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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 12,857

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

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

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

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

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

Ugh, why is this so stressful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

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

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

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

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

Wait. Sexy?

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s those eyes of his.

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

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

“Did you need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

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

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

God.

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

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

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

No. No, no, no, no.

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

God fucking damn it.

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

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

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

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

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

“Gimme the paperwork.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N).

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

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

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

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

“Something came up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah. But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Didn’t you just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what? The cell… ah–”

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

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

“I said, answer me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is the cell membrane?”

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

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

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

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s try another.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a faint clicking sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold still,” he commands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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authorkun · 3 years

Text

[𝙎𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙡 𝙈𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙖𝙘] (001)

Jujutsu Kaisen x Male reader

Warning: Mentions of su!cide, gore, violence, and strong themes

"𝘿𝙖𝙢𝙣, 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨."

A smooth honey like voice dripped with interest of the vessel that stood before him. The male's eyes casted down before traveling back up the first year's torso. He licked his lip at the sight with a smirk.

"Oya? Oya? N/n-Chan where did you come from? You were supposed to be in Hyogo." A blindfolded sensei questioned. N/n, or better known as M/n sent a small wave at his underclassmen, who gaped at both his sensei and senpai with wide eyes. "Oh the other second-years would love this." M/n took out his phone and and started taking an array of photos of Megumi.

"Anyways, I was, heard there was a SGP (special grade problem) going on. Thought I'd check it out. You too?" He lazily draped himself against the older. "The elders complained about putting my abilities to good use." Gojo chuckled remembering the annoying email from the secretary. "Anyways, who's this?" "Yuji Itadori sir!" The pinkette quickly bowed. A hearty laugh bubbled in M/n's throat at the formal honorific. "Get up no need for that, cause a nice senpai like me cares for underclassman." The male proudly pointed to himself.

"M/n L/n. Say where is the cursed object anyways?" Itadori sweat dropped. "Well I ate it." "Damn the kid has balls." M/n bluntly stated making a certain raven haired sorcerer flustered at the vulgar statement. "So how's Sukuna, or whatever his face is?" The (e/c) orbs analyzed Itadori looking for any sign of the curse. "He's annoying, he keeps on talking." Tapping his head with his palm signaling the telepathic link. "10 seconds."

"Huh?" "Come on back after 10 seconds." Gojo reiterated. "I dunno about this." "Don't worry I'm the strongest." M/n playfully rolling his eyes. "And if it gets out of hand, I'm stronger." "Megumi, hold onto this will ya." Gojo tossed a paper bag towards him. "Can you also hold onto this? It's killing my back." The second-year threw a heavy duffel bag Fushiguro's way, almost knocking him out. "What's this?" Megumi's eyes lingered on the white bag. "Kikufuku Mochi." His eyebrow twitched at the information. 'He was buying souvenirs, while people were dying?!'

"Aww Megumi they're not souvenirs. They're for the bullet train back." Sukuna was suddenly in the air about to pounce on the 'unsuspecting' male. "Behind you!" Fushiguro yelled worriedly. Gojo dodged getting close to the curse's ear. "Two of my students are watching so, I hope you don't mind me showing off." He turned sending a blow towards Sukuna's back, making him stumble. 'He's unbelievably fast. Not only that-.'

"It doesn't matter what era it is, you guys are always a pain you stupid Jujutsu sorcerer! He dryly laughed. "But that doesn't matter to me." With a flick of his wrist chunks of concrete flew towards Gojo. Who when the dust cleared stood unscathed holding the rubble as nothing. "Should be about time." M/n clicked his tongue, while filing his nails next to Fushiguro. The markings on Itadori's body disappearing. "What a surprise! You can control it!" He yelled. "He's kind of annoying though." Itadori repeated.

"It's a miracle that's the only side effect." With that, the older tapped his head knocking the first-year out. "Aww booooo I was looking forward to annoying Sasuki more." The M/n whined like a toddler throwing away his file. "What did you do?" Fushiguro asked ignoring his senpai. "He's knocked out." Gojo stated holding onto the passed out male. "I though you were smarter then that Megumiii." The two once again ignored the manic (h/c-ette). "If he wakes up and isn't possessed...he might have potential as a vessel." He reasoned. "Quick question what do I do with him?" M/n sweat dropped. "Even if he has potential, under Jujutsu regulations he must be executed..." He drawled off. "But I don't want to let him die!" Fushiguro finished with a determined look.

"Is that a personal opinion?" M/n playfully teased. "Yes, a personal opinion. Please do something about it." "Hmm a precious student's request." Gojo scratched his chin in 'thought'. "Leave it to me, and your senpai!" He exclaimed. "So with that, let me reiterate...you're gonna be executed." The blindfolded teacher waved his hands around in finger guns. "This story doesn't make sense so far." Itadori grumbled. "Hey, Man, I tried. An execution is an execution, but I managed to suspend the sentencing."

"A suspended sentencing? So it's on hold now?" The pinkette questioned. "Yup. Let me explain from the top." Gojo went to grab something out of his pocket realizing it was gone. "Looking for this?" M/n's form came out of the shadows, holding up the shriveled appendage. "This look familiar?" Itadori raised a brow. "Another finger?" "Ding ding ding. You want a cookie or something?" M/n leaned on his sensei's shoulder aggravating him even more. "Its the same cursed object you so voluntarily consumed. There's 20 total, we're in possession of six." "Twenty? Oh, including both arms and legs." Nodding his head in understanding. "Wrong, Sukuna has four arms." M/n stated nonchalantly tossing the finger up for Gojo to blast towards the wall creating a small crater like hole. The finger looked unscathed. "As you can see, you can't destroy it. It's that powerful of a curse.

With every passing day it gets even stronger." The (h/c-ette) moved from his place wandering behind Itadori, the hot breath on his neck made himself shutter. "That's where you come in. You die, the curse in you dies as well." M/n moved back rocking back on his heels. "The Elders have a stick up their ass and wanted to kill you right away. My dear Gojo and I thought it be a waste for a pretty face like you to offed yet."

A small pink flush dusted against Itadori's cheeks. "There's no guarantee that another vessel able of controlling of Sukuna will ever come around again. So... our proposal was, "if we're gonna kill him, why not after he takes in the rest of Sukuna". Killing two birds with one stone really. Your two choices right now are either to die now or wait to find the rest of Sukuna and die then." An intimidating aura surrounding M/n.

The next day

"Who died?" M/n asked picking at his nails, feeling oddly uncomfortable around the place heavy with death and sadness. "My Grandpa,he was more of a dad I guess though." Itadori hung his head. "I see, sorry to bother you at a time like this." Gojo apologized sitting himself next to the male. "Are there a lot of casualties with curses like this?"

"This is a pretty uncommon circumstance...But if you're talking about potential damage, yes." In the corner of Gojo's eyes he could see M/n's hand start to tremor. "...Let's just say, you're lucky to die normally after an encounter with a curse. Finding a body torn in two is still a light death compared to the others..." M/n stare burned into the bench a few feet in front of them. Walking off as flashes of blood painting the walls continued replaying in his head. "What's wrong with him?" Itadori asked looking off towards where the male went off to. "Not many things are known about M/n. Supposedly during a special grade case, they had found a witness around the age of 7 standing in the middle of what was assumed his family. The report was hard to read not much about the kid except the crazed look in his eyes and the astronomical amounts of cursed energy spilling from his body.

The case was left unfinished because they couldn't understand what exactly happened. The one account from the boy saying that it was a monster who killed his family. Of course when they checked there wasn't a sign of a curse. The elders shut the case down and took in the kid in, fear of his powers haunting them. From what I know, he was taught by the principal himself how to control his cursed abilities. When I was in my last year, I heard about an incident including the boy with a special grade. It had changed him from an outgoing and friendly person to a husk of one. He distanced himself and gained the liking of inducing pain on himself. He's strange that's for sure." A vision of a preteen M/n slitting his arms for an 'experiment'.

He claimed the experiment was to figure out how many cuts he could endure before passing out. Itadori stared at the older with an opened mouth. An image of the bandaged male popped into his head. 'Bandages'. "When I saw him pass in the hallways smiling like no tomorrow, made me think if the incident had never happened to him..."

"...He would have a normal life" he finished the other's sentence. "But that kind of thinking is common when you first get into the game. You learn how to ignore those thoughts. Those thoughts alone could drive a man insane. If you start investigating the remains of Sukuna, you'd probably some gruesome scenes, every sorcerer has their case that changes them wether it be for the best or the worst. Pick your hell."

"If Sukuna is eliminated, will there be fewer people killed by curses?" Itadori's grandpa's words rung in his head. "Of course." Gojo nodded his head. "You got that other finger?" "Yeah." Gojo placed the object in his hand. Itadori took a second to study it. "Now that I look at it it is pretty disgusting." He said tossing the appendage into his mouth absent mindedly swallowing it with a gross gulp. 'That's one tenth of Sukuna, how will that sit?' Black marks appeared on his body before leaving as quickly as they came. "Blaughhh, that was so gross." The male wrapped a hand around his throat at the taste. 'He's able to control Sukuna without a problem, heh.' Gojo thought. "I take it you're prepared for what's to come?" "Not at all. I am wondering why I have to be executed though. But I know I can't leave this curse alone. It's final, I'm gonna eat the rest of Sukuna. That's all"

"Yahooo! I'm back!" An overly enthusiastic voice emerged. M/n ran over waving his hands around. A bag slung around his shoulders. Something seemed off. An evident bruise starting to form around his neck peeking out from the loosely wrapped bandages. A cut lip and a few more scrapes littering his face. "What happened?" M/n shrugged still smiling. "Just a fight, this delinquent looking guy said he had a bone to pick with me, he had his fun....and so did I~" He took out his phone, shoving it into both of their faces. Sure enough a buff looking male was in tears, tied up. "The old wasabi and mustard up the nose always works like a charm." M/n shoved the device back into his coat, before handing the paper bag over to Gojo who quirked his brow.

"I went on a little trip into town and got you this~" The male's hands roamed around the bag pulling out a box. "I saw this delectable Mochi stand and turns out their family were from Sendai. What's the chance they made kikufuku? I got them for free since the owner was an old friend. Told 'em it was a gift for someone special." He winked at the end. Sukuna lowly growled barely loud enough for Itadori to hear. 'What's your problem?' 'Shut it brat.' Sukuna coldly snapped.

"This is why you're my favorite second-year." Gojo chuckled as if he were a grade school girl. "Looks like it's shaping up to be a fun hell. Get your belongings together by the end of the day." He turned towards Itadori, Megumi now standing behind him. "We goin' somewhere?" "Tokyo." Fushiguro answered with a battered face. "Ah! My little Meg-Chan is back!" M/n attacked the poor male in a tackle like hug. Snuggling his face further into the first-year's chest. A red hue danced acrossed the ravenette's face, as Gojo secretly took pictures.

Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical School The walk to the school was quiet, the only noise being the light chatter being shared between the two with occasional comments from M/n, who's interest was glued to a small book in his hands. The quietness of the curse had caught Itadori off guard, causing questions to form about his weird behavior. Sukuna seemed to keep his gaze fixed onto the object held by the other. 'The book he's holding..' Itadori's eyes flickered over to the small piece of literature questioning it's importance. "What are you reading?"

"Just an old book I'm rereading." The male had answered turning to the next page. "If you have already read it why are you reading it again?" His curiosity had gotten the better of him. "A good book never gets old no matter how many times you read it." What confused Itadori, is why Sukuna was so fixated on the older. A soft thud sounded out as M/n closed the book, placing it back into his pocket. "Anyways, you're about to have an interview with the principal." "The principal?!" He exclaimed confused.

"There's a high probability he could reject you so make sure you go all out." M/n said once again picking at his nails in amusement. "What then! Immediate execution?" He snapped making the former quirk a brow at his statement. A small mouth formed onto his cheek.

"So you're not the boss? Pathetic, a hierarchy that isn't based off of strength is worthless." Itadori slapped a hand over his cheek, keeping Sukuna from further speaking. "I'm sorry about him, he pops out." "You have quite the amusing body now." M/n cheekily said. Another small mouth popped out, this time located on his hand. "I owe you a favor you know."

"Not again!"

"Once I make this brat's body my own, you'll be the first one I kill. The male next to you will once again be my king when I take my crown back." M/n crossed his arms in confusion.

"It's an honor to be targeted by Sukuna himself, but what do you mean 'your king once again'?

"Have you ever wondered what caused the incident ten years ago? And why the Elders were so keen on raising him?" The mouth disappeared leaving both Gojo and M/n astounded at the new information.

'How does Sukuna know about that, and why did the elders drop the case as if it were nothing.' "You wouldn't do that would you senpai?" A hopeful smile painted on Itadori's face. "...." The words couldn't form as M/n stood wide-eyed at the curse's words.

'I wouldn't, would I?...'

#jujutsu kaisen #seme male reader #gojo satoru x male reader #itadori yuji x top male reader #jjk itadori #jjk fushiguro #jjk nobara #zenin #inumaki #sukuna ryomen x male reader #dazai osamu #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #top male reader #suicidal maniac #jjk

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struggling-with-time · 3 years

Text

The Man That Is Wilbur Soot [Wilbur Soot x reader]

Paring: c!Wilbur Soot x Gender neutral!reader

Summary: Inspired by the Song Honey Honey by ABBA aka I took the line "I'd heard about you before I wanted to know some more"

Warnings: Fluff?

Words: 3.4K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Event Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: This was made for my ABBA event. Check it out here! (Also requests are still open! Click here!) btw, this was supposed to be like 1k

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You had heard about Wilbur Soot before. Everyone had heard about Wilbur Soot the President of L’Manberg. The guy who stood up to the Tyrant Dream of the SMP. And came out victorious, unlike the others whose life has been lost to the Tyrant, and their names to the passage of time.

You can’t say, he didn’t intrigue you enough, for you to set out on the dangerous journey that is crossing the SMP. Because he did. His country did. The ideals that you’ve heard about did. Everything intrigued you enough to leave your village behind and track into the world.

So that’s what you did, backpack on your shoulders, map in hand. You set into the big world, on the tracks to the dangerous country that the SMP is. You barely get out of the village before you are able to hitch a ride.

It’s a merchant that is headed for one of the villages closer to the border. It’s a bigger village than your own. The name rings a bell, maybe a traveller has mentioned it when passing by. So you hitch the ride, he tells you about his trades. He’s a merchant of fabrics, listing many places you haven’t even heard of. But there is one that catches your attention.

“You’ve been to L’Manberg?”

“Before it became independent yes.”

“Tell me about it!”

