“i’m alright“

“i’m good!“

most of them contain some form of sappy declaration like ‘my day is much better now that you’re here!’ it makes you smile. how cute.

the v-live notification.

or, more accurately, the sound of war.

that cursed, terrible ding! haunts yoongi’s darkest and most terrifying nightmares. the sheer amount of panic that rushes through his veins when he hears that godforsaken noise, god.

the number of lives he’s missed- yoongi can’t even bear to think about it.

so maybe it was a blessing in disguise that yoongi put his phone on do not disturb so he didn’t have to hear that disgusting sound. instead, he found out the news via a gorilla’s screech.

“Y/N’S LIVE RIGHT NOW STARTED FOURTY SECONDS AGO HURRY UP YOONGI GET YOUR ASS UP AND STOP STUDYI-“ jimin yells from his room down the hall.

yoongi almost falls out of his chair scrambling to get to his phone. it’s not like he was really studying anyways- more like using his pencils to tap out a cool-sounding beat on his desk out of boredom.

watching your live > passing his music theory class.

priorities.

with shaky hands, he grabs at his phone, slumping onto the floor and he sees the familiar blue icon with the notification popped up on the screen.

[V LIVE] Surprise LIVE! Y/N: let’s chat <3

an unnatural squeak that slightly resembles the sound a mouse slips out of yoongi’s mouth.

even when he was a baby starrie and was glued to his phone at all times, he’s never been this early to a live. he unlocks his phone, cursing his momentary clumsiness. he clicks into the live, smiling when your beaming face blasts up on his screen.

you haven’t gone live in so long- it’s nice to see your face again.

“- how have you been?“

“good.“ yoongi types out in the comment box, mumbling the words as he’s typing. “way better now that you’re live.“ sometimes yoongi cringes at himself when he types these things. i mean, who could possibly guess that min yoongi, resident scary-emo-couldslapyouintheface bad boy socially un-responsible simped over a k-pop idol?

he can already see his reputation go down the drain.

he also wonders what it says about himself that he’s a 20-something college student who’s life practically revolves around you, an idol who’s just about a year younger than him.

but dreamcloud is a part of his identity now. he identifies as a starrie no matter what. you know how the old saying goes-

once you stan, you can’t unstan. or something like that, he’s honestly not sure.

you tuck your head onto your hand, diligently trying to keep up with all the comment. with a gasp, you nod at something. “oh, you’re right, user yoonalova98!” - that’s another thing special about you. whenever you read out comments, you also read out the username of whoever wrote it.

you explained in one interview- that it’s cooler to give credit and talk to your fans as if you’re just chatting as friend. saying the username feels like you’re saying their names.

what kind of lucky fan would get their comment read aloud by Y/N?

ugh.

yoongi blinks when he remembers that technically, he’s sort of part of this group of elite, recognised fans.

his twitter stan account got almost five thousand more followers after Y/N replied to his selca. the post itself has tons and tons of likes and retweets.

insane, that Y/N- Y/N herself- knows of his existence. Y/N- the love of his life, has seen his FACE. she commented three HEART emojis below a selfie that he took.

if he thinks about it too much, he’ll start feeling faint again.

“our anniversary is coming up soon! i can’t believe it’s been three years already. time does pass by when you’re having fun.“ you say. yoongi thinks that it’s rather ironic that you would forget your anniversary, when yoongi’s had a calendar countdown to January 14th since the beginning of september.

“ahh,“ you say, leaning in closer to the screen. “from user lialiarach, ‘did you watch jisoo unnie’s acting debut’ - i did! we all watched it and cheered her on during the premiere!“

jisoo’s new drama is good. it’s a fantasy-horror blend, and he, jimin, namjoon and jin finished all 16 episodes in two days when streaming hit Netflix.

your head tilts and you smile. “song recommendations?” you wonder aloud, and yoongi scrambles to get a pen and notepad out. you don’t do ‘y/n’s listening parties’ as much anymore, but your taste in music is impeccable and he collects all the songs in a playlist.

it’s called ‘wedding tunes’ (jimin named it, not him, yoongi swears)

everytime he tries to change it back, it somehow switches back to wedding tunes the next day.

it’s disturbing how good jimin is at this kind of stuff. hopefully yoongi won’t have to bail him out of jail one day.

“okay!“ you say, pulling your laptop open. you hum as you scroll through some page that yoongi can’t see- and he anxiously waits for the first song to be played with twitchy hands and a strong grip on his pen.

the first bar plays out and yoongi’s already in love.

