#thank you for gracing me with your presence in my inbox i want to make out

[frenchiepal]

Hi hello i adore you ✨✨✨✨ For the ask game, mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does? ✨✨✨✨

Hi hello I sobbed

(what if petting you between your itty bitty kitty ears inspired me what then)

I loooove dancing 😩💝bad mood? Dance. Uninspired and stuck? Dance. Too much energy? Dance. Funnily enough I am not very good at dancing but boii it brings out the best in me

My local uni library also makes me switch from unmotivated to motivated as soon as I step foot in it so there's that :D

[weemssapphic]

Hi! I love your stories! Could you write a story about Larissa Weems and a University Student reader? Something 18+. They do the deed in an art museum restroom and the reader gets caught by their classmates because they still have lipstick stains on their neck. Thanks :3

hello! thank you for the compliment! 🥰 so very sorry that this has been rotting in my inbox for an obscenely long amount of time, my brain for some reason really did not want me to get this done 😣 i hope it's at least halfway decent to make up for that!

thank you to @afeatherformills for the beta-read <3

warnings/content: nsfw, age gap (reader is 18+), cunnilingus/fingering (reader receiving), praise kink, marking kink

words: ~3k

Lipstick Stains

next chapter | series page

“I’ll meet you guys back here soon okay?”

“Sure, just text us when you’re done,” Robin replied, threading her fingers through Christin’s and turning to lead her into an exhibit on modern art. Cassandra offered you a smile and trailed behind them, leaving you to your own devices.

You weaved your way through the throngs of tourists crowding at the entrance, all still deciding which way to go. You’d been here often enough to know the floor plan by heart, knowing which exhibits would be the most crowded on Saturdays. You also knew that your favorite exhibit would be deliciously empty, as almost no one wandered that far back into the museum. 

You settled on a bench in front of an ancient Greek sculpture and pulled your sketchbook from your bag, thumbing through it until you found a blank page, and began to sketch, the world around you fading slowly until it was only static in the background.

“Exquisite, isn’t it?” A low voice in your left ear made you jump, your stomach dropping as if you’d just hit the peak of a roller coaster, your heart skipping a beat. In your art-induced daze, you hadn’t even heard anyone else enter the exhibit.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You twisted in your seat to find the source of the interruption: a statuesque blonde towering over your shoulder. A smirk graced her crimson lips as your eyes raked over her shapely form, pausing for a moment on their upward journey at her hips before moving higher and, finally, making eye contact.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, clenching your fingers tightly around your pencil as you worked to get your racing heartbeat under control.

“Larissa,” the woman introduced herself and you noticed that she spoke in a lilting English accent. Her voice had a soothing quality to it, calming you almost instantly.

Larissa. A beautiful name for a beautiful stranger. You smiled at that, heart fluttering at the smile you received in return.

“Y/N.” 

“Would you care for some company, Y/N?” Normally, you would say no to such a request, prioritizing your alone time over small talk with strangers. But something about her had you absolutely mesmerized and before you knew what you were doing, you were nodding and the woman was sitting down next to you. She was so close that you could smell her perfume - notes of jasmine and rose, floral and decidedly feminine.

“Keep working,” she encouraged, seeming to notice your hesitation as you watched her. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you turned reluctantly back to your sketch and traced along the paper. Now it was as if your entire body was prickling with electricity at this mysterious stranger’s presence, your nerves alive and burning.

You stole a glance to your left, marveling at how put-together she looked - silver curls done up in an elaborate updo, drawing attention to her long neck and the smooth planes of her rosy cheekbones, eyes the deepest shade of blue you’d ever seen, framed by mascara-coated lashes that brushed against her cheeks when she blinked, lips a bright shade of red, parted ever so slightly as she as she admired the statue you were sketching.

You wondered briefly if you should flip to a new page and start to sketch her when her eyes shifted over to you, trapping you in her gaze, and the world around you stilled. A heavy blush crept up your cheeks and you couldn’t take it anymore, dropping your gaze back to your sketchbook. 

“I have to admit I was surprised to see someone else back here, it’s my favorite exhibit and it’s not often I run into anyone here.” Larissa crossed her legs as she spoke, long legs that seemed to stretch on for miles, and you had trouble tearing your eyes away from them.

“Then I’m surprised we haven’t met sooner, I come here a lot. I like it back here, it’s quiet.”

“You’re here alone?” There was an edge to the woman’s voice, something darker swimming in her eyes as she leaned towards you.

“Uh, sort of? My friends are off somewhere, I’m not meeting them until later.” You squinted slightly, trying to discern the woman’s intentions, but she leaned back again, a satisfied smile gracing her lips, any edge she’d previously had dissipating in an instant.

Somewhere between outlining the Greek statue and your conversation with Larissa, you realized you’d begun to sketch her instead, the silhouette of her body slowly taking shape under the tip of your pencil.

“What are you working on?” Larissa tilted her head towards yours, her breath warm on your cheek as she peered at your drawing. The sudden invasion of your space made your cheeks heat and your pulse skyrocket. Her perfume was overwhelming now, it filled your nostrils and clouded your senses, making you dizzy.

You hesitated for a moment - after all, this woman was just a stranger, and being caught sketching her could end up very embarrassing for you. Something about her curiosity and openness, and your intoxication by her sudden proximity, won out though, and you pushed your sketchbook over for her to see. “Just an assignment for class. I’m an art major,” you supplied.

Larissa traced a long, manicured finger over the sketch, humming her appreciation, the vibrations clinging to the air between the two of you. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring earlier,” Larissa murmured, lips pulling into a smirk as she raised her gaze to meet yours. You were a kid with your hand caught in the cookie jar, until -

A warm hand on your thigh.

A quirk of a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

It was as if your ears were ringing and the air around you was thick and all you could do was wonder if Larissa felt it too.

Larissa’s eyes darkened as she hovered over you, lips parting as she waited for you to close the distance, your faces mere inches apart. You hesitated only for a second before crashing your lips into hers, whining at how Larissa’s tongue swiped almost instantly at your lower lip. Your sketchbook and pencil clattered to the floor as Larissa’s hands came to your waist and pulled you towards her, shifting you onto her lap to straddle her thighs. 

“Is this okay?” She murmured into your mouth between kisses, breath ghosting over your face.

“Yes,” you sighed, not caring that you sounded more than a little needy as you wrapped your arms around her neck, enjoying the feeling of her palms settling on your hips.

The kisses became hotter, more desperate, and you found yourself beginning to search for a bit of friction as you ground your pelvis onto Larissa’s thighs. She moaned into your mouth and dug the pads of her fingers into your hips, pushing you down onto her lap.

You found a steady rhythm, rolling your hips and getting decent friction from the seam of your jeans, but it wasn’t enough, and it soon left you growling in frustration as the coil behind your navel wound tighter and tighter but found no release. 

Larissa let out a breathy chuckle and moved her lips to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe before whispering, “let me take care of that for you.”

She lifted you carefully off her lap and motioned for you to gather your things - of course you did as you were told, you couldn’t possibly refuse this woman - and then led you expertly down several hallways, avoiding crowds converging at different exhibits before stopping at the restrooms.

Larissa pulled you into one of the restrooms, swiftly locking the door behind you before latching her lips onto yours in a heated kiss and pushing you back into the sink. Larissa’s body pressed into yours, your hands pulling at her waist. Her tongue swiped at your lips, begging for entry, and you conceded, allowing her to explore the contours of your mouth. Her hands came up to thread themselves in your hair, tugging lightly as her fingernails scratched at your scalp. 

She pressed a plethora of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, swirling her tongue along the skin there. As she got to your collarbone, she began to nip and suck at your skin, hard enough to leave a bruise, then soothing her tongue over the little red mark. Her head dipped into your cleavage, nibbling at the soft flesh barely exposed above your shirt, eliciting a low whine from your throat.

Larissa pulled back at the sound, peering up at you. No one had ever looked at you with such unadulterated hunger before, and it unnerved you. Your heart thundered aggressively against your ribcage, so loudly you were sure she could hear it as well. 

A fire had been started behind your navel and was radiating outward, setting your whole body ablaze. 

“Larissa…” A wetness pooled between the apex of your thighs and you clenched them together.

“You look absolutely divine,” Larissa growled before her lips hungrily crashed back into yours. Her hands settled on your waist, tugging you closer, though they didn’t stay there for long before they began to wander. Her left hand came up to cup your breast, giving it a squeeze through the fabric of your shirt as her right hand wandered down to your jeans, her slender fingers tracing the button in question. 

“May I?” She muttered against your lips, voice low and dripping with desire. You nodded into the kiss, your fingers coming to your pants to assist with the process.

With your jeans around your ankles, Larissa’s fingers grazed over your underwear and she let out a sinful moan at the wet patch she found there.

“All this for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet?” She looked at you with humor in her eyes, a smirk passing her lips as she began to kiss down your neck again, moving down your body and pulling your underwear down with her, allowing you to kick them off and to the side.

“Let me get a taste of you, darling, hmm? I bet you taste so good.”

Larissa swiped two fingers lightly through your folds, nearly causing your knees to buckle at the unexpected touch. She brought the digits to her mouth and slowly, obscenely swirled her tongue around them to taste your juices, moaning and gazing up at you through her eyelashes. You gulped audibly, trying to clench your thighs together to keep your arousal from dripping down your legs, but Larissa’s hands came to your knees to force your legs open.

“Ah-ah, let me see that pretty pussy of yours.” You blushed crimson at her words, trying to look away, but a hand on your arm made you look down. Larissa looked at you with such kind sincerity in her eyes. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, darling. You’re beautiful.” The words didn’t help with your blush, but you held her gaze this time and relished in her smile as she turned her attention back to the throbbing ache between your legs.

Heat pooled in your stomach as Larissa dragged her nails down your thighs, placing her tongue at your entrance and trailing it slowly towards your throbbing clit. Her tongue began to circle the sensitive nub and a pitiful whimper clawed its way out of your throat. You were so close already, your excitement beginning to trickle down the inside of your thighs.