And the merchant does, for the entirety of the ride. He talks about the few people that resided there when he passed through the back then settlement. You beg him to tell each detail he can remember. And he happily provides. You take note of every you hear in your notebook. Your travel journal. Your… well diary.

He’s a good man, you note to yourself when he pulls into the bigger villages. The sun on the horizon.

You’re much further than you thought you would be on your first day.

This is going to be a good trip.

---

This is going to be a horrible trip.

You’ve been wandering for days, the closer to the border of the SMP, the fewer carts had come by, and even fewer willing to take a traveller with them.

You sigh as you watch the sun starting to set, and you are forced to make camp once more. It has been days since you last slept in a bed. To be exact 16 days. You had only managed to stay in an inn for the first night, realising your small amount of money wouldn’t get you far if you spent it all on beds.

You are reminded of the people whom you met that first night, a girl who talked about how President Soot had come by the town in his own travels to the SMP, and she had met him. No not just met him. She had spent the night with him.

And you just couldn’t help yourself, you had to quill your curiosity somehow, so you had once again asked for details, and she had provided.

The fire you get going is better than the last one. Not that the last one had ever turned into a fire. It had rained in the morning, and most of the wood you could find yesterday was still wet by the time you wanted to settle down.

But today, you had been lucky, it had been sunny all day, leading to being able to find dry sticks and a couple of pieces of logs. That you could make into a fire.

A clear stary night over your head as you turn in for the night. Hoping to get at least a couple of hours out of the fire to keep you warm. And to keep the mobs away. Knowing you still have a couple of days of wandering left before you will reach the borders of the SMP. You sigh as you jolt down the few interesting pieces of the day in your notebook.

Not that anything of importance actually happened. But maybe out there someone would read your notebook and find the fact that you saw a parrot in a birch forest be found interesting.

---

You have under half a day of walking left when a cart is willing to pick you up. Turning the hours of walking into a mere hour in the cart. You can feel yourself squirm in your seat as the silence falls upon you and the woman who picked you up.

“…So… Why are you heading to the border?”

She lets you sit in silence.

Rude much?

But… You can’t really call her rude, she was nice enough to pick you up and take you to the border. Where she very unceremoniously dropped you off, and headed off east, seemingly following the border never crossing it. She was… weird.

You instead tighten your back, and head over to the guarded tollbooth. A man looking bored out of his mind and close to sleep sits there. Not even having registered the cart that was there moments ago.

How often do people come through here?

The thought crosses your mind. You know it isn’t one of the main border entrances. You know of one that lies further west. But still, a good 2 to 3 days travel away. Besides you’re pretty sure someone told you the toll at the busy entrances is higher than the ones people rarely use.

But now that you are here and can read the price yourself. It seems the person had either lied to you, or the price at the main entrances are a lot higher than you could ever think about paying.

An idea strikes you, maybe… Just maybe… The guard will fall asleep. Just maybe. You linger on the side of the road. Seemingly interested in the plants nearby. You start jotting down stuff in your notebook. Taking note of the size of the leaves, the colour. You mumble the information to yourself.

Your eyes keep glancing over, as his head slumps down further and further.

It barely takes you a few more minutes of stalling before the guard is full-on snoring. You barely catch yourself nearly letting out a sound in victory.

Silent. Right. No noise.

You can do this. You can sneak past him. You can be silent.

You suck in a breath, as you start moving as slowly as you’ve ever done in your life. Hoping to the sky gods the slowness helps you with being silent. And it does, to some extent. But your backpack still rustles around, and the loose stones on the pathway still skirt across the dirt.

But he keeps sleeping, and before you know it, you’ve managed to sneak past him. Sneak into a country. You did it!

You decide your celebration is best celebrated far from here, and you make your way on the now stone path.

---

It takes you a couple of days before you hit your first village. You’re surprised by this. Normally there is a city around half a days’ time from most border crossings. But this is the SMP. The fact that its citizens aren’t exactly allowed to leave. Is more than public knowledge in other countries. They are under the rule of a Tyrant after all.

You figure it’s time to sleep in a real bed, you deserve it.

You head straight into the in, it’s barely past lunch, but there is a plentiful of people in there already. You stumble a bit at the sight, you had expected a couple of patrons, not a room full of people. But nonetheless, you make your way to the bar.

Conversations bustling around you, a waiter running around, and either the innkeeper themselves behind the bar, or just a barkeeper. You aren’t exactly sure. But you wave them down anyway. Maybe she can help you find the innkeeper and ask for a room.

“Well, hello there, you look exhausted.” Your shoulders sink further down at the comment. Did you really look that bad?

“I was wondering if you had a room I could rent?” you ignore the rude comment and stick to politeness.

“I figured.”

“… So um… Do you have a room free?” You try once again.

“Sorry hun, but if you hadn’t noticed we are full right now.” You completely deflate at the answer. In return, she takes pity on you. “But if you ask around over at the stables, someone might let you on as a passenger and take you to the next city. It’s half a day by cart, so you might just catch one if you’re fast.”

You beam up that answer, profusely thanking her, before running back into the street. Before realising you have no clue where the stables are.

It takes you two people, and three wrong turns to find the stables. And nobody is preparing any carts when you get there. Just a guy saddling his own horse.

Ah well, it never hurts to ask.

You approach the guy.

“Hi!”

He looks a bit confused when you stand across from him, on the other side of the horse.

“Um… good evening?”

You smile at him.

“Can I help you?” He speaks slowly.

“Ah yes! Sorry! I’m a bit out of it. I’m trying to get to the next town over.” You happily tell him.

“And you’re telling me this because…” He trails off. Leaving time for you to answer, instead, you leave him hanging. Until he coughs.

“Because…” He repeats.

“Because I was thinking, maybe you were heading that way.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I can pay…” You try.

“Well then, why didn’t you start with that.” He looks you and your baggage up and down twice before clicking his tongue. “We can make this work. Do you know how to hold on?”

You nod, and he settles onto his horse, waiting for you to do the same. You manage to hoist yourself up and onto the horse. It doesn’t even flinch at the added weight. You’re thankful to the sky gods for that.

He rides the two of you out of town and onto the road for the next town.

“What’s someone like you this far out in the country?”

“I’m a traveller.” You tell him.

“To the border? So you could look at it and head home?” He snorts.

“No no, I’m not from the SMP, I’m just travelling through. I’m headed to L’Manberg.” He snorts once more.

“L’Manberg? That bunch of spoiled brats.”

“Spoiled brats?”

He laughs this time.

“Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“You truly aren’t from these parts.” He comments, and let the conversation fade out after that.

You don’t question the man, instead just pays him as the sun starts to set, and you are once again in an unfamiliar village. At this point, you barely remember the route you used to take in your home from your house to the baker.

Okay, that’s a lie, that is a route that is embedded into your mind, that you could sleepwalk it. For the sole reason that the route had you pass the library. Which was a place you spent a lot of time. Especially after finding out about the interesting man of Wilbur Soot.

Some books portrayed him as a traitor of the SMP, others the hero of the folk. But every single depiction had one thing in common. That he was an interesting enough man for people to want to write about him.

And that made you interested in him. He had started a revolution in a country that wasn’t his. You weren’t sure where he was from. None of the books in your village had mentioned that.

You head into the inn, this time, it’s bustling from evening patrons, but nowhere as lively as the one in the previous town. The reception this time has a separate table. Which you welcome happily. This means you don’t have to cross another sea of half-drunken people you don’t know.

However once again, the inn is full.

What’s going on here?

This one is even larger than the other one and seemingly has fewer patrons. But you take the rejection with a head held high. Thank them for their time, as you head into the now dark streets.

You sit now on a couple of steps, you’re tired, exhausted, and just want to sleep in a bed.

The door opens.

You nearly leave your skin in shock. You had expected the owner to be asleep. Instead, an elderly lady stands there.

“Would you look at that? It seems I have a guest.” She speaks.

“No no, I’m just passing through, I’m sorry I just needed to rest for a moment. I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way!” You ramble on as you scramble from the stone step.

“Nonsense.” She tsks at you. “Come in you poor child.”

She steps back into the house, leaving the door open.

“You coming? Close the door after you, it gets so terrible cold at night.”

You find yourself following her. Closing the door after yourself. You carefully put down your backpack as she ushers you into a seat in the kitchen. Setting a plate of hot steaming soup in front of you. You nearly drool at the sight. You can’t remember the last time you had warm food. Especially not warm homemade food.

You are quick to dig in, and she laughs warmly at you. You feel comfortable here.

“Why were you out in the street this late? That’s no safe place to be.”

You stop the spoon still in your mouth. She laughs once again, but the kind air around her never leaves. You swallow and pull out the spoon.

“I’m making my way to L’Manberg.” You tell her.

“Ah, L’Manberg. I’ve heard about that place. President Soot right?”

“Yes, yes.” You nod at her. “Wilbur Soot.”

“Ah, the Antarctic prince.”

You stop once again.

“The what?”

“The Antarctic Prince?”

You hum.

“Ah my dear, President Soot is the second born of King Philza from the Antarctic Empire.”

You stare at her; this was new information. She laughs once more. You are quick to grab your notebook and write down the new information. How had something this important not been mentioned before? This explains so much to you. And it eagers you even more to continue the trip.

The man of Wilbur Soot only seems to keep getting more and more interesting as each day passes.

The kind lady offers you a bed and a bath.

You are more than happy to receive both. Although you would never admit that to anyone that you could barely recognise yourself in the mirror. And for the second realisation that night. You understood why the innkeepers didn’t want you around.

You’ve never slept as good as you did that night during your travels.

---

You stretch as you can feel the scorching heat of the sun above you. It has been three weeks since you left the kind lady. She had asked for her son to help you move deeper into the country, so you were closer to the border you are desperately trying to reach.

You had travelled with her son for about a week, when he had to start heading more west than south, you had thanked him as much as his mother. But he had brushed you off that having a travelling partner was nice, and that you if came back through he would love to hear stories of the famous L’Manberg and its citizens.

The map you had brought seems to not be well mapped in the SMP. It wasn’t something you were unprepared for, but it did surprise you how little it truly resembled the mapping of the roads.

But a map is a map, and a destination is a destination. So you head onwards.

And onwards…

Sometimes meeting other travellers now that you are deeper in the countries. The nights where you aren’t alone passes faster than the ones where you are.

You hear stories of L’Manberg you have never heard before, and retellings of events but in other perspectives.

It seems a lot of people have a lot of opinions on the small country. But you understand, you too would have a lot of opinions if a city suddenly started wanting independence from its country.

It takes you weeks before you start coming across people who have been near L’Manberg regularly. It gives you a sign of hope. You’re getting closer, your journey is reaching its destination.

---

It’s storming the day you spot the country on the horizon. It’s still storming by the time you reach the country. The SMP toll guard is seemingly nowhere nearby and you pass the border with ease this time. Luckily for you. Or else you would have to explain why a traveller like you didn’t have travel papers.

You had expected to be met with one of the cities of the small country immediately. But it seems they are further from the border. And by further, it takes you an hour at foot-travel to meet the capital of the small country.

The streets are bustling.

That’s when it hits you.

You’ve made it.

You’ve actually made it.

You might look mad, but you let out a laugh right then and there. A laugh of relief. A laugh of victory. A laugh of … being alive.

“Having fun there?”

You turn around, to be met with the eyes of a stranger. A tall brown-haired stranger, nonetheless.

“Yeah, I just… Yeah.” You trail off. You eye him up and down, he’s cute. You put your hand out to present yourself, your name, the country you came from, and the name of the village you used to live in.

“Wilbur Soot, President of L’Manberg.” He returns with a smile. You barely listen to his words. Too captured by his smile. When…

Oh.

Oh, sky gods.

This is the man.

This beautiful human being of a man is the man.

“You alright there?” He asks as he watches you falter for a moment.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. More than fine actually.” You tell him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” You smile at him, and he smiles back.

“So, what are you doing here? You are an awful long way from home.”

He starts walking, and you fall in step with him.

“I’m here to see the country. I’ve heard a lot about it.” Leaving out the unsaid, I’ve heard a lot about you. He didn’t need to know yet, just how intriguing you found him.

You follow him down the street as he points a couple of things out, a couple of buildings, a couple of people. You listen and stop to note something down a couple of times, and he waits, patiently. Until he leads you to the local inn.

He holds the door open.

“A drink?”

“Yes please.”

He finds the two of you a booth, and you easily fall into conversation.

He asks you about your hometown, you about his.

He asks about your journey, you ask about the revolution.

You continue this game of ping pong. And the further down your drinks you get, the more personal the conversation gets. The less you note down. Yet, the man himself never falters from being the most interesting thing you’ve ever encountered.

And the night moves along, your conversation following.

You don’t really know when his hand landed on your thigh. Or when your lips met his. But suddenly you’re stumbling into a room together.

His touch setting you on fire, and your touch egging him on.

Your head is spinning as your back hits the bed.

Your notebook is lying tucked away safely in your backpack, staying there all the way into midday when you finally wake up. Disorientated, confused, and hungover.

Sitting there in that bed, you can’t help but remember the words of the girl you met the first night. And you can’t help but agree with her. Wilbur Soot surely is a love machine.

You hear rustling beside you, and you turn your head.

He’s awake.

He’s watching.

He’s watching you.

You lazily smile at him.

And at that moment, there is nowhere else you would rather be.

You had heard about him before, and you wanted to know some more.

People later down the line found your meeting story anywhere from boring to fate. But one thing was sure, you entered L’Manberg with one goal in mind. And never left again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot #c!wilbur #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur fanfic #c!wilbur x you #c!wilbur soot x you #dsmp wilbur #dsmp #mcyt #mcyt x reader #fanfic #gender neutral!reader #delias own writing

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

consider- after the whole "reviving Tommy" thing comes in and does the whole pic thing again- but this time dream lunges for the pic, trying to grab it from sam, and they fight for it, and sam ends up stabbing through dreams left eye, far enough to kill him. dream respawns blind in that eye.

ooh anon ,, this is such a good prompt but . *head in hands* MAN,, half-blind c!dream living in my head rent free. on one hand, narrative parallels! and on the other hand ,, pain. so, so much pain.

anyway, have this quick ficlet set in current roommates arc!

tw: EYE TRAUMA, GORE (in ask), implied torture/abuse, violence, mentioned child death, injuries, trauma, prison arc, pandora’s vault, dark portrayal of c!sam

Techno is pacing around the cell for something like the fifty-third time after sending Draem to break the obsidian when Dream snaps, neck twisting over to look at him with the one eye exposed by the cracked edge of his mask narrowed in a rather unthreatening glare.

“Will you stop that?” he hisses, and Techno hesitates, shrugs.

