Shigaraki Enters The Hideout, Walking Right Up To The Bar And Sitting On A Stool Across From Kurogiri.

Shigaraki enters the hideout, walking right up to the bar and sitting on a stool across from Kurogiri.

“Kurogiri, I want a gamer girlfriend.” Shigaraki says, “I need your help.”

Kurogiri calmly sits down the glass he was cleaning, “Have you tried talking to a woman?”

Shigaraki shakes his head, “Not your advice— your help. And no! I have a better idea.”

Shigaraki stands on the roof of a tall building, carefully holding binoculars between his fingers. He peers down at the GameStop across the street. Kurogiri stands beside him.

“I’m choosing the first girl that walks out of that GameStop.” Shigaraki explains.

A mom and her children walk out of the GameStop, the kids all screeching and running around.

“I’m choosing the second girl that walks out of that GameStop.” Shigaraki corrects.

Hours pass and Shigaraki hasn’t moved from his spot where he surveils the GameStop building. Kurogiri had dozed off at some point and is lightly snoring.

“Kurogiri.” Shigaraki says, suddenly and sharply. Kurogiri jolts awake. “This is taking longer than expected. I haven’t seen any girls. Just a bunch of virgin plebs and Spinner.”

Kurogiri pauses to address the irony in that statement, then continues, “Perhaps you should consider a different method- like online dating?” Kurogiri asks.

“I’m banned on all those apps.” Shigaraki says.

Kurogiri tilts his head, “Why—“

“Shh!” Shigaraki says. “I think I see someone.”

You walk out of the GameStop holding packs of pokemon cards and a Shadow the Hedgehog plushy. You start to walk away, nearly tripping over the air. You mumble a slew of curses as you adjust your cat ear headband and keep walking.

Shigaraki places a hand over his chest, “Wow, she’s so cringe… She’s perfect.”

Kurogiri nods, “Very well. Go talk to her—“

“Talk to her??” Shigaraki asks. “Uh, no? I’m going to kidnap her, convince her to join the League, act cold, aloof, and disinterested until she discovers that on the inside I’m just a troubled soul with a bleeding heart and she falls in love with me. Duh! God, it’s like you’ve never read fanfiction before.”

Kurogiri sighs, “The fact that All For One doesn’t pay me for this is the worst crime he’s committed.”

More Ideas for KNY (demon slayer) different characters ♡ (SOME NSFW CONTENT FOR SANEMI AND MUZAN AND MENTIONS OF GORE IN SANEMI AND LIGHT NSFW IN GYOMEI)

<- Part 1

Imagine being dangerously in love.

Imagine being a demon, obsessed with the brash, and blood thirst Wind Hashira. the first time ever being in battle with him is what leads you down a path of want and lust for the cruel hashira.

Imagine going out of your way to always be where he is, always catching his attention and being attacked by him. He believes you're mocking him, following him just to show off that he hasn't been able to kill you. But that isn't true at all. When you fight, you never actively try and gut him, only blocking your neck and leaving the rest of your limbs exposed to be lashed in this masochism tango.

Imagine struggling to hide your enjoyment and ecstacy each time his sword ripped, teard, and scar your body. He had to have known how me made you feel. He must. The darkness of your cheeks must've been a giveaway. Right? His eyes bewitching you in how intense he glares into your soul. It sets a fire under your cold skin, a burning desire.

Imagine one time when you and Sanemi are fighting. Other slayers show up. But they don't instantly jump into the fight. 1. from looking at the fight, you hadn't landed a single strike and seemed to be a greater deal slower than the hashira, and 2. Tanjiro made an odd comment. "Huh, it's like she's avoiding striking him on purpose."

Imagine how Shinobu decided the fight was long enough and tried to sneak in and end the fight. Only for a switch to set off and catch her off guard and spin at the speed of light, leaving a large gash across her body from her left founder to her hip. And Sanemi instantly tried to help her. Only to be stopped by your own weapon pressed so close to his neck that even swallowing made his Adamsapple scrape against a sharp blade. "Don't you dare. Your attention is meant for me. Are you seriously letting her attempt to get between us work?" And that made Sanemi pause... "us? Wha-" -- "don't play dumb darling. We're soulmates, Sanemi~" you whisper to him. "What the fuck."