Your cunt was aching, wanting - needing - more. You clutched at the sink behind you, white knuckled, pressing your hips forward, anything to get Larissa’s mouth closer, anything to get more.

Larissa hooked your calf over her shoulder to get a better angle, groaning as your pussy opened up for her. She placed her hands on your hips to hold you in place, her nails digging little half-moon crescents into the tender flesh there. Your entire body felt ablaze under her touch, you felt almost feverish as she flattened her tongue against your slit, lapping up the juices that flowed freely.

“Fuck - Larissa,” you groaned as you began to grind your hips into Larissa’s mouth, chest heaving.

One of Larissa’s hands left your hips and you gasped as cool fingers brushed against your center. The action only served to stoke the embers in the pit of your stomach and you moaned as a single digit sank into your hole halfway, pulled back out, then sank in again, further this time, slowly, all whilst her tongue ravished your clit.

A second finger soon followed and you met your hips in time with the thrusts of her fingers, unable to take your eyes off the goddess kneeling before you. A particularly loud moan fell from her lips and vibrated against your center, all but forcing you to slam your thighs shut around her head at the sensation.

“I-I’m s-so close,” you gasped, biting into your bottom lip to keep from crying out as Larissa picked up her pace inside of you, curling her fingers into the spongy spot that had you tensing up and seeing stars behind your eyes. Her tongue latched onto your clit, sucking feverishly as shockwaves began to rack your body.

“That’s it,” Larissa cooed, her lips brushing against the hood of your clit and causing your walls to clench around her fingers. “Be a good girl for me and come,” Larissa’s voice dropped several octaves as she dragged her fingers in and out of your cunt.

Maybe it was the “good girl” that did you in. Or maybe it was just the fact that Larissa was good, really, really good, at what she was doing. But come you did.

Your thrusts became more erratic as you rode Larissa’s face, reaching your high on her tongue as your world exploded around you, vulgar moans dripping from your lips. Larissa carried you through it, lapping up every drop of your essence that poured out of you, tongue flicking languidly at your clit to bring you gently back down to earth.

For a moment everything was still, your leg still hooked over Larissa’s shoulder as she held you in place. She pulled her fingers out of you, slowly and ever so gently, and you mewled at the loss of contact, which earned you a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

Larissa cleaned you up with her tongue, taking her time to explore your inner thighs and your swollen sex. She peppered your mound with kisses, then the tender flesh of your belly, the swell of your breasts, your clavicle, your throat, your jaw - her lips hovered over yours for a moment before finally making contact, though this kiss was nothing like the rest. It was slow and sweet, tender even, and you could taste yourself on her tongue.

“You did so well for me,” she praised against your lips, her hand coming to cup your cheek, thumb gently stroking the flushed skin there.

As you pulled on your now-ruined panties and your jeans, Larissa stood in front of the mirror, washing her hands, redoing her lipstick, and adjusting a few bobby pins that had come loose in her hair. 

“Will I see you again?” you murmured hesitantly, a bit pathetically, half-hoping that maybe she’d spare you the embarrassment of rejection and would pretend she didn’t hear you. 

To your surprise, she grinned and held her palm out to you. At your quizzical gaze, she chuckled and said “your phone.” 

You quickly handed her your phone and she added herself as a contact, before handing you back said phone and moving to the restroom door.

“Now, I really must get back to work, but do call me sometime.”

Larissa paused, eyes raking hungrily over your body. They stopped for a moment at your neck and a dark smirk crossed her face, a low hum of approval leaving her throat. 

You felt utterly exposed under her gaze, short of breath, thighs clenched together tightly with want. Your heart pounded in your chest at the nod Larissa gave you, cool, almost professional, and in an instant she was gone, the door closing behind her. You steadied yourself on the counter, avoiding your own gaze in the mirror as you caught your breath.

Maybe, if you had bothered to look at yourself in the mirror, you’d have seen the many lipstick stains down the column of your neck that had been left during your little rendezvous, no doubt the thing that had left Larissa smirking at you before leaving you high and dry. 

Alright, breathe. You’ll just find your friends, they’ll never realize you were gone. You checked your phone, 5:54pm. Shit, almost time to go. Without sparing yourself another glance (wrong move), you tucked your hair behind your ear, slung your bag over your shoulder and ran out of the restroom and straight into Cassandra. 

“Hey, what gives? We spent half the afternoon looking for you!” Her eyes narrowed accusingly, then traveled down your neck, widening comically as her jaw dropped. 

“Y/N, what were you doing in there?!” She shrieked. 

“W-what do you mean?” You stuttered, your beet-red face giving you away (as if the lipstick stains and blooming hickeys on your chest hadn’t already). 

“You’re covered in lipstick,” Cassandra hissed, not caring that several tourists were looking curiously at the pair of you as they passed.

“I’m… I’m what?” You pulled out your phone, turning on the front camera to examine yourself and groaning when you saw the marks dotting the front of your neck and chest. “Larissa,” you whined.

“Who’s Larissa? She the one who gave you those hickeys?” Robin and Christin chose that moment to sneak up on the two of you, Robin slinging an arm around your shoulder and grinning down at you. Your blush extended to the tips of your ears and you swatted her arm away, huffing in embarrassment.

“So I say we order pizza tonight and Y/N tells us alllll about her afternoon with Larissa,” Christin teased. 

You turned away from your friend’s laughter, looking distractedly across the main hall of the museum as you tried to cool your blush. A group of tourists passed the front desk and you looked past them, your gaze falling to a familiar tall blonde passing through the exit. Larissa looked up at that moment and your eyes locked from across the room. Red lips stretched into a devious smile, and just like that she ducked through the door, vanishing from sight.

[admirxation]

May I please request a one-shot for Forrest Law falling in love with a rich woman who’s a frequent customer at his dad’s restaurant and an avid martial artist herself?

Mystery | Forest Law oneshot request

𓆩♡𓆪┆ pairing: Forest Law x fem!reader(afab)

𓆩♡𓆪┆ summary: Forest makes it a habit to visit his fathers restaurant, but one night this continuous habit now has a unique involvement — the reader. after captivating his attention, he fixates on getting to know the mysterious reader.

𓆩♡𓆪┆ word count: 3.5k

𓆩♡𓆪┆ warnings: female anatomy and she/her pronouns used for the reader. no graphic content like smut, this is mainly cute and fluff content.

𓆩♡𓆪┆ a/n: hey anon! i rlly hope you like this, i rlly enjoyed writing this; i'm obviously a smut writer but it was fun to write something cute and fluffy. thank you so much for picking me to give your request to and future requests are always welcome when my inbox is open again.

𓆩♡𓆪┆ my links: masterlist | ao3 profile | kofi

Inside his father's restaurant, the heady aroma of simmering spices wafted through the air, the warmth of the lighting and the murmur of conversations formed a comforting and inviting energy that filled that atmosphere. Forest sat at the back, eating his favourite meal he ordered every time he visited, wanting to kill time while his father walked around and spoke to the most important people in the room.

Forest’s eyes wandered across the room, taking in the diverse decoration on the walls and the groups of people talking and laughing amongst themselves. He stared for a moment, wondering what the larger groups were talking about, possibly if it was someone’s birthday or a job promotion celebration, looking further to see if he could figure out which people were the least favourite and tried to conjure up some backstory to them when looking their appearance. He picked out what he thought were the natural leaders of the group, the most successful, the ones who were struggling. Still, amidst the lively chatter and his continuing thoughts, his attention was drawn to a corner table for one, captivated by the woman who sat there — you. You were a vision of refined beauty; your presence naturally commanded Forest’s attention, and he accepted to follow as he continued to be mesmerised by you.

He did a dance between watching you and then shifting his eyes somewhere else to go back to you, not wanting you to notice as he stared at your beauty. He noticed how your hair fell gracefully; you held a natural grace that created a timeless beauty, producing an air of mystery, a captivating allure that hinted at a story to be untold — a story Forest wanted to be a part of.

You were dressed in your favourite colour for tonight, exuding elegance where you walked as the fabric of your clothing flowed with every subtle movement, a dance of sophistication that continued to hold Forest’s attention. What truly caught Forest’s attention was the details that adorned you. Delicate pieces of jewellery placed on your fingers, each ring a testament to the craftsmanship and your great taste. As you lifted the glass of wine to your lips, the play of light caught the sparkle of the subtle necklace that was gently pressed on your collarbone.

Forrest couldn’t help but be captivated by how you engaged with the waiter; he couldn’t exactly hear in detail, but he could see a warmth in your body language, your polite manners and smile to the waiter. Forest had only come to “kill time” but instead caught himself staring at how beautiful you were; he was now making backstories and assumptions about you, and the population surrounding you was just the blurred background while you were the focalised subject.

There was an effortless charm to your interactions that just enticed Forest to speak to you, but he didn’t know how to approach you, not being able to think of an excuse to start a conversation with you.

Time seemed to stretch at that moment, allowing Forrest to savour the unexpected beauty of the distanced encounter. With its familiar sights and sounds, the restaurant transformed into a stage where you were the focal point.

But now, Forrest needed to leave.

