#inbox .˚ ah‚ ah‚ ah‚ we ask before we bite

[sanguinir]

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁𝚂  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝙰  𝙼𝚄𝚃𝚄𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈  𝙱𝙴𝙽𝙴𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻  𝙰𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃:  The  little  Bhaalspawn  gets  fresh  meat  to  try  and  win  her  daddy's  love  and  his  potential  problems  either  disappeared  altogether  or  were  splattered  across  multiple  walls  in  one  fell  swoop.  It  would  be  the  most  perfect  solution,  all  neat  and  tidy  with  a  little  bow,  if  not  for  the  fact  that  Astarion  found  the  little  halfbreed  to  be  terribly  irritating  these  days.  Maybe  once,  before  his  Ascension,  he  had  found  her  𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔   charming  and  even  endearing  —  someone  else  who  couldn't  quite  blend  in,  couldn't  quite  conceal  the  monstrous  under  their  skin.

But  now?  He  was  an  apex  predator  that  resented  the  competition,  regardless  of  how  𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋 said  competition  may  be.

@faebhaal  asked:  forgive  me,  i  don't  believe  i  ever  thanked  you  for  helping  me  with  this.

A  broad,  fanged  smile  pulled  his  pale  mouth  wide  at  Ithaca's  words,  even  as  it  did  nothing  to  warm  the  vampire's  faintly  glowing  claret  eyes.  Cutting  words  balanced  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  kept  at  bay  by  being  so  close  to  the  entrance  to  the  underground  temple.  Astarion's  nose  twitched  as  he  could  swear  he  caught  the  scent  of  the  former  chosen's  blood  on  the  air  through  the  rich  perfume  of  fear,  blood,  and  decay  — sweet  memories  of  another  life.

❝  Delivering  to  you  a  family  of  blue  blood  miscreants?  Oh  darling,  you're  practically  doing  me  a  𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓.  ❞  The  charm  of  a  practiced  courtier  is  thick  and  purred  with  every  word.  Ithaca  didn't  need  to  know  he  had  already  thought  of  how  she  could  meet  her  untimely  end  a  dozen  different  ways  since  the  pink  tiefling  came  into  his  line  of  vision.  ❝  I'm  seriously  considering  throwing  you  a  little  dinner  party  as  a  thank  you  right  now.  ❞

[racinggirl]

that's my girl

Lando Norris fic - requested

My inbox for requests

a/n: it took me a bit longer as I have been quite busy this last week, but it's hereeee! I hope you like it, I have to say I love badass Y/N a lot, so thank you for the request! It's a bit shorter, but we need some variation in life, don't we? Let me know your thoughts! It's not proofread, so be aware for any minor mistakes, if there are some. Lots of loveeee. Don't forget to send in requests! I love all the requests I've gotten so far 🫶🏼

‘’What kind of snacks do you want?’’ You asked your boyfriend as you were preparing some somewhat healthy snacks before he would go live on Twitch. You were filling up a bowl with Maltesers because, let’s be honest, who doesn’t like those? You then decided to grab a knife and cut the cheese and cucumber to make the tray snacks somewhat healthier.

‘’Can you lay on the tray?’’ Lando wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, causing you to tilt your head when he planted soft kisses on your neck. ‘’You already had that snack not too long ago, mister Norris.’’ You teased, keeping your eyes closed as you felt his hands making its way under your shirt, close to your bra.

‘’Nah, ah.’’ You put down the knife and took both his hands in yours, moving them down and placing them on your hips before reaching back for the knife. Your action caused him to groan, and you simply smirked as you felt how much he needed you, because let’s be honest here, it was impossible to not feel him through his jeans.

‘’Grapes, mango?’’ You continued, focussing back on the tray of deliciousness in front of you. ‘’Chocolate covered strawberries.’’ He replied, walking to the fridge. ‘’Yeah, ehm, about those…’’ You bite your lip as you looked over at the – way too perfect – McLaren driver, who happened to be your boyfriend.

‘’No, you ate them?’’ He asked, turning 45 degrees to look at you with puppy eyes. ‘’Oh stop it! You ate my piece of cake the other day!’’ You laughed, feeling his hands on your body as he tickled you. ‘’Lando! Stop!’’ You managed to breathe out in between your laughter.

‘’You ate my strawberries!’’ He exclaimed; his arms wrapped tightly around you as you tried to somehow escape his grasp. But he was strong, of course he was, he was a Formula One driver.

Talking about his job, you were proud of him. The two of you had been dating for a few years now, the world only finding out in your 3rd year of dating each other. You had no idea how because you never purposely tried to be secret about it. You never went out in public, never really posted about one another on your socials, either. You only really started doing that when people noticed your relationship.

You were almost done with your degree now, though. Meaning you had more time to come to some of his races. You loved going there, not only to support your boyfriend, but also to learn about all the behind the scenes of the sport. It was something that fascinated you ever since you started dating Lando.

However, you tried to stay out of the camera’s as much as you could. You never held hands when you walked through the paddock with him; if you walked through the paddock with him. Most of the time you arrived after he did because you either had to finish some online work in the hotel room, or because you wanted to stay out of the spotlight.

You never really enjoyed being in front of the camera’s, hence why you were so invested in all the behind-the-scenes stuff. It wasn’t because you weren’t confident enough, not at all, because you were, and that’s something Lando always admired about you, especially when you started to receive hate. You just never thought being in front of the camera suited you, those cameras around you, people asking questions, it just annoyed you, and you decided you didn’t want to take a part of it.

It didn’t mean you never supported him, though. You were always there for him, and he knew. He never complained, he never told you you weren’t supportive, no. He loved how your relationship was different than the ones from all the other WAGS, he felt like he wasn’t sharing you with the entire world, that you were just his, and that’s exactly how you felt, too.

‘’Good evening chat! Long-time no see, ey?’’ You heard Lando’s smile through the words he just spoke, waving at the camera as he leaned back in his chair. He glanced over at you, his eyes gliding over you before quickly shooting you a wink. You laughed and rolled your eyes at his action, simply knowing the chat would comment on his wink.

‘’I’m good, enjoying the off season as much as I can.’’ He smirked. ‘’Aren’t we, babe?’’ He asked and you got up, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘’I for sure am.’’ You winked before walking to the kitchen to get your snacks.

You always were seated outside of the camera’s view. As much as you loved staying out of the cameras at the track, you did the same whenever he streamed. You never did it purposely, though. You never hid away from the cameras; you simply never purposely were in front of them.

‘’Grabbing snacks!’’ You yelled from the kitchen when you heard Lando read the comments. ‘What’s Y/N doing?’ and ‘Where’s your girlfriend going?’

‘’She’s getting snacks, chat. You won’t believe it, but we actually prepared those for tonight.’’ He smirked, sipping his water as he read through the comments. ‘’We?’’ You asked, raising an eyebrow with a smile. ‘’Right, sorry chat, my lovely girlfriend Y/N prepared the snacks.’’ He said, watching you placing the tray of delicious food in front of him.

‘’I’m just missing one snack on here, but sadly there’s not enough room on the tray for that.’’

‘OMG HE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT’

‘HAHAHAHA Lando naughty naughty boy’

‘DUUUUUUDE LANDO WHAT LMAO’

You sat down next to him, your legs over his as you grabbed a Malteser from the tray. ‘’You’re very original with your jokes tonight, Norris.’’ You smirked, reaching for your phone before you opened TikTok, keeping yourself entertained when Lando continued his stream.

He loved this about you, he loved the fact that even though he was live, streaming and being in front of cameras, you never backed down. You never changed when the cameras were there, you always stayed yourself. That was probably the thing he admired most about you, and things he definitely learned from you.

As the hours went by, the tray of food was nearly empty. You got up a few times to go to the bathroom, get something to drink, get some more snacks and so on. Lando got up to go to the bathroom for the second time this evening, leaving you alone with chat.

You kissed his lips before he left the room, you simply deciding to pop up in front of the camera this time. You read some messages, smiling as they told you you looked beautiful. ‘’Aw, thanks guys, or girls, that’s sweet.’’ You replied, leaning your chin on your hand as you continued reading a few more comments.

The second you heard him coming back in the room, you commented on a question in the chat, Lando sitting next to you with a smile on his face. He loved it when you interacted with his fans, which you sometimes did. It’s not like you were completely offline when it came to the fame he carried with him, you just never really bothered to become an influencer like some others did.

‘’Nah, ah, Norris, they are asking me questions now.’’ You teased, holding your hand up when he started to talk again.

‘HAHA Y/N’s such a vibe’

‘Yeah Lando, we’re chatting with your girl now!’

He simply chuckled, pecking your lips when you looked at him and he then enjoyed the scenery he saw in front of him.

After a while, you got up from your chair, going to the kitchen to refill your glass of water for the fourth time that evening, and made your way back to the room when you heard your boyfriend reading some comments out aloud.

‘Y/N doesn’t love him, she never holds his hand in the paddock, what a supportive WAG.’

You furrowed your eyebrows at that comment, and just as Lando was about to say something to defend you, you put your glass of water on the table in front of you.

‘’Last time I checked, my job title wasn’t ‘WAG’. I’m an engineer, not a runway model.’’

Lando looked at you, amazed, proud, and smiling like an idiot. ‘’You heard her, chat.’’ He smirked. ‘’That’s my girl.’’ He whispered happily.

The end of the stream was nearing, and you got up to head to bed. ‘’Goodnight, babe, I’ll see you in a bit.’’ You whispered before placing a kiss on his lips, smiling against them as he returned the favour. You glanced over at chat one last time, feeling Lando’s hand on the back of your upper leg.

‘’Next time I’ll open the ‘WAGs Handbook’ to catch up on some of my duties.’’ You smirked at the chat. ‘’Goodnight chat, sleep tight.’’ You blew them a kiss before walking out of the room, heading straight to bed.

Not long after you positioned yourself in the king-size bed Lando had in his bedroom, you heard the door opening; your boyfriend making his way to you. ‘’You’re amazing, please never change.’’ He whispered and pressed his lips on yours, firmly.

Later that season

[prozacwhorehouse]

omg that angus drabble.... i'm having thots dude, like him sneaking into your room after you start going out and he's all whiney and needy because he gets insatiable after his first time and you can't help but give him whatever he wants... UGH

AH sorry this has been rotting in my inbox. someone else requested clingy angus too so I kind of morphed them into one but they are also anon so I hope this makes its way to them 🙏

this is pure smut I’m sorry I need to make more angus fluff. and go to church and pray this away

—————————————————————————

“we fucked once and now you think you’re the shit, huh?” you tease as he works his way from your lips, down your neck, and across your chest, biting softly at the exposed skin of your breasts.

“you’re being mean,” he murmurs in between sloppy kisses, his words vibrating against your neck.