“this is,“ you say over the music, double checking just to make sure. ��don’t need your love by NCT...“ you squint. god knows there are too many NCT members. “dream! NCT dream featuring HRVY.“

“NCT dream...“ yoongi mumbles to himself, writing the song down on the notepad.

“you know,“ you say over the music, spinning in your chair and nodding to the beat. “i’ve only met the NCT guys a couple times at music shows and such but they’re all so nice. i can’t remember all their names, but i’m decently familiar with their faces. how do they even have 23 members? how does it all work??“

you dance around the studio, singing along nonsensical lyrics that don’t make sense but sort of fit the rhythm of the song (??)

“don’t need your loo-ooove-!!! dum dum duhhhh duhros noya!!!” yoongi stifles a laugh. there’s a reason why you constantly forget lyrics on stage.

which is quite ironic, actually, because half the time you’re forgetting the lyrics to a song you wrote yourself.

afterwards, you play all the hidden gems- and yoongi’s proud to say he’s familiar with quite a few of them.

airplane by j-hope (a youtube star turned successful rapper-vocalist-dancer)

sweet night by v (the internet’s resident eye-candy)

and then you continue to scroll through your laptop, biting your lip and murmuring quietly to yourself. you glance once back at your phone screen.

okay, listen.

yoongi knows that he’s delusional, okay?

but everytime you look straight in the screen it’s almost like you’re looking directly at the camera it’s almost like you’re staring into his soul. which makes zero sense, but it still makes his heart skip a beat.

let him dream, please

“what am i scrolling through?“ you say, reciting a question from the chat. “soundcloud, user chachachae.“

soundcloud?

oh.

that’s pretty cool.

he didn’t know you had a soundcloud account!

you usually post all your covers and random shorts to instagram or another one of your personal blogs.

for a moment, yoongi indulges himself by wondering if you’d ever listened to his music. his soundcloud account is linked in his twitter bio, after all...

but he shakes those thoughts away as fast as they came. he doesn’t need to entertain himself with such silly thoughts.

“ooh, this one’s good!“ you say, clicking onto something.

still with you by JAYKAY (pffftt haihdkahjd) starts playing and you lean back, humming along. yoongi knows this one too!! now he’s 3 for 3!! he and you do share a similar taste in music, so maybe it does make sense.

even though you’re actually main vocalist and lead dancer, you do listen to a lot of rap music. but the music you make is nothing like the old school hip hop tracks that yoongi is partial to.

the music you make- how can he explain it?

sweet like honey with a little bit of tang.

like barbecue honey!!!!

ok that was a bad analogy.

all of his favourite dreamcloud tracks are written by you- cloud nine, up in the sky, are u still here, quicksand- the list goes on and on and on.

it’s like listening to your voice solves anything he goes against. bad day? dreamcloud. something to celebrate? blast your debut song. in need of a party song? easy fix. he gets aux cord rights? (granted, this doesn’t happen very often, since seokjin insists that his music taste is superior to his friends.) but anyways, y/n can fix it.

listening to your voice feels comforting. it invokes something in him that he honestly cannot explain with words. you’re his inspiration. not just in music- but in life. he admires how you’re able to smile through anything, how you take responsibility for your own actions.

he admires your kind heart, which offers generosity and forgiveness to even the most underserving people.

he admires your passion, for music, for your members, for the smallest things. he admires how you’ll love everyone and anyone.

even though he’s never really met you, he feels like he knows you. he wishes he could, anyways. he wants to thank the person who’s gotten him through such bad days.

yoongi curses himself again for being so delusional.

he keeps telling himself that he can’t get so attached. then he’ll end up like one of those creepy fans who are convinced their idols actually like them.

blech.

“okay, next song!“ you exclaim cheerfully. “i really like this one, guys. he’s this soundcloud star. he makes really cool music.“ yoongi readies his pen. if this person really is a soundcloud star, then there’s a high chance yoongi knows of him. a smaller chance that he actually knows the guy personally; either online or from real life.

you press the space bar almost obnoxiously, like you’re about to reveal something grand. you look into the camera, and you lock eyes with yoongi- through that cursed, horrible screen.

the first note plays and yoongi thinks that it sounds... oddly familiar, actually. for a moment, he sighs in disappointment. this one doesn’t sound as great as the previous few songs. almost like it’s incomplete, imperfect. something about it bugs him at the very bottom of his gut.

jimin figures it out before he does.