As he walked towards the exit, he made it his mission to walk past you. You didn’t notice him, but he noticed how you were the reason for his heart to beat a little quicker, the reason for that small smile that crept up on his face when he walked past and smelt your perfume. He couldn’t recognise the scent, but all he knew was that it belonged to the most beautiful woman he enjoyed being in the same room with.

~~~

The ambient hum of conversation outside filled the air of the bustling city as Forest sat alone in his room, looking at the blank wall while being lost in his thoughts; a previous vision of elegance left him lost in contemplation, keeping him to replay your vision in his mind over and over again. Forest continued to lay in a still position as he found himself lost in a mental reel, playing out scenarios of what it would be like to approach you. The weight of missed opportunities weighed on his mind, and he silently chastised himself for not seizing the chance to just speak to you when walking past.

“The restaurant belongs to my father; that could have been an easy conversation starter, you idiot,” Forest whispered to himself.

Forest conjured various conversation starters in his imagination — witty remarks, clever observations, and charming anecdotes that would elicit your smiles. He imagined how your laugh would sound, wanting to observe how your eyes crinkle at a well-timed joke. Each scenario played out like a carefully scripted scene in a movie, the perfect dialogue and flawless execution etched into his mind.

This wasn’t like Forest; he didn’t have any woman control his feeling as you had manipulated them and continued to remain in his thoughts. He usually kept a calm composure and arguably a cockiness in his personality; he didn’t overthink into decisions like this, but you brought a different side to him.

As the night wore on, beginning to feel his eyes becoming heavy, he decided to break free from the cocoon of his contemplation and promise himself that if he saw you again, he would talk to you. With a newfound determination, Forest lay to sleep, having excitement buzz through him with the possibility of seeing you soon.

~~~

Forest made another visit to his father's restaurant; the familiar scent of spices and the rhythmic clattering of pots and pans greeted him as he stepped to the back to find his father. The previous day's encounter with you still lingered in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the desire to know you more. Determined, he went through the bustling tables to seek out his father amid the controlled chaos of the restaurant’s kitchen.

“Hey, Dad,” Forest greeted, a mix of curiosity and eagerness evident in his voice.

His father turned from overseeing the kitchen staff and greeted Forest with a nod and a look of surprise and confusion: “Forest, what brings you here? You’re never here this time of day. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything is fine,” Forest replied to sound casual, “I was here yesterday, and I wanted to maybe ask you something.”

His father raised an eyebrow, wondering what his sudden interest was in his business. The kitchen staff had now continued to get back to work, ignoring the conversation these two were now having, allowing Forest to feel comfortable in asking his questions about you.

“Um, I was here yesterday, and I saw someone interesting… A woman and I was wondering if you could tell me who she is?”

Marshall let out a breathless small laugh for a moment as he folded his arms: “I’m going to need more information than, son, many women come walking through these doors.”

After mustering up the courage, Forest described your appearance subjectively, not mentioning the poetic descriptions of beauty but merely focusing on your hair, eyes, and stature. But most importantly, he mentioned the corner you sat at, a corner for one person that was nearest to the best decoration in the whole restaurant.

Marshall nodded as he raised an eyebrow, as well as a knowing smile that played on his lips: “Ah, I think you’re talking about Ms Y/N L/N; she sits in that corner every time she comes here; she’s a very important patron of ours and contributes a lot to this business. A lovely woman… Not just in her appearance.”

Forest felt embarrassed at those last few words, realising how obvious his attraction was to you now.

“Thank you, um, is she —” he was cut off.

“Look, son, she’s a regular here and enjoys the quiet ambience around her; I would rather her be in peace when she eats here. I know why you’re here, but I advise you to leave her alone; she’s very important and doesn’t seem like the type who wants to get involved with strangers… I’ve never seen her invite anyone to dinner, always alone and solitary, enjoying her own company.”

A mixture of disappointment and understanding crossed Forest’s face; of course, it was too good to be true that a beautiful woman happened to be in his father's restaurant.

“Um, how did you know what I want?”

“You never ask about anyone here, and now you’re suddenly interested in a woman; bit obvious, don’t you think?” he laughed momentarily, “Jokes aside, please take my advice.”

“Sure, Dad. I just… She just caught my attention, and I thought it was worth a shot,” he shrugged as he started leaving the kitchen.

“It happens. But remember, some people don’t want to be disturbed; some were made to live solitary lives.”

Forest left the conversation with a heavy heart; the allure of your mysterious presence was now accompanied by restraint. He couldn’t deny the logic behind his father's words, but the lingering curiosity and a need to rebel kept tugging at these thoughts — but no matter how reckless he could be, he didn’t want to disappoint his father.

~~~

Throughout the day, Forest couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind. He observed you discreetly only for a moment, but this was enough time to note how effortlessly you captured his attention. He stayed longer at his father’s restaurant for some dinner, poking and prodding his food around the plate in disappointment with seeing you hadn’t arrived like yesterday. The restaurant buzzed in energy, but Forest wasn’t eager to observe the individuals as usual — he had found a favourite person to analyse and only wanted to look at you.

As the evening progressed, Forest’s father noticed the forlorn expression he kept on his face. Throughout the night, Marshall had been greeting various guests when he could involve himself in conversations with the most important people coming through the doors. As he engaged in these talks, he had his eyes naturally look over to the lonesome Forest and observed that sadness that could only be linked to that previous conversation. After some time of watching, he finally approached to talk again.

“Do you want to talk?” Forest’s father inquired as he placed his hand on the available seat opposite him, taking Forest out of a state of constant overthinking and disappointment.

“Not much to talk about; it was settled before,” he was direct but not disrespectful in his speech.

Marshall saw Forest's feelings and momentarily invited himself to sit with him.

“Come on, speak to me.”

He sighed before speaking: “I’m a little disappointed… She just seemed so… I don’t know, interesting. Even if it went to nothing, I’m sure I would have appreciated just having one conversation with her.”

“She is a fascinating woman,” Forest shot a look of ‘this isn’t helping’ toward his father. Marshall sat there momentarily, his fingers interlocking and thumbs twirling as he hesitated in his next speech, trapped in a contemplative look that Forest couldn’t read. “Well, she is also a regular at the dojo; she trains there every single night, and if you’re interested… maybe find a way to talk to her, maybe show her what I trained you.”

A spark of hope ignited in Forest’s eyes. “Wait, if she goes there regularly, how come I’ve never seen her? I’m there all the time.”

“She goes an hour after you leave.”

Typical, Forest thought.

“Just go an hour after you usually go, be respectful, but please remember, if she values her privacy and does not engage, do not force her to engage in the way you want her to.”

Forest thanked his father and mentally noted the timing; a feeling of renewed excitement had enticed him again. Forest’s mind was now filled with the thoughts of how he would talk to you, also wondering if you liked martial arts as much as he did or just learning. He was picturing maybe teaching you a thing or to if you were a beginner, but most importantly, he just wanted to get to know you behind your mystery.

~~~

An hour later, Forest found himself standing outside the familiar dojo his father had also owned; a mix of nervousness and excitement coursed through him; he found it strange how he knew this place off by heart, but it felt like entering a new destination.

The atmosphere of the dojo was one of calm intensity. The rhythmic sounds of disciplined movements, punctuated by measured and controlled breaths, filled the air. The mats beneath Forest’s feet offered a subtle cushioning as he watched the room for you. His eyes scanned the room and found you, the one whose aura had left an ever-fixed mark on his imagination. You were alone; this time of night was unpopular with the rest of the customers.

You stood in the corner — secluded once again – executing precise and fluid movements. Clad in traditional gi, you exuded an air of focused tranquillity, your eyes fixed on an imaginary opponent. The play of light and shadow accentuated the determination etched on your face; the atmosphere around you seemed to hum with a subtle tension — a testament to the intensity of your training.

Forest hesitated momentarily, unsure of how to approach her amidst the silent symphony of the martial arts you showed expertise in. The serene atmosphere of the dojo was both calming and daunting, creating a delicate balance that echoes the discipline of practitioners like yourself. Summoning his courage, Forest finally approached you with measured steps, waiting momentarily as you stopped in your movements. As he neared you and watched you take notice of him, with those eyes that were making him melt, he couldn’t help but continue to marvel at the grace and precision with which you executed each technique and the natural grace that surrounded you.

You watched him for a moment; you had to admit he was a very attractive man, and you already knew who he was after multiple conversations with his father, but you didn’t know why his son was suddenly interested in speaking to you after the multiple years you attended the dojo and the restaurant with your investments.

“Excuse me, Ms. L/N?” Forest began, his voice cutting through the silence that now filled the dojo. You watched his face and saw a subtle glow of pink on his cheeks, his pupils dilating, as well as his avoided gaze every time you tried to make eye contact with him — you waited for him to tell you his business, and you were secretly enjoying watching up flustered with just a simple introduction; it felt like you had a certain but innocent control over him that excited you. “Um… I’m Forest Law… I’m sure you recognise the name. I saw you in my father’s restaurant, and well, I —”

You regarded him with a small smile: “Forest Law,” you repeated as if testing how the name fits on your lips, “I have heard about you from your father, Marshall; he’s been a lovely man to me. It’s great to meet his son that he talks about finally.”

“He talks about me to you?” he looked confused.

“Yes,” you let out a small laugh, “you might say I already know you a little bit; I’ve heard some of the stories that I won’t mention… But I also hear the love he has for you,” you watched him smile as you said those words, making it more clear of his striving for his father's approval. “No, what brings you here, exactly?”

Forest felt a mixture of relief and nervous energy, grateful that you were welcoming this interruption and complying with conversation; what added to the nerves was now thinking of something to say to fill the silence before it got awkward.

You decided to help him out: “Your father said you were trained well by him, how about you show me some skills? In that time, you could maybe think of what made you want to start this conversation with me,” you gave him a warm smile followed by a light and gentle laugh to poke a little fun at him — he was already starting to like your sense of humour.

Though initially surprised by the request, Forrest couldn’t resist the opportunity to show off his abilities. “Um, sure, sounds… fun, I suppose,” he couldn’t help but let out an awkward laugh to remove the silence.

As you two moved into the training area, Forest felt various emotions. That overconfident part of his personality was excited to live up to the expectations that your father had seemed to speak about to you, but there was a little voice in his head that made him overthink and worry about failing. However, when you both got onto the mats, Forest began to demonstrate a series of fluid techniques, movements of a fusion of precision and agility. — he made it his mission to get out of his head and to show you what he knew he was great at. You observed him with keen interest, your eyes tracking every motion, your eyebrow piquing in interest every time he executed a difficult and impressive move; his intricate combinations had led to your nod of approval.

“Impressive, Forest. Your father was right… There’s a certain finesse in your style.”