“c’mon, I’m messing with you.” you anchor your hands to both sides of his head to pull it out of your neck, pecking him quick but soft on the lips. “y’er cute.” you trace little circles on his cheeks as they heat up, tinged with pink. you lean down, kissing him sweetly.

“you’re so hot,” he breathes between messy kisses. “can’t believe i get to do this with you.”

“do what? you trying to get in my pants again, Tully?” you pull away, cocking a jokingly accusatory brow.

“please, y/n…felt so good last time..” he begs, an almost pathetic action for such a notoriously asshole boy. “been thinking about it all day. about you.”

“since you asked so nicely…” you coo, pressing your lips to his. what was soft turns hungry as he pushes his tongue past your lips, you’re almost sure he may swallow you whole. he makes out with you with a fervor, a neediness that he’s never exhibited. you slide your hand into the waistband of his sleep pants, running your fingers along his length. he softly grunts, struggling below you. already, he’s painfully hard, tip leaking in anticipation.

“aww, really have been thinking bout this all day, huh?” you tease, his whines only growing more desperate and frustrating. he’s straining, longing for the release you won’t give him straight away.

“y/n…” he pleads again, agitated but helpless - as if there was anything he could do. what he intended to be words, cries for help, came out as unintelligible sounds.

“use your words, angus,” you instruct, continuing to provide the most minimal contact to his dick.

“wanna fuck you…please, can I?” he asks, his eyes glassy and big, how could you say no?

“‘f course, baby,” you coo, readjusting so he were on top of you. he pauses for a moment, admiring your body. Jesus Christ, how did he land you? he thinks.

you understand he’s new to all this, so you aren’t suprised when he thrusts right in before prepping you. you crane your neck back, reveling in the tight fight.

“you okay?” he asks.

“yes, ‘s just big is all.” you wince, adjusting to his size.

“you sure?” he asks again, always making sure to have your full consent.

“yes, please…” you respond, and he begins moving his hips at a slow, eye rolling rate. the sound of him slamming against your own arousal makes him increase his speed, making you gasp at the change of tempo.

“so- so good, y/n…” he moans, “‘m gonna cum…can I?” he knows what’s good for him, asking for permission.

“yes, baby. cum with me,” you whimper, “let go.”

together your waves crash, the coil in your stomach coming undone as he fills you up, mixing with your own. he collapses on top of you, bare chests pressed flushed and sweaty together. his hot breath tickles your chest, his body slightly restricting the rise and fall of the air you’re trying to collect.

“wanna do this all the time.” he pants, looking up at you.

“we have one week before everyone comes back from break, then you’re going to have to get creative.” you run a hand through his curls, peeling pieces off the back of his damp neck.

“the math hallway is typically pretty empty. spacious janitors closet,” he casually mentions, you furrow your brow in amusement.

“you have a place already?”

“oh I have multiple. I’ve been looking, you know. just in case.”

“you’re a dork, tully.”

[most-tragic-character-tournament]

So,

What a wild ride, everybody.

This tournament went live on July 13th, 3023, and concluded January 1st, 2024. For a long time before, I’d been wondering if I should try my hand at running one of these tournaments, and then I realized we hadn’t had a general tumblr-wide one for tragic characters. I knew that I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I decided to bite the bullet and take the URL. The rest is history.

I didn’t have a set plan, but I figured I could take 128 entries. And then in less than a week and a half, I had ~122. And honestly, I wasn’t happy continuing with just those I’d gotten so far, and thought it’d be unfair if it closed that quickly without warning, so I decided to up it to 256 with a max 2 characters per canon after preliminaries. Only after that did I go on a mad search to find brackets that were big enough for that, and I’d almost given up before I finally found these:

Those are all the characters that made it past prelims and into the competition. Some quite unexpected results came out of these matchups, round after round, and honestly I’d consider the first round to have had the most brutal competitions, because I had tried to do the best I could to match levels of popularity with each other, as far as I could tell. (Yeah, that’s why we had c!Tommy v Jon Sims and Primrose v Jinx.). But even eclipsing all of those, as the weeks went on, we were eventually met with Antigone versus Lloyd Garmadon. Ah, those crazy kids.

At some points it was stressful, in the early rounds when I had dozens of posts, each with edited images and alt text, to prepare for every round, but I never regretted starting this. As of posting, this blog has 2,020 followers and has made over 1,000 posts. This will be the last post on this blog—any future asks I receive I will answer privately back to the asker, or cannot be answered if they are anon—but it will always remain here for posterity. The link below is to the similarly-preserved google sheet compiling every word of every submission this tournament ever received.

I’d like to take this chance to say thank you to everyone who submitted characters, supplied photos, sent in propaganda, reblogged the polls, indoctrinated their teachers into greeklitsweep, and everyone who kept good sportsmanship when their blorbos proved so tragic they couldn’t even win. Thank you to the small group of URLs whom I’ve consistently recognized in my inbox from submissions all the way to finals, thank you for letting me know when a name was messed up, and thank you for your patience in-between rounds. (Shoutout to @elemom as well for having their tiktok on the original antigone/lloyd poll blow up.)

If you’ve stumbled upon this blog weeks, months, or even years after this was posted, I would direct your attention to the tag map in the pinned post to sift through the tumblr history you’ve just uncovered. And I would also be tempted to point at the big sign next to it reciting the nuclear zone warning poem. Lastly, if anyone here or there wishes to talk to me about anything regarding the tournament, you’re welcome to DM @twilight-skies.

There were times when I said to myself this was a one-and-done thing—I was NOT dealing with this again, but….keep a look on the horizon, ya never know.

But until next time, it’s been amazing.

Sayonara you weeaboo shits.

[mrsmikaelsxn]

ABBA Marathon

masterlist

pairing: father sirius black x daughter reader

warnings: like one curse word, tooth rotting fluff, sirius being an icon, literally just a very fun read that i hope has you smiling in your bed

summary: you meet sirius, play chess with sirius, and have an abba singing and dance party with sirius (sirius meeting his daughter post azkaban - requested by anon)

a/n: im so obsessed with this idk i wish sirius was my dad, also sorry this has been in my inbox for so long

song: waterloo - abba

Being Sirius Black's daughter was quite tiring. But also thrilling. Especially since it was your third year when he escaped Azkaban.

Your best friends are Harry, Hermione, and Ron. You couldn't have asked for better ones.

With the rumors of Sirius coming after you and Harry, people had been cold towards you because of your father, not that you could control who your father was.

Right now you were outside, taking a walk in some fresh air. Suddenly a dog comes up to you and barks once. "Why, hello there," you coo and bend down. The dog happily wags his tail and jumps onto her. "Aww, you're so cute!" 

You pet the dog, who leans into your hand. "You are very skinny," you frowned. "Follow me, I'm sure Hagrid has some food I can give you." 

As you two head down, you get near the Whomping Willow. As you pass by, the dog suddenly spins and before you could blink the dog was biting your pants, tugging you to the tree. 

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Dog, but these are new pants." You then get very close to the tree, "Er- I don't think this is a good idea," you say nervously as the branches of the tree start to move. 

The dog looks up in alert and quickly tugs you into some type of hole that they slid down into. "Ah!" The dog jumps up and pulls on your pants again. "Where are we going?"

Finally, you come into an empty abandoned room. "What is this place..."

You walk over and pick up a dusted book, blowing on the cover before putting it back down. You turn around and her eyes go wider than they've ever been. "AHH!" you scream.

"AHH!" 

"AHH!"

"SHH!"  

You cover your mouth and stare at the one and only Sirius Black.

Your father.

"What the fuck," you whisper to yourself. "Oh my Merlin, I'm too young to die! I- I haven't gotten to slap Malfoy yet, I haven't been able to prank Snape! I ha-"

"Prank Snape?" Sirius pipes up. 

"I'm going to die. Oh, Godric," you pace while frantically whispering to yourself. "I'm in the same room with Sirius Black, alone."

He frowns at being called by his name instead of Dad, which it should be.

"Relax, love, I'm not going to kill you."

You spin and face the man, "You're not?"

"No."

"Then why am I here? For giggles and a tea party?"

"One, you're about to find out. Two, I don't like tea," Sirius makes a face. 

"Huh, me neither. Now, go on, tell me why I'm in an abandoned room with an escaped convicted murderer," you cross your arms. 

"I'm not a murderer. I'm innocent, I swear."

You narrow her eyes, "How so?"

"Well, it started when I first got to Hogwarts..."

You wipe the tears from under your eyes, "That is the saddest thing I have ever heard."

Sirius waves his hand, "Now that you know what happened, you believe me right?"

"Of course!" You throw her arms around the man, who relaxes into his daughters hold. It's been a long time since he has had human contact.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid you can't tell anyone about me just yet."

"Why?! If I tell them you're inno-"

He smiles sadly, "I'm not so sure they would believe you."

"But-" Sirius shakes his head. You sigh, "Well, are you going to be staying here?"

He nods, "I guess. It's a bit dirty though, if you ask me."

"I can fix that," you grin. He raises his eyebrows in curiosity. You takes out your wand and flick it. The room starts moving and the dust all collects together before flying out the window. The furniture vanishes and new ones appear. Pictures form on the wall and the room cleans up into a brand new, clean room.

"Wow, impressive. Thank you," Sirius says. You nod and flick your wrist again. In the blink of an eye, Sirius is freshly cleaned and looks well taken care of. His eyes almost water at your kindness. "I truly can't thank you enough."

"That's better, isn't it?" You smile proudly at your work. "Oh! You need food," you think for a moment, "I'll just bring you down daily meals."

"I can't ask you to do that, it's too much."

"It's a good thing you don't have to ask. You mentioned your friend... Remus Lupin." Sirius nods and gestures for you to continue, "He's a Professor this year... anyway, is he a..."

"A...?"

"Werewolf," you say hesitantly. 

Sirius' face goes a bit pale, "What makes you think that?"

"His boggart was a moon, and he has lots of light scars."

"Would it change your opinions about him?"

"Not at all! If anything I think it makes him even better." Sirius nods his head. "Yes... he's a werewolf?" 

He nods again, "You're a bright witch."

"Thank you," you beam. You looks at your watch, "I have about twenty minutes before my friends start looking for me. In the meantime.... Wizard's Chess?"

"Yes! Checkmate!" You jump up from your seat in excitement. "I won!"

"That's not fair! You only won because I'm rusty," Sirius crosses his arms and sinks into the couch. 

"Sure, sure. Rematch tomorrow?" you ask. 

"Rematch tomorrow," you two shake hands and you go to the exit. 

"I'll bring you some food in a little while."

"Bye, darling," he waves, watching you leave. 