“I dunno,” he says simply, walking back to the bell. He raps his knuckles on it once as he passes, humming at the wave of new channel member and one of us from Chat as the echo subsides. “I’m not going to lie, Dream, there’s not exactly much to do here.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dream’s voice drops, for a second, from that over-tense harshness the guy refuses to give up, becoming softer around the edges, more casual than meant to rile up and provoke. Seconds later, his jaw tightens, and he looks away to stare back at the block, humor gone. “Figure out something else to do. I don’t care.”

“Hmm,” Techno makes a considering noise before pacing back to the bell and letting the back of his hand meet it with a quiet clang. “Nah.”

Dream makes an irritated, wordless sound of frustration, but otherwise does not stop in his chipping away at the obsidian block. Techno watches him as he circles around - the line of his lip, from where it peeks out behind the mask, is flat and slightly downturned at the corners, speaking of his frustration, but otherwise he seems mostly relaxed. Techno steps forward, stopping in his tracks at the opposite side of the cell when the other man’s posture tightens suddenly, shoulders rising to his ears, chin ducking to his chest. The smiling face of the side of the mask that hasn’t been shattered stares at him from behind a curtain of matted hair. Techno steps back, watching when he swings over to Dream’s other side and he relaxes again, shoulders falling, muscles untensing, and frowns.

Usually, people have a weaker side when fighting - it’s something he’d become especially adept at picking out in fights, giving him an edge over his opponent. Personally, he’s relatively ambidextrous, easily able to maneuver around and wield a weapon on both sides, and the versatility has proved to be a valuable asset on the battlefield. As a shield fighter, Dream isn’t offered the same flexibility when it comes to switching hands, but Techno remembers being impressed by his range of movement anyway - unlike most, who fail to properly wield and move around the awkward weight and shape of a shield in their non-dominant hand, Dream’s movements were fluid, unbroken. He wielded the shield almost like a second sword, not simply blocking hits as much as he would catch and redirect them in a way that benefited him most. He hadn’t had a weak side, from what Techno could remember of their spars, despite the specialization, he met every thrust and strike on either side with an easy movement and laughing air.

Once again, Techno paces until he’s entirely on Dream’s left side, watching him all the while. Once again, Dream tense with every step he takes towards the opposite end of the cell, ending with hunching over himself significantly, jaw clenched and tight.

“Are you hurt?”

Dream flashes a look at him, unimpressed, and yeah. That’s fair - it was a dumb question; the other man is absolutely littered with cuts and bruises on every visible inch of skin, obviously malnourished and even more obviously marked with a patchwork of pale, pinkish scars. Techno huffs at Dream, still watching him incredulously, and gestures at his crouching body.”

“Well obviously I know you’re injured, but you’ve been really jumpy around your left side, man. You haven’t been hiding any life-threatening injuries under that jumpsuit, have you? It would be really awkward if you just dropped dead one day, I’m not gonna lie.”

Dream goes still, before shaking his head slightly with a harsh puff of air.

“Figures you’d notice that,” he mutters, almost to himself, before turning to look at Techno with a small, tight-lipped smile. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing…”

Dream laughs, short and without humor. His hair swings in front of his face, and Dream ignores it as he goes back to chipping at the obsidian. Techno winces, sensing that he’s hit on a sore spot, and backs off, presuming that the other man is done with the conversation.

“I’m blind. In my left eye.”

Or not, apparently.

“Uh,” Techno rolls his shoulders back, trying to catch a glimpse at Dream’s face underneath the mess of his hair and his mask keeping it out of sight. “I’m guessing that’s a recent development, then?”

“Mmhm,” Dream goes back to the obsidian with seeming renewed determination. Techno sighs, waving away the curious chants and questions from Chat blind? Teletubby blind? Not pog. Is that from quackity? E e e e and battling his own awkwardness to figure out what to say next. Gee, thanks for the bombshell, Dream. You sure know how to make a conversation uncomfortable.

“Is it from Quackity, then?” He asks, finally, remembering the scar that had clawed across Quackity’s face, a large, ragged thing from the rough edge of a pickaxe. It had been a harsh death, not that he’d thought much of it at the time, and the clear remnants of it on Quackity’s face and in the newfound fogginess of his left eye seems all the more relevant here, with Dream’s newest revelation. He’d hardly put it past the man to take someone else’s eye as revenge, even if Dream hadn’t been the one to ruin his vision in the first place.

“Nope, surprisingly,” Dream seems to shrug, popping the ‘p’. “Was from Sam, actually. He got mad after I killed Tommy, gave me this in return. I don’t even think it was on purpose, but you know. Shit happens. He ran.”

“Kinda sounds like a garbage warden, I’m not gonna lie.”

“He probably could’ve fixed it, if he bothered getting a regen. He didn’t, though. He left basically immediately after, didn’t come back for weeks. Bastard. Left me in here with the child for another few days- what an idiot.”

“Doesn’t sound like the smartest decision,” Techno says, finally, and Dream laughs slightly before going back to his obsidian. Techno watches him for a minute, before going back to their bell, carefully feeling along the smooth surface.

“You want to see?” Dream says, suddenly, and Techno’s head snaps up.

“Uh,” he flounders. “I guess?”

Dream’s hands go to his mask, trembling slightly as he unfastens the buckle in the back. Techno thinks he’s seen Dream without the mask fewer times than he can count on one hand, watches silently as he eases it off to look him in the eyes. His cheeks are pale, gaunt, eyes startlingly wide. There’s a cut still healing along his right cheekbone, a bump along his nose bridge from where it’d been broken, before. A small, thick scar rises from his left eye socket, and the eye within it is glassy, unseeing, paler as if covered by a slight film. He looks tired, shadows under his eyes, slightly scared. If he’s being honest, he looks young, human. Very, very human.

“When we get out,” Techno says, keeping his voice light as Dream goes to fasten the mask on his face again. “I’ll get Phil or someone to make you an eyepatch, or something. Really sell the whole homeless schtick you’ve got going on.”

“Techno,” Dream starts, exasperated, and Techno grins.

“Or maybe a pirate is more fitting. You like pirates? You know, if you have a ship, you won’t be homeless anymore-”

“You are the worst,” Dream huffs, and Techno laughs as he goes back to pacing around the cell, careful to stay on Dream’s right side.

“That’s not an answer, you know,” he continues, and Dream shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you when we get out, then.”

“Sounds good,” Techno smiles despite himself. That must be the first time that Dream admitted that they were going to get out. Guess you aren’t as hopeless as you thought, nerd. “We’ll figure it out when we get out.”

#-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks #tw eye trauma #tw gore #tw violence #tw torture #tw abuse #tw child death #tw death #tw trauma #prison arc #pandora's vault #c!sam critical

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diaco1968 · 3 years

Note

If you are willing, I would love a Kenma x Reader NSFW. Maybe Kenma is in the mafia or something like that.

I'm so very sorry for being late! I don't even have any excuses! >_< I just felt like he is so ooc and the more I tried the worse it got. I hope you enjoy at least a little!

Kenma xreader mafia au

WARNINGS! smut/lemon, spanking, crying, biting

Kenma was a man of few words and even fewer actions. Perfect for the position he had in his little family of criminals. The less he physically did the happier he was with himself. The less he had to walk around looking for people, the less open fights he had to participate in, the less he moved, the less he blinked.

The less he breathed.

All he needed to do was focus, aim and pull the trigger.

Being a sniper was perfect for him.

Tonight however, he founded himself unable to uphold those conditions.

He watched through the scope, nose flaring every now and then, a few stray angry huff and restless trigger finger that just twitched in anticipation for the right moment.

Why did you have to be the bait?

Whose stupid idea was this?

He didnt care about his targets, he usually didn't even know them.

But this one, he held so much personal hate and despise for him that when the moment came he could barely contain his happiness.

He got the signal, everything in his periphery went black, he held his breath, and in the dead silence he aimed and pulled the trigger. Heard the gun make that satisfying noise and watched as his bullet hit it's target, finishing him, and caught a glimpse of your slightly startled expression through the scope too.

Not enough.