Imagine how now you make him feel so conflicted, how he hates you for what you are but loves you for how you make him feel... in his home in his spare time as the sun rises, his windows covered and locked tight as he has you on your knees, leaning forward and his chest pressed to your back. Your head locked between his bicep as his other hand held his sword under you. It nicks you each time he thrusts. If he pushed you forward anymore, his blade would surely cut your chest and stomach open. "I HATE YOU, YOU FILTHY DEMON. I DONT WANT YOU. CURSE YOU FOR DEMONIC TEMPTATION." You softy cry at the harsh words from your love, "I don't care if you don't want me... I'm yours right now..."

Sanemi Shinazugawa × Demon reader Trope: Yandere Lovesick/I hate you so much I love you.

Imagine being with Muzan his entire life... your family were servants to his family. And from a young age, you were assigned to be Muzans personal maid or companion as you were too young to really do any work than cleaning up his room. But since you can remember, you've always been with Muzan.

Imagine being the one he confides with most. His fears, his wishes, and despite his coldness. His shouldering eyes seemed to be less scorching when it came to you. His one and only friend. Even if you didn't have much of a choice in the companionship. It was you who sat in on his doctor's visits about his deteriorating health. When he got the news of how it would be a miracle for him to even make it to his mid 20s...

Imagine how one night after a particularly scary coughing fit, he simply places his head to your mid section as you blush his hair and pull it back into a braid. He softy thanks you as he tilts his head to look up at you, "Of course, I'm always happy to take care of you." But that isn't want he wants. He wanted to take care of you. Not you to him. And without thinking, he pulls you down to him.

Imagine His heat is pounding in his chest. You lay across him as his long and slim fingers tease you between your legs. You try and stay quiet, your face twisted with pleasure and guilt. You felt like you were taking advantage of the sick man who would never find love or feel the love of another in such a romantic and intimate way. You thought maybe that this was him just grasping for a moment where he didn't feel so useless being bedridden. But it was so much more. If this was the last thing he did, pleasing the only one who he cared for most. The one he wished he could've married... he would be happy to die. This surely isn't good for his heart, but he couldn't care less. You hovering yourself above him. As he tried weakly to pull you in to rest your whole weight. This was how he wanted to spend his last days, weeks, and months. However long he had left. He wanted it to be with you.

Imagine as days go by, and he feels more and more guilty. He starts to feel as though you let him do these things because you feel obligated as his personal maid to do so. Nights in the dark ask he fingers you, giving and receiving oral pleasure. But you still won't give him everything. You refuse to fully lay with him. Sometimes, he feels like it's because you don't really love him. Not like he does you. Or maybe you find him... pathetic... he can't actually make love to you. You'd be doing all the work. He doesn't want that, and it seems you don't either... eventually, his thoughts become too much, and he decides to let you go...

Imagine you were relieved of all your maid duties, not just to Muzan but to the family as a whole. You were heartbroken. And the heartbreak only worsened at the news of Muzan and his families and your families deaths. You'd cried more times than you'd ever had before in your life. And you were so very confused when you'd found a Man who looked exactly like Muzan sitting in your bed a few nights later. "Hello dear. I'm home." He invented to truly give you what you wanted, and he was eager to give it too you.

Muzan Kibutsuji × reader Trope: Unrequited/reunited love/soulmates

Imagine being Master Kagaya's faithful slayer, you'd always admired him. You and your Master had created a strong bond. Stronger than others. Moments like this reminded you that you were special. You sat on your knees as you just like you had the first time. Your head pressed to his chest and he dragged his fingers over your head.