A few weeks later, you were on your daily trip to see Sirius. You snuck in through the Whomping Willow, you also learned how to avoid the branches. 

"Hello?!" you shout. 

"Over here!"

You follow his voice and see him digging through a closet. "What are you looking for?"

"I- that's... a good question." He stands up and clears his throat, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It has come to my attention that you recently made an appearance in the castle."

"Mhm."

"And you didn't inform me about it beforehand," you gives him a blank stare.

"I wanted to, but it took a while to plan and I wanted it to be a surprise," he grins with jazz hands.

"You do realize that I could have helped you in, right?"

"Yeah, but I didn't want to risk you getting in trouble," he frowns. 

"I appreciate your concern," you salute him and he does it back with a chuckle.

"What's in the bag?" He nods to the one hanging on your arm. 

"This, my furry father-"

"That was a horrible joke."

"-Is a record player!" You excitedly pull it out of the bag and place it on a table. 

"A what?"

"A record player. It plays music. Want to see?!"

"As if I would say no to music."

You reach into the bag and take out some vinyl records. "I picked ones that I think you would enjoy best. There is a supergroup that I thought you would really like. They're called ABBA. They're one of my favorites." 

You set up the record player and place one of the vinyls in. You grin at the man as you hit the play button.

"YOU CAN DANCE, YOU CAN JIVE! HAVING THE TIME OF YOUR LIFE! SEE THAT GIRL, WATCH THAT SCENE! DIGGING THE DANCING QUEEN!"

You and Sirius continue to shout the lyrics into your fake microphones as you hop around the room with the song blasting. When the room was first set up by you, you placed several privacy and silencing spells, so you two didn't have to worry about anyone hearing anything.

"YOU ARE THE DANCING QUEEN! YOUNG AND SWEET, ONLY SEVENTEEN-"

"GIMME, GIMME, GIMME A MAN AFTER MIDNIGHT! WON'T SOMEBODY HELP ME CHASE THE SHADOWS AWAY?" you sing while bouncing on the couch. 

"GIMME, GIMME, GIMME A MAN AFTER MIDNIGHT! TAKE ME THROUGH THE DARKNESS TO THE BREAK OF THE DAY!" Sirius continues as he walks and dances as if he were on a stage. 

"MAMMA MIA, HERE I GO AGAIN! MY, MY, HOW CAN I RESIST YOU?"

"MAMMA MIA, DOES IT SHOW AGAIN! MY, MY, JUST HOW MUCH I'VE MISSED YOU?" 

Sirius and you hold hands as you jump together and flip your hair with matching goofy grins. 

"YES, I'VE BEEN BROKENHEARTED! BLUE SINCE THE DAY WE PARTED!"

"WHY, WHY DID I EVER LET YOU GO?"

"BUT NOW IT ISN'T TRUE! NOW EVERYTHING IS NEW!" you grab your wand to create two pairs of light up sunglasses, you toss one to Sirius and you both put them on.

"AND ALL I'VE LEARNED HAS OVERTURNED! I BEG OF YOUUU!" Sirius sings. 

"DON'T GO WASTING YOUR EMOTION! LAY ALL YOUR LOVE ON MEEEE!" you shout together. 

With a flick of your wrist, you - much to Sirius' surprise - somehow managed to have a disco ball with neon lights come from the ceiling. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sit in the Gryffindor common room. 

"I wonder what she's doing right now," Harry looks thoughtfully.

"She's been leaving a lot recently," comments Hermione, biting nervously on her nail.

"I hope she's okay," says Ron, "Sirius Black could be out there."

"LAST NIGHT I WAS TAKING A WALK ALONG THE RIVER, AND I SAW HIM TOGETHER WITH A YOUNG GIRL!"

"AND THE LOOK THAT HE GAVE HER MADE ME SHIVER! 'CAUSE HE ALWAYS USE TO LOOK AT ME THAT WAY!" Sirius grabs your hand and twirls you, causing you to laugh. 

"AND I THOUGHT, MAYBE I SHOULD WALK RIGHT UP TO HER AND SAY 'AH-HA-HA, IT'S A GAME HE LIKES TO PLAYYY!" you and Sirius shimmy dance to each other. 

You jump and freeze before breaking out in another dance and sing the chorus. "LOOK INTO HIS ANGELEYES, ONE LOOK AND YOU'RE HYPNOTISED! HE'LL TAKE YOUR HEART AND YOU MUST PAY THE PRICE!"

"SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME!"

"I TRY TO CAPTURE EVERY MINUTE!"

"THE FEELING IN IT, SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME!"

"DO I REALLY SEE WHAT'S IN HER MIND, EACH TIME I'M CLOSE TO KNOWING, SHE KEEPS ON GROWING!"

"SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME!"

"SOMETIMES I WISH THAT I COULD FREEZE THE PICTURE!"

"AND SAVE IT FROM THE FUNNY TRICKS OF TIME!"

Sirius and you wrap an arm around each other's waist as they sway to the music. 

"SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERSSSSS!"

Sirius then starts pretending like he's playing the guitar to the music making your giggle. 

You and Sirius fall back, panting, onto the couch. Sirius turns to you and gives you a high five. 

"Oh my Merlin! That was the most fun I had in forever!"

"Me too, kid. Thank you. I don't know the last time I felt like that."

"You're welcome," you bumps his shoulder. "Oh! And you can keep everything, I have my own."

"Really?"

"Mhm, I'll bring you more vinyls I have. We can have more singing and dancing parties like this."

"I'm looking forward to it." He looks at a watch you got him, "I think it may be time for you to head back."

You look in a mirror on the wall, "My hair is messy from flipping it."

"I can help you with it, if you want," he smiles at you. 

"Really?" He nods. "Thanks!"

Sirius gets up and grabs a brush, you turn on the couch so he is behind you as he brushes through your hair. "I'm going to try to do that braid you taught me."

"Here's a hair tie," you take one off your wrist. 

He struggles at first but manages to do a good, tight braid. "Done!" Sirius claps his hands. 

You look in the mirror, "Wow, you have a good teacher."

He shrugs, "Meh, she's alright." You slap the back of his head, "Okay, okay! Not the hair! Okay, I have the best teacher." 

You nod happily and grab your bag, "Bye, Dad."

"See you soon, y/n," he winks.

[kenjakusbraincum]

IGHT HERE WE GO THIS IS OVULATION AND BREEDING CAUSE HAHAHA….send me to jail before I embarrass myself………

Sukuna loves your cycle. Especially when you are ovulating and bleeding. Sukuna somehow knows every step of your cycle with pin point accuracy, and I believe it’s through his sense of smell. Like when you your body is getting ready to ovulate he can smell it coming and he pays very close to attention to you, he sees the way you start craving something sweet. Watches you sneak into the kitchen to grab something that will satisfy you. He makes sure Uraume or the servants are constantly making sweets. He probably makes Uraume make them because he trust their skill more than then any other servant.

He’s ears perk up when you hiss at the slight soreness forming around your beast. Most of the time he will pull you on his lap and undo your robes just enough for your breast to spill out so he can massage and play with them. He might even suck on them but won’t go so far as to fuck you…not yet.

He watches the way waddle a bit because of the slight pain that starts creeping up. When the two of you are together he hold you close so that his body heat will ease you and will wrap his arms around right where your womb sits. On one had it’s also to ease the pain but also in anticipation. He knows you are fertile, and that if he fucks you, there’s a high chance of you becoming pregnant. It makes him even more possessive of you and makes his need to breed you soar. If only these nuisances weren’t around. He would breed you in front of them but at the same time he doesn’t want anyone to see his pet in such a state. That’s for his eyes only.

Finally when the two of you are alone. He takes you. He makes it very clear that you are not going to leave this room until you are so full of him you cannot move or else his cum will spill out. And he doesn’t want that, he wants to make sure his seed takes root and creates something made out his love for you and your very being. He will probably leave so many marks and bruises on you. Bite marks on your sore breasts, nipples swollen from how much he kept sucking on them. Your stomach might have some light marks or love bites to show your womb some love. (His dick/s aren’t enough, he needs to make it very obvious.)

I like to believe that when you’re fertile he likes to spend a good amount of time eating you out. Because your taste is so much sweeter than usual. As a reward he doesn’t use his normal mouth, he likes to use his belly mouth. Because he know how much you like the feeling of his belly mouth encasing your entire cunt. He has to have one pair of arms on your hips and another holding your hands because you go weak and limp at the feeling. It helps ground you but the sight he sees…your form trembling and head thrown back. The sweat forming on you making you shine with the bit of moon light coming in. It’s ethereal and special when you just so happen to be fertile.

S-should I start writing fic?……………..

PLS EITHER WRITE IT OR KEEP WRITING TO MY INBOX BECAUSE I LOVE THIS SM <333 Unleashing my breeding kink to the fullest in these last couple of asks...

Is a man who tracks your cycle really that much to ask for? I'm not saying Sukuna excuses bad behavior, but if it's in line with your moody days he's definitely more lenient about it. Him instructing Uraume when to keep extra stashes of sweets and snacks that you can enjoy when you start to crave it !! UGHH!

I also love the image of Sukuna possessively keeping a hand on your belly like that. That is his, entirely his to do with it whatever he wants!! And I like that you describe his wish to make you a baby not just as his possessiveness but also his love for you!! Sukuna expresses love in weird ways. He would die before he ever said ''I love you'' but he would do stuff like this... Ah plssss

I would 10/10 read a fic with these themes if you decided to write it!!

[yaekiss]

Dehya, the type of brat to act all tough and strong around you and her brigade but not even 5 minutes later, is straddling your lap, arms around your neck while kissing your cheek all over while being all whiny and needy not a care in the world as she grinds her aching cunt against your thigh or that her brigade can see and hear what she's saying but don't bring it up since she can and has beaten up anyone who's brought up your relationship with her

Dehya: Can we go home now~ I need you in me so bad~

Y/n: In a bit, baby, just have to look over these battle plans for next week's raid

Dehya hates it when she has to wait. She's your girlfriend, so by default, she should have all your attention, not some stupid documents so it doesn't occur to her what kind of consequences she'll get once she slaps your important papers from your hand and onto the floor

Y/n:........dehya, bend down and pick those up.....now

Dehya: giggles, that's not happening, buuuut~ if you take me home we can Ah~

Dehya didn't even get to finish what she was "demanding" before your fingers found themselves stuffed in her cunt while your thumb presses against her clit

Y/n: You've been such a good girl this week~ why ruin it now~

Dehya doesn't answer as she whimpers and starts grinding her fingers on your hips while clenching her pussy around them as she lays her head in the crook of your neck and moan like a pathetic whore but her moans are cut short as you remove her fingers from her cunt and grab her face

Y/n: when I ask you a question you answer it....understand me~

Dehya: Yes daddy~ starts sucking on your fingers while grinding her pussy against the growing erection in your pants I'm sorry for being a bad girl but I want you to ruin me so bad~

Y/n: and you think being a bad girl will get me to do that~

Dehya: oh but daddy~ you and I both know i love when you punish me more then praising me~

Damn she was right, so well, she definitely got what she wished for as you hurriedly brought her back home and proceeded to fuck her like she was a toy, slapping her ass, pulling her hair, biting her nipples and leaving hickey after hickey all over her toned body felt amazing and when all was said and done........she wanted more

OMG A WHOLE FIC IN MY INBOX???