He wasn't satisfied with your reaction.

~~~

"Did he touch you here?"

His hand landed firmly on the small of your back making you jump lightly. He had been acting all weird since you all got back, and instead of trying to deal with the trauma you were put through he was rather intent on knowing the details of the night.

The moment you got alone with him in your room, he had quietly stomped off towards you, circled you for a thorough observation and started asking about the time you spent with the target.

"Answer my question."

"What does that have to do with anything."

He pulled you so suddenly towards himself that you didn't have time to brace yourself as you bumped into him roughly, his other hand moving up to fist into your hair, tugging your head back so you looked up to him now.

"Answer. Me."

You put your palms on his chest but any attempt to put distance between you was met with an almost painful tightening of his fingers in your hair.

"Y-yes, he touched me there..."

"Where else?"

"On my sh-"

"Show me."

He removed his hand from your waist and offered it to you. You paused briefly to contemplate your next move but grabbed his hand anyway and moved it over your shoulder where the man had draped his arm.

"Hm. Where else?"

You bit your lower lip as your anxiety peaked along with your excitement, slowly moving his hand down your back and placed it over your ass. As expected his eyes immediately darkened. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and his fingers finally slipped out of your hair only to grab you by the shoulders and spun you around. He grasped the hem of your dress from behind.

"Hey! What are you doing?!- Kenma!"

With one firm tug he ripped the upper half and listened to the satisfying tear as he kept ripping it to the bottom.

"There is a zipper you know?!"

"Shut up."

You shivered at the demanding tone deciding to oblige, turning to give him the puppy eyes.

"Are you going to stop being stupid and do as you're told?"

You nod your head and he hummed in appreciation as he moved past you and onto the bed. He leaned his back on the headboard and looked at you expectantly.

"Well? Come."

You worried your lower lip as you crawled on the bed towards him, mounting his lap, feeling the bulge of his not yet fully formed erection on your lace covered heat.

"Take it off."

He pointed at you panties and you clumsily started to pull them off one leg at a time, accidentally brushing your breasts against his face a few times. He growled and grabbed your hips, pressing you back down over his still clothed crotch, once you were in place his fingers slid over and dug in the flesh of your ass cheeks making you hiss.

"Oh look who's excited."

You looked down and sure enough there was a dark spot over the tent in his pants.

"Are you going to do something about it?"

"No."

You looked up at him in disbelief suddenly

feeling ridiculed by one of his mean mind games.

"I'm not. You are. Start moving."

You blinked in confusion and stared at him in silence, already feeling stupid as the only one naked, now he was asking you to get yourself off?

A sharp slap to your ass jerked you forward and ripped a loud gasp from your lips as you subconsciously started moving to prevent another blow.

"But! But Kenma~"

You whined pleadingly but his eyes were cold as he frowned and delivered another sharp slap to your ass that made you yelp. These were going to leave marks.

"No buts kitten, keep moving. I want to see you cum."

And another sharp slap. Each one making your hips move faster and you moving away from the stinging sharp pain.

"You need to learn that I'm the only one that can make you cum. I don't even need to try."

"I know! P-please!AH!"

Another sharp slap and you fisted your hands in his shirt to steady your erratic pace.

"Who does this ass belong to?"

Another hit and tears started filling the corners of your eyes, you were gushing over him with each spank and then squeezing around nothing.

"It b-belongs to you!"

"That's right."

And that only received you another hit. There was no right answer, he just wanted to mark your ass.

You sobbed as you felt yourself getting closer but at the same time your thighs were burning painfully and your movements were slowed down drawing you further away from your orgasm that would end all this painful euphoria.

"K-kenma -hic- p-please! I c-can't!"

"Try harder."

"I can't!"

You yelled as high pitched sob ripped through you and he grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you flush against his chest and placed one hand on your still stinging ass, which he used to pull you over himself and then push you away added to a small thrusting motion upwards to meet your wave like motions. You were a moaning mess already, clawing at his cloths and the sheets and the headboard craving your release and he knew just what would be the push you need.

"You are all mine."

As he growled in your ear, he parted his lips and sunk his teeth in the juncture of your neck and shoulders.

Pain shot through your body, exploding the knot of pleasure in your lower belly, gushing and dripping over his expensive suit pants as you panted heavily to catch your breath, still mewling in pain mixed with pleasure. His hand was soothingly rubbing your stinging ass.

"I had gotten that dress so you can wear it for me... look at it now. We need to go shopping again. What a hassle..."

#Kenma kozume x reader #Kenma x reader #Kenma x reader lemon #Kenma x reader smut #kenma kozume

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meichenxi · 3 years

Note

Ooh anything about linguistics and/or Chinese linguistics that interests you- what do you find most interesting?

Ooooo thank you! First let me apologise for the lack of rigour i.e. sources - I am ILL.

HMMMMM ok...let me talk a little bit about one thing I find fascinating - the idea of 'linguistic complexity'. It's an interesting topic that a) demonstrates the failures of linguistics that only takes Indo-European languages into account; b) demonstrates how a conflation of linguistic and moral judgements leads to absolute chaos; and c) proves that sometimes the purpose of all models and hypotheses is to be a useful aid in description, and not to be 100% accurate. Which means that multiple models can exist at the same time. Also, it shows just how cool Classical Chinese is.

I'm going to make this into two posts because I have been asked to wax lyrical on this stuff twice...this one will be a general overview of what linguistic complexity is and some of the issues around it, and the other post (@karolincki 's ask) will be an overview of these issues as pertaining to Modern and Classical Chinese.

Linguistic complexity: an introduction

What is linguistic complexity? Basically what it says on the tin: how 'simple' or 'complex' is one language in relation to another. If you automatically think that sounds dodgy - aren't all languages equally complex? what is a simple language? etc - just hold on. We'll get there.

A very important starting point: complexity here only refers to linguistic complexity. There are many ways to measure this, but broadly speaking it refers to the amount of stuff in a language a learner has to deal with. Are there genders? Well, that's more complex than not having any, because it's an extra thing to remember. Do you have to express whether the information you're conveying is something you personally experienced or hearsay? Again, more complex than not. Different tenses? Essentially, you can look at complexity like this: if you were describing this language or putting it into a computer program, what is the minimum length of description you would need? The longer the description, the more complex the language. In a standard understanding of complexity, a language like English is more complex than a language like Vietnamese (English has more tenses, moods, conjugations, irregularity...), and a language like Georgian is more complex than a language like English (Google a single verb table of Georgian and you will see what I mean).

(this will be long)

What complexity does not mean is anything to do with the cognitive abilities of the people who speak it. It doesn't mean that people who speak English are unable to conceive of the difference between a dual and a plural (2 apples and 3 apples), just because the language doesn't mark it. It doesn't mean people who speak Chinese are unable to conceive of the past conditional ('I should have gone...') just because they don't have a separate tense for it. It doesn't mean Italian speakers don't know whether they experienced the thing themselves, or heard about it from someone else, just because they don't have a set verb ending for it. All linguistic complexity means is what the language requires you to express.

I'm putting this out there very clearly because this sort of thinking is bound up in a lot of racist ideas and ideology. You'll have heard of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis? Unfortunately named, since they never really worked together, and Edward Sapir was actually a relatively cool dude for the time who argued against linguistic relativity - i.e. the language you speak determines how you think. Yes, in the 19th (and much of the 20th) century, when certain linguists referred to 'simple' and 'complex' languages that is what many of them meant: speakers of a simple language are 'simple', and a complex one are 'complex'. But there was a huge backlash against these racist ideas, and that backlash was hugely influential is shaping the direction of typology (the branch of linguistics which is broadly concerned with these sorts of questions). More on that later, but for now: please understand that when I say linguistic complexity, I am not implying a single thing about the people that speak it.

Back to complexity. Of course language, like any system, is made up of moving parts: you don't just need to consider how many parts it has, but also how interdependent they are, whether they interact with each other in a predictable way, how likely they are to change. You might also want to consider how easy the system is to learn for somebody who has never used it before. And then, of course, languages are more complex still because they are not machines, but ever-changing things: do you count a rule like the conditional inversion in English, which only applies to a total of three verbs? Is that less complex because fewer verbs use it - and therefore you need to think about it less - or does that make the system more complex because you need another, meta-rule to say when you need to use it and when not? What about irregularity? Is a language like English that doesn't have many rules but has a sizeable amount of 'irregular' verbs more or less complicated than a language like Swahili which has a lot more rules, but follows them assiduously? And what happens when some people use one rule and others don't - do you count those as the same language (lumping), which may render the grand overview less accurate, or do you count them as totally separate languages (splitting), in which case when do you stop?

Hmm. Complexity. Is. Complex.

Those are a lot of factors that need to be considered here. Even saying something is 'irregular' doesn't mean very much without further quantification. For example, if I say that the 'irregular' verb ring goes to ring, rang, rung in English, you can very easily find other verbs which conjugate similarly: sing, sang, sung etc. So is that really irregular? Or is it just another, less productive rule? But then if it's a rule, why do we say fling, flung, flung and not yesterday I flang the ball? What's going on???

And what about 'total' irregularity, so called 'suppletion', where (and this is a very scientific explanation) a random non-related word just seems to appear in a paradigm, like it's got lost on the way home? Like I go, I went; like to be, I am, he is, I were; like good, better, best. Ok, so is the irregularity in I go and I went somehow....more irregular than irregularity in I sing and I sang? Uhh. Ok. And then is the irregularity in bad, worse, worst somehow more irregular than better and best, because at least for better and best you can see the -er and -st endings?? Finally, what about a 'spoken' but very predictable irregularity, such as the way we have a reduced vowel in 'says'? Where do we count that? Is that more irregular, or less irregular? Is it maybe 33% irregular?

I think you get the point. And of course all of this becomes more complex when you start to consider the interaction of lots of different systems at once. What about tone? If you have regular tone like Chinese, most people would agree that it's more complex because it's an added thing. But tone probably only developed in part as a response to losing some really important sound contrasts that other languages have kept...and also there is no possibilities of 'irregularities' in tone the way there are in something like verb conjugation...you can't just have a random sixth tone. And then what about syntax? If you have lots of very complex word ordering rules, is that more or less complex than a language where you have to rely on the human being to use pragmatics to infer what the ever loving fuck is going on?

Yeah. This is sort of just one of those things where every year a new linguist comes up with a spicy new matrix to 'measure' complexity and then everyone shits on them in journals and then comes up with their own idea which is promptly shat on. I don't know either.

Ok, so how is this relevant to Chinese?

To answer that question we need to circle round a bit to the history of typology that I vaguely alluded to earlier. At various points - depending on how racist the linguist in question was - people in the 20th century were starting to realise that all of this stuff about 'complex language = complex civilisation / complex thought' wasn't quite as water-tight as they'd hoped. Perhaps it was their better judgement, but it's also likely to have been influenced by a lot of contact suddenly with Native American languages - many of which are vastly complex by literally any metric you could possibly imagine, but the people speaking them were not colonising other countries and building amphitheatres and all of those necessarily, comfortingly European ideas of 'civilisation'. This movement away from such racist ideology, even if it was fuelled in part by a different type of racism, meant that suddenly everyone was very wary about making statements about linguistic complexity at all. It smacked of all the things they were trying not to be associated with.

I'm going to quote some Edward Sapir here for no other reason than I think it's really unfortunate that he's most famous for something that has the potential for incredibly racist ideology that he literally never said:

'Intermingled with this scientific prejudice and largely anticipating it was another, a more human one. The vast majority of linguistic theorists themselves spoke languages of a certain type, of which the most fully developed varieties were the Latin and Greek that they had learned in their childhood. It was not difficult for them to be persuaded that these familiar languages represented the “highest” development that speech had yet attained and that all other types were but steps on the way to this beloved ��inflective” type. Whatever conformed to the pattern of Sanskrit and Greek and Latin and German was accepted as expressive of the “highest,” whatever departed from it was frowned upon as a shortcoming or was at best an interesting aberration. Now any classification that starts with preconceived values or that works up to sentimental satisfactions is self-condemned as unscientific. A linguist that insists on talking about the Latin type of morphology as though it were necessarily the high-water mark of linguistic development is like the zoölogist that sees in the organic world a huge conspiracy to evolve the race-horse or the Jersey cow.'

People generally began to get the hang of it after this, and stepped away from linguistic classification at all. There was a broad consensus that that sort of thing was done with, a thing of the past. It's kind of funny, because of course people's unwillingness to look at the complexity of language because 'all people are the same' shows that they still think language and culture/cognition are intimately linked! It was done out of a desire to not be racist, but you can't even reach that conclusion unless you have a sneaky secret bit of bioessentialism going on in your sneaky little brain. Because if the complexity of language doesn't reflect the complexity of your thought, why would it matter whether some systems are bigger than others? That they had more parts?

It literally wouldn't matter at all..

So what happened next? Linguists started to revisit these old linguistic classifications and ideas of complexity, but in the hope of proving, instead, that actually all languages were equal. You can definitely see the theoretical aims here: not only is a good from an ideological point of view (again, if you still equate linguistic complexity to complexity of thought), but it's also quite handy if you believe that all human babies approach language learning with the same biological apparatus ('Universal Grammar', if you believe in that, and other cognitive principles). If all babies have the same built-in gear, you sort of want the task they are given to be of roughly the same magnitude. That's one of those things linguists like to call theoretically desirable - which just means it would be neat if it did.

We're getting to Chinese. I promise.

So how you could make systems so vastly different as English and Georgian and Chinese roughly the 'same' level of complexity? One answer is irregularity: languages with huuuuuge verb and noun declensions like Georgian tend to have very little irregularity, where languages with less extensive systems like English tend to keep it around for longer. There are lots of reasons for this I won't go into, but it's a general trend. Irregular systems are more work for the brain to remember, which, predictably, is more 'complex' for a learner to acquire. Compare a language like English and German: German may have more cases and declensions and rules, but once you learn them...that's it. Compare that to English, where you'll be learning phrasal verbs and prepositions as a second language learner until the day you die (and possibly beyond). It's a different type of 'complex', but it's still deserving of the title.

That obviously doesn't work for a language like Chinese. Chinese has no conjugations, and so can't possibly have any irregularity in the same way. But fear not: there are lots and lots and lots of ways in which languages often exhibit what might be called 'complexity tradeoffs': languages with complex tone, for example, almost always have simpler sound systems elsewhere, and many languages with complex case arrangements tend to have free word order. One thing is complex, another...simplex (a word unfortunately genuinely in use).

This seems nice. We like this. It means that the different parts of the same system may be differently sized, but the whole system in total is about the same as any of other language. There’s just one problem: this isn’t how languages seem to work.

For every example of a complexity trade-off you can find, there are other languages which don’t have any such ‘trade off’ at all. There are plenty of languages where grammar is complex and the sound system is complex; or languages like Icelandic and German where there are cases but fairly rigid and fixed word order; or other cases where there is a huge amount of irregularity but also crazy verb systems, and so on. A language like Abkhaz has supposedly 58 consonants in the literary dialect: but it also has insanely complicated grammar. No trade-off there. Finally, it has long been presumed that whilst verb morphology etc is simpler in languages like Chinese, syntax would be more complicated: recently, a number of studies have proved exactly the opposite. Both, in fact, are simpler.