Imagine trying not to tear up as you remember the first time you'd kneeled for him. You'd been reckless and impatient leading to a fellow slayer getting extremely hurt. You kneeled before him as you sat in the room alone waiting for him to speak. Doing your best to not make any noise as you silently cry. You'd failed him. Your beloved Master. But he didn't yell. He didn't make you feel like you were a problem. He merely hummed before knealing with you, one hand on atop your head and the other cupping your cheek feeling the wet stream of tears and wiped it away. "It's alright. You didn't mean for this to happen. I know you didn't. I know you're a good girl." And your breath hitched. He noticed. And from then on he gave you positive affrimations which encouraged you to do better. For him.

Imagine how as you sat there listening to his words letting yourself flow away and melt into your master. He thought it was innocent. He was simply your master helping you, if it wasn't him maybe you'd find these soft words from Gyomei or maybe even Kyojuro... but he was wrong. So wrong. It was him. Only him. You'd put yourself on the line so much more than you should've. All to hear those soft praises. His wife must not like you... you do take up more and more of his time as days go on...

Imagine how he softly calls to you. Late that night, he'd heard your footsteps. He sat with you talking. About anything that day. Soft and short conversations. Quiet but not uncomfortable. "You're my favorite you know." He sighed, before he let out a small chuckle "don't tell the others." You know he was teasing. But your heart told you other wise.

Imagine being hurt. In battle you were hurt. But even in your pain you still made your way to your master... your beautiful Kagaya... the married man, the family man, that you had fallen in love with. "My dear, you still come and see me while you're in such pain?" He seemed shocked. But you aren't sure why, you'd walk on hot coles and crawled on your hands and belly to kneel for him. You'd do anything for your master. And you could only hope as his favorite... you wouldn't let him down. Finally you lifted your head from his chest, pulling his hands from your hands, leaving a kiss to his knuckles. One day. One day you'll have him.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki × Slayer reader Trope: unrequited love/lovesick/slow burn

Special Part two of Forbidden love with Gyomei × demon

Imagine how the rest of the slayers flock around Gyomei, asking him so many questions. And he couldn't even answer them all. Too consumed by his disbelief that the person he'd fallen in love with so deeply, had turned out to be a demon.

Imagine how he layed in bed lonely and... missing you. He began to long of your cold touch, your voice, your laugh that was so contagious to him. He missed you. He'd fallen for you. Demon or not. He laid in his bed trying and failing to get even a wink of sleep. But just as he had almost fallen asleep he was awoken by a sound. 'Tap tap' was the sound, 'tap tap' on his window. "Gyomei... my love..."

Imagine how he practically leaped from his bed. Demon or not you had carved yourself a spot in his heart. Slamming open the window and pulling you inside, his hands instantly feeling over your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Kissing the knuckles of your cold hands.

Imagine being the one that made Gyomei for a moment stay from his faiths. Gyomei devoted his life to his beliefs, that includes waiting. Waited all his life for the one. Saving himself and waiting. But you both were in a unique circumstances... so from that point on Gyomei promised himself to you. You would stay with him in his home and he would always come back to you. That night he would kiss you, love you, lay you under him while he whispered for you to be his.

✤ FOREIGN AFFAIRS ✤

AN: So this is a fic that literally nobody asked for but I've had it in my drafts forever and I thought it would be a shame to waste the idea. Whoops. Enjoy. CW: Non-Con, Cunnilingus, Brief mentions of spitting in mouth and spanking, Threat of pregnancy, Sort of implied American reader but you could read it as any english speaking country, though there is a dig in there that is pretty much aimed at Americans,

It’s hard being a foreigner in a country where you can’t speak a word of the language, harder than you’d expected when your job asked you to move halfway across the world.

Getting around is tough and it’s hard to remember all of the customs and formalities, but the worst part about living so far from home is how lonely it is.

At the beginning, you spent most nights curled up in your tiny apartment, crying and checking the time difference between where you are and home to see if it would be ok to call your parents. Things haven’t changed much since then. You know a little more of the language but you still haven't made any friends.

Well, except for your hot landlord who lives next door. 

He doesn’t speak a lick of english, but you don’t need to speak the same language to fuck.

You aren’t quite sure how your arrangement came to be. One minute you were handing him rent money and the next he was lapping at your cunt like a starved man. It doesn’t matter. You're content knowing that if he’s waiting on the staircase when you get home from work, it’s going to be a good night.