DEHYA......!!

[gurokichi]

W-wow you really answer me bon, I don't expect that, but I'm very happy about it!

And sorry if I didn't send you any other ask today bon, I have to go to school so, well, you know, I can't take my phone to school.

I'm glad you understand, I was fearing that you won't know why I did that, but I'm glad to hear that you do.

And btw you said you like danganronpa so, what is your favorite character?. (Yes, I know that this question is dumb, but I want to ask this, just to make sure i guess) Mine is Chihiro Fujisaki!, I really love him.

Of course I would follow you, why wouldn't I? You are nice to me, so of course I would like to follow your blog Bon, and I know you wouldn't bite me bon, I'm not too shy anymore, I fully want to send this, you can say I have confidence now.

W-wait really?, you really would stop any anon that harass me?, a-and you think that they would like me?, I don't know if that is true but, if you are sure of that bon, then I will believe in you.

Y-you think I'm brave?, bon, you made blushing!, of course I would like to talk to you more and maybe if you want, we can be friends! ( Let it not be noticed that I want to have a friendship with you xd).

I'm glad that you understand my poor english, Spanish is my native language so, even if I know so much english, I always get nervous when I write or say something in english ( ╥﹏╥)

Wow...you...put me as a tag? And even you put ME on your anon list? I'm so happy!,nobody do that for me before, you are the first one bon!, but bon, I named my self as "unnamed anon" because... I don't know how to call myself.... Can you help me please? ( ´･ω･)

- still Unnamed anon (help this poor anon to find a name ;-;)

Of course I would answer you! How could I not when you took the time to type out an ask and send it to me? I think that'd be pretty rude of me to just leave it in my inbox.

That's totally okay. I understand if you're not able to send asks, especially if you're busy with your life. I'd appreciate it if you sent some when you have the time to, though! It's always a delight to talk to people ^^

Ah, I have so many that I like... Chihiro is definitely up there with some of my favorite characters. Despite the Kokichi theme of my blog, I also really like Toko, Makoto, and Mahiru. I think I like quite a lot of the Danganronpa cast, so this was kinda hard to answer. There's so many good choices that I couldn't just limit myself to one! Aw, that's very sweet of you. I'm happy to hear that you've gained confidence! I would definitely stop any anon who tries to be mean to you. I don't care what gets said to me, but I'd have a problem with it if something seriously mean was directed towards anyone who follows me. I don't want people fighting on my blog. All my anons have been nice; I promise you that they wouldn't hate you. Thank you for choosing to believe in me! I think it's super brave to go through with things that make you nervous. It takes quite a bit to gain the courage to do something, despite being scared. I admire anyone who is able to do that! Maybe we can be friends; I can't guarantee that, though. It'd depend on a couple of things, sorry!! </3

That makes sense! Don't worry about your English; you've done good so far. I can understand you pretty clearly. Spanish is a nice language! I used to take Spanish classes, although it's been years... so I don't think I'd be able to understand much, hahah (￣▽￣;)

I put any anon down as a tag! Perhaps you could use an emoji that you like or choose a word you wouldn't mind being called by? That's what most of my anons have done. For example... there's Doll, Prince, and then various anons that are just emojis. You can go check my tagging system to see which anons are taken!

[azz4me]

the bread is back!

Another anon :0! Oh queenie come on, not everyone is toast xD there's only one~

Omg does that mean now I got a roomie >.> hellos there's no furniture here as this is my new home and I'm still shifting in but make yourself comfortable <w<

Bdksjwjs my fic gonna give meaning to your life?? Too much pressure--

My own self restraint stops me from writing smut u.u

no part 2?? Ok I'll be patient

Ok I have my fic drafts thatll go in the next ask, lemme ramble about Manager Kim goo first.

I...

sits down

Pretty..pretty boy.

Hehe honestly I'd also bite goo's built, branded or not, just the fact that he wore it around his waist and had it in his arms--

Local soldier obsessed with fake blonde twink, twink lures soldier with hug just to yeet him out of the window. Makes old man want autograph.

Bruh the moment I saw that hug I was like, WHY AIN'T THAT ME

Please goo, throw me around,,,, not even in a kinky way just pick me up with some excuse dammit-

Also also...GOO THOUGHTS

That had me screaming you know?? WE GET TO HEAR GOO'S THOUGHTS??WE GET TO HEAR GOO'S THOUGHTS!! DAMMIT I ALWAYS WANTED TO HEAR GOO'S THOUGHTS!!!!!

Baaah tell me your thoughts more hubby, wanna hear how annoyed he is, or how he views the world,just the way how his mind percieves reality UGH I LOVE IT I WANT MORE

He's so damn hot

I love him sobs

~🍞

oh my uncooked bread, I have been craving for some burned toast for a while now.

I didn't really think there would be someone else, the poissibility that there would be someone else in my inbox anonymously didn't really occur on my mind my brain is dead set that any anonymous message would just be toast for sm reason

have fun with your roommate, although idk if they would even return back ^.^

Life fucking sucks. I hate the fact that I have to interact with human beings to be considered normal and it's draining out my social battery. So yes, yes fics give me life. I need to recharge the fuck up or I will strangle/kick someone to death.

You don't need self restraint. I need self restraint. My hands been twitching alot to beat the shit out of someone, so i have been sleeping alot more lately, 14-16 hrs a day.

manager kim goo😍😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰

the panel where goo pulled his belt out did something to me and the window has never looked so jumpable before. I was GAGGED. PTJ HAD ME GAGGED. The shivers and giggle I let out-

sorry but i am a parasite and i am not leaving him for my dear life. nah ah. nop.

i would probably 100% die if i was there but that's a small price to pay if i get to be on the position. ehehehe🥰 EHEHEHEHEHEHEH👹👹👹-

what kind of question- OFC OFCCCCC YOU SHOULD!!!! DON'T LET THAT OLD AGE RUIN YOUR FANBOY MOMENT OLD MAN!!!!!

SO??? SO WHAT??? IT'S FUCKING KIM JOONGOO INFRONT OF YOU👹👹👹👹👹!!!!! WHY THE FUCK DID HIS BRAIN CELLS GET REDUCED ALONG WITH HIS HAIRLINE? IOUGKVBWSIGUSVIGLS

but damn that bald spot be shiny af tho

we need more Goo thonks!!! MOREEE!!!!!! I WANT TO HEAR/READ EVERY SINGLE THING HE THINKS OF!!!! PLEASE TALK MORE!!

ahjussi a real one tho. Who doesn't want Goo to be on their side????

Goo is so damn adorable, it makes me tear up. The way I would like to unhinge my jaw and swallow him as a whole piece is unreal.

[sanguinir]

@faereun & shadowheart asked : a platonic kiss on the forehead kissing meme : always accepting

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂   𝙰𝙵𝚃𝙴𝚁   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴   𝙾𝙵   𝙶𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙵   𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝙵𝚁𝙰𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃.   The   Mother   Superior   had   been   especially   cruel,   twisting   the   proverbial   knife   in   her   final   moments,   taunting   the   former   cleric   of   Shar   with   her   parents’   torment.   Tav   had   masterfully   slid   a   dagger   through   the   woman’s   ribs,   but   that   had   not   stopped   the   horror   that   was   to   come.   Something   that   had   been   long   dead   in   his   chest   had   clenched   and   ached   as   Shadowheart   bid   her   parents   farewell,   fangs   biting   into   the   flesh   of   his   cheek   to   distract   himself   from   the   thoughts   and   (lack   of)   memories   of   his   own   parents.  

She’d   tried   to   maintain   the   stoic   mask   on   their   way   back   to   their   rooms   at   the   Tavern   and   it   was   truly   an   impressive   effort,   but   Astarion   had   seen   the   tremor   in   her   hands   and   the   faint   quiver   of   her   lower   lip.   Masks   always   had   a   funny   way   of   cracking   when   confronted   with   the   specters   of   the   past   and   being   so   close   to   his   own   personal   hell   practically   guaranteed   that   his   would   shatter,   sooner   rather   than   later.  

The   rest   of   their   companions   had   respected   her   wishes   for   space,   but   the   elf   knew   that   there   were   times   when   people   just   shouldn’t   be   alone.     

It   had   been   easy   enough   to   wait   out   the   rest   of   their   companions,   the   vampiric   nocturnal   wakefulness   not   so   easily   shrugged   off   by   the   tadpole   tunneling   in   his   brain.   He   could   feign   it   well   enough,   sometimes   even   steal   an   hour   or   two,   but   predators   nor   slaves   were   afforded   the   luxury   of   deep   and   meaningful   sleep      —      the   faintest   of   changes   in   air   pressure   or   the   softest   of   noises   often   jolting   him   back   to   wakefulness   with   a   dagger   in   hand   and   fangs   bared.   Even   with   all   of   Shadowheart’s   training   and   skill,   even   she   could   not   stop   the   beat   of   her   heart   or   the   change   in   her   breathing   pattern   from   reaching   his   ears.   He’d   shadowed   her   through   the   still   bustling   tavern,   through   the   winding   alleys   of   the   Gate,   and   to   a   quiet   corner   of   the   park   before   a   neglected   statue   of   Selune.  

❝      𝑶𝒉,   𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕   𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍   .   .   .      ❞

It   was   when   her   shoulders   started   to   shake   that   he   announced   himself,   stepping   closer   and   doing   what   felt   natural      —      something   that   shocked   even   him      —      and   wrapped   her   in   an   embrace.   Having   someone   this   close,   this   platonically   intimate,   made   him   want   to   flinch,   but   he   beat   down   the   urge with a ruthless bite to his own cheek.   He   couldn’t   recall   if   he   had   lost   his   own   parents,   couldn’t   even   recall   their   faces,      but   he   liked   to   think   that   he   too   would   want   someone   to   hold   him   if   he   had   to   offer   them   mercy   with   his   own   blade.   Tears   dampened   the   soft   fabric   of   his   shirt,   and   he   squeezed   a   bit   tighter   in   response   and   tucked   his   chin   to   press   cool   lips   to   her   forehead. It was all a small, if awkward, comfort from a man who didn't quite know what he was doing, but he tried anyway.