Encouraged by your words, Forest asked: “Would you like me to teach you one of the moves? It’s great practice.” You were starting to like the small increments of confidence he was starting to have with you; it was fun knowing his handsome man wanted to get to know you and spend time with you. You considered his proposal while deep in thought when observing the attractive features that were standing out to you, then giving a thoughtful gaze before continuing: “I’d be honoured. Lead on.”

A unique exchange, a martial arts dance between Forest and you followed. Forest guided you through various techniques, patiently correcting your form and offering encouragement now and again; he was also impressed with your own moves that you implemented into his movement combinations.; you absorbed the lessons and made them your own; this confidence and skill only added to Forest’s attraction to you. The dojo echoes with the soft sounds of footsteps, the swish of fabric, and the occasional thud of controlled impacts. Forest continued to marvel at the synchronicity of your aura when practising your own fighting style.

As you concluded your joint session, you began to speak with your eyes, reflecting a newfound appreciation: “Thank you, Forest, I’ve enjoyed this… Your skills are truly commendable. I must say you do put me to shame sometimes,” you laughed.

“What do you mean? You were amazing there,” he got lost when looking into your eyes for a moment, quickly breaking the visual connection, thinking if he lingered his stare too long, you would be weirded out.

“Perhaps you could come with me again,” you started, “we could have some joint training sessions…” Forest was about to agree before you added more to your statement, “ But first you must answer the first question I was waiting on… What brought you here? I know this is your father's property, but I’m only now seeing you… My curiosity will get the better of me.”

Forest took a deep breath.

“Well… I saw you in the restaurant yesterday; I just so happened to stop there randomly and unscheduled to look out and see how my father was doing. As I began to wander… I saw you,” you watched intently, “I find you a beautiful and mysterious woman, Ms L/N —”

“You may just call me Y/N… No need for the sophistication.”

“Thank you… But, as I was saying, I did want to speak to you and was too scared, and I came here after seeing this is your usual time and… I just wanted to get to know the woman that made me nonstop think about her.”

A blush appeared on your cheeks, watching his eyes sparkle as he recounted that night he saw you; the way he titled you as the “beautiful and mysterious woman” just created butterflies in your stomach. You had heard about the many good things about Forest from Marshall and often wondered what this marvellous son was like, and meeting him here and now made that curiosity grow bigger; you wanted to get to know this man more, that gut feeling of knowing this was a man you wanted to see where things would go — so you provided him with an offer.

“I’m very flattered you think of me that way,” you walked a little closer to him, placing your hand on the side of his arm, knowing that would drive him a little crazy, “how about we get to know each other a bit better, maybe meet here again tomorrow… Maybe break away at the mystery I seem to have.”

“I would love that.”

You then leaned in for a moment, giving him a kiss on the cheek, watching as he froze and blushed.

“consider it a thank you for your compliments and what you taught me today,” you said.

As you two excited the dojo together, the bond forged through martial arts now lingered in the air. Forest couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment and connection, grateful and curious at the prospect of an unexpected journey of being involved with you as well as getting to know you more than just a beautiful investor for his father.

©︎ admirxation. please do not copy or steal my works.

[scandalouslamb]

weird somehow i ended up yapping in ur inbox again

anyway. on my drive home i got to thinking about your boy max and what he might have been like as a president before the rebellion. (and i might just be misremembering so if i am just delete this and save me the humiliation) i was wondering if you had any thoughts to spare?

also on a somewhat related note- what do you think his childhood was like? (which is probably a weird question but i feel like your blog is a safe space to dissect the ravinstills)

I always love to talk about my good friend Max! What a guy! I hope you all understand that I know he's awful!

Anyway, thanks for the ask! You're always welcome here! I got pretty out of control while rambling, so if you want me to elaborate on something just ask!

I mention this in Si Deleamini, Deleamur, but the Ravinstills got on the wrong side of the presidential administration before Max's and his family basically got decimated (kind of like what's going to happen in the future *gunshot*)

As I offhandedly mentioned in the same fic, Max', Albanus (his brother), and their mother got to live because their mother was related to the secretary of health.

Max is the older brother so he feels a lot of responsibility towards Albanus.

Max also kind of idealizes his brother even before he dies of an illness after Max becomes president. To Max, Albanus is this sweet kid who doesn't understand the harsh realities of the world, but the truth it that Albanus does! And what he doesn't understand, he probably could! But Max just thinks it's his duty to not get Albanus involved too much which damages their relationship (Max will do the same thing to Felix)

I do like to imagine parallels between Felix and his grandfather, so Max isn't totally making things up when he's seeing similarities between the two. He's just also not seeing either of them clearly.

The time that Max grew up in was pretty tumultuous with politics happening (in the form of violence) in the streets or in the Districts through proxies. I imagine this sparked him to want to kind of tame that chaos (the answer... backdoor politics and assassination? max... please....)

He's internally angry and resentful and his origins kind of parallel a certain Coriolanus Snow in that his family has had a fall from grace

They aren't financially struggling (although they've lost money) but the drop in influence and standing is frustrating

During his Academy years, he meets Volumnia, and they match each other's freak a little too well

He has ideas for control and power, and everything he says is proving her right about the world: humans are selfish and savage

I imagine Gaul being from a less influential family (in my hc) means he doesn't feel threatened by her as he would others and that is why he lets her be his actual friend (this will carry on into their adulthood with the more fucked up, she needs him to exert power.)

Max has a face/presence that makes you think he's judging you. His classmates saw him as levelheaded and smart, but his stoic face had them jumping to conclusions that they were wrong about something

He likes watching them squirm trying to correct themselves when they are already right <- Volumnia sees through him and is immediately like 'oh? he's just like me for real!'

His rise to power was rife with murder as well. Volumnia thinks it's a great way to amass power! Albanus thinks it's about revenge and while a little disturbed lets it slide. They are both equally right about what it's about for Max.

Pre-Rebellion, I don't think he's a great guy (but at least not complicit in sending 23 children to their deaths every year? the bar is in hell)

Max runs the country like he accidentally runs his family by being emotionally unavailable and having people clamoring for his attention. (this applies pre and post rebellion to me, but post rebellion Max is also just... tired)

Like... I imagine that unlike Snow who kills off his competition (which Max does for sure too but directly? only if they've done something or are caught red-handed about to do something.) He avoids really having competition by having potential rivals in competition amongst themselves

He bestows political favor readily to someone and then stops and does it to someone else. These two will be in competition trying to outperform each other (yields good results and if they get too distracted by each other than Max will find some other person to replace both). If one succeeds so much that they may challenge Max politically, well... usually the other one will take care of it before Max gets his hands dirty.

[gentlebeard]

hi lets show some love for our mutuals. tag your favorite mutuals and tell them why you love them

thank you, dear anon. time to spread lots of love:

@blakbonnet - what would i do without meow? she’s so smart & kind & funny & so fucking talented. writing, painting, making gifs, clowning - there’s nothing she can’t do. we have one and the same brain and often send each other almost identical messages at the same time. she’s my biggest fan and greatest supporter. team beard brought us together and now i never want to be without her!

@sherlockig - my soulmate, my sunshine, my rock. not only is she incredibly sweet and one of my best friends in the world, she’s also the backbone of the ofmd fandom. she graces our screens with fantastically edited screen caps of our beloved blorbos. we’d be lost if alexz didn’t put so much love and energy into picking the perfect frames! i’m so grateful for her presence in the fandom and in my life.

@saltpepperbeard - jodi. my wifey. my one true love. nothing brings me more joy than seeing her gifs or reading her insane tags on posts. they’re better and more entertaining than any newspaper or novel. every time she has an insanely brilliant (or angsty) thought, i wanna propose to her all over again. her writing makes my brain tingle in the best possible way. btw all of you are invited to our next wedding 🥰

@bizarrelittlemew - one day i saw one of ida’s gif sets and was like: hell yeah, i wanna see more of that. i came for the gifs but stayed for her love of rhys darby, her kindness, her writing, her amazing vibe, her creativity, and her lovely self.

@not-nervous-jester - jams is the hottest person on this hellsite. they’re just so effortlessly funny and amazing. their brain has the most wrinkles because they’re so fantastic and intelligent. i invite jams to make out with me regularly because i’m secretly (or not so secretly, i guess) obsessed with them. anyway, i’m smooching you and your brain, jams!

@skysofrey - kaitlin is the sweetest human ever. sunshine in a bottle. kindness personified. seeing her yellow hearts in the tags improves my mood instantly. she deserves to have a perfect day every single day.

@stedebonnets - another 10/10 human being. how anyone can be so sweet and supportive is almost unbelievable to me. ara will make you feel like the most special person on this planet with just a few words and sweet emojis. i bet ara’s hugs feel like coming home after being gone for years.

@dickfuckk - i once called josh the bts king because he’ll know or find anything that is just slightly adjacent to ofmd. his dedication to @ourflagmeansbts is insane to me. on top of that: nice & funny dude, hilarious videos, my dj archive 😌

@rainbowcrowley - after just casually communicating over tags we have finally moved our relationship to the next stage (dms & laughing about shitty memes about politicians, apparently). addi will tell you they make “mediocre gifs” but that’s just a blatant lie. their gifs always look fantastic. a very sweet bean.

@darkinerry - marlena will come out of nowhere and throw spectacular taika gifs into your inbox or just make a straight up insane gif set of that man with clips they probably had to kill someone for. idk how else they do it or where they get them, it’s a mystery to me. excited puppy energy 24/7.

honorable mention goes to olivia aka @snake-snack-stede who is, hands down, the most hilarious person in the ofmd fandom. i’m looking forward to your s2 shenanigans as much as the episodes!!!

if i didn’t mention you, know i still love you. and you’re amazing. 💕

[fluffy-critter]

I know we don't talk or anything, but I just wanted to say...I've known you for damn near a decade now, and I always feel graced by your presence as a mutual. You started out impressing me, and you keep doing it--just, like...your entire *you*. You're an incredibly creative, interesting, smart person, and you make neat things. So...thanks for being my friend, if that's okay to say! And, uh, if we're friends. Social media is an endless paradox of awkwardness.