In conclusion, where does this leave us? Whilst the idea behind complexity trade-offs is well-motivated but not totally sound, and whilst these do not always seem to be present in the way you might hope, what this does do is force us as linguists to question whether we have spent enough time considering the types of complexity that are present in languages like Chinese, and how we reconcile that with more ‘familiar’ complexity. It’s interesting to think about because it shows what happens when you fail to consider these things.

That’s all for the overview on linguistic complexity today!! I’ll talk specifically about complexity in Chinese in the next ask, because this is already very long. Be aware, I’m not going to give you any answers necessarily - these questions are way above my pay grade - but boy can I give you some thoughts.

#chinese #linguistics #langblr #lingblr #linguistic complexity #meichenxi manages #askies #oh my god I am so looking forward to writing the next one #it's so spicy #love remembering that I actually sometimes know things lmao #stop the false equivalence of Sapir = the Sapir-whorf hypothesis 2k21 #the dude was actually quite progressive for his time #sighhhhh *squints at actual linguistics* hope this doesn't awaken anything in me #like the desire to go and do a masters #I hope this makes sense and I hope no one yells at me #if you want any sources I'm happy to give I'm just lazy and ill #source = brain #no I really do have books I promise

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causeiwanttoandican · 3 years

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The Times

Prince William’s close friends on what makes him tick — and why he’s not trapped

March 20 2021, 6:00pm

As the world devours the Harry and Meghan interview, what’s going on with the brother who was left behind? He’s embracing his destiny, William’s close friends tell the Sunday Times royal correspondent, Roya Nikkhah

Next month Prince William will celebrate his tenth wedding anniversary — the day he became a duke and embarked on the most formative decade of his life. Back then, the tentative 28-year-old newlywed was not ready to devote himself entirely to royal duties. A decade on, he is in a very different position.

The job of being the heir to the heir to the throne, of finding a balance between life and duty, is difficult at the best of times. These are not the best of times. In their bombshell interview with Oprah Winfrey this month the Duke and Duchess of Sussex accused the royal family and the institution around it of racism and callous disregard for a suicidal newcomer, among many other damning charges. Harry the spare also declared that William was trapped within “the system … My brother can’t leave that system, but I have.”

In the immediate aftermath of the interview William was “reeling”, a source close to the duke says. “His head is all over the place on it.” Four days after the Sussexes had their say, he hit back during an engagement with the Duchess of Cambridge at a school in east London. Asked about accusations of racism, William retorted with restrained fury: “We’re very much not a racist family.” He also confirmed that he hadn’t spoken to Harry yet, “but will do”. By the weekend it emerged they had “been in contact”.

William is thought to have been less than thrilled a few days later when that conversation made global headlines after the American presenter Gayle King, a close friend of the Sussexes, revealed live on air that it had not been an easy chat: “I did actually call them to see how they were feeling,” she told viewers. “Harry has talked to his brother and he had talked to his father too. The word I was given was that those conversations were not productive.” The intervention prompted a senior royal source to say that “none of the households will be giving a running commentary on private conversations”.

A close friend of both brothers says Harry’s “trapped” comment was “way off the mark”, insisting that William does not see it that way. “He has a path set for him and he’s completely accepting of his role. He is very much his grandmother’s grandson in that respect of duty and service.”

When the Queen turned 90 nearly five years ago William admitted “the challenge” that “occupies a lot of thinking space” is how to “modernise and develop” the royal family, and make it “relevant in the next 20 years’ time”. Twenty years now seems like a very long time. In the hours and days after the Oprah broadcast, William was at the heart of all discussions with the Queen and the Prince of Wales about how to respond to the Sussexes. He was keen that the issue of race should be acknowledged in the Queen’s statement as an area of particular concern that “will be addressed”.

William has always railed against being a “ribbon-cutter royal” and the issues he champions — mental health, battling racism in football, homelessness and his ramped-up eco-warrior role — are a window into where the future King William V will take the House of Windsor. A friend says: “He’s a small-c conservative. He values tradition and the need to go around the country, but he realises he can make a difference beyond traditional royal duties.”

Today royal popularity is, to put it mildly, in a state of flux, but William’s strategy has been working. Post-Oprah, he ranks just below the Queen at the top of a YouGov poll of royals. Not so long ago such a position looked like a long shot, when the “workshy Wills” and “reluctant royal” tags plagued him and he was clocking up fewer days of royal work than his nonagenarian grandparents. Pictures of him hitting the ski slopes and clubs of Swiss resort Verbier in March 2017, missing a Commonwealth service that even the Duke of York flew back for, didn’t help.

After the lasting PR gold dust of the Cambridges’ 2011 wedding and the births of Prince George and Princess Charlotte, it was the first public nosedive for William, who was still working as an air ambulance pilot. “That pissed him off,” a friend says. “He was leaving home at 5.30am, getting home after dark and saving lives in between, but people were still being critical of his commitment to his [other] job.” William was based at Cambridge airport with East Anglian Air Ambulance for two years, where he was on call for “some very sad, dark moments”, often working “on very traumatic jobs involving children”. He later acknowledged that “after I had my own children … the relation between the job and the personal life was what really took me over the edge, and I started feeling things that I have never felt before”. But it was a job he loved, because of “working in a team … that’s something that my other job doesn’t necessarily do. You are more out there on your own.”

A former royal aide says: “Immediately after their wedding he had a very clear idea of the pace at which he wanted to take things.” William was adamant he wouldn’t curtail his day jobs, first as an RAF search and rescue helicopter pilot in Anglesey and then with the air ambulance. “If you’re not careful, duty can weigh you down an awful lot at an early age,” he said, insisting he didn’t “lie awake waiting or hoping” to be king. He delayed full-time royal duties until the autumn of 2017, when, acknowledging the Cambridges’ future required more time at “monarchy HQ”, they moved from Norfolk to London and George started school.

He’d had to fight his corner for the air ambulance role. A source close to William reveals “there were lots of raised eyebrows in the Palace when he wanted to do that. While the Queen and his father backed him, some senior courtiers questioned whether it was becoming of a future king to be doing a middle-class role, hanging out with ordinary people. They thought he wouldn’t stick it out, he’d find it boring, or was doing it out of stubbornness to put off royal duties. He was pretty bloody-minded about it, and determined that other people’s expectations in the media or the system shouldn’t get in the way of his own values.” In the wake of Harry and Meghan’s interview much has been speculated about the extent to which royal life is dictated by Palace officials, but it is clear that William has managed to forge his own path. Who knows how high those senior courtiers’ eyebrows rose in 2019, when William spent three weeks shadowing the spooks of MI5, MI6 and GCHQ to learn how they combat terrorism. He insisted on being called “Will” and lunching in the canteen every day.

Those closest to the duke say his resistance to the idea of full-time royal duties stemmed not only from a desire to achieve something for himself but also from a fear of the impact on his family life. Miguel Head worked alongside the prince for ten years until 2018, as William, Kate and Harry’s communications secretary and later as William’s private secretary. “In his role everyone’s going to tell you you’re marvellous,” Head says. “The RAF and air ambulance jobs were about knowing what his abilities were, what he was good at in his own right. Without that he’d still be hankering for something that was his own.” After children came along he says William developed a “visceral determination to give them a life of consistency and privacy that were missing for large parts of his own childhood”.

Another close aide says the plan enabling the Cambridges to have a few years of “normal” married life, away from the full-time glare of the royal spotlight, paid dividends: “For years, the battles around privacy and paparazzi intrusion were all-consuming. He wanted to know, could we build them a credible plan allowing them a family life while slowly increasing the profile of official life? It took years to get there, but the success of that plan allowed him to be confident and content in his role. He’s not worried about his kids’ privacy any more and he has been able to be the kind of dad he wants to be.”

“Marriage maketh the man,” a friend says. “Catherine’s groundedness has been the critical anchor. And where his relationship with the media was once all fury and frustration, he now understands using the power of modern media, so the public feel they’re getting enough access.”

The children’s birthdays are marked with photographs — often taken by the Duchess of Cambridge — and there has been a noticeable increase in their public appearances of late. While not “officially” staged, William was happy to let George and Charlotte be photographed at their first Aston Villa match with Mum and Dad in 2019. Pandemic set pieces have shown the family clapping for the NHS on the steps of Anmer Hall, their Norfolk home, and, before Christmas, their first red-carpet appearance together for an evening at the panto with key workers and their children.

As they celebrate their anniversary on April 29, friends who joined the Cambridges on their wedding day tell me the partnership’s equal footing is key to its success. “They’ve got a solid relationship and she gives him confidence,” one says. “There is no jealousy, no friction, they are happy for each other’s successes.” In private William talks as passionately about Kate’s work as his own campaigns, and takes pride in her growing confidence on the public stage.

William has said his grandmother’s approach to being head of state is to take “more of a passive role. She’s above politics and is very much away from it.” He doesn’t plan to meddle in party politics, but he was not happy about the unenviable position the government put the Queen in with the 2019 proroguing of parliament, which was later ruled to be unlawful and forced an apology from Boris Johnson to the monarch. Constitutionally the Queen had no alternative other than to act on the advice of her government, but in William’s reign there will be “more private, robust challenging of advice”. His last three private secretaries — Christian Jones, Simon Case, now the cabinet secretary, and Head — had all worked in government departments, helping William to keep his finger on the political pulse. The new incumbent, the Whitehall heavyweight Jean-Christophe Gray, who served as David Cameron’s spokesman, continues in that vein.

The former Conservative leader Lord Hague of Richmond was last year appointed as chairman of the Royal Foundation to develop William’s work on mental health, the environment and a raft of new support programmes for key workers. “People internationally and nationally respect his credibility and knowledge on these issues,” Hague says. “He’s very persuasive. You only see that behind the scenes. He knows what he wants and he goes out to get it.”

Charlie Mayhew, chief executive of the conservation charity Tusk, has known William since he was 20. In 2005 Tusk and Centrepoint, the homelessness charity championed by Princess Diana, were the first patronages William took on. “In those early years I kept having to pinch myself to remember how young he was,” Mayhew says. “He was much more mature than his age and very aware of his destiny coming down the track. He had a sincerity, but never without wicked humour. His teasing is merciless.”

William knows some people see his passion for conservation as a posh man’s part-time hobby, but Mayhew says the duke’s “genuine and huge knowledge” undermines that view. “He’ll call and WhatsApp to flag up something that I haven’t even seen in the conservation space. He can be impatient to get things done.” Last year William launched the Earthshot prize, a £50 million Nobel-style environmental award to galvanise solutions to global problems over the next decade. He believes “conservation and the environment … shouldn’t be a luxury, it’s a necessity”, Mayhew says. “That’s the drum he wants to beat. He’s got a megaphone and wants to use it in the most constructive way. He speaks for that next generation and I think they can relate to it.”

A turning point for William was his 2015 official visit to China, one of the world’s largest consumers of ivory, where he met President Xi and condemned the illegal wildlife trade as a “vicious form of criminality”. Unlike his father, who has refused to visit the People’s Republic over its human rights record and treatment of Tibet, William’s view was that despite the UK’s fractious relationship with China, “we’ve got to engage”.

“It was very political, raising the illegal wildlife trade in China. I’m sure the diplomats were having all sort of nightmares in advance,” says Mayhew, who joined the duke in China. “But he was gathering greater confidence that he had the ability to be a mouthpiece for the issue.” Mayhew reveals that while William was visiting Japan before China, he still hadn’t secured a meeting with Xi. “But when the Chinese saw all the high-level meetings he was having in Japan, they changed their minds and Xi made time for him.” Later that year, as Xi began a UK state visit, William appeared on Chinese television condemning the ivory trade. Two years later China banned the trade.

In 2018 he spent months prepping for his most high-stakes overseas visit yet, to Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories that summer. Navigating the diplomatic tightrope walk between Jerusalem and the West Bank, he visited a Palestinian refugee camp in Ramallah. As he travelled back to Jerusalem, he changed his speech for a reception with young Israelis and Palestinians to strengthen his solidarity with the latter: “My message tonight is that you have not been forgotten … The United Kingdom stands with you.” It was a bold move, but both sides hailed his visit a success and the officials breathed a sigh of relief. To the delight of the travelling press pack, William’s engagements on the final day were brought forward, allowing the diplomat duke and president of the Football Association to land back in the UK in time to watch England’s World Cup tie.

Ask him if he’s a peacemaker and William will laugh, saying Kate is the mediator. But according to a source close to William and Harry, his bridge-building skills were deployed in the lead-up to Harry and Meghan’s wedding in 2018, when tensions in the Kensington Palace household, then still shared by the brothers, were running high: “Every time there was a drama, or a member of staff on the verge of quitting, William would personally try and sort it out.”

As the brothers clashed more over the substance and style of their work, and the family hierarchy that William is a stickler for but Harry is less keen on, a split was inevitable. When they finally divided their households in March 2019, it had been a long time coming. But he never thought that a year later his brother would up sticks for America.

The pair went for a long walk to clear the air after the “Sandringham summit” when the Megxit deal was hammered out, but did not part shores as friends. What upset William the most was Harry and Meghan’s surprise launch of their “Sussex Royal” website before the summit, which featured their blueprint wish list of a part-time, commercial royal future. Later, when the Queen decreed they could no longer use “royal” in their future ventures, their website hit back with this bold statement: “While there is not any jurisdiction by The Monarchy … over the use of the word ‘Royal’ overseas, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex do not intend to use ‘Sussex Royal’ … or … ‘Royal’ …” Both “the content and that it’s still online is staggering”, a senior royal source says. “That was it for William, he felt they’d blindsided the Queen in such an insulting and disrespectful way,” says a source close to him, who reveals it was still at the forefront of William’s mind at the Commonwealth Day service one year ago. It was the Sussexes’ final engagement as working royals, and the froideur between them and the rest of the family was unmistakable.

It is a year since the Sussexes left for California and William misses Harry. “Once he got over the anger of how things happened, he was left with the absence of his brother,” an aide says. “They shared everything about their lives, an office, a foundation, meetings together most days and there was a lot of fun along the way. He’ll miss it for ever.” A close friend says William “definitely feels the pressure now it’s all on him — his future looks different because of his brother’s choices, it’s not easy.” Another friend says: “It’s still raw. He’s very upset by what’s happened, though absolutely intent that he and Harry’s relationship will heal in time.”

After lobbing bombs in his Oprah interview, Harry said: “I love William to bits … We’ve been through hell together … we have a shared experience … The relationship is space at the moment, and time heals all things, hopefully.” Harry would be wise not to set his stopwatch.

The first test will come this summer, when the brothers could be reunited for a series of family engagements including the Duke of Edinburgh’s 100th birthday and the Queen’s birthday parade in June. In July they are scheduled to unveil a statue of their mother at Kensington Palace, marking what would have been Diana’s 60th birthday, an emotionally charged occasion with the world watching.

While a chasm has opened up between the brothers, William has grown closer to the Queen and Prince Charles. He has helped them to navigate their way through Megxit, Prince Andrew’s removal from public life following the Jeffrey Epstein scandal and, now, the Oprah controversy. “That has changed the way the Queen sees him and values his input,” a courtier says. William also feels his relationship with his grandmother has “massively improved” in recent years and their views are “more aligned than ever”.