“AHHHHHHHHH YOONGI!!! OH MY GOD-!!!! YOONGI ARE YOU SEEING THIS? YOONGI!! HYUNG!“ yoongi grumbles, wondering what the hell jimin is screeching about now.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,“ he mumbles. the difference between him and jimin is the way they express their emotions. while yoongi bottles it all up, choosing to deal with things alone and slump around, jimin has no other choice but to scream things out. it’s a wonder they’re such good friends, really. “what is it now?“ yoongi mutters to himself.

“yeah yeah, a gentle breeze- “ and then it hits him. all at once.

“holy fucking shit.“ he whispers to himself, slumping down on the floor. he can barely hear what you say next.

“this song is called people by agust d. he goes by the name suga on social media-!“ yoongi falls down, gasping for air. “i’m a fan,“ you remark casually. “mr. suga producer-nim!! i’m your fan! please continue to make good music!“ you chuckle. “what am i doing right now? he probably isn’t even watching.“ you stare innocently at the phone camera, as if you don’t even know that you’re changing someone’s life right now.

out of his peripheral vision, he can see jimin rushing into the room, crouching next to him and placing a hand on his back, murmuring something yoongi can’t hear through the sound of his sobs.

huh. when did he even start crying?

“he makes rap and really cool hip hop music. you guys should give him a listen. his lyrics are really meaningful, too.“ you nod along, reciting the lyrics word for word- even though you really can’t rap.

“what kind of person am I? am I a good person? or a bad person? many of ways to judge just a person. everyone will live on, everyone will love, everyone will fade away“ you headbang along to the beat.

yoongi slides down the wall inch by inch. he wonders if he’ll faint or vomit first.

other people seem to make fun of people like him- people who find solace in idols, in music. that’s partially why he doesn’t like disclosing the fact that he’s a diehard fan of an idol girl group.

but in hindsight, that’s so stupid. who gives two fucks about his interests? hell, yoongi’s been depressed half his life. and if a group of girls who sing songs and perform make him feel better, what’s so wrong with that?

jimin’s voice is a little clearer now, and so is yours. you’re singing along to the lyrics- the lyrics that he wrote. the lyrics that he spent hours agonising over, wondering whether his shortcomings and anxiety in his life were worth posting on the internet for his measly following to see.

wondering if the music he made had any impact at all, if one day he might see his dream come true, to see his music being played in public. wondering if anyone might hear his songs and think that it helped them get over a bad day. just like you have for him.

yoongi’s sobs wrack through his body, tears flowing freely on his face. he’s crying hard. ugly crying, like a baby throwing a temper tantrum. his cries echo through the room. if he could see himself right now...

well, he doesn’t want to think about it. he’s sure it’s not a pretty view.

jimin looks over him, smiling proudly. his eyes are glassy, and he tucks yoongi’s head in his chest, putting his arms around him and embracing him.

yoongi’s shoulders shake. if it was any other day, he would usher jimin out the room. he hates it when people see him being vulnerable. even his own family hasn’t seen him cry that much.

but right now, he can’t bring himself to do anything but cry. other people may ask why this is such a big deal, why someone emotionally constipated like min yoongi would cry like this for such a small matter.

this, he doesn’t know how to explain either.

all he can think about is how much it means to him. that someone he admires so much is now, in turn, saying his music- no, his life- is good. nothing much else. but just knowing that you’ve listened to his work, that you know of his alter ego’s name...

his crying sounds grow larger.

jimin pets at his hair. “shh,” he murmurs. “it’s okay.” jimin’s voice also grows a little shaky. he tears up, but continues to comfort the crying boy in his arms. “you did it, hyung. it’s okay. you made it. you did it. why are you crying? this is good news! this is so great! i’m proud of you, we’re all so proud of you.”

yoongi tries to speak; it doesn’t go very well. but when he tries again, he manages to choke something out.

“i did it.“ he says, before burying his face back into jimin’s hug. the two boys sit on the ground, crying together. an hour passes, then two.

slowly, yoongi drifts off to bed on the ground, the melody of his own song blended with sound of your voice echoing in his head.

my ordinary became your special, my special became your ordinary. so what? what if you just brush by? what if you get hurt? sometimes you might get hurt again, sometimes you might shed tears. so what? so what if you live like that?

~ people by agust d

tags; @jksbbyfacebunny @extremeobsessions101 @dwcljh @stonyiscanon @bishuthot @s0seo @cecedrake2217

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