You're great, Fluffs, please always know that. And thanks again for the Miri rec!

I'm never sure what to do with asks like these because I have to make a decision:

Do I answer privately and then lose it from the inbox forever?

Do I answer publicly and feel weird about displaying something that feels like it was meant to be sent in private?

Do I just hold onto it forever, unacknowledged, so I always have something very nice to see whenever I look at my inbox?

In any case I always am happy to be reminded that there are people who are positive about things and aren't afraid to say it, and it's also a great reminder that I should be more willing to tell other people how much I appreciate them.

In particular I like how much you're always sharing positive stuff and putting it on my timeline, and bringing attention to wholesome art and important environmental things.

So anyway I went with option 2 this time (after much deliberation). Thank you.

[onlyswan]

Hey Art!!!!!!

I hope you're happy to see me in your asks. Wanted to slide in to say how proud I am of you. We all have our ups and downs but you continued. Even in the face of adversity which made you question yourself you did try your best to quell the problems away. And for that- you deserve a big fat hug. I hope you pat yourself and say 'I'm proud of you' to yourself. Neither of us know what the next year has stocked. But i hope that again in the phase of darkness, you'll triumph and love yourself a little more. Self love is a concept which people think is easy to indulge in. However, it's just like a sapling- it cultivates with care, healing the damaged roots and leaves to give rise to new ones, to grow and become a plant for it to fight rebellious forces and grow further bearing fruits on its long branches extended from strong trunk which is again a result of deep grounding roots. Self love is a long journey and all i hope is that you'll take the path for it. You deserve all the love and happiness from the universe. I do love you, and i want you to love yourself too. All the best for the future my dearie. I know you'll SLAY ✨✨!!!!!

I know it's out of nowhere but i just thought of letting you know how much i cherish you!!!! Your presence makes me happy and your sadness does make me a little worried. Idk why that happens but ig it's becoz I've been here for really long and vulnerable to you which you accepted and gave great advices.

Sending lots of love, hugs and kisses your way!!!!!!

🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂❤️❤️❤️❤️😙😙😙😙😙😚😚😚😚😚💓💓💓💓💓🫰🫰🫰

Signing off

🐻

bear anonie 😞 i truly needed to hear these words from someone. i cannot thank you enough for the endless sincerity and kindness you’ve been tirelessly sending my way. of course i am always happy to see you in my inbox!!! :") i hope you’re also happy to know that i feel cherished by you, and that i cherish you just as much.

i think i am currently trying to find my place in the world and to figure out who i want to be. it is a long, excruciating journey to grow and trim my withering branches, but these days i find that i do give love and importance to myself, incomplete and imperfect and nameless as i may be <3 because i wake up every morning dreaming the best life for myself :") sadness will always be a weight on my being, but i am relieved to know there is someone proud of me for carrying it with all the grace i have left 🫶🏼 i always wish you all the good things in life my beloved

[shiny-jr]

(1/3) just wanted to drop in and say I like your writing style a lot, and specifically I really appreciate how you set things up in your sentient TWST au. Characters getting antsy without the player's soothing/empowering effect is always fun to play with, but it feels like a lot of people writing sentient/similar aus just leave it at that without analyzing how it affects the characters on an individual level. With how you laid things out, not only does it drive home how addictive Yuu's presence

Wow, this is a lot. I even went back to reread the imposter stuff I published just to get a grasp back on things because it’s been a while and I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. First off, thank you! I love getting messages in the inbox and to see a three part message really threw me for a loop but in a good way. 

I totally understand that. I actually tend to dislike when writers make characters act a certain way with no rhyme or reason. Which is why even if I’m trying to write something more relaxed or small, I want to have at least a bit of real genuine logical/believable reason behind their actions. Most of the time I write for twst is actually spent considering how they would react, think, act in their situations, even if I’m writing hcs. If they all act/react the same, where’s the fun in that? At that point they all see like clones. Additionally if there’s no real relationship between them and the MC, their actions then feel downright weird or even pointless. Like for example, I hate seeing yandere AUs or stories where the yandere sees the MC and magically falls for them within a minute. This is why even if all the twst characters adore/are obsessed with the MC, I try to make their adoration different from each other and mention why the MC means a lot to them aside from how the MC’s “divine grace” affected them individually. 

I feel like Grim is often overlooked, not just in my imposter AU but overall by the whole fandom. Myself included sometimes. Like, he’s actually a fairly interesting character that has had self-growth and has a mysterious past, and I feel that he’s only going to get even more interesting as time goes on. Anyways, yeah, you can bet that Grim will demand tribute for all his work. He kept the MC alive the whole time while the others were either trying to hunt them down or kill them! He’ll won’t hold back as he sees their remorse and guilt, he’ll continue on boasting about how he was right by saving the MC and they were all wrong! 

[ruki--mukami]

THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS!!

🧩 Honestly, it’s astonishing for me to think Ruki’s blog would ever make it this far. This blog has existed for nearly ten months now which is wild to me. Although I do kind of laugh at how quickly he’s catching up to my main one which has been around for like ten years. Thank you all for sticking around despite all the daily chaos and shenanigans here, AHAHAHA. Writing with you all such a blast and every notification, ask, rp reply, and message I receive brings me great joy.

With each new post, I wish to continue delivering quality writing for everyone to read and even drag more people down to Rukihell with me. It truly warms my heart that people would even take the time to read what I have to say, even if 99% of it is in-character sadistic violence and other cancelable nonsense. Roleplaying as Ruki and interacting with everyone will always be the highlight of my day and I cannot thank you all enough for submitting the creative scenario asks, partaking in my crazy events, and sending me entertaining rp starters. I apologize for not always answering everything promptly, but conversely I hope to at least make the quality of each response worth it in the end.

As for my future plans, I intend on staying true to the once-per-month open interactions, each with a different theme/genre (more fluff/wholesome ones, more sadistic/horrific ones, etc.) every time to spice things up on this blog for everyone’s entertainment. They will most likely also be relating to real life seasons and events as well, simply because I am a sucker for Halloween interactions during October, and Christmas interactions during December, things like that. 

Another thing I really want to implement more of on this blog are starters sent from Ruki himself. I’d love to hear it if you guys want him to visit your inbox for random shenanigans unrelated to our main threads. I think it could be very fun.

And before I conclude this post, I also want to take this time to appreciate all the wonderfully crafted OC’s that I have been graced with the opportunity to interact with. Thank you so, so much. From every romantic relationship to every friendship Ruki has formed on this blog, I truly adore how each one has flourished into its own unique dynamic. There has never been a dull interaction and I have all the amazing writers behind the characters to thank for that. You have my gratitude and I hope to become better writers alongside you all.

For all the fun times I’ve had on this blog, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. 🧩

“At this rate, a mere pasture won’t be enough to confine the amount of filthy livestock roaming around these parts. I look forward to discipling all of you into shape so that you will no longer know what defiance is in the presence of your master. Continue to submit to me and you shall be rewarded. And, on the contrary, failing to do so will result in a punishment beyond what your crippled mind can comprehend. Not to fret, however; I can be merciful should you behave yourself. Whether you experience the most insurmountable of hardships or surprisingly joyous moments at my side depends entirely on you. In any case… Thank you for your continued support.”

[sagau-fruit-bowl]

I was wondering if I could get a letter from Childe in an imposter au? Maybe where the fatui are the ones who recognize name? (Also your writing is awesome, thank you for making me smile)

Ah yes, another Fatui fan in my inbox, I wish I could say I was surprised but that's definitely fair. You didn't specify what type of relationship you wanted Childe and [Name] to have so I did my best to keep it ambiguous.

I'm also really sorry if I misinterpreted your ask.

That said! Please enjoy 

LETTERS TO YOUR GRACE

To, [Name]

Hey! I heard you've had an eventful week while I've been away! I just hope you haven't missed me too much.

I know you're a bit on edge whenever one of us can't be there with you but I promise I'll do my best to finished my current assignment and return to you soon.

Speaking of assignments, I've heard you've gotten involved with planning the Fatui's course of action, I'm not suprised but I am glad you've managed to find a task that interests you. Who knows, maybe next time you can convince them my assignment should be watching over you.

I'm curious, have you been getting up to anything while I've been gone? I've already spoken with Signora about your visible health but I'm asking for beyond that, wouldn't do any good for either of us if you, my dear [Name], was suffering but there was nothing I could do about it because I was unaware, if the issue is somebody in the Fatui causing problems, we'll fix it.

Gosh I can't wait to see you when I get back, I've gotten letters from my siblings all about how I should visit them upon my return but some have also been requesting your presence, maybe if you feel up to it then we could go together. I still have some traditional foods I have to introduce to you, if I don't then I'll have failed, not only as your faithful servant but as your friend.

Speaking of food, you wanted me to bring something back, didn't you? I'll at the very least have to bring back a couple recipes we can try together, maybe it'll help you get out of your room and around other people more.

I have a lunch meeting this afternoon so I'm afraid I won't have as much time as I'd like and I know you occasionally get tired of my rambly letters but I swear on your name that I will return to you soon

Stay safe until then, okay Your Grace?

Sincerely, your dearest companion, Ajax.

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 12,857

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

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

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

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

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

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s watching you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

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

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

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

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

Wait. Sexy? 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

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

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

“Did you need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

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

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

God. 

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

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

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

No. No, no, no, no. 

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

God fucking damn it.

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

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

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

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

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

“Gimme the paperwork.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

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

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

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

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

“Something came up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah. But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

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

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

“I said, answer me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is the cell membrane?” 

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

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

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

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s try another.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold still,” he commands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mae-gi-writes]

Yūgen | Sunwoo (The Boyz)

Yugen (n.) a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep, emotional response. 

Requested by anon! In which Sunwoo, the ace of the volleyball team, is curious about what you’re drawing all the time. Until one day, he stumbles upon a drawing of himself made from yours truly. 