Friends say there has also been a “renaissance” in William and Charles’s relationship. “As the years passed there were strains imposed by the system — money, work, competition, Diana,” one says. “Part of William’s evolution is that as he has become closer to his father, he sees their similarities. At William’s wedding there was a gag in one of the speeches that he was more like his father than he’d ever admit, which made a lot of us laugh. As their respective destinies get closer, it weighs more heavily on them and strengthens the bond. The rift with Harry has also brought them closer.”

William is said to hate “flummery”, though the role of future king comes with plenty of bowing and scraping. But in 2017, for the first time publicly, he didn’t get his way. As a new parent worried about rising teenage suicide rates, he had spent a year convening a Cyberbullying Taskforce with big cheeses from tech and social media giants including Facebook, Snapchat, Apple, Google and Twitter. He wanted them to adopt industry-wide guidelines creating safer online spaces for children. According to William the meetings at Kensington Palace got “fruity” and the tech giants didn’t come close to the change he wanted. He was furious.

Tessy Ojo, chief executive of the Diana Award youth charity, sat on the taskforce. “He was deeply disappointed,” she says. “He didn’t come into it as ‘the duke’, he gave emotional pleas as a father.” William has since publicly condemned social media giants for their “false choice of profits over values” and privately offered support to the family of Molly Russell, who took her life at 14 after viewing images of self-harm online. Ojo believes it is William’s “lived experience of the fragility of life that guides the work he does”.

It also shapes the way he and Kate are raising their family. William has said he is determined that the grandchildren Diana never knew should “know who she was and that she existed”. He “constantly” talks to his children “about Granny Diana” at bedtime, so that they know “there are two grandmothers in their lives”. Earlier this month on Mother’s Day, Kensington Palace’s social media feeds published George, Charlotte and Louis’s cards paying tribute to “Granny Diana”, revealing it is an annual ritual for the Cambridge children. After a difficult few weeks for William, a line in Charlotte’s card provided poignant insight into how he is feeling: “Papa is missing you.”

He is on course to be a more modern monarch than any before him, but William is still a creature of habit at heart. He has the same tight circle of friends from his schooldays, one of whom says that, with William, “it’s all about trust and loyalty”. He plays five-a-side football in his Villa socks when he can, goes to the Chelsea Harbour Club gym he went to as a child with his mother and has a “smart casual” public uniform of chinos, jacket, blue shirt and no tie.

“William’s not trying to be down with the kids,” a friend says. “He never wants to be painted as irrelevant or dull, though he’s allergic to being compared to celebrities. The public doesn’t always get to see his funny side, but otherwise he’s the same in private as in public. He once said, ‘I’ll be in the public eye all my life. I can’t hide who I am because I’ll be found out.’ ”

In 2019, during a visit to a youth homelessness charity supporting LGBT people, William was asked how he would feel if one of his children was gay. “Absolutely fine,” he replied. “I fully support whatever decision they make, but it does worry me from a parent’s point of view how many barriers, hateful words, persecution and discrimination might come.” Such a personal exchange was a radical departure from royal engagement small talk. But William, the first in his family to be photographed for the cover of a gay magazine, had personally put the issue on the agenda.

As president of Bafta he gave the academy a diplomatic dressing down in his speech at last year’s ceremony, expressing his “frustration” over the lack of diversity: “In 2020, and not for the first time in the last few years, we find ourselves talking again about the need to do more to ensure diversity in the sector and in the awards process — that simply cannot be right in this day and age.” The 2021 nominees announced this month suggest his words hit home.

William “thinks the public look to him to keep royal work looking modern”, a confidante says. “The Queen and Prince of Wales are providing continuity and stability. He’s carving out his own relationship with diverse communities. He sees it all as a way of doing things now that will help a smooth transition when the time comes.”

Since the start of the coronavirus pandemic, as a former frontline worker himself, William has led the royal charge supporting key workers. “Now, more than ever, he knows what his role in public life is, and he sees the value in it,” a close aide says. Chatting to NHS workers in January, William said: “Something that I noticed from my brief spell flying the air ambulance … is that when you see so much death and so much bereavement, it does impact how you see the world … as a … darker, blacker place.” Soon after the first lockdown was announced, the Cambridges’ Royal Foundation launched Our Frontline, a round-the-clock mental health and bereavement service for key workers.

Miguel Head says the future King William will continue to campaign on his big issues: “I can’t see him backing away from causes he’s passionate about. And while he’s not someone who loves ceremony, he knows the importance of it. When he gets the top job he won’t do away with it all. He’s mindful the monarchy represents something timeless that’s above all of us, and many people like the magic and theatre of it.”

Roya Nikkhah

Roya is royal correspondent at The Sunday Times. Over more than a decade she has covered royal events for the BBC, interviewed the Prince of Wales and Prince Harry and presented the films Prince William, Monarch in the Making and Meghan and Harry: The Baby Years.

#William #TeamQueen #TeamWilliam #TeamCambridge

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maple--cafe · 3 years

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hi could you please do smth for venti with a male s/o who's recovering from leaving an abusive home + being in very poor shape (chronic illness etc) please? thank you so so much :( - 🦋

finally working on requests now after loss of motivation! also nonnie if you wish to let me add an emoji list, please let me know as well! i went for a smaller one-shot this time, so i hope this will be okay for you!!,, i also wish you being safe and well!!!,,

~ ♡ NURSE TSUMIKI ♡ ~

~ ♡ VENTI WITH A RECOVERING MALE S/O ♡ ~ DIAGNOSIS ; HURT/COMFORT , RECOVERY SYMPTOMS ; GENSHIN IMPACT ; VENTI ; MALE S/O PRESCRIPTION ;

it was only a few weeks for you, moving out and staying in just a spare room your beloved had prepared for you. after moving out in such a state, venti was the one who helped you escape in the first place. and you knew secrets he had told you, which still stay hidden and locked. he was the god of wind and freedom, the anemo archon, barbatos. he believes in freedom, but he would never accept this kind of treatment towards you.

it was...hard getting away from your home, from people who hurt you and belittled you. even after just these weeks, the memories still haunt you in the back of your mind. at the same time, you were so grateful for venti actually saving you from them.

just thinking about them would make you nauseous.

you were slowly recovering from your own issues, thanks to venti's help as well. at any second, he would help you get food to make sure you were healthy, and making sure you drank enough water, got enough sleep. he was caring to you, it was...almost unbelievable to you.

and speak of the angel, you were brought back to reality when a playful knock came to the open door of your room. turning your head, you spot a certain bard with a smile.

❝ hopefully i'm not exactly disturbing any moment you're having, song-bird! how're you doing? ❞ venti asked, tilting his head as his arms crossed in-front of his chest, leaning his side against the door. he would always give you such nicknames. 'dove', 'song-bird', 'white swan'. those never fail to bring red across your face, which really made him smile more from the sight.

however you couldn't help but tease him back in return, you never failed to have a few tricks up your sleeve with his influence.

❝ doing a lot better now that you're here, silly bard. ❞ that alone would bring the same shades of red across the said-bard's porcelain face, clearing his throat to hide any nervousness from the nickname before he looked over at you. and the smile on your face would really say that you were about ready to call him 'cute' by the minute.

but he was quick to catch on.

❝ and by that you mean you had something stuck on your mind, right? ❞ darn him for being good at reading your own thoughts...you always felt like you troubled him whenever you would talk about your home, those people...with him helping you with your own illness, it brought guilt on your shoulders.

it felt as if you were bothering him at every second...

with the mention of that, you looked down more in shame before giving a nod in reply to him. venti was right that the atmosphere was off just when he walked in.

he took careful steps inside the room, walking to the bed you sat on before he sat next to you on it's mattress.

❝ may you give me your hands real quick, [y/n]? ❞ just with him saying your name alone, you tilted your head back up to face his eyes. he didn't look angry (he never was, really), in-fact he kept a softer smile across his lips. to you however, was a surprise that he would call you by your name. it was one of the fewer times he would call you by that. you once again gave a nod but in a small motion with a short hum, letting your hands hold his own as fingers interlocked with each-other in a gentle hold.

❝ you must've been thinking about...them again, have you? ❞ venti's voice was more soft, but you could tell that just even with the mere mention of your home would make his blood boil in a way. he had so many questions as to how such...people...would treat a human being in a hurtful manner. why would they hurt you? you were an angel to him, it was still...unbelievable to him that such monsters would exist.

and with your face paling, and looking down. it pained him to know he was right.

❝ and not only that...you must've been thinking that you were trouble to me, am i correct? ❞ you were silent. almost too silent before giving another nod. to venti, he could feel his heart crack to know you were thinking such a thing.

without a second thought, his hands let go of your own. to your surprise, a pair of arms gently wrapped around your shoulders to pull you into the bard's embrace.

❝ my love...you're finally safe here with me, they are nowhere near to hurt you anymore. and please...please know that you are never trouble to me. i love you, so, so much, and i always have. i would go beyond the horizon if it'll mean that you'll be happy. ❞ ❝ you are my only angel, and nothing will ever, ever change that. ❞

you were silent, taking that in like a gush of wind delicately flowing past you. you knew how much he loved you, he's proven that so many times the first time you two had met. but it never faltered to bring tears in your eyes, wrapping your arms around the bard in return to stay in his embrace.

you could feel his fingers running through the locks of your hair, tangling around them as he held you. your head had rested on his shoulder.

❝ c...can we stay like this, venti? ❞ you asked. really, all you wanted right now was to be held. you felt protected, safe, and full of warmth when he held you like this. and venti knew what this meant to you, giving a hum and planting a kiss on the side of your head.

❝ of course, my love... ❞

the both of you cuddled through the night.

#~ hello nurse! ♡ mod tsumiki ~#~ not a simple symptom! ♡ request done ~#~ prescription! ♡ oneshots ~#~ symptoms! ♡ genshin impact ~#~ patients! ♡ 🦋 anon ~#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #venti #venti x reader

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synonemous · 2 years

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fanfic writer ask meme answered

so, you can all thank @voidslantern for me doing the entire ask meme because they said, and I quote:

now, sadly I couldn’t do the questions with the “[insert fic]” bits because I have, uh, a few fics and I wouldn’t know which one/s to pick. 😅 but if anyone wants to see me do those, don’t hesitate to send me an ask or even reply to this and I’ll answer them! 😊

a little special shout-out to three kind anonymous souls and @tk-duveraun for also sending me these asks:

so here y’all go! the answers to the 22 questions that I could reply to!

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why? we’re starting off with a tough one, I see! I think I would have to say the image of you lingers because I had such a vividly picture of it in my head even before I sat down to write it, and I’m so happy with how it turned out. I know it’s not my big ticket seller - in that fandom or on my profile, but I don’t care. I have a soft spot for it all the same.

B: What was the first fandom you read fic in? Which was the first you wrote fic for? to exactly no one’s surprise, I’m sure, the answer is the same fandom! Syn’s first ever fandom to read and write in was Harry Potter, back when we were all waiting for the next book to be published and before JKR decided to do her JKR thing and be Loud & Proud™ about things no one should be loud or proud about. these fics no longer exist on The Interwebs as the websites are long gone, but I do still have them on my external harddrives and I do remember them fondly.

C: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

D: What’s the most personal fanfic you’ve written? oh, you’re gonna laugh. to date, that’s probably good old Poison, and almost definitely not for the reasons you think. I was writing Poison back when I was still figuring myself out, and in a lot of ways, the fic helped me get where I am today. it’s one hell of a fucked-up piece, but it’s definitely a personal one as well.

E: What character do you identify with most? Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well? literally no one wants an honest answer to this, but I’m gonna give it anyway. out of my current fandoms, that would have to be Han Joowon from Beyond Evil. now, I don’t have any fics to prove this, nor do I think I will ever write one that will properly show it (no matter how much my muse is now trying to tempt me with another exploratory graysexual piece), but let’s just say we’re two emotional and damaged peas in a pod!

F: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

G: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

H: How would you describe your writing style? (the things this has made me look up. 😂 me, two seconds ago, “what is writing styles, precious?”) I would probably say my style is more descriptive than narrative, but also kind of a mix of both. I think that is just what happens when you write fiction, honestly. because sometimes you want to narrate what’s going on, but sometimes it just fits better to describe it rather than narrate it, you know?

I: How many fandoms have you written in? Do you have a favorite? since my dear friend specified that they were feeling nosy, I’m going to list them all out instead of just saying the number lol. in a semi-chronological order: Harry Potter, Kingdom Hearts, Inheritance Cycle, Marvel Cinematic Universe (unpublished), Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, Tian Guan Ci Fu/Heaven’s Official Blessing (unpublished), Guardian/Zhen Hun, Word of Honor/Faraway Wanderers, Beyond Evil (unpublished). all in all, that’s 10, which is somehow both fewer and more than I thought! now, do I have a favourite? no, I can’t say I do. I may be more into C-fandom and K-fandom right now than the Western fandoms I started off in, but I do still think about them fondly and dip back in every now and again. for instance, I do still intend on finishing my outstanding Inheritance Cycle fics. I just need to get all my muses in a row, you know? but if I had to say top three right now? probably Guardian, Beyond Evil, and Word of Honor. if you ask me another day, the answer may very well be something else entirely!

J: What’s your favorite fanfic trope? Have you written it? my absolute favourite? oh, that’s not a fair question. I love a lot of tropes! but if I had to pick...let’s say a couple? instead of just one? I’d have to say role reversal/swap, soulmates, and fix-it. and funnily enough, I have written all three! I have a role swap for Guardian, a soulmate universe I one day hope to expand to include more fandoms, and a couple of fix-its. there’s perception, which technically counts since it’s a fix-it for how Guardian ended, and obscura, which is more of a mid-season fix-it for Guardian (please beware the relationship and tags in this one).

K: Do you have a guilty pleasures in fic (reading or writing)? I’m also a firm believer in that we shouldn’t have things such as “guilty” pleasures - let people like what they like without needing to say they feel quote-unquote “guilty” about it! - but I suppose I could say that Omegaverse fics are mine. I like writing and reading things where gender dynamics are challenged or turned on their head, and A/B/O-dynamics give you a lot of room to play and do, if you’ll excuse my french, whatever the fuck you want.

L: Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write? there are a couple of contenders for this. one is good old Poison, because that was a tough one to write. it hurt, but not more than it healed, I think. but another one that definitely qualifies for this is perception. it was nice and easy in the beginning, back when I thought the fic was only gonna be 1k, then some people begged me not to leave it where I did, and well...a monster was born. :D and the monster kicked and screamed the entire time. but now it’s done and I will never need to write another episode 39-40 rewrite of Guardian.👍

M: What’s the weirdest AU scenario you’ve ever come up with? Did it turn into a story? oh this is a tough one. I’ve had a few “crossdressing for a case” AU ideas, which have turned into unfinished ficlets, but that’s not “weird”, is it? what television show out there hasn’t had an episode where someone has to dress up like a man or woman for “reasons”. so honestly...I’d have to say all the better to ki** you with, my dear, aka my Guardian Grimm AU. I mean, the Guardian drama is already technically an AU of the novel canon, and then I decide to throw in another show with supernatural elements and try to make it work? that’s pretty weird, right? 😅 (if you know Grimm canon at all, I think you’ll agree. if not...look it up and you probably will afterwards lol.)

N: Any fic ideas brewing that you’d care to share? if by “fic ideas” you mean fics that I haven’t sat down to try and write yet? then..technically yes. the muse is begging me to write a shaving “pwp” fic for Beyond Evil and I am desperately trying to keep myself from giving in. would I love a fic like that in fandom, in general? yes! do I want to be the one writing it? NO. now, if you mean fics that I haven’t published yet? then yes, I do! since I already mentioned the image of you lingers, I might as well give a shout-out to the “companion” piece that I’m writing. the image of you lingers is the novel version of Shen Wei vs the drama version of Zhao Yunlan, so I’ve decided to do the opposite for the “companion” fic: novel!Zhao Yunlan vs drama!Shen Wei. it’s...going. slowly. very slowly. mostly because I want to slap Novel!Zhao Yunlan silly. or at least until he stops talking, good heavens. the man is incorrigible.

O: What are your thoughts on people writing fanfic of your fanfic? as @voidslantern can attest, I love it. though, does fanfic of my original fiction count? if not, then I guess I’ll have to shout-out Possessive, a fanfic set in my scienter universe (that’s MDZS serial killers, in case you’re unfamiliar). you can find the fic in my related works tab over on my AO3 profile. but I love it, I promise! all I ask for is to be told so I can go and gush over your work properly! 💕