❝      I   know,   get   it   all   out.   I’ve   got   you.      ❞

[platoniclokiimagines]

Imagine Loki taking on an orphan as their apprentice, taking the role of surrogate parent as well as teacher to a rambunctious preteen with the capacity for magic.

TW: None

Rating: G

WC: 2580

A/N: Hi, there! Long time no see, I know. Apparently, I’ve been hoarding finished prompts for a bit and haven’t been posting them, so I’m gonna post what I have before writing anything new for now. I have (minus this prompt) nine asks in my inbox, and I think two or three of those have been written and not posted, but once I get through what’s already done, I’ll probably be considering opening requests again, just to get some variety mixed in. As for this fic, I hope it was worth the wait. I played around a lot with how to do this, and this felt the most... chaotic and therefore in character. Enjoy!

“Loki, you can’t just take a kid you found outside.”

“Why not? That’s what Odin did with me.”

“Loki.”

“Damn, Reindeer Games, can’t argue with that logic.”

“Stark, do you really want to talk about shit dads right now?”

“No, there’s not enough alcohol in this kitchen.”

“Alright, alright,” Steve finally cut in, and everyone that had been arguing looked over at him as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Never mind any of that, do we really think it’s safe for a kid to be here at the Compound. I mean… We’re not exactly a daycare center here.”

“Well, the way I see it,” Loki began, glancing over to where you were sitting with a juice box and pretending not to listen to what they were saying. “You lot don’t let me go on missions all that often anyway, and if I can’t do anything like that to prove I’m an asset to the team, then maybe if I take care of the kid, you’ll believe me.”

“Are you… asking us to let you be a parent?” Tony deadpanned, and Natasha elbowed him in the side, despite biting back a small smirk.

“Well, if that’s what you want to call it, sure. Besides, was I supposed to just leave the unsupervised six year old where I found them?”

“I mean, there are people for that,” Steve said with a half-hearted shrug, but Loki only shook their head in response.

“Well, I found the kid first, so they’re mine.”

“Norns, Loki, you can’t just call dibs on a human being.”

“I just did. No taking it back, either. Tough.”

“Have we considered maybe asking the kid… well, anything, before we do anything further?” Bruce suggested, ever the voice of reason.

“What, you think I just picked the kid up without saying anything? Thank you, Bruce, truly wonderful to see how much you trust me.”

Several of the Avengers began to argue at that particular quip, but all of them fell silent as you finally piped up for the first time since Loki had sat you down in front of the tv to be distracted.

“I wanna stay.”

As if on cue, every single person turned to look at you, and you sipped your juice box as if you hadn’t dropped what seemed to be the most controversial thing anyone had said all evening.

“I wanna stay,” you repeated, politely sitting your juice box down. You got out of the armchair and made your way over to where all of the adults were standing, clasping your hands together in front of you.

If living on the streets at a young age had taught you anything, it was how to be cute, how to tug at heartstrings, and how to get what you wanted. By whatever means necessary.

“I don’t really have anyone,” you admitted, shrugging a shoulder. “My parents died when I was younger, so… You know. No guardians. And, uh… I’m not six, I’m ten.”

“Close enough,” Tony argued, and was quickly silenced by Natasha’s elbow in his ribs yet again.

“And I’ve been on the streets long enough to know that it’s not safe for anyone. Let alone a kid,” you continued. “So no offense to anyone in this room, but… I wanna stay here. I think it’s nice. And if Mr. Loki wants to take care of me, then that’s okay with me.”

“Ah, see? I even have the kid’s blessing. I… What was your name again?”

“Y/N. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Loki seemed to soften as they considered you, and when they smiled warmly, you couldn’t help but to return the gesture. You hadn’t felt this comfortable around anyone in quite some time. “Well, Y/N, I’ve never really… taken care of a kid before, but, ah… There’s a first time for everything, and… Well, I’m sure this will end up more of a joint effort than anything, but if you need anything at all, and I mean anything, you come to me, alright?”

You nodded, and then looked around at each of the other Avengers standing in a semi-circle in front of you. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. And… And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll just go back out. You know, on the streets. I know my way around.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. And if anyone in this room has any objections to this arrangement, well…” Loki looked around at the others, with an expression you couldn’t quite make out, before continuing in a lighthearted tone. “I suppose I’ll just have to kill them.”

“Yeah, so not helping your case, Reindeer Games.”

“Brother, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, they probably would.”

While all the others began talking over each other in various states of both belief and disbelief, you could only laugh, because it seemed such a silly idea, for someone to be killed because of you. And before you could even really think any more on the matter, Loki had crossed over to where you were and held out a hand.

“Come. Let’s find you a room.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Settling in at the Compound came rather quickly. Well, the beginnings of settling came rather quickly. Loki helped you pick out a room, close to theirs so they could keep an eye on you, but with the promise of privacy whenever you wanted or needed it, and the other Avengers were all very welcoming, each in their own way.

But it was the better part of a year before you began to feel like you truly belonged there.

Fitting in came easily, all things considered. All things, of course, being the fact that you were a ten year old kid in the midst of the stuff of legends and superheroes, but none of them ever treated you like a baby, and what Loki had suspicioned would be the case came to fruition just as they imagined; everyone ended up co-parenting you to varying degrees, and while it was nice to have so many people look over you, you were just glad to finally feel like you were a part of a family again.

Your friendship with Loki, however… Well, they were simultaneously the most and least parent-like figure you’d ever had in your life. They were the one you went to when you had questions or needed help understanding words or phrases you hadn’t heard yet, and they checked in on you at night to make sure that you were comfortable and feeling alright. They were even the one to soothe you when you woke up in the night with bad dreams or worries that you couldn’t seem to set aside long enough to fall asleep.

But on the other hand, they taught you everything they knew. And everything they knew included a plethora of ways to make mischief and cause trouble without ever being caught. A skill that was just as fun as it was dangerous, you’d come to find out. Loki had an affinity for pranks that endangered but didn’t injure, and the other Avengers tended to be on the receiving end of said pranks. Which, of course, meant that getting caught could get the both of you in very serious trouble.

But Loki seemed to have a way of talking their way out of things, and that was a skill you had grown familiar with in your time on the streets, and with Loki’s help, you honed it into something they insisted was “truly masterful.”

You didn’t, however, always get away scot-free. While Loki had had dozens upon dozens of years to practice pranking and trickery, you were still learning. And that meant sometimes you got caught.

Which is exactly why you’d been sent to your room by Steve, who had simply not appreciated you turning everything in the cupboards upside down. A harmless prank, in your opinion, but Steve had thought otherwise, and rather than yell at you or talk down at you for it, like you might have expected from one of the others if you’d caught them in a bad mood, his way of punishment was much more tame. More suited for a pre-teen whose bane of existence was being sent to their room.

It was infuriating, in a way that something like that could only infuriate someone your age, and you were more than a little grumpy about the circumstances as you slouched on your bed, glaring a hole into the ceiling as you propped your legs up against the wall.

You didn’t realize Loki had come in until you felt the bed shift under their weight.

“Rogers told me what happened.” Their tone was even, and you couldn’t tell if they were about to congratulate you on an almost-perfectly executed prank, or advise you on how to better get away with it.

You shrugged a shoulder, and said nothing.

Loki seemed to consider this for a moment, and you could feel their gaze lingering on you.

“Do you want to tell me why you pranked him?”

You breathed out a sharp laugh. “You prank people all the time for no reason.”

“You’re right, I do. I was just wondering if you had one.”

“Does it matter if I did?” You couldn’t stop your tone from becoming defense, and you weren’t entirely sure why. Loki wasn’t saying anything that was upsetting you, exactly, but lately you’d been having a bunch of weird feelings. Like something was a little bit off with you and you weren’t sure how to handle it so your default setting had become to act standoffish and huffy. Normal for your age, you’d heard the others discussing the other night when you’d snuck out of your room after bed to listen in on them, but that didn’t make you feel any better. If anything, you felt like something was coming to a head, but you didn’t know what.

And that made you scared.

“Y/N, I just want to know what’s going on with you. I’ve noticed you’re starting to become a little more… closed off. Distant. Not like yourself.”

You rolled your eyes despite yourself. “And how do you know when I am or am not myself?”

“Well, I’ve spent the last year raising you, so-”

“Everyone in the Compound has spent the last year raising me.”

“Well, yes, but not to the degree I have. It isn’t the same.”

“What does it matter?”

“…I beg your pardon?” Loki’s hesitant response made you realize they were taken aback by your snippy response, and for some reason, that made you both angry and upset.

“What does it matter if you raised me more than they did? I still don’t…”

You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

You heard Loki exhale a long, slow breath before speaking. “What is all of this really about, Y/N?”

“…I don’t know. Everything feels all… weird and difficult.” You glanced at them for only a second, and then returned your gaze to the ceiling. “Have you ever felt like… no matter what you do, nothing is… right? Good enough, correct, whatever.”

“I have. Probably more than anyone else in this Compound has.” Loki’s tone was still even, but you could hear the heavy edge to their voice that assured you they were telling the truth. “Is that why you’re… acting out?”

It was an innocent enough phrase, and really it was exactly what you were doing. But for some reason, Loki using the term felt like betrayal in a way that you just didn’t have the skills to explain, and so you bristled.

“Ugh, why does everyone have to say that? I’m not a kid that doesn’t know how to act.” You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, that familiar feeling of tension and anger and heat swelling into a ball in your chest.

“No one’s saying that you are, Y/N, I just worry that you’re-”

“That I’m what? Too much to handle? A brat? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called literally anything like that, or worse.” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you were tired and angry and hurt and confused and so many other emotions at once and you didn’t know what to do with the way it felt sitting in your chest like it was.

“Y/N…” Loki’s voice had taken on a warning quality, but all it did was upset you even more.

“No. No. I’m allowed to be upset. I’m allowed to be upset a-and… and hurt and have emotions and feelings. I’m allowed to be mad!” You accentuated the word by slamming your hands down on either side of you.

What you didn’t expect, however, was for a burst of energy to expel from you, sending a ripple through the room that knocked books over and blew papers around the room as the overhead lights flickered before strengthening back to their normal power.

You froze. Unable to process what had just happened, but already worrying about what Loki was going to say to you.

When the silence became too much to bear, you turned your head just enough so that you could look back at Loki, and you were surprised to see them looking at you with an expression of complete understanding.

“You didn’t tell me you had powers.”

Well, that wasn’t the response you had been expecting at all.

Though now that Loki mentioned it, you supposed that would have been the obvious explanation for whatever you had just made happen.

“…I didn’t know…” you finally murmured when you could manage to get yourself to talk.