Genre: fluff, volleyball player! Sunwoo and art student reader, shy love, softness, and inspired by haikyuu because I have been obssessed with the anime lately TT__TT  A/N: It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve posted here! Slowly but surely, I’m going through my inbox and replying to your requests. Thank you for your patience, stay safe loves, ily all xx 

-----

Sunwoo wasn't artistically inclined.

But that never stopped him from admiring those that were. He was always so curious as to how just a flick of fingers managed to create a shadow, or how just one glance at a subject made it through onto paper without so much as an effort to remember the details. It was like it was automatically recorded into one's brain, hands already registered to mimic the curves and the folds and the shadows that turned into nothing short of a miraculous piece. So when he caught sight of someone drawing, it always piqued his interest. He stumbled upon you one late afternoon after his volleyball practice, with sweat dotting his forehead and his training bag slung casually over his shoulder. He was about to direct his way to the parking lot upon exiting the gymnasium, only to spot a lone figure huddled upon the bleachers and curled into a ball that caused Sunwoo to frown. Slowly sidling up to the stranger in question and peeking over the railing to catch a glimpse of your face, his eyes are instantly driven to the sketchpad in your hands.

You didn't notice him though, so absorbed in your own world with earphones blocking out reality that a tsunami could've gone unnoticed. So Sunwoo took advantage to climb over onto the opposite bleacher and, after ensuring that your back wouldn't turn to greet him, leaned over the separation to catch sight of a lone figure cartwheeling freely over the page. Woah. You were talented alright. There was nothing else to describe the fluidity of movement you caught with your pencil. It made Sunwoo's breath catch in his throat. He had the sudden urge to know exactly what kind of face hid behind the visual mastery manifesting before his very eyes. After all, there must be other things for them to see rather than the boring literal reality that most people settled for. What kind of imageries were they creating in their heads? What beautiful stories were they crafting? Worlds they got lost in? You moved then, causing Sunwoo to jolt back and scurry away with his heart beating out of his chest, deciding that it was enough spying for the day. After that day, he made sure to seek you out every time after practice although he noticed you never strayed too long in the same place, always moving about like a shadow lingering in the corner, invisible yet omniscient. Sometimes you would find a quiet spot in a patch of sunlight by the tennis courts. Sometimes you'd be found on the bleachers, alert eyes observing every pass, every move, every twist of a body like  camera taking everything in. Sunwoo never approached you. Not that he didn't want to, but he found it awkward to just come up to you and present himself as the guy who'd been stalking your drawings. So he admired you from afar instead, relished in the passion of your dark coffee coloured eyes and in the attentive focus dipping your eyebrows in a soft frown, lips paeted slightly in concentration. "Do you know her?" He'd asked one of his friends from the volleyball team once, during their lunch break as he saw you line up at the cafeteria. Changmin took a peek at your face before he shook his head, "she might be in one of my electives." "Which one?" "I think it's art." Sunwoo forced his face to remain in a mask of calmness as he grabbed a steak sandwich, no fries, "do you know her name?" "Nah. I don't think she's ever spoken in class," Changmin's eyebrows quirk up then, "why'd you ask?" "No reason." Changmin's pointed look defined anything but that.  Although he did have the decency to drop the subject as soon as the rest of the volleyball team joined the table. Sunwoo got his answer a few days later when he practically toppled over you and your drawing crayons. It was his mistake. He'd been leaning too far out from the top of the basketball bleachers, struggling to get even the smidgest glimpse of what amazing piece of art hiding under your jacket sleeve, only for his foot to slip. Down he went with a curse, crashing straight into your body and quickly scrabbling to wrap his arms around your head, a pathetic attempt to cushion your fall as you fell into a heap in front of the bleachers. "You--you okay?" He huffed out, breathless and heart beating like a time bomb. Pulling his arms away slowly, gently, he finally met your gaze straight on and --oh my, your eyes were not coffee coloured at all.  But more of a honey-brown, wide open and framed by soft lashes. Currently dilated in panic. "I'm fine! What--What about you? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry--" "No it was my fault," he made a grab for your sketchbook and scattered pens only for his orbs to register the face messily etched onto the paper. His breath caught. For a minute, he could do nothing but stare at the replica of his face made in charcoal. Those were his eyes, his slightly crooked nose. The scowl he wore during his soccer matches. That was him. The resemblance was akin to that of perfection. That was before your hands snatched away the sketchbook before you quickly slammed it closed, cheeks blazing red, "that's-- I swear I"m not a creep, I-- I just do that for practice--" "It's amazing." Your head-- which had been bowed this entire time for fear that anger would be his response -- shot up in surprise, "what?" "It's amazing," Sunwoo repeated. He wouldn't mind repeating it forever, he realized, if that meant he got to see that aforable blush of yours. He reached out with his hand, "can I look at it again?" So you allowed him after some slight hesitation, and if he noticed, he didn't comment. Fingers brushing against yours slightly, he handled the sketchbook with utmost care as he flipped through the pages with child-like awe. He'd seen your drawings, sure, but mere glimpses here and there, a sneak peek, always accompanied with the fear of being found. But now, he could take his time and actually relish in the soft tracings of your crayon, admire the gentle shadings that made up the tip of his nose. You had managed to capture that frown -- the one he used whenever he concentrated -- to perfection and for a minute he swore he'd fallen in love with himself. "You're really good," he murmured, though that definitely banalized the array of praises popping through his head, "you should keep doing them. I mean it." "So, you're not--" you paused, "mad?" "Well I think you'd have more reason to be mad if you knew I was stalking you from before." "What?" Oh Sunwoo, you idiot. Your eyes had tripled their size and you were looking at him like he'd just grown a second head. He lifted his hands as defence, "that sounded so much better in my head. I swear I'm not that creepy, or a stalker, I just--well you're always drawing and I got curious but I can't really come over and tell you to show me so I had to hide and peek and--" You burst out laughing in his face and despite the fact that he was the cause, he couldn't help joining in with a small chuckle, a grin spreading across his features at how alive you looked at this very moment. "You can ask me next time," your grin settled into a soft smile, "I don't bite." "Your words, not mine," he said, tone lighter and teasing. He helped you gather your belongings and as the pair of you started towards the school gates, he asked for your name. "Y/N," you answered, "and you?" "Sunwoo," he noticed the sky was darkening into purple, a sign that twilight was approaching. Usually, he'd be in a hurry to catch the last bus of the evening to avoid the pain of traffic after six. But it was like his body was slowing down on its own to join your pace, as if he was automatically tuning in to the rhythm of your steps. He found he didn't mind. "So why athletes? Any special reason why you like drawing them?" He asked as you reached the gates. "I just like watching the way they move. It's ...graceful," a hand went to rub the back of your neck, "and they come in handy for figure practice." "I mean, we're not that graceful when you're on the pitch ready to get blown away," he chuckled, "but thanks. At least we know we don't play like animals." "Oh god no. The volleyball team's pretty good. The rugby team on the other hand..." you sigh before you shake your head, "that team is nearly impossible to draw." His shoulders shook as he laughed, "well I don't think they aim for graceful. They look like a pack of wild dogs. Even I don't understand how they play." You had reached the said bus stop by then before you spotted your mother's car along the sidewalk, "oh, my mom's here," you turn to him, "where do you live? Maybe we can drop you--" Meeting your mom? On the first day of meeting you? Sunwoo's hands flew up, shaking them wildly in response, "oh no no, that's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow!" Thank god for the bus that pulled up at the right time so that he didn't have to linger longer than he needed to. But he didn't miss the small wave of your hand as you watched him go, the smile on your face warming his heart even when it was one of the coldest winter days of the year. From that day onwards, Sunwoo made it a must to make his presence known whenever you were deep in your sketches, always observing, sometimes silently keeping you company and sometimes getting so wrapped up in conversation that your pens would lay forgotten by your bag as you bantered back and forth about subjects that would've made people throw you looks of concern. It became routine to have Sunwoo's head pop up from behind the bleachers or to see him walk up the path to your special hiding spot, right where your gaze would meet the tennis court. You sketched him more and more, folding your drawings into your bag so that he wouldn't see although the urge to catch his face on paper was a growing addiction you couldn't ignore. Even your friends had noticed his lingering presence, proceeding to prod you with questions reflecting their curiosity. "He's from the vòlleyball team isn't he?" Yeji asked one time during lunch, upon noticing the way the said young man's stare lingered over the back of your head before turning away just as quickly, "do you know him?" "We've spoken once or twice." "How do you know him?" Your other friend, Saeron, nudged you with a wriggle of her brows. You brushed her teasing away, "we bumped into each other and then he saw my drawings." "Oh right, you do sketch athletes," Yeji leaned forward, mouth full of bread, "did you sketch him?" "I did, actually." "Oh awkward," Saeron giggled, "he's handsome though, can't deny that. You gotta introduce us sometime." You mumbled out an agreement even though you sat with them just for the sake of having people around. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate them. You did. But they seemed to speak a language you couldn't quite grasp. You would rather sit in your own silence, enjoy your own company if that made sense. Maybe that was why it was so surprising, that you allowed Sunwoo to linger as long as he wanted to. There was something authentic about the way he reacted to your words, an unguarded expression that made you comfortable enough to speak up without fear of judgment. Spending time with Sunwoo was listening to water trickle down the river. Smooth and free. Peaceful. But Sunwoo seldom knew of your high regards, was not aware of the tiny sketch of his figure in mid-spike that was hidden in the pocket of your school skirt so that you could take a peek whenever you felt out of place or nervous. It calmed you down to admire his composure, even if his expression was a mere mimic that could not replace reality. "Do you have any material in particular that you like to use?" Sunwoo asked one cloudy afternoon, breaking the silence while huddling a little closer to peek at your newest sketch of Lee Juyeon; a basketball star player known for his quick reflexes and adept playing style. Not only was his skill on par with that of a Nationals team, but his looks had garnered him quite a fanbase from the get-go. Sunwoo would've liked to say that he wasn't jealous of the way your thumb gently applied shade to Juyeon's lower lip. But the spike in the middle of his chest proved him otherwise. "I like charcoal the most, it's the easiest to work with," pausing to admire your work, your eyes glanced over at him, "do you draw?" He scoffed, "like a five year old." "Wanna try?" "No way. I'll ruin it. I'm okay with admiring it from afar." You hummed an unknown tune as you pulled back your sketchbook, "how is practice?" "Alright. Could be better. We won a practice match last week so we're kind of taking it easy." "That's good though isn't it?" Your gaze met his. His eyes were various gradients of warm maroon and you wished-- at this very moment -- to paint his features into memory. That was when you realized how close you were. You shuffled slightly back and didn't notice the frown Sunwoo threw you in response, "it is. And I'm happy we get to rest. The team deserves it." "You're pursuing it in College?" Your eyes tried not to linger too much over his lips, "volleyball, I mean." "Depends," he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, "if we make it to the Nationals." "You will." "Someone's confident," he chuckled. "Well I'm no pro but even I can tell you're talented, Sunwoo," you peeked at him from behind your fringe, glad that you could blame the cold for your red cheeks when just the intensity and closeness of his entity made you want to squirm, "so if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." It was impossible to keep eye contact after such a confession. You lowered your gaze, glad for your sketchbook that acted as a distraction. It was at that very moment that the paper tucked so neatly in your pocket slipped out, causing Sunwoo to quickly make a grab for it. You made a noise of protest before trying to snatch it back, but the boy only chuckled before unfolding the creased page so that there he was, depicted in all his glory. "Is that--" his voice was hoarse and you took this as your chance to steal it from his grasp, reddened cheeks burning and fingers shaking as you folded it back to its tiny square shape, "is that me?" "Y--yes." "You--you keep that with you?" "I--I do," you lifted your chin up defiantly, though you felt your limbs trembling. His eyes, they pierced your own, piecing together a coherence that caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. When he spoke next, his words were a mere murmur. "Why?" "I--I don't know," eyes darting towards the ground, you mumbled, "I just like watching you...play." A pause. Then, Sunwoo shifted a little bit closer. "You like watching me play? Or do you like," he cocked his head, "watching me?" If you were red before then you were probably the colour of a fire engine truck by now. Averting your eyes and turning your head away were instinctive responses due to the blood rushing through your face. "Stop flirting with me," came your mumble. Laughing softly in response, he scooted himself a little closer, so close that his shoulder brushed your back. He leaned over, head tilted to catch your expression. "Cute," his lips broke out in a crooked grin and you swore you felt your heart explode. Flustered, you shoved him away out of instinct but he wasn't having any of that. His hand grabbed your wrists and with a yelp, you were dragged even closer to his chest. "You like looking at me that much huh?" His tone was teasing while his eyes glimmered with playful mischief, "why is that,Y/N?" "You ask as if you don't know," you mumbled out through jumbled words and you were glad he actually understood you. But instead of laughing some more, his features softened into a smile instead as he proceeded to gaze down at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. It was in your normal behaviour to admire people. Not the other way around. And at this very moment, you felt way out of your comfort zone. "I don't know." Your orbs flew up to his in surprise and what you found in those coffee-coloured pupils made your breath stutter, heat coiling through your abdomen. "It...it calms me down," your whisper was barely louder than a breath but by the way Sunwoo's smile widens to reach his eyes, you could tell he heard you just fine. "I like watching you too," he replied. A strand of your hair caught in the wind and he raised his hand to curl it around the back of your ear, his touch ghosting with sparks wherever flesh bumped into flesh. You felt warm. He didn't pull away. Didn't bother hiding the slight dust of pink in his cheeks either, as he slowly allowed his palm to cradle the side of your face. Gently. As if he feared you might run away, recoil back. But you didn't. Even with your breaths going staccato, even if your heart felt like a wild animal. You calmed yourself down with the knowledge that he seemed just as nervous as you were and suddenly, out of a stroke of boldness, your hand went up to hold on to his, pressing it close to your cheek. His breath hitched. You shivered. The wind blew against your figures, a gentle reminder that the day was coming to an end. You weren't exactly sure what changed that day. There were no verbal agreements, nothing that suggested your relationship had changed. Yet, the subtle touches of his hand against your back, your shoulders, moving your hair from one shoulder to another, complemented by his gentle doe-eyed stare that made your toes curl, these changes were small, but significant. And you couldn't find it in your heart to say that you disliked it. What are we? The words lingered at the tip of your tongue, as bitter as the aftertaste of coffee as you stole small glances in his direction. You were sitting comfortably under a tree that overlooked the tennis court where Sunwoo had decided to join you. He'd fallen asleep halfway through your beginning sketch and was now leaning against the tree trunk, face relaxed and body leaned towards yours, close enough that you could admire his face. Countless hours you had spent tracing Sunwoo's features on paper. Countless times you had imagined tracing his lips with your thumb, wondered whether they were as soft as they looked. Maybe it was just curiosity or maybe you had let him walk into your heart so easily that you hadn't realized it yourself. But if there was one thing you could swear your heart upon it would be that you could no longer imagine every day without Sunwoo's presence at your side. As if on instinct, your fingers took a life of their own as they reached up to push a few strands away from his face. They gently carved a path down his cheek, landing at the corner of his jaw. Dangerously close to his open mouth. There was no denying it. Sunwoo was beautiful. Handsome. Had those features on par to that of a model's. You were so focused on edging your way to touch his lower lip that you didn't realize you had been staring, until you glanced up to see his brown orbs fixated on yours. You froze. Shit. "Like what you see?" He murmured. Then, before you could scramble back and probably run with your tail between your legs, his own hand grasped your own and he pushed himself off the trunk before his head angled towards yours, finding your lips. Soft. Sunwoo's lips were soft. You panicked. Not used to the closeness. The fire that sparked between your lids. But his other hand went to clasp your jaw, holding you close as he kissed your next protest away and unconsciously brushing his thumb against your cheek. Shivering in his touch, there was no running away from the way his mouth molded against yours so snugly, and you didn’t want to. You found yourself addicted to the sweet pressure of his upper lip meeting your lower ones and soon enough -- without realizing -- you melted into his touch. 