He’ll pull you down the hall, hands tangling in your hair and lips crashing against yours, fumbling clumsily with his keys to unlock the door to his apartment, all but kicking the door open and carrying you inside.

His kisses are hungry, greedy. Filled with a passion that you’ve never felt with boys back home. Maybe it’s just the fantasy-fulfillment aspect of having a hot foreign lover, but if he’s anything to go by, the rumors of men overseas being better at sex are definitely true.

Before you can even make it into the bedroom, your clothes are peeled off and shed on his kitchen floor. He's all over you the minute you’re naked, grabbing and touching you like he wants to commit the feeling to memory, worshiping every nook and cranny like he may never feel you again. 

You and him will somehow stumble into his bed in between hot kisses. Sometimes he’ll chase you playfully, sometimes he’ll lead you by the hand, sometimes he’ll scoop you up and throw you onto the mattress; mumbling something in his language that you don’t understand but sounds pretty hot regardless. 

Then he’ll climb on top of you and take you apart piece by piece. Suckling gently on your nipples while his fingers work your clit, nibbling little love bites on your thighs before lifting your hips so he can bury his face in your cunt, pressing teasing kisses down your body, mumbling what you assume to be praise of your figure in between each one. 

He just understands your body. He's attentive, a quick learner. It only took about a week of sleeping together for him to know exactly how to unravel you. He’s a generous lover. You’ve never slept with him without orgasming at least once. You’ve never had to fake an orgasm either, which is a massive improvement from the past men you’ve been with. 

It's not lost on you that the way he treats you is kind of strange for a fuck-buddy...

...But damn if it isn’t hot when he gets down on his knees and mumbles a prayer of adoration into your stomach.

Once it’s his turn to receive it can go one of two ways:

He’ll either be gentle, caressing you like fine china as he rolls his hips into yours, making love to you slowly, reverently, using your moans as a guide on how to touch you. He’ll cum with you, holding your hand as you both tumble over the edge, then pull you into his chest as the two of you come down and prepare for round two, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Or he’ll be rough and relentless. Pounding into you unforgivingly, tossing you into whatever position he pleases before fucking you hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. He’s quite kinky, you’ve learned. When he’s in these moods he likes spitting in your mouth and pulling your hair, calling you filthy names as you cum for the third time.

You’ve learned a few new words in his language since you met him: faster, slower, slut, fuck, and I’m going to cum.

Not very practical for day to day use but still nice to know.

Once the two of you are spent, you’ll shower and he’ll pour you a glass of wine, then you'll sit on his small balcony in silence, looking out at the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. 

It’s…nice. Peaceful. It’s strange that you feel so intimate with him when the only real conversation you’ve ever had was a google translated text message about rent. 

But just like any good drama with a foreign fling, it can't last forever. 

As great as he is in bed, this country isn’t your home. You miss your family and friends and being able to ask for directions without feeling like an idiot. You’ll miss him—no doubt lie in bed sometimes and wonder what he’s doing, if he still thinks of you—but it’s better this way. You don’t belong here, you never have.

You’re sitting on his balcony basking in afterglow about three weeks before you’re set to leave when you drop the news. It’s better sooner rather than later, you decide. It’s not like you could irish-goodbye him, he is your landlord.

“Leaving…” his brow knits. He says it like the word tastes sour in his mouth.

“Yeah, in three weeks.” you smile, holding up three fingers for clarification.

He puts his cigarette out in the ashtray, shaking his head and mumbling something that you can’t understand. He looks…distressed. You hadn’t expected him to be thrilled by the news, but he looks like someone just punched him in the gut.

“Are you alri-”

“You aren’t leaving me.” he snaps, grabbing your wrist hard. Possessively, as if he’s nervous you might run away from him.

You're surprised by his hostility, but more so by the response he gave you. It was heavily accented and short, but it was grammatically correct English—something he’d never given any indication of knowing. 