“No, I suspect you wouldn’t have. If magic isn’t learned, it can remain dormant until the right amount of emotions sort of… sets it free.”

You considered that, pushing yourself to sit up and scooting yourself around so that you were facing Loki. “Is that.. why I’ve been feeling so… weird inside?”

Loki made a face. “Weird how?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Iunno. Just… weird. I’ve had lots of emotions lately, and they’ve all kind of felt like they’ve been building and building and building, and now that I just did… whatever I just did, it doesn’t feel so…”

“Hard?”

You nodded slowly as you met their gaze. “Yeah.”

Loki nodded along with you, and was silent for a moment while they looked at you until they eventually cleared their throat. “Well. I suppose next is the matter of your training. And letting the others know, of course, that way there’s not any accidents are anything of the like.”

“Training?”

Loki looked at you, with a smile that you couldn’t help but to return. “Of course training. You didn’t think I was going to make you figure everything out on your own, did you?”

You relaxed, and let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding in. Before you could stop yourself, you had launched yourself into Loki’s arms, hugging them so tightly that you could feel them stiffen for a moment before returning the gesture.

“…I’m really glad I have you to help me. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. You’re more of a parent than I’ve ever had in as long as I can remember. And I’m sorry for being mean.”

Loki chuckled softly, patting your back gently. “It’s no matter. You wouldn’t be my kid if you weren’t just as moody as I am, yes?”

All you could do was laugh, grateful to have a place where maybe, just maybe, you did belong, after all.

[neo-shitty]

karaoke blues — h.js

description. when in doubt, have a karaoke night out. or in which the first real hurdle of your seemingly flawless relationship is finals week (and miscommunication and a tad bit of overreaction).

pairings. han jisung x female reader

genre. fluff, slight comedy, camping!au, established relationship!au

word count. 2.1k

notes. inspired by the jisung’s bit from skzful days in jeju #3 (min. 20:53 onwards). the one and only karaoke prince i will acknowledge.

You can hear him singing from half-way down the path. No, not really singing, wailing. 

An exchange of glances with your friends assures you that you weren’t hearing things and by the way they turned your way and not at each other meant they recognized the voice too. So you trudge on, making it to the end of the path and into the clearing—a grass field supposedly for camping bordered by a ring of trees. Lights hang on wirelines over the head of figures moving around a long table. The voices are clearer now; two distinct ones amplified by microphones and a cacophony of laughter echoing in the background. The night was young but they’ve been out here for a while now, half-empty beer bottles and sauce-slicked chopsticks littering the tabletop from the hours they’ve spent in the open. Han Jisung stands over everyone else, gripping a microphone with one hand while the other conveyed what his voice couldn’t. The MR boomed through the speakers, his cries along with it, into the open air of the night as the others howled in laughter beside him. 

“Oh boy,” Taehee says beside you, heaving a sigh just before you could.

It takes a while before anyone notices your arrival and even then it barely takes their attention away from the karaoke machine. Changbin is the first to acknowledge your presence, raising eyebrows when his eyes brush over to where you and your friends were. Setting his meal aside, he walks over to greet you, helping you with your things before heading to Saeyeon’s side.

“What’s up with him?” Saeyeon asks.

Changbin only blinks, a story for later. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“We kept sending texts but i don’t think any of them went through with the reception here.” You say. The phone in your hand shows no bars, a notification that your message failed to send plastered on your lockscreen. In your inbox, your messages remained either unsent or unread.

Out of nowhere, the boy bursts out laughing, shaking his head as he leads you to another table behind theirs. The other boys wave over as you pass, playing in on keeping the oblivious Jisung in the dark as Changbin instructed. You think it’s cruel, but nothing beyond the silly pranks they played against each other. He’s preoccupied with singing anyway. 

Chan approaches with a plate full of what they’ve been grilling, “Glad you guys made it on time. They would’ve chowed this down in the next hour.”

He sits across you, bright-eyed and waiting on all of you to take your first bites after the long journey. But you know he’s here for something else, you can feel him straining himself from the noise the younger boys were causing. Maybe some kind of explanation, or better yet a way to make it stop. 

He opens his mouth to speak, abruptly cut off as Jisung hits a high note, screaming from behind him. You stiffle a laugh, harder to do with everyone else on the table failing to stop themselves.

“Ah, I’m so sorry for that. He’s been like that since the ride here. Played nothing but sappy sad songs in the car I nearly fell asleep.”

The conversation stirs another way as Chan asks about your own trip here but you’re no longer listening, your mind wandering over to the karaoke jock singing one song after the other. Somehow you find yourself smiling at his antics, amused and curious how he ended up that distraught over something you had no idea about. The both of you were fine, right?

Right?

Until you realize that you can’t remember the last time you had any form of correspondence. The utensils slip out of your fingers, dully clattering on the wooden table when you set them down to scramble for your phone. You open your messages with Jisung, the last few being yours all dated today—either failed to send or unread. But before that, during the days leading up to the outing, there was nothing but his messages, your replies too few and too far between.

The whole scroll up are bubbles from his side, streams of messages from varying points of his day. On the other side, all your responses were nothing but reactions to his messages themselves and the occasional readily available emoticons. No proper exchange in over a week, maybe even more, and the length of your replies dwindling as the days passed.

Oh, poor guy. 

“_____, is it true?”

The call reels you out of your own thoughts, your head snapping up from your phone. Hyunjin slipped into the space beside you on the bench, his hands clasped. “You broke up with Han?”

The reaction it draws from you is immediate, your eyebrows knitting together in concern and confusion. “No, who said that?”

The boy blinks, disbelieving. “It’s all he’s been on since we met up today.”

The rundown of the day is repeated to you with a few more additions. From  Chan’s story about the car ride to Hyunjin’s account on the past few days with Jisung. He tells you that it’s easy to notice the air shifting when it comes to Jisung. Everything turns eerily quiet—too quiet even for their own liking, and that’s how everyone noticed and concluded that something was wrong. But no one has ever had the courage to ask him what was up. Except Hyunjin though, your local gossip boy with an undying curiosity for business not his own.

According to the information he gathered, the past few days were a downcast for the boy. He spent his days trying to understand that you’re busy while simultaneously not understanding why his phone was dead quiet. He tried to stay preoccupied, distracted, But there were only so many options to cycle through. It’s funny because Jisung was never one to take interest in anyone else’s hobbies but he’s been hyperactive the last week. He tries to keep up with Changbin’s workout routine even if it (nearly) kills him, staying after hours in Chan’s studio even when he isn’t asked to. At home he’s cooking with Minho or baking with Felix or developing a sudden interest in photography and painting. Heck, he even tries reading books. Anything to have company.

But the long days end regardless, boiling down into the quiet of his room where he has no one. Sometimes Hyunjin would catch him on the couch in the living room in the early hours of day, watching Netflix on the tv with a dead stare without acknowledging anyone else who enters the room. “He lived his days dead,” Hyunjin finishes.

The table is quiet, all intent on listening but confused on how to react.

Across you, a bubble of laughter escapes out of your friend’s lips. She turns to you, “You’re on finals for a week and this is what happens?”

A resounding smack echoes through the air between you, followed by a hiss from the injured party. “Be quiet!” Saeyeon sneers and Taehee falls quiet.

The retort falls dead on the other girl’s tongue when you glance at her, resorting to rubbing the freshly slapped skin of her arm instead.

“And then what else, Hyunjin?”

“Aigoo, uri Hannie!” The voice belongs to Changbin and heads turn to the direction it’s coming from. Beside you, Hyunjin picks the bucket hat off his head to put it on yours, still in on the prank they were playing.

Still, from beneath the hat you catch sight of him. Jisung walks with one arm draped over Changbin’s shoulders, hair disheveled like an open book on the top of his head. The gloss-eyed boy approaches you with red puffy cheeks that matched the color of his eyes, face obscured every now and then by the arm he uses to wipe the tears he’s been crying.

“Can you tell them why are you crying?” Changbin asks when they’re both standing by the end of the table.

You don’t think that he sees you nor makes out that it isn’t just the boys sitting around the table. Jisung shys away from the others, from you, mumbling something you couldn’t make out into the other boy’s shoulder. And before you know it, he’s a crying mess again, bear-hugging the other boy who couldn’t bring himself to shake him off. Then you hear it first hand, his endless list of thoughts he’d been keeping to himself. It’s the only voice you’re listening to, drowning out the laughter that had begun to erupt from the mouths of everyone else on the table.

Jisung lets the other boy eventually, sinking into a tucked ball on the floor. He sat there like a child who just got their toy stolen, knees tucked in his arms with his head hung low. And it's the last straw for you, their prank be damned.

You excuse yourself from the table, crossing over the bench to walk over to where he’s crumpled by Changbin’s legs. The latter was still muttering words of consolation to dead ears, the crying barely lulling.

“I think she’s going to break up with me. She doesn’t like me anymore. Where did I go wrong again? I tried my best this time.” He says through sniffles and hiccups.

“Who doesn’t like you anymore?”

“_____.”

“Me?” you ask him, “I don’t like you anymore?”

He buffers, the sobbing stopping as he takes in the voice and your answer. Slowly, he raises his head, his arms leaving temporary marks crisscrossing over his forehead. You notice the moment it finally registers, his eyes readjusting as he studies your face. He blinks once, twice for good measure.

He brings a finger out of his closed fit, supposedly to poke you, But you mirror it, forefingers touching by their tips.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” His voice is quiet when he speaks, hiccups butchering his words. 

“I kept texting you that we’ll catch up,” you show him your phone where the messages you sent, or at least tried to, remained undelivered. “I even sent you updates, but now I know they never reached you.”

You both end up sitting on the grass, the leaves tickling the skin of your thighs ever so slightly. You hand him a bottle of water you’ve carried over from the table, which he downs in seconds—parched from singing and crying.

“What was it that you were saying, About me no longer liking you? Is that why you’re crying?” you ask him, ducking to try and meet his eye.

He shakes his head. “It’s just,” he starts, “the past few weeks, we barely talked anymore and I think you’re losing interest in me. I don’t want that but I can’t do anything about it either.”

His out of the blue confessions coaxes a laugh out of you, one you’ve been holding back on fear of being mistaken as insensitive of your own boyfriend’s feelings. But it’s a silly thing, a spillage of emotions brought about by the alcohol. “Hannie,” his fingers find their way to yours, intertwining in an odd way but at the very least in contact, “did I forget to mention it was finals week?”

He hides away, head ducked with his hair blocking your view of his eyes. “Yeah, you did mention,” he pauses. “now that I think of it, I think I just let my head get the better of me.”

You leave his hands to hold his face, soft palms on soft cheeks as you raise his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are shining, glinting back the light from the bulbs above like a lens. Carefully, you brush his cheeks, traces of his tears absorbed by the pad of your thumb. “I’m sorry I’m absolute shit at managing my time.”