Sunwoo made a noise that sounded like a soft grunt, his other hand lacing around your waist to pull you closer so that you tumbled halfway into his lap. With embarrassment suddenly flooding through you, you let out a squeak that he answered with a chuckle of his own before distracting you once more with a series of kisses that left you gasping.

Your hands, initially balled into fists in your lap, went to rest against his chest and you didn’t realize that you were gripping onto his school shirt until you parted for air. Only were you aware of your compromising position, of the hard ridges of the young man’s thighs, of the firmness of his chest against your palms, of the way he seemed to be so much bigger than you even though he was a lean athlete, meant to be light and as speedy as the wind. 

Breaths coming out ragged, you tried to slow the beating of your heart. Though it seemed to be quite the challenge, given how lovingly, how intense, Sunwoo seemed to be in making love to your neck, nibbling on your pulse point and causing a soft whimper to fall from your lips. 

A whistle blew in the distance.

The soccer team. They’d be crawling up the hill any minute now.

“Sunwoo,” you breathed out, eyes hazy with mixed feelings of desire and embarrassment. You feebly tried pushing against his chest, to no avail. He merely groaned, head tilting upwards to catch your mouth into another kiss. 

“Sunwoo,” you groaned against his lips. But he held on for dear life, one hand clasping the back of your neck, tangled into your locks. The other around your waist, pressing you as close as he could possibly get you to be. 

“Just one more,” he mumbled in-between kisses, hooded eyes fluttering closed and head slanting to kiss you a little deeper, a little harder.

Your body was on fire. You weren’t used to this intimacy, nor all of the affection he was raining down upon you. 

But it felt good. It felt amazing. Eye-opening.

He finally relented after what seemed like an eternity and you quickly made a move to scramble out of his lap. Though he wasn’t having any of that, grip made of iron as he held on. You looked up to snap at him to let go before everyone saw but was faced with his pout instead, which was enough to bring down your defences. 

“Please,” his pout deepened and your heart practically vaulted through your chest. Cute. Cute. Cute. Stop. Burying his face into your neck, he whispered, “I just wanna hold you.” 

So he did. And thank god the team had decided to take a different route so that you would avoid their imploring, questioning gazes. Though Sunwoo admitted that he’d already known they would go up from the other side of the gymnasium, considering they did that every other week to train their stamina in the process. 

That earned him a light smack on the side of his head, making him whine, “What did I do to deserve this Y/N?” 

“You knew!” You wanted to throw him a glare, but it was impossible when you were busy fighting the grin spreading across your face. 

He grinned back at you, that crooked smile that always resulted in a burst of butterflies roaring through your abdomen. Just like now. 

“So, since you have a drawing of me that you keep staring at every day--” his words died into laughter when you tried smacking his arm, proceeding to cage your wrist with his hand before kissing your knuckles. You squirmed as he continued, “does that mean I can get a picture of you?”

You let out a noise of protest, “that depends,” you mumbled, unconsciously finding refuge in his neck.

Chuckling, Sunwoo grasped your chin lightly to pull you back so that his brown orbs gazed right into yours with a gentleness that had you weak at the knees, “on what?” 

“On what I get in return.” 

“What if I say I’ll take you on a date?” he said wickedly. 

You couldn’t help your smile. 

“I guess that could work.” 

[fanimesenseiwrites]

For Lucifer and Mammon and Beel how about: 1 moment that they assist MC when it comes to adjusting to Devildom or understanding something about it and 1 moment where MC does the same for them when they are in the human realm

Oh my god, this is such a great ask! Thank you for gracing my inbox with this! Unfortunately I could only think of stuff for in the Devildom so that's what I'm going to post, otherwise this will just sit in my drafts forever lol. If I ever come up with ideas for the human realm I'll write and post those too.

The brothers help MC out in the Devildom:

Lucifer:

"So... Diavolo's the only actual royalty, right?" MC asked, curiously.