P: Where did you find the most inspiration for your story < insert title >?

Q: Do you like getting prompts from your readers? love it! I know I don’t do a lot of those prompt lists, but that’s honestly because I’m so sporadically on tumblr that when I find one while scrolling through my dashboard, I feel like people have already moved on from it, you know? but I should try to do more, for sure! they’re always fun.

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing? oh, this is a tough one, and probably not for the reason you think! baby Syn started writing early, and then just never stopped. so if someone has influenced my writing, I would have a hard time pinpointing who. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been writing for 20+ years and started during your formative years, right? so I don’t think I can actually answer this question without sitting down to read everything I read when I was starting out for comparison. XD

S: How do you feel about fan art inspired by your writing? LOVE IT! I cannot underline it enough. if you want me to love you, that’s one of the surefire way to make that happen. 😍 @voidslantern can attest to this as well.

T: Any fanfic tropes you can’t stand? I don’t know about “can’t stand.” I’m a firm believer in “live and let live.” but I can say that I don’t read a lot MCD fics, especially where the character can only be “redeemed” by dying. canon has usually hurt me enough, so I don’t tend to seek out more of it in fandom. if I do write or read MCD, it’s because a muse won’t leave me alone or the tags assure me that the MCD will be reversed.

U: Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven’t tried yet. oh, are there ever! I’m a casual or avid reader in a lot more fandoms than I could ever hope to contribute in, but I’d love to write for Kang Johan/Kim Gaon from The Devil Judge. I’m lowkey obsessed with the show, ahem.

V: Are there certain comments you’ve received on your stories that have stuck with you? I’m sure this question is meant to be a nice one, but that’s sadly not how my brain works. I’m far more likely to remember not-so-nice comments vs the opposite. I really wish it wasn’t so! but I do remember good things too. they sometimes require more effort, but rest assured, I remember the good and especially the goodest beans. they are the people that make me happy just to even see their username in my comment section, and that’s before I even get to what they’ve written. 🥰

W: What is your favorite pairing to write? Favorite pairing to read? you can’t keep asking me to pick favourites! that’s not fair! if I’m going to answer this based on my AO3 profile, there’s a clear winner. and I mean, I may not write Shen Wei much because he’s Intense AF™, and Zhao Yunlan should really learn the meaning of the word “shame”, but I really do enjoy writing Weilan. and I enjoy reading Weilan! but I could say that for all of my pairings, really! but right now, I must admit that I’m really into both writing and reading Han Joowon/Lee Dongsik from Beyond Evil, which of course does not mean that I love my other pairings any less. ❤️

X: How would you categorize your fanfic reading? Are you a voracious reader? Do you carefully pick and choose? Something in between? I’d say it depends on my mood. I know what I don’t like and tend not to read anything with that in it, but if it’s by an author I know will handle that topic well? or at least respectfully? I will definitely give it a try. and there are some days when you only want to read fluff, you know? or angst. but other days when you want to read everything you see. so I’d say I’m mostly somewhere in-between, I think.

Y: What are your thoughts on your personal satisfaction with something you’ve written vs. the popularity of your stories? Do you tend to be most satisfied with your most popular stories? strangely enough...no, I don’t think so. if anything, I might look more critically at my more popular works. but overall, I try to - for the sake of my sanity, if nothing else - to focus more on how I feel about how a story turns out vs what the stats say. I’ve been in this game for so long that I know the dangers of focusing on the stats too much. that’s the fastest way to losing the drive to write - not to mention the joy of it! I am satisfied with a story when it turns out more or less how I imagined it with my head, and someone out there happens to think it’s great? then that’s an awesome bonus! 😊

Z: Is there a story you’ve written that doesn’t seem to get much love? oh, this is a question, isn’t it? if we look away from fics that were migrated from other websites to AO3, usually years after they were first posted, and whose numbers reflect that...I do have a few fics with low numbers, yes. if that is what the question means. though considering the pairing in question (Da Qing/Ye Zun) isn’t like “super popular” in the Guardian fandom, I can’t say the fics don’t get a lot of love when I know so many DaMian fans have read them and even like them! so if I had to pick...to make it easier on myself, I’ll shout out a couple instead of just one because honestly, it’s difficult to pick which one is the one getting less “attention” compared to my other fics. (love), MDZS, Wei WuXian & Jiang Cheng, “missing” scene in the past timeline. quadruple axel, Guardian, Shen Wei & Ye Zun, a part of the Yuri on Ice AU. blood and chocolate, Guardian, Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan, a Hannibal AU.

#Syn answers asks #voidslantern #anonymous #tk-duveraun #sorry this one took me legit two weeks you guys #life has been busy #but here it is!#I hope you enjoy!

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blackcherrykiss · 3 years

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BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.10)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] [CH.7][CH.8][CH.9] previous chapters [CH.11] next chapter (unavailable on tumblr but avaliable on wattpad!)

"You'll give me your blood in exchange for theirs."

You could feel his earnest breath against the left side of your neck when he spoke. The proximity was causing you to hold your breath tightly. "Sunghoon please..." You just barely breathed out, fearing anything you said would be the death of you.

"Afraid my love? I'm not going to hurt you unless you let me in." You felt Sunghoon's soft lower lip stroke up your neck until it met your ear, "I'll give you time to think." He pulled away to caress your face with a feathery touch as the sky grew darker and darker.

...

You rested the following day with no intentions of going to classes. You got your dormmates to tell the office about the severe headache you had; too weak to attend that day. To your surprise, one of the nurses at the school had knocked at your dorm to do a brief check-up and ensure you weren't lying.

"You must be Y/N! Sweetie, how are you feeling?" A slim young woman came in with a medium briefcase of supplies.

"It's nothing too serious right now, it's just a slight headache, I think you brought a bit much..." You held your pounding head while staring at the excessive equipment she had in hand.

"Oh, all of this? It's a standard to bring it just in case." The nurse said with a Southern Irish accent, "Now sit down, I'll take your temperature first."

You sat down on your own bed and watched as she took out a pink thermometer and put it under your arm. You yawned while waiting, getting a closer look at the woman. She had naturally fawn-blonde hair that flowed down in delicate curls. Healthy skin that was rosy at the cheekbones.

"Hun, your temperature is just slightly over normal. Is it just today you've been having headaches?" The nurse said while waving around the stick that read 38.1°C.

"I get them from time... Rarely though, I think I've been stressed lately that's all..."

"Perhaps you have low iron? Are you sure no other symptoms and potential causes?"

"Lack of sleep." You admitted, "And probably low iron... My mom has so I must too..."

"I see hun... Many girls call in sick and it's usually related to their menstrual cycles. But recently I find there is some sort of common cold going around. Yesterday this young boy fainted and when I took his temperature he had a seriously high fever." The nurse said while beginning to sterilize the thermometer with some rubbing alcohol.

"He did?!" You blurted out unintentionally, your voice making an embarrassing crack, "Sorry... He's just my friend, I was there when he fainted. Do you mind me asking how Jungwon is doing?"

"Not too well... He seems very sick but... Whenever I try phoning his parents regarding a checkup with a doctor or a record of his medical history, nobody ever picks up." The nurse looked upset and frustrated that she couldn't do much for him.

Little did the nurse know Jungwon didn't even have parents... 'Heeseung would be his guardian at best' you thought. "Oh, that's terrible..." You felt yourself tense up knowing the reason for Jungwon's illness.

"Well, if you have no other questions I guess I will be on my way. Your name was y/n right?" She said while scratching a couple of words on a small pad of paper.

"That's correct."

"y/n... That name sounds familiar... Perhaps you are friends with Kyungeun?" The nurse put her pen and paper down on your nightstand.

"You know Kyungeun?" You rubbed the back of your neck.

"Of course! I visit her often. She's mentioned your name from time to time." She gave a healthy smile before getting up to leave, "She loves you to bits!"

You were touched Kyungeun would mention that to the nurse, it made you feel a little better knowing that.

"I'll get going now then, hun!" The nurse grabbed her case and exited your dorm after you thanked her.

When you went back to your bed you noticed the nurse had left her pad of paper. Taking the paper to go and run after her, you squint to read what was actually written on it. The paper just had blue ink notes in some wavy font about your condition and personal information. When you lifted the notepad up, you noticed a paper fell from the stack. Bending down with just your back, you saw Kyungeun's medical information swirled on the front.

"Anemia?" You read aloud before a semi-aggressive knock was heard from behind your dorm door. You quickly stuffed the paper where it was originally attached, feeling guilty you saw what you should not have. "I was just about to chase you down!" You began speaking before the door was even completely open.

You saw the young nurse once again with a troubled face, "I'm so sorry, I'm so disorganized! Thanks, darling!" She looked relieved as you handed over the stuff she had left behind. You smiled to cover up the actual shock that shot through your veins after seeing Kyungeun's records.

Anaemia is a low blood condition and knowing Kyungeun had it still surprised you. Were you really trying to deny that Sunghoon drinks Kyungeun's blood?

...

You napped the rest of the day, catching up on the sleep you had missed over the past week. The throbbing in your head gladly helped you fall asleep in an instant, but your wishes of having a quiet sleep would not come true.

You found yourself in a fever dream, scenes flickering in your mind at the speed of light. You saw Jungwon's complexion glitter against a deep velvet as he drove his fangs deep into a prominent vein. The vein however on his own wrist; drinking his own blood. The amber-red liquid began streaming down his chin and into an empty wine glass in large opaque droplets. The imagery of the blood in a wine glass was one you had never thought you would see, especially in a dream. The blood was much thicker in consistency compared to alcohol and it made your stomach churn with absolute sickness as Sunoo picked up the glass to swish it around as the adults do with classic red wine. Sunoo then bit down on the heel of his palm, planting a deep bite mark. He began squeezing his hand tightly to release more blood into the glass. When the glass had filled midway, Sunoo chugged it down.

"Y/N?!" You felt Nana shake both of your shoulders, waking you back conscious. You twitched while sitting up from your bed, "You're sweating like crazy. I got scared seeing your distressed face..."

"Fever dream... It's whatever..." Surprisingly your headache hurt a lot less even after the vividly strange dream had seemingly interrupted your off day. The problem was now your stomach that felt awful over the constant blood being displayed in your head, "I think I'll be fine to go to school tomorrow after I sleep on it tonight, my headache has become a mild stomach"

"More rest? You probably just need to get up and out of your bed, it's too warm and stuffy plus you've barely moved the entire day." Nana nagged. To which you agreed, you were getting unbearably hot which might've been the trigger to the fever dream.

"Yeah, I'll go for a walk..." You stared down at your sheets while thinking about what the strange dream meant. Why did Sunoo drink Jungwon's blood? And can vampires drink each other's blood? You immediately thought of the book you had left in the woods the previous night, perhaps there were answers in it. You were just too horrified that day to pick up the book and take it with you. But it seemed it might be of use to you now.

"Have you eaten yet? Hyesun and Dahee are at the dining hall right now and I just came to check up on you."

"No, I haven't eaten the whole day... But I think I might vomit if I eat..." You fastened your eyes shut at the recollection of what you had seen, "Just go without me, I'll go for a walk in the meantime." You said with the means to go off into the forest and find that damned book.

...

You feel refreshed, with the clean autumn breeze gusting your hair back, and out of your face. It was around the time most people ate an early meal, so you weren't surprised to see few pairs of people in the courtyards. Students seemed to be taking it nice and slow under the calm weather, one on one conversations and cloud watching on the wood benches.

You strut along the same path you had gone down the other day, your mary jane shoes getting wet from a puddle on the way. The woods had looked a lot less intimidating during the early evening compared to after sunset. You just had to ensure you were taking the path Sunghoon had led you down and you'd find the book, right? It would be a quick and simple job.

But after taking the seemingly correct path, you found yourself getting more unfamiliar with where you walked. Regardless of where you ended up, the place was a lot more peaceful and pretty than your first impression of it. You skipped along, turning your journey into a leisurely hike now. The sun heavily coated one particular part of the forest, creating a mystic olive glow onto the dried grass. The section of forest, in particular, had fewer trees with a giant rock in the centre of it. As you approached the area, you noticed someone far in the distance laying on the rock, basking in the sunlight with skin so white it looked teal under the reflection of the trees. The young boy didn't have your school's uniform but instead, a rust coloured flannel and some tatteredly torn jeans with cuts all over them. You were willing to just leave the delinquent alone, turn back and give up. That is until you noticed the boy reading.

As you came into a four-metre radius to get a better look at if the book he possessed was the one you were searching for, the boy sat up to gaze dead on at you. You probably looked worse than a deer in the headlights, surprised at his alertness. "Who are you?" The ash haired boy asked before you could.

"I'm looking for a book I dropped around here the other day." You bore your eyes at his hands.

"This wouldn't be it, would it?" The young stranger stood up to scoop the book off the rock so you could see it clearly. He was a lot taller than how he appeared while lying on his back.

"I'm pretty sure it is my book... May I have it back?" You asked politely after noticing the colour of the backing was identical to the one you picked up from the library.

"What's it to you?" He raised a brow while swirling his tongue around the inside of his cheek.

"It might answer some questions I have..." You bit your tongue as to whether or not the boy in front of you was among the vampire pack. It seemed his hesitation to give the book back was telling you undermining something.

"Ahh, so it's you who they talk about?" He nodded to himself, "Heard you were some clever girl who would eventually figure out our little secret." He dozed off into the distance at some withering pine trees. It was clear he was associated with the bunch by now, no surprises there.

"Sunghoon t-told me the other day you were all vampires... He was the one who took the book in the first place and used it to bait me here."

"Then why did you leave the book?"

"Got too shocked and sick, just wanted to escape the place after he told me you were all vampires. Thought I was going to die." You began to sweat. Recalling the situation made you realize you were in the same position once again; alone with a vampire in the woods far away from people.

"Alright? So you have questions about us that you think this silly book will answer? Why ask a book when you could ask the vampire right in front of you." He faced his palms up on either side of him.

You stood astonished by his response. Instead of forcibly taking your blood he was offering some useful information to you, "You mean you're not going to kill me?"

"I considered it... Until I found out who you were." He commented with a hint of disappointment. "Luckily you've caught me at the right time, so ask away."

"Found out who I was? What do you mean?"

"Who knows what kind of shit I'll hear from the guys if they found out I got a lick of your blood." He shut down your further questions about the matter, "Now ask the questions."

Looking around as if you were about to tell a secret, you dived right into the ideas you were given from your dreams, "Can vampires drink their own blood?" You gulped remembering Jungwon drawing blood from himself.

"They can... It helps with blood cravings but it tastes very bitter. Next." He said, treating the conversation as some speed round questionnaire.

"Okay...? Can vampires drink each other's blood?" The last scene of your dream coming to mind of Sunoo taking a swig of the wine glass filled with his blood mixed with Jungwon's.

"Who have you seen doing that? Sunoo? Jaeyun?"

"No one, it was just a dream!? Sunoo and Jaeyun actually do that?" It seemed weird hearing Sunoo's name being directly suggested. It was as if your dream was a potential reflection of reality. How could that be?

"Drinking other vampires blood tastes better than drinking your own blood but it's not often we do that." The boy tapped his head to think.

"So then what occasion would you drink each other's blood?"

"Usually when we can't get ahold of human blood. Survival purposes in short. Put it this way, drinking your own blood won't make you stronger because you're not getting any new nutrients. Drinking other vampire's blood will fulfil that it's just not as vital as half-humans or better yet, full human blood."

"Half-humans?! They exist?"

"Yeah, their blood tastes a lot better than full vampire blood but it's definitely not better than full human blood. Pretty sure Sunghoon feeds off some half-blooded girl, not that I can remember her name."

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

Text

Welp, this fic i thought i wasn’t even going to continue is now longer at 17 chapters than War in Hermittown which was 26 chapters. And I’m not done here yet! (WiHT ended with 56,719 words. SF was at 55,597 last chapter, and this one is over 3k words, putting it to at least 58k total)

tagging time! @petrichormeraki and @helleborusangel are you guys proud of me?