He breathes out a chuckle, the vibrations jolting down your hands and through you. It’s then when you realize that it’s been a while since you heard him laugh a hearty one. The last few weeks were nothing but a monotonous podcast listening session of lecture after lecture, each one harder to absorb than the last. You didn’t want to fail, maybe that’s why you sacrificed what sliver of stress-relief you had left. But the exams are finally over, your schedule has opened up and you have nothing left to do but to make up for lost time. 

Everything has lulled into a quiet that suited the Jeju atmosphere you pictured in your head. Without Jisung on the mic, they’ve moved on to calmer songs—the type that winded down everything until the karaoke machine is forgotten. The others on the table have moved to other things, others leaving to take a walk while some stayed behind to talk over spare grills. You marvel at how easy things could fall back into place in such familiar space, it’s something you never got to have away in university.

“So, there’s no other guy?”

You pat Jisung’s face lightly, a faint reality slap that’s more endearing less a wake up call. “If I don’t have time for you, what makes you think I still have time for others?”

© neo-shitty, 2022

[pjsk-writin]

HI AMIA!!! Hehehe, im glad ur inbox is open again^^

Could i request a WXS x reader (separately would be nice) pocky game type thing? U can ignore this if no, i just thought itd be cute! :D

Also love ur work!

hihi!! but aww this is cute, and ty!! I hope you like this!! <3

♡ POCKY GAME - Tsukasa Tenma, Rui Kamishiro, Emu Otori and Nene Kusanagi x Reader

Tsukasa:

When you approach Tsukasa with a pocky box in hand, he'll watch you with a curious gaze

"Hm? What is that for, my co-star?" "Well, it was originally for you, but I thought that it'd be fun to do the pocky challenge!" "The what?-"

You explain the challenge to him, and his eyes widen before he laughs, bringing a hand to his chest, "Well, I assure you, I shall win this challenge!"

With that said, you take out a stick and place one end in your mouth. He takes the other end, and you both take careful bites

He actually goes slowly, set on winning. You match his pace, and the two of you slowly inch towards the middle until...

He leans forward, capturing your lips in his. Your eyes went wide, but you quickly melted into it. He pulled away after a minute, grinning at you. "Looks like I have won!" "...Tsukasa, that's not how it works-" You would let him have that win anyway.

Rui:

Rui knew immediately what you were planning to do with the pocky box in your hands

"Ah, what do we have here?" "Oh c'mon, I just thought it would be fun!" "It'd be easier to just ask me to kiss you, y'know."

Your face was warm, but you insisted that you just wanted to do it because it'd be fun, no other reason. He sighed, shaking his head before smiling. "I suppose this should be fun."

You took out a stick and placed one end in your mouth. He takes the other end, and he starts with a big bite-

It was a bit shocking, but you kept going, taking smaller bites than him. You inched closer and closer to the middle and...

He suddenly moved back, causing you to lose your bite on the stick. "Wh- Hey! That's illegal-" He cut you off by leaning back in, kissing you on the lips. He pulled away with a smirk, "I kissed you and I won, now we're both satisfied!"

Emu:

Emu would try to snatch the pocky box from your hands the moment she saw it-

"Hey! No touching, this is for us!" "Ohhh...You should've said so!!" "I didn't even say a word- But, we're doing the pocky challenge!" "The pocky wha??"

You explain the challenge, and her eyes go wide. "Ohhh, that sounds super duper fun!! Let's do it!!"

You take the stick and place one end in your mouth. Emu does the same, before immediately taking the biggest bite she possibly can-

You're surprised, and take a small bite. She just takes a big bite, and before you know it, she was well past the middle. She didn't even notice...

She simply leaped forward, eating the rest of the stick and kissing you on the lips. She pulled away with a grin, "Mmm, that was so yummy!! Do you have any more??" She did not understand the purpose of the challenge, but she had fun!

Nene:

Nene would immediately give you a deadpan look when she sees the pocky box

"No." "I didn't even say anything!" "It's...It's a stupid challenge, I'm not doing it-"

You persist in bugging her about it, until she sighs, shaking her head. "Fine, fine, I'll do it. Just...Don't tell Tsukasa or Emu or Rui-"

You promise you won't before taking a stick out and biting one end. She bites the other, and takes the smallest bites she can

The two of you inch closer and closer together, both of you refusing to take bigger bites. You both were close together in the middle before...

She pulls away, her face incredibly warm. "Ah, that's so..." She looks at you, her face growing warmer, "I..." And then, she leans forward, giving you a quick kiss before running away-

[totallynotbat]

Friendship Moods

Summary: Phil and Techno decide to mess around a bit. 

Tickle Fic, no like click off. 

Contains: Swearing, Possibly Too Much Cute. 

Part 2 to Stealing Features. 

Relationship is Platonic! No ship tags!

Again thank you @amitlee for the ideas you left in my inbox.

Enjoy!

Phil walked into the living room of his family home. It’s been a few weeks since he chased Wilbur down, he was looking around for his chaotic son, only seeing Techno reading a book on the couch.

“Where is everyone mate?” Phil asked, the piglin looking up from his book. 

“Tommy is hanging out with Tubbo. And Wilbur is trying to make sure they don’t die.” Techno said with a small smirk. 

“Ah, okay then…” Phil smiled, leaving his friend to read in peace. 

Phil entered his room with a groan, shutting the door behind him. He was thinking about Wilbur tickling him a few weeks ago, not like he enjoyed it…

Right?…

The more he thought about it, the more red and flustered he was getting. Fucking hell his lee mood was showing again. 

Philza thought about two things, pretending this thing isn’t happening and try to ingore it. 

Or try and get Techno to help out, I mean it isn’t the first time he has tickled him before.

Phil walked out, he stood in front of the piglin. 

“Hey Techno?” Phil chuckled. 

“Yeah?” Techno replied, his eyes not darting from the book, 

Until Phil snatched it out of his hands.

“Heh?!” Techno said, Phil was mid way in the air book in hand.

“You can’t read all the time, mate.” Phil smirked, before dropping the book onto the floor, sticking his tounge out, and took off, giggling like a little kid. 

Techno blinked, before rolling his eyes with a small smile, doing his deadpan head turn, and chasing after the avian in a flash, before turning back and going up the stairs of the home.

Philza was running around the house trying to find a way to hide somewhere, stamina running out quickly as he was crouching a bit in the doorframe of his room.

“PHILZA!”

“ACK!” Phil yelped, with a grab around the waist followed by a pink and green blurred leap through the air. Techno had Philza pinned down on the bed, the piglin sitting on the avians legs. 

“T-Techno…we can have a mahahature tahalk about this.” Phil started giggling from anticipation as Techno began tracing lightly across his sides. 

“Yeah I’m sure we can.” Techno smirked.

The room was silent, Phil and Techno staring at each other. 

“Ugh…just do it…” Phil mumbled.

“With pleasure.” Techno showed his tusks with a smirk, as he scribbled lightly across Phil’s sides.

“Eep!” Phil squeaked, squirming a bit. 

“I keep on forgetting how sensitive you are here.” Techno said sarcastically, going a bit faster. 

“Tehech! Nohoho!” Phil chuckled, small squeaks peppering in.

Techno smiled, loving to hear his friend giggle, moving up to Phil’s neck. Phil squeaked, scrunching his shoulders up. 

“Aw, breaking so soon?” Techno teased, poking and scribbling across the skin.

“Nohoho I’m hoholding up!” Phil giggled, looking at Techno through scrunched eyes and a wide smile. 

“Uh huh, yeah sure.” Techno smirked, going lightly behind Phil’s ears which the feathers twitched behind them. 

“Tehehechno! Thahahahat Tihihickles!” Phil squeaked, trying to bite his lip to muffle his light bubbly giggles. 

“Oh I’m aware buddy.” Techno smiled. 

Techno slowly traced Phil’s neck again, relishing in the small giggles and squeaks he got, pretty contagious as Techno couldn’t help to laugh with him. 

“Tehehechno plehehease!” Phil snickered as Techno scribbled across Phil’s sides, pinching his ribs a few times. 

“And your laughter is so cute! Why should I stop?” Techno cooed. 

Phil’s laughter increased, his blush getting a darker shade of pink. “Shuhuhut up Tehechno!” 

“Shut up? Oh your so in for it now!” 

Techno slipped his hand under Phil’s kimono and thin shirt, lightly tracing and clawing his stomach.

Phil squeaked, squirming around and curling up into a ball like a roly poly. Techno smirked, contuing to tickle the avian with his one hand being trapped, okay he could get it out, but Techno chose not too.

“Tehech! Get your hand out!” Phil was on his stomach, giggling, as Techno had his one hand under Phil’s stomach, sitting uptop of Phil’s back. 

“Why? Are you ticklish here? Bit sensitive Phil?” Techno continued, watching the giggling and squeaks he got in response. 

“Shuhuhut up! Plehehease! It-NAHAT THEREHEHE!!!” 

Techno flinched a bit at Phil’s scream, reliazing his inner turmoil. He flipped Phil over onto his back, Phil getting his left over giggling out. 

“You good?” Techno asked, Phil giving a small nod. 

Techno slowly began tracing Phil’s stomach again, Phil squeaking and holding his breath back. 

Techno really forgot about how much he loved doing this. He didn’t admit it but he had a small soft spot for Phil, he remembered cheering up Phil when the avian came back home after a mob attack, so it wasn’t the first time he’s tickled him.

And sure as hell Techno was enjoying it probably as much as Philza was. 

“Tehechno! It’s thihihickly!” Phil squeaked, as the piglin continued tracing. 

“Well duh! That’s the point! And your just a sensitive little thing are you~” Techno cooed. 

Phil was trying to deny it, but a tingling sensation on his stomach made him scream, tipping his head back onto the pillow as he laughed.

Techno smiled with a low chuckle, blowing another raspberry into Phil’s belly, watching the avian squirm, slowly tracing a finger into Phil’s naval. 

“AHAHA! TEHEHECH! NOHOHOHO!!!” Phil laughed, squeaking. 

“Hm?” Techno hummed, pressing circles into Phil’s stomach with this thumbs and tracing his sides lightly.

“Itit reheheally tickles!” Phil hiccuped, Techno luckily slowing down once more, leaving the avian as a giggly pile of goo on the bed. 

“Yohohou are ruthless.” Phil glared with a playful smile. 

“Yeah, it’s for content purposes and plus we’re friends Phil.” Techno smirked, cracking his knuckles before placing this hands near Phil’s sides again with a grin. “And I’m about to be even more ruthless now.”  

With that he spidered across Phil’s ribs, the blonde squealing and falling into loud laughter immediately. 