"It's Lord Diavolo" Lucifer corrected them. "But yes. He is the only heir to the throne."

"Right, right, my bad. So where's the king?"

"He's asleep."

"Where?"

Lucifer sighed. "Why do you need to know?" He was already tired of all the questions, and he had a sneaking suspicion that MC had plenty more lined up.

"I'm just curious. Everything is new and strange to me."

"Well must you ask me all these questions?"

"I mean, I guess I don't have to ask you... I just thought you were the smartest out of all your brothers."

Lucifer allowed himself a small smirk at that stroke of his ego. "... what else do you want to know?"

MC grinned at him. "So I've heard you and your brothers be referred to as "rulers of hell" and sometimes "princes of hell" but if you aren't royalty...?"

Lucifer hummed as he thought about the best way to explain it. "Think of us as... nobility. Just as the British Monarchy up in the mortal realm gives noble titles to their heirs who would not take the throne, we have been awarded such titles by the king based on our strength."

MC nodded. "I see... I think I get it now. Thanks for answering my questions."

"You're welcome. Just be sure that your curiosity doesn't get you into trouble. You know what they say, "curiosity killed the cat," Lucifer's voice was just a little more threatening than it had previously been.

"But satisfaction brought it back," MC finished the quote, either not hearing the change in his tone or not caring.

Lucifer watched MC as they left his presence, and he just knew they were going to be a thorn in his side for the remainder of their stay.

Mammon:

MC was walking back to the House of Lamentation after extra study hours. They hadn't done so well on their last history test and they really needed to study so they could do better on the next one.

As MC walked home, they noticed a crow watching them and following them, but cautiously keeping their distance too.

MC smiled at the crow, then stopped and rummaged around in their backpack for something.

The crow watched them curiously.

MC pulled out a pack of crackers from their bag and broke a couple of them up and laid them on the ground before looking back at the crow.

"Those are for you."

The crow watched them cautiously as it slowly made its way to the crackers.

MC crouched down and watched the crow with a grin.

The crow ate some of the cracker and chittered happily.

"You're so cute," MC told the crow.

"Look at the loser human talking to a crow!" A passerby demon told his friend.

The crow squawked and flew away when the two new demons appeared.

MC sighed and stood up. "You didn't have to scare it."

"I wasn't trying to scare the crow."

The emphasis the demon put on crow scared MC, but they tried not to show it.

"Right... well, you two have a good night." MC started walking toward the house again.

The two demons jogged to catch up with MC and walked along either side of them.

"So where are you going all by yourself?" The demon who had scared the crow asked.

"I'm going to meet a friend, they're waiting for me a couple blocks up," MC lied, hoping their words would deter the pair of demons from doing anything to them.

The demon clucked their tongue. "You know, demons can tell when you're lying. I just heard your heart rate increase when you lied just now."

"And you absolutely reek of fear," the second demon spoke.

MC glanced between the two demons, now truly afraid for their life.

MC tried to run but the demons were far too quick for them.

They each grabbed one of MC's arms and the first one covered MC's mouth with his hand before they could scream. They dragged MC away from the road and into a secluded alley, before pinning them against a wall.

"Ya know, human flesh is a fun treat but the soul is where its at," the first demon spoke to the second.

"I agree, I guess we'll just have to share it," the second replied while grinning deviously at MC.

MC was so scared that they were shaking and tears were streaming from their eyes.

Suddenly, MC's attackers were pulled away from them and slammed into the wall opposite of them.

MC felt immediate relief at seeing that their rescuer had white hair.

Mammon growled harshly at the two demons, making sure they were well intimidated before asking, "What'dya think you're doing? Did ya really think the human exchange student was just walking around with no protection?"

"W-what are you going to do to us?" One of the demons asked.

Mammon hummed before tossing them to the ground. "Not shit."

"Really?" One of them asked as they got back to their feet.

"Yeah, I'ma just report ya to Lucifer and Lord Diavolo. They'll get more of a kick out of punishing ya than I will," Mammon told them as he rest his hands on his hips.

The pair of demons stared at him in horror.

Mammon fake lunged at them just to scare them. "Get outta here!"

The demons quickly ran away.

Mammon rolled his eyes and looked at MC. "Hey, are ya o-"

MC practically threw themself at Mammon, wrapping their arms around him in the process. "Thank you so much! I was so scared!" They sobbed.

"'Kay..." Mammon rubbed their back. "Calm down, everything's fine."

MC looked up at him. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

Mammon grinned before putting two fingers in his mouth and whistling loudly.

A crow flew down and landed on Mammon's shoulder.

"The crow!" MC cried happily.

Mammon reached up to pet its neck. "Yeah, they're my familiars. So that means I've always got an eye on ya!"

MC chuckled. "Well I guess that's a good thing."

"Yeah, but that don't mean you can be out walkin' around by yourself! Don't ever do that again! You call me to come get you next time, got it?!"

MC nodded.

"Good." Mammon grabbed their bookbag and threw it over his shoulder, the crow flew off when he did that. "C'mon, let's go home."

MC smiled slightly. "Okay."

They headed back to the House of Lamentation together, walking as close together as was comfortable.

Beelzebub:

MC sat in the cafeteria at RAD, and despite feeling hungry, they couldn't find the appetite they needed to eat the food in front of them.

Beel walked over and sat down next to them with his own tray of food.

MC looked up at him. "Hey Beel, do you want my lunch?"

Beel instantly perked up at the prospect of more food but frowned when they looked at MC's tray. "But you didn't even touch your food."

"Yeah, I'm not really hungry."

"... are you sick?" Beel tried to fathom the possibility of not being hungry.

"No... I just... I don't feel like I can eat this food. It's all so weird."

"Is it weird or just different?" Beel challenged.

"No, it's weird," MC told him flatly. "I mean half of the food has poison in the name and cheeses are aged for longer than I'll be alive and the scorpions are as big as lobsters! Also, who would eat a scorpion?!"

Beel frowned and almost pouted.

MC looked at him. "Oh shit, that was rude. I'm sorry..."

"... have you even tried a scorpion yet?" Beel asked tentatively.

"... no," MC admitted sheepishly.

"Well why don't you try it?"

"Can I eat it? Or will it kill me?"

Beel shook his head with a small grin. "Lord Diavolo adjusted the menu so nothing served here will kill humans."

MC nodded. "Well that's one less thing to worry about... but how do you eat the scorpion?"

"Some people like to eat exoskeleton, like me, but for those who don't they eat it like this." He snapped the tail off and sucked the meat out of it.

"Oh... that reminds me of eating a crawfish."

Beel nodded then cracked open the abdomen and pulled out the meat inside using a fork.

"Ya know, that actually makes a lot of sense."

"Now you try," Beel coaxed.

MC nodded and looked down at the scorpion on their plate, still feeling a little intimidated.

"You don't have to like it, just try it," Beel told them.

MC nodded and took a deep breath before snapping the tail off and sucking out the meat. "Hm... this is actually good."

Beel grinned. "I'm glad you think so."

With some encouragement and explanation from Beel, MC finished eating their lunch for the first time since they had arrived in the Devildom.

"Hey Beel?" MC asked as they walked to class after lunch was over.

"Hm?" Beel looked down at them.

"Could we go out after school today? I want to try more Devildom food with you."

Beel smiled at them. "I'd like that."

MC smiled back at him. "It's a date!"

[marvelousstevetony]

Okay, so after a stressful few months, I finally wrote a little snippet of something. This was mainly just to get back into writing, but hopefully, I'll get to some of the requests in my inbox very soon!

Anyways; a short no-powers au, stevetony, coffee shop meet-cute. I might continue if anyone wants to read more of this, lol.

~~~~~

Tony downs the last of his coffee as he closes the file that’s sprawled upon the table of the coffee shop.

He neatly places it back in his briefcase, humming contently to himself, the notes of his favorite medium roast dancing on his tongue, and he lets out a sigh of relief at the thought of going home after another stressful days.

As he’s packing up, his pocket vibrates, and Tony quickly pulls out his phone and looks at the caller ID.

“Hey, Pep,” he answers, his voice ragged from running board meetings all day.

Pepper says something in return, but it’s unintelligible as the buzz of the coffee shop drowns out any other noise.

“Hold on a sec, I can’t hear you,” he says, getting to his feet, and grabs the empty cup as he heads for the door. “I’m just leaving the coffee shop.”

“Tony? Do you hear me now?” Pepper asks once Tony’s gotten outside. He confirms that yes, he can hear her, then she continues and starts running Tony through his schedule for the next couple of days.

“I swear, Pep, I’m one board meeting from handing the company over to you,” Tony grumbles, pressing his phone closer to his ear and stops the other with his index finger to block out the honks and boisterous pedestrians. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m going on vacation.”

Tony can all but hear Pepper rolling her eyes at him. She always tells him how dramatic he’s being, which… fair enough.

“You’re being dramatic, Tony. Besides, the— wait, what’s that sound? Is someone shouting in the background?”

He hadn’t noticed, but when he distances the phone from his ear, he does hear a Hey! Being called from somewhere behind him.

“Yeah, well. We’re in New York, someone’s always shouting,” Tony states, but then he feels a something heavy grab his shoulder, and he quickly spins around to see who has the audacity to lay their hands on Tony’s very expensive suit jacket.

“What the—“

Oh. Oh.

“Pep, I gotta go. I’ll call you back, okay? Bye.” The words rush out of his mouth before Pepper even has the chance to form a coherent reply.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt or- or startle you,” Tall, Blonde, and Handsome says in hurried voice and instantly withdraws his hand from Tony’s shoulder.

Tony casts a quick glance at where Blue Eyes’ hand had been and finds that, despite the touch lasting less than two seconds, he already misses the warmth and heaviness of it. Trying to come up with a reply, he opens and closes his mouth a good few times, but all that escapes through his lips are a few confused noises that must make him seem like a right fool.

“You, uh, you forgot your briefcase. At the coffee shop,” Blondie explains and smiles wryly as he