“What are you-” 

You're cut off by a searing hot kiss. Ravenous and passionate, full of teeth and tongue—but not in the way they normally are. This one is… darker, like he’s trying to establish his dominance.

You squirm and try to push him off of you but he won’t let you go, fisting a hand in your hair to hold you in place as his mouth claims yours.

“Did we mean nothing?” he asks, backing you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head, “We’ve been making love for months and you want to leave?”

“English…” your eyes tear up as he nips at your neck, “I thought you…”

“I’ve known it the whole time,” he lets out a small laugh of amusement. “They teach us English in school. We actually have good education here.” You cry, feeling his hot breath on your skin as he alternates between making out and nibbling at your neck, “I thought you'd think it was romantic, having a foreign lover.”

Each kiss steals your breath, makes you dizzy. He licks his lips, eying you hungrily, “I was going to pretend to learn english for you. I thought it would be a cute story to tell our children…”

Your eyes widen. Children? He wants to have kids-

Your thoughts are interrupted by him rising to his feet, hoisting you up with him and walking you to his bed. He tosses you on the mattress, climbing on top of you, hissing something quietly in his language that you don’t understand as he rocks his hard erection against your thigh.

“You aren’t leaving.” he growls, “I’ll handcuff you to this damn bed if I have to. There is nothing where you came from that you don’t have here”

You writhe as he kisses down your torso, bucking and squirming, trying to push him off of you. He tugs your hips down with a growl, sinking his fingers into the squishy flesh to keep you from moving. 

“P-please…” streams of tears roll down your cheeks as he tugs down your pants, “M-my home… My family.”

“This is your home now,” he growls, holding you down with one hand, fumbling with his pants with the other, taking out his hard penis.

He chuckles to himself in amusement and lines up with your hole, murmuring the next part in against your swollen lips as he pushes himself in.

“And I’m gonna make you a brand new family tonight.”

You once heard that foreign men are better lovers. 

Guess it depends on which one you run into.

suguru geto, satoru gojo, levi ackerman, eren jaeger, bakugo katsuki, keigo takami, shouto todoroki, atsumu miya, osamu miya, tooru oikawa, kuroo tetsuro, kiyomi sakusa, keishin ukai, cameron beck

I'm in my parody mood again. I'm so sorry. You have to attend a yandere school: quite literally, an academy designed to train you into a proper yandere. Except you're terrible at it. So pathetic, in fact, that all the yandere-to-be students and teachers have to help you. And now they're slowly but surely falling for you. Content: gender neutral reader, horde of yanderes, parody

"For the last time, (Y/N)..." the teacher sighs, mild frustration creasing his features. "You can't be a cool and aloof yandere if you look this tense."

"I thought I'm supposed to obsessively stare at my crush from the window", you argue, waving away some cherry blossom petals that were blown by the wind straight into your face.

"Yes, but no one can tell you're a yandere yet. Your gaze must be indifferent, idle, bored. Do you understand?"

You're a lost cause. The older man readjusts your body's position with pursed lips. You'll never be a proper yandere with this attitude. He should be angry about it - Yan Academy dons an unmatched reputation of flawless success. Every student graduates with impeccable results. Well, except for you. And yet, he's almost enjoying the repeated efforts, the daily observations, the additional training you require.

A thought crosses his mind: what would you even do without his help? You'd be lost. You need him to succeed. He shakes his head in embarrassment, swiftly shoves his glasses further up the nose, and coughs.

"Meet me after class. I'll be in my office."

"Again?"

The words escape your lips before you can stop yourself. His brows furrow, and he lifts your chin with his index finger, responding in a deeper voice:

"Yes. Until you learn to act properly, (Y/N)."

“What’re you doing now? We were going to hang out at my place, so we can practice efficient stalking methods.”

Your classmate smiles at you, almost pleadingly. Oh, if only you’d join them. How else will you manage? He can already picture your confused, innocent expression as you try to keep up with them.

You were made to be stalked, not the other way around.

“I can’t”, you whine. “Teacher wants me to stay behind again.”