“TEHEHECH! AHAHAHA!!” Phil shook his head violently.

“What’s up?” Techno teased, going down to his lower and back up to his upper ribs.

Phil was lost in a sea of flustered giggles to even say anything. Techno smirked, continuing to tickle the avian’s ribs. 

“One, Two, Three.” 

“Arehehe yohohou cohohounting?”

“Yep! Four, Five.” 

“Whihihiy?!” 

“I’m trying to see how many ribs you have! Which number was I on?” 

“Fhihihive…“

“Damn, guess I lost count, better start again.” Techno tutted, going back down to his lower ribs. 

“Tehehechno! Dohohont!” Phil argued, leaning back into the bed. 

Once again, Techno began tickling Phil’s ribs, sending the avian into a feat of high pitch giggles.

“TEHEHEHECHNO!!!” Phil cried out, letting out an embarssed snort. 

Techno stopped, allowing Phil to breathe, the avian looking up at him with a smile, followed by a few snorts. 

“You good to continue?” Techno asked, Phil nodding.

Techno squeezed Phil’s thigh, Phil kicking out his leg with a squeak, followed by high pitch laughter.

“Aw! Well this never changed!” Techno smirked, going back to his ribs.

“DAHAHAMN IT TEHEHECH!!!” Phil tried covering his already red face. 

“Dish it out, but can’t take it?” Techno smiled.

“SHUHUHUT UP!” Phil screamed, resting his head on Techno’s chest, trying to cover his flustered self, a sharp peep left his mouth. “Stahahap!”

“Stop what? Making you chirp? That’s on you buddy.” Techno lightly traced the back of Phil’s neck with his one hand, scribbling his ribs on the other. 

“Tehehehech! Itit thihihickles!” Phil rested his head onto the piglin’s chest, giggling. 

“Oh I’m aware.” 

Phil shrieked his wings flapping wildly as Techno spidered across his ribs, pinching his hips a few times. 

“Ah! AHAHA! TECH!” Phil squealed, one of his wings brushing against Techno’s neck. 

“Hehey!” 

“Oh god, Techno! That was a reflex! I didn’t mean that!” Phil retorted, nervously giggling. 

“It’s fine Phil.” Techno rolled his eyes with a smirk. “It’ll be okay after I do…THIS!” 

Techno tackled Phil down. Phil lying on his stomach as Techno scribbled across the base and joints of his wings. 

“TEHEHEHECH EHEHEHEHAHAHA!!!” Phil screamed, hiccups peppering in between his laughter. 

Techno cooed, inhaling and blowing a raspberry right into Phil’s spine, the avian’s wings went limp as he cackled. 

“OKAY OHOHOHKAY! IM SOHORRY! ITIT THIHIHICKLES TEHEHEHECH!!!” 

Techno slowed down, allowing Philza to curl up, resting his head on Techno’s chest, Techno doing light traces onto his back, even lightly tickling Philza’s neck, ears and sides. 

Phil felt limp, his eyes drooping. He relaxed and melted into the gentle tickling, his wings pressed around his body as he giggled.

“Thihihickly! Ehehehe! Hahahaha!” Phil giggled, trying to slap Techno’s hands away, letting out a chirp followed by trill’s.

Phil fell asleep resting his head on Techno’s chest, Techno stroking a hand through the avians hair, lightly tracing his back. 

“You probably enjoyed that just as much as I did.” Techno thought as he fell asleep as well.

[writingmysanity]

Sunsets and grass stains

Prompt: March Daily Prompts

Day 4: Grass Green

Word count: 1316

Pairing: Eskel x reader

A/N: Second one for the day, because I forgot to post yesterdays ficlet yesterday, so I posted it today. Working on those prompts, I have several in my inbox- i'm going to show them all the proper love. Again, please be patient with me!!

As always, Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. (ya know, sometimes ima blame someone else for my mistakes in these xD)

A single voice echoes through the trees, many others rising with it, echoing the song back in tune. Laughter and happy chatter brighten the already fine day. Beaming, you look up at Eskel, nearly bouncing in place as you are tugged along by the witcher’s grip on your hand.

“Singing!” he just nods, quirking an eyebrow at you. It isn't the first time you've heard music and it certainly won't be the last. What made this so exciting?

Rolling your eyes, you swing your intertwined hands, making a face up at him.

“It's a festival, Eskel,” you state, grinning. “It's the spring solstice”

He just nods, glancing up at the way the sun filters through the canopy above.

“Ah,” he pauses “Do you want to attend?”

There is no pause before your head starts bobbing like an overly eager child, fingers tightening around his.

“Can we go? Really?” he softens, offering you a gentle smile.

“As you wish,” he hums, letting you lead him towards town. He only meant to visit the market, but seeing your excitement, he can't help but allow the infectious nature to fall over him as well. The town is covered in blooms, big and small, waves of colors sweeping the streets. Banners brilliantly painted with bright paints. Everyone is smiling as songs fill the air continuously, hardly a breath left silent, people dancing throughout the streets, laughter and excitement bubbling from everybody.

They don't even notice them both at first. He isn't exactly dressed like they associate with a witcher, but they know him quite well.

Bouncing up and down, you tug on his hand, looking up at him pleadingly.

“I want to dance.” he nods, motioning for you to go ahead. He doesn't miss the small frown before you are swept away by another woman, dissolving into a fit of giggles, falling into perfect sync with the other villagers.

It isn't long before you lose your shoes, spinning and skipping barefooted along the town's center. Your eyes find him every time you spin by him, a silent invitation he pretends to not notice, only smiling at you clapping along with the others in rhythm of the bard's tune as you dance.

He had to admit, the energy is infectious, but he doesn't dance. They didn't teach that in witcher training, that's for sure.

When you find yourself back at his side, you are panting but you are smiling, eyebright. He just smiles wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you closer to let you lean against him for support.

“Having fun?” you nod, taking the pastry he offers. “Don't inhale it, Kit. enjoy it.” he teases, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Your laugh is breathy, the sound making him shiver a bit, your eyes lidded as you look up at him with a dreamy smile.

“Thank you.” raising an eyebrow, he hums, taking a sip of his drink.

“For?”

“For coming to the festival with me, I know you aren't fond of crowds.” softening, he smiles, leaning down to peck your nose, grinning at how you scrunch your nose at him.

“Anything for you,” it is a promise.

Flushing, you shove the last of your sweet in your mouth, shuddering to watch as he wipes some berry juice from the corner of your mouth, sucking it off his finger, humming at the taste. He hides his grin at how your heart sputters, nose flaring at the sudden very sweet scent floods his senses, eyes closing for a second.

“Ready to head back?” he asks a second later, fingers flexing on your hip. Biting back a whine, you nod quickly, turning with him, ignoring the disappointment at not getting to dance with him today.

The walk back is quiet, at first.

“Why don't you dance?” you question, not accusing, but disappointed. Kicking a rock further up the path, Eskel shrugs.

“I've never been asked to before,” he admits, lips quirking to the side, indifferent to the topic. Frowning, you stop walking. It takes him a few more steps to realize you're no longer beside him.

“Kit?” his head tilts to the side, curls flopping over his shoulder. “What's wrong?”

“You've never been asked to dance?” you ask, ignoring his question. His nod is slow, unsure where this was going. Without thinking, your hand shoots out, laying out in the air. An invitation.

“Dance with me,” you ask gently, giving him the option to decline if he so wishes. He hesitates, hand sliding into yours.

“I'll be rotten at it,” he mumbles, his other hand raising to rub at the back of his neck. Any doubts he had melted away at your smile, brighter than the sun that had started to set.

“Don't worry, I'll show you.”

You lead him off the path into an open field just beyond the tree line, nearly plucked free of wildflowers by the locals for their festival, only stalks of grass left, lapping at your calves as you find a good place near the center of the clearing. It's far enough, so as to keep from prying eyes, for his sake, but close enough to town to still be able to hear the music. Shifting to stand before him, you hold your hands out for his.

He places his hands in yours immediately, allowing you to move him how you choose. Gently, you place one hand on your hip, shivering when his thumb sweeps over the bit of exposed skin there.

“Keep this here,” you instruct before lacing your fingers with his other hand, smiling up at him, smile faltering under his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, shadowed by the setting sun but somehow still brighter than anything you've ever seen, showing every emotion he swears he never had- love, joy, happiness… mainly love.

Clearing your throat, you focus on the way his hand feels in yours. It doesn't help, surprise surprise.

“What next?” he questions, voice soft.

“Follow my lead,” you grin, starting to hum the tune the bard is playing in town. Eskel lets you lead him, spinning him in gentle circles, a pliant partner. His eyebrows furrow in concentration, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to watch your feet between you.

“Shit,” he groans when he accidentally steps on your foot, barely earning a hiss of surprise. “I hurt you,” he panics starting to pull away. Tugging him back, you refuse to let him drop your hands.

“You're going to step on me some, you're learning.” you hum, tugging him closer again. He frowns.

“I don't want to hurt you”

“The pain was more surprise than anything, dearest, now, come here.” he does as told, hesitantly stepping closer, letting you maneuver him again, both arms wrapped around your waist, your arms moving to wrap around his neck. With your chest pressed against his, you can feel his heartbeat, the steady rhythm relaxing you.

“Maybe this will be easier for you,” you hum, laying your chin on his chest, eyeing him through your lashes, standing on your tiptoes, rocking you both gently. Chuckling, he leans down, lips brushing over yours gently, humming the tune against your lips.

You giggle at how his humming tickles your lips, nipping his in retaliation. Groaning softly, he lifts you slightly, sweeping your legs from beneath you before dropping to his knees, laying you out in the grass hovering over you. He takes a moment to stare, your dark hair a stark contrast to the grasses vibrant green in the red of the setting sun.

Slowly, you smile, fingers curling in his tunic, tugging.

“I'm waiting.” your impatient whisper makes him laugh as he lowers himself, his body eclipsing you from view completely.

“As you wish,” he breaths, lips crashing to yours with fever, earning a happy groan from your chest, your arms securing around him so he can't move.

“Damn right.”

--

Tag list: @errruvande @thesleepy1 @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @queenxxxsupreme @screechingdreamercollectorsblog @open--till--midnight @one-eyed-captain-kinky @seidenbros

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me a message or ask or something.

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 12,857

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

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

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

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

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

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s watching you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

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

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

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

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

Wait. Sexy? 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

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

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

“Did you need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

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

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

God. 

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

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

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

No. No, no, no, no. 

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

God fucking damn it.

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

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

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

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

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

“Gimme the paperwork.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

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

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

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

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

“Something came up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah. But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

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

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

“I said, answer me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is the cell membrane?” 

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

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

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

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s try another.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold still,” he commands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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