Xannes and Tommy turned their weapons on Theseus. “How’d you find this place bitch?” The hels copy just rolled his eyes before gesturing over to Dream. “What, you were tracking him?”

“He’s an admin using a console. Find the console, find the admin.” Theseus replied, which confused Tommy. “Right, you wouldn’t know about that, would you.”

Tommy glanced back to Xannes. “Any clue what he’s talking about?”

“Yes. Before command blocks, datapacks, plugins and autofill commands, a lot of admins would default to consoles. These days most people tend to ignore them, but there are some benefits. Though the negatives usually make it seem like the worst option.”

“Why’s that?”

“Admins have better control over everything else. A console is more powerful and capable of much more, but it’s disconnected from the admin. It tends to be stationary in the world and needs to be hidden, and while there are ways to make them moveable, it’s usually not worth the hassle.”

Theseus smiled. “Oh look who’s not as much of an idiot as they seem. Another question then. Why are you still getting in the way? You want those scraps of metal? Take them. He’s the one I’m after.” And he pointed at Dream.

“You haven’t fucking told us why though.” Tommy crossed his arms.

“You didn’t really need to know.” Theseus said before sighing and taking off his mask. “But if that’s the only thing that’ll make you let me through, fine. Nightmare’s dead in my world. I killed him myself. Used up his three lives.”

“You guys still have the three lives system? I thought everything in hels was… y’know, worse?” Tommy asked.

“Oh it is. Exactly why I want Nightmare back.”

There was silence save for the continued sound of weapons banging off each other. “You… you want to what?”

Theseus shrugged. “The bitch never really got what was coming to him. Sure it’s the NSMP, and it’s technically named after him, but his name is based on a concept. He’s not the one in charge, he just made a place where nightmares can become reality. He just never got that chance because he’s dead. And with how hels works, he can’t come back. That is… unless I can bring Dream back with me.”

“That seems like the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Xannes spoke up. “There’s no guarantee how that will work, especially since he was an admin. You’re setting yourself up for a disaster for both your world and this one.”

“And so what? I die? If I can’t do this right, why bother sticking around.”

“Then I might die too bitch!” Tommy yelled at his copy. “And I definitely don’t want to go out just like that.”

“Plus there are other people linked here.” Xannes spoke, pulling up commands. “Now, you’re going to want to stop, or I’m going to have to attack.”

“Oh please, what can you do?”

“My brother is known as the best admin of all time. Which meant I needed to be the best hacker.” Xannes smiled behind his mask. “And with Prof and NPG around, I haven’t gotten to try anything out in a while, so I’m going to really enjoy this.”

Tommy could almost feel the danger that was Xannes before he moved. He swung his sword once, and even though Theseus was more than ten blocks away, it was like the blade had hit him. He then pulled out a crossbow along with his sword, managing to duel wield the weapons. And then even though the second weapon kept being fired, it seemed to always be filled with ammo, not giving Theseus any rest from attacks, not to mention the fact that it was also multishot.

Tommy used that as a chance to run over to the bots. “Alright you two, I don’t care what the fuck’s been going on with you two, you need to fucking stop before you kill each other.”

“He deserves to die!” Jrum shouted, not looking away from his brother.

“Jrum, I’ve told you about the guy that kinda isolated and manipulated me? The one Big G compared to Sam?”

“Yeah, and Grum’s just as bad!” Jrum said before attempting to attack again, instead just getting pulled back by Tommy.

“No! No he isn’t! That guy Grum’s been stuck with? That green bitch right there? That’s the fucker who was messing with me! And now he’s been doing it to Grum.”

“Yeah right.” Jrum crossed his arms, and Tommy slapped the back of his head, wincing as pain coursed through his body from damaging the vines. It caused the teen to flinch back, making the bottles in his inventory clank together.

Hearing the bottles made Tommy remember what he had on him. He had no clue how well the water worked, but right now it was better than nothing. He pulled them out and smashed them on top of Jrum’s head like a water balloon, the water covering Jrum and getting into his mechanics. It caused a short circuit and it seemed to fry the vines from within, but also Jrum. As the circuitry within him sparked, it damaged the vines, causing even more damage to Jrum, until it killed him.

“NO! JRUM!” Tommy yelled, freaking out about having just killed someone in his family. Beside him, Grum just stared at the place where Jrum had been standing a minute ago, the body having dissolved into smoke.

Life Counter active. Entity Check Jrumbot. Death: canon. Life counter: 1 life remaining. Commence respawn. Respawn complete.

Teleport Requested. Assessing. Assessing. Allowing Teleport. Entity Jrumbot Teleported to Deathpoint coordinates.

Just like that, Jrumbot reappeared. He wasn’t completely covered with the vines, but he still retained the single vine around his antenna and his screen was still a red color. “Oh thank goodness, I thought you might have had a single life left.”

“Well now I do, no thanks to you!”

When Tommy had yelled, Xannes looked away from his fight. Theseus was able to finally close the distance and attack Xannes without the helsmit protecting himself, but he didn’t need to, the hacks keeping him from taking damage. “He’s using a console…”

Theseus tried attacking Xannes again. “Yeah, we covered that already. Why’s it soooo surprising now?”

“Because the console is Grum.”

That made Theseus scoff. “Wasn’t it obvious? It’s a computer that’s always near Dream. It’s essentially a console with fewer drawbacks. Even more powerful than a regular console too.”

When Theseus said that, Tommy turned his anger on Dream. “Ohhh, I can’t fucking believe you. I mean, that is an absolute child. At least with me, I was older, practically an adult, but he hasn’t even had a birthday and you decided to mess with him! As if you didn’t have a death wish already! I mean, guess that’s why you got everyone blocked. What if I just asked Grum to unblock everyone, what then?”

“And what? Just let Phil and Techno back in? What would that help with?”

“Oh please, you know their dad would be the first one in. Doesn’t that scare you?” Tommy asked with a smirk, though it fell in a few moments. “Wait do you actually not know who their dad is?”

“Just because he’s supposed to be another one of your brothers doesn’t mean anything. They’re hardly something I can’t deal with.”

“Can’t deal wi- Dream! Their dad is Grian! You know, the guy who literally has the name Dreamslayer? Like that’s part of his legal name at this point.” Tommy could tell when it got through to Dream, because he pressed back in his invisible prison just a bit and started looking for some possible way out.

He ended up snapping his fingers at Grum. “Hey, get me out of here.” And then Grum processed the information and teleported Dream a couple blocks to his left, freeing him from the barrier blocks.

“Oh shit. Xannes! He got o-” Was all Tommy was able to say before he was pressed against a wall, feet no longer touching the ground and him left struggling for air.

“You know, I could kill you right here. It would be easy. But for all I know, you come back as a ghost. So I’ve got a better idea. Just to make sure that if you do come back, it hurts even more. Grumbot?” He looked over at the robot, who immediately made its way over to Dream’s side. He handed it a netherite axe with the word ‘Nightmare’ etched into the metal.

“No, c-come on Grum. You c-can’t do th-this.” Tommy did his best to get the words out. “Pl-Please… c-can you l-let everyone in a-at least.”

“Oh come on. He’s loyal to me. Why would you think-”

“That command is protected and requires a password to access.”

For a moment, Tommy lost all hope, but in a moment of clarity, he realized that Dream didn’t know Grum would say anything. If that were the case, there wouldn’t be a password. Yeah, Tommy could be wrong, but there was still a chance. “M-Mumbo for Mayor…” He choked out, and immediately Grumbot started processing the password, then accepted it.

“Blacklist disabled.”

“Kill Tommy!” Dream yelled in anger. And then Tommy was hit by the axe. Once. Twice. And then a third and final time.

Life Counter active. Entity Check TommyInnit. Death: canon. Life counter: no lives remaining. No respawn applicable.

No.

Commencing Respawn. Respawn complete.

Teleport Requested. Assessing. Assessing. Allowing Teleport. Entity Tommy Teleported to Coordinates X-3, Y-3, Z-3. Returning inventory contents.

Tommy was holding his chest, panting to catch his breath. He was so sure he was dead. But no. Here he was, away from Dream and still with all his gear. That had probably been Xannes saving him, and healing him as well based on his current level of health.

For a moment, Tommy wanted to rush back in there, but then he remembered. The blacklist had been disabled. People could get in. He pulled out the communicator and sent a message to Grian, hoping it wouldn’t take too long. Then he put it away and tried to go back over to the bots, but his legs were shaky, and in just trying to take one step, he fell to the floor.

Even though he wasn’t close to death, he could still feel himself fading while at the same time it felt like everything was happening at once. Every sound seemed louder, what little breeze there was felt like pins and needles. And he just felt tired. As his vision went in and out, he saw Jrum rush off. Then Theseus stopped fighting and went after Dream. Then the three of them were gone. Then he was up in the air, something picking him up.

Finally, he felt the buzz of his communicator, and everything went dark.

The moment Grian got the message from Tommy, Grian made a Watcher portal straight to the SMP. The others nearby were slightly surprised that it was to let them follow along, but they weren’t arguing. Tubbo was the first to go through, Phil and Techno following behind. Grian was about to be right behind them, but was stopped by a hand. “You’re not keeping me from going Mumbo.”

“I know that. I wasn’t going to.” The redstoner spoke before taking Grian’s hand. “You’re the one always jumping into things, and that’s mostly a good thing. But this is something I don’t want to be left out of, so whether you like it or not, I’m coming with.”

“What? Did you think I was going to leave you behind? I wasn’t going to close the portal behind me. I was hoping you would come too, I was just letting you decide.”

“Good. ...So, do we want to…?” Mumbo started to say before he was yanked towards the portal as Grian ran through it, dragging him along.

When they arrived on the other side, Phil was the only one nearby, sitting down next to the portal. “Hey. Before you ask, I volunteered to wait while the other two went off in their own directions. That was only a few minutes ago. Haven’t heard anything back from them.”

Grian nodded. “I’m going to try contacting Tommy. Mumbo, those coordinates Tommy forwarded to me before? Can you check them out?”

“Definitely.” Mumbo nodded, pulling out his own communicator and checking the coordinates and which was to go to reach them.

“I’ll see if I can find anyone who could give us information.” Phil offered before immediately leaving, leaving Grian alone.

Alright, if I were one of the kids or Tommy… where would I be?” Grian asked himself, looking around before spotting something red in the distance. “Oh hello there. What’s that?” He quickly got into the air, flying over instead of trying to cross the rough terrain. “Tommy did send something about Jrum and red plants, didn’t he?” Grian bent down to try and touch the stuff, but was surprised when it seemed to move away.

A voice spoke and then Grian was left looking around, trying to spot who had spoken. “What do you mean don’t touch it? I’m trying to find my kid and the best lead I have right now are these things.” Then he was left looking around again. “Oh, if that’s the case, then why not ditch the invisibility potion and meet me face to face?” Another short bout of silence and then Grian growled slightly, clenching his fists. “Then maybe I will.” And he started following the moving plants, the vines moving to almost create a path as they parted near him.

They snaked into an underground room and then down a thin tunnel. Grian had a little trouble getting through with his wings, not wanting to shift them away in case he ended up needing them suddenly. When he finally reached the end, he was greeted by what was obviously two teams of people fighting. One group was all in purples meanwhile the other group had a mix of colors, but there were a lot of reds and whites.

When it didn’t look like anyone noticed him, Grian moved forward a bit, cleared his throat, and then shouted. “HEY!” Immediately everyone froze and looked over at him. “Excuse me, I’m sure you’re having a lovely war and all, but I’m looking for my kids. The two of them are about… these heights and are adorable little robots.”

“Are you saying you’re one of Jrum’s parents?” Someone in a black and white cloak said, and Grian nodded at them.

“Yeah. Is he here? Or do you at least know where he is?” Grian asked, before the person attempted to attack him. Immediately his wings moved to act as a quick shield. “I’m guessing that’s a yes, but you don’t want me around.” Grian pulled out his sword. “Eh, I was expecting an ambush anyway.”

But before another attack could happen, the voice from before spoke, seemingly to the cloaked person. “So what?! He abandoned his kid! If that were true he would have shown up!”

“Hey, I tried getting in. Your admin just found a way to keep me out until now. Now, are you going to listen to your friend and tell me where Jrum is, or are you going to fight?”

The incoming sword worked as the answer to Grian’s question and he blocked it with a shield before attacking back. The person tried moving behind some vines hanging from the ceiling, but Grian just sliced them to the ground, clearing the area. “Wait, how are you doing that?!” The person asked before Grian flew up to bash their head with the end of his shield and knock them to the ground.

“Nooo! What are you doing!” A voice yelled out and Grian turned around to see a familiar robot running over.

“Jrum!” Grian landed, arms open for a hug, but he just pushed past his dad to run to the person now on the ground. “Wh-what?”

“Are you okay?”

“Nggh… yeah. Wait, now where have you been?”

“I got kidnapped and Grum was there and he attacked me! But now I’m fine!”

Grian looked between his son and the person he had been attacking. He had no clue why this was happening, so he looked over as some of the other people nearby, who weren’t sure how to answer him. “Oh come on, no one had any idea?” And then the invisible person spoke. “I mean I guess? He was built before the turf war, but he didn’t really take part in it. Why? Look, I just want to get my kid and leave. My resistance days are pretty much over.”

There was quiet before Grian sighed and his wings shifted away. “Fine, I’ll play along, but you better hold up your end.” And when he opened his eyes, they weren’t their normal color, nor even just bright purple from using his watcher powers. Instead, his iris and pupils seemed to be missing, replaced by grayish-purple sclera.

“Well at the very least it was a house.” Xannes grumbled as he attempted to brush off the layer of dust on the bed sitting in the corner for him to then put Tommy on. It was tough with him having to carry the unconscious teen and only really about to use a leg as a duster, which was just spreading the dust around. “Can this be any harder?!”

A door opening behind him made the helsmit groan. “That’s wasn’t a fucking request! What the fuck do you-” He turned around and saw someone familiar and thankfully wearing a red tie. “Fine. This works. You take the kid.”

Mumbo was handed Tommy and Xannes finally was able to just pick the covers up off the bed and shake them off. It left Mumbo coughing and Xannes instantly regretting it as an alert on his screen warned him about his filters, but he put the blankets back down. The redstoner set Tommy down on the bed while Xannes worked on cleaning out the dust that was now in his helmet. “What happened to him?”

“He got killed, but respawn brought him back. It didn’t seem to be the best respawn because it hit hard. From what I can tell, he wasn’t supposed to. Is this a hardcore world?”

Mumbo shook his head. “Tommy said something about them having three lives, but they only counted if they were important.”

“So he essentially just got revived instead of normally respawning. That would explain it. You should have seen the three that got revived this season.”

“That’s right, you permakill someone if they don’t return for a season, don’t you.”

“Yeah. Of course they can still exist elsewhere, but it's a type of ban in a way.”

Mumbo nodded before finally looking away from Tommy and over to Xannes. “H-Have you seen either of the boys?”

“Yes, though they’re not doing so well. You know what a console is, right?”

“Yeah.” Mumbo nodded again. “I had to use one when I was first starting out so I didn’t break everything when working with redstone. Came in handy a few times, but I’m glad not using one anymore. Is there one being used here?”

“Yeah. The admin here decided to have fun with one since he found a way to make it mobile thanks to your redstone.”

“My red- wait!” Mumbo jumped up from kneeling on the floor next to the bed. “Are you telling me he’s using one of the boys?!”

“Yeah, Grumbot. He’s extremely out of it, but Tommy was able to get him to remove the blacklist and I’m pretty sure he’s the one who revived him, so it’s not a completely lost cause. Meanwhile the other one got infected with something like crimson nylium. I’m not sure how bad your land war went, but ours got out of hard fast.”

“We had a bit of trouble near the end, but the minigame battle near the end kept things from getting too far.”

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t end up like helscraft. Most of us ended up possessed by the different nyliums for a good portion of the war. And looks like Jrum is in the same situation.”

Alright, I’ll let the others know and hope Grian notices the message.”

“How many came along with the two of you?”

“Same group that we visited with. They came from here in the first place anyway, so they’ve got a better chance finding what we need.”

“Hello? Ranboo? Are you in here?” Tubbo asked, carefully stepping into the house. They had been planning to set up the second floor for Michael when he disappeared, so hopefully Ranboo would still be living there at least a little, unless he had taken the ziglin elsewhere.

The place was dark, all the windows closed and no torches or lanterns there to light the place up. It left Tubbo fumbling around, trying to feel his way around and wishing he had brought something for light. He tripped on something and fell to the ground, rubbing his head and hoping he hadn’t damaged anything. Then suddenly, something lit up, and Tubbo froze.

He had looked behind him to try and see if he could tell what had tripped him. He could barely make out the outline of a foot. Following up, it led up to a glowing screen with a smiley face plastered on it. Just behind that, Tubbo could also see two glowing magenta eyes from an enderman standing behind the robot.

Before Tubbo could ask any questions, a voice came from elsewhere in the dark room. “You know. As far as everyone knows, you're dead. How about we keep it that way?”

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