The students stare at you with a peculiar glimmer in their eye. This bastard…is he trying to keep you all to himself? He should be minding his damn business and leave such matters to people who’re closer to you. They know you better. They’d do a much better job at…training you.

You feel a tug behind you. The classmate removes your backpack and throws it over his shoulder.

“Fuck that. You’re coming with me.”

[More parodies original work]

Odysseus: 600 men making our way back home to Ithaca!

*Polythemus swings his club around*

Odysseus: 593 men making our way back home to Ithaca.

*Poseidon wipes out the other 11 ships in the fleet*

Odysseus: ...43 men making our way back home to Ithaca.

*Elpenor's drunk ass falls off Circe's roof*

Odysseus: 42 men making our way back home to Ithaca, I guess.

*Scylla targets the torch holders*

Odysseus: 36 men making our way back home to Ithaca. Put that sword away, Eurylochus.

*Zeus strikes the ship with lightning*

Odysseus: 1 man making his way back home to Penelope and Telemachus. And by the gods, I will somehow make it.

PROM NIGHT

uh.... bestie oikawa imagine ig. pls send me asks guys, i'm actually hyper-fixated on writing rn for some reason.

CW: implied non con, date rape, *ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+*

You and childhood best friend Oikawa promise at the beginning of high school that if neither one of you have a date for your senior prom you’ll take each other.

You didn’t think he was being serious. He was constantly being swarmed by girls, there was no way he wouldn’t be asked by someone. And yet, May of your senior year rolls around and miraculously Oikawa hasn’t received a single invite. You haven’t either, but you’d expected that. For some reason, guys never stayed interested in you for very long. Oikawa said it's because guys don't like girls with hotter guy best friends.

You loved Tooru like a brother, but man was he annoying sometimes.

You didn’t even remember making the promise to him, so when Iwaizumi brought you into the gym and you were greeted by the volleyball team holding painted volleyballs spelling out the word “PROM?” - Tooru standing in the middle holding a big bouquet of your favorite flowers and smiling like a dope - suffice to say, you were confused.

Of course you said yes. You didn’t want to humiliate him in front of his teammates, that would be cruel, so you swallowed your discomfort and put on a grin - accepting the flowers and Toorus hug as his team cheered.

He drove you home after practice that night, explaining his reasoning behind asking you. Something still felt weird about it, though. There was no way nobody had asked him yet. He was the school's star athlete, he had a fan club of women who would give their right kidney to be his date - you’ve heard girls gossiping about who he might be going with or how they would go about asking him. Why wasn’t he taking one of them? Why you?

You don’t want to seem ungrateful. The gesture had been sweet, and he might have just felt bad for you and decided to do you a solid. You decide to write it off as good intentions but make it very clear that the two of you are going as friends.

Tooru smiled, assuring you that he understood.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right about this.

He’s extra clingy the next few weeks. You rarely get a minute to yourself, wherever you are he somehow manages to show up - wrapping his arm around you like you’re his property. He also won’t shut up about how the two of you are going to prom together. It only took about a day for everybody to start stopping you in the hallway, asking you all sorts of questions. How did he ask you? What dress are you wearing? Are you and him dating?

You have to admit, it’s getting on your nerves - but Tooru loves the attention. He’s more than happy to tell everybody all about the little agreement you made freshman year and how you’d been so surprised when he asked you. You tried to just grit your teeth and bear it but it was getting hard, especially since you were now the subject of his jealous fan clubs gossip.

Weeks passed quickly and the big day finally came. Your mother fussed over you, lacing up the gorgeous blue evening dress that you’d picked out (with Oikawas help of course). She was finishing up curling your hair when the doorbell rang. You know you should be excited to see him - to spend the night you’d been waiting years for with your best friend - but a pit of dread sits in your stomach. It follows you down the stairs when you greet Oikawa and his mother.

His mother gushes over you in the way that older women do. Remarking that she could remember making cookies for you and Tooru on your first day of kindergarten and that you two grew up too fast. Tooru just stares at you while his mom prattles on - his jaw dropped at the sight of you. It might have made you blush if it weren't for the look in his eyes - hungry like you were something he wanted to devour. He takes your hand to help you down the last few steps - pushing a few loose hairs behind your ear and leaving a kiss on your cheek, leaning toward your ear to tell you that you look beautiful.

It doesn't feel very platonic but you aren't given enough time to harp on it as your mothers usher you outside to take pictures. The pictures were very uncomfortable. Oikawa kept putting his hands far too low on your back for your liking. You smiled through it though, telling yourself that you were just being silly. This was Tooru - your best friend since you were in diapers. He'd never do something that would make you uncomfortable on purpose, right?

Soon enough, it's time to go. The two of you say your goodbyes and hop into Oikawa's car to go to the venue. The drive there is normal enough. You take turns blasting your favorite music, roasting each other's taste in songs, and placing bets on who in your grade would arrive at the dance the most drunk. For a moment, things feel normal. Just you and Oikawa hanging out...

But then you get to the venue.

Almost immediately his demeanor shifts. He's all over you - slinging his arm around your waist possessively, guiding you around the building as if you'll get lost without him at your hip - When you stand up to get something to drink, he goes with you. When he walks over to talk to the rest of the volleyball seniors he insists you come with him. He's always within arms reach on the dance floor, keeping an eye out for any other men who might try to steal you away from him. You can't even speak to your female friends without him hovering over you. It's suffocating, but whats even worse is the touching.

He gets more and more handsy as the night goes on. An innocent arm around your waist turns into a hand groping your ass, during dinner, his hand rests on your thigh for the entirety of the meal, and you don't miss how close he gets to you while you dance - finding every excuse to roll his hips against your ass or nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

By the end of the night, you're exhausted, uncomfortable, and want nothing more than to go home, lie down, and sleep for at least twelve hours. You find out that Oikawa has other plans, however, when he passes the turn back to your house.

Apparently, he heard from Iwaizumi that Fukurodani High School's prom was the same night as yours and that Bokuto Koutaro was throwing a massive after-party. You try to convince him to turn around and take you home, tell him that you're tired and won't be any fun at the party anyway but he won't hear it - he tells you that once you have a couple drinks in you you'll change your mind.

The party is loud, hot, and incredibly overstimulating. The smell of beer assaults your nose the minute you walk in the door, EDM blares from speakers making your ears ring and there is physically not enough space for you to get away from Oikawa. You feel incredibly claustrophobic as Oikawa pulls you through the crowd, wiggling past grinding couples and people taking shots to eventually make your way over to a guy with spiky white-grey hair. He absolutely reeked of weed. He greeted Oikawa like an old friend and Tooru introduced him to you as Bokuto. The stoned man smirked at you, commenting that you must feel pretty lucky to have snagged a pretty boy like Oikawa, cautioning you to keep him away from the other girls.

Oikawa rolls his eyes but doesn't make any effort to correct him.

Bokuto hands Oikawa two beers, mumbling something to him that you can't quite make out through the loud music. You manage to pick up something about a guest bedroom upstairs and to be out by five am.

It doesn't sit well in your stomach.

Bokuto tells you to enjoy the rest of the party with a wink. You don't have time to reply before Oikawa drags you back into the crowd.

He cracks open your beer and holds it out to you, prompting you to take a sip as he drinks from his own. You try to protest but he's insistent, promising that it'll help you loosen up.

So despite your better judgment, you take a big gulp.

Oikawa takes you out to the dance floor, dancing against you to some Kanye West song that you all of the sudden... cant really... remember the name of...

The room starts spinning and you feel yourself fall into Oikawas arms. After that things are a blur. You think that he carries you up a flight of stairs, and you think you end up on a bed because you can feel the sheets against your skin. The bed might have dipped underneath Oikawas weight as he crawled on top of you and he probably touched you in ways you'd rather not think about.

The last thing you truly remember from your Prom night - the night you'd dreamt of since you were a little girl, the night that was supposed to be spent celebrating with your friends, the last big party before you had to start being an adult - is what he growled in your ear as his hand snaked down between your thighs.

"I've been waiting for this for four fucking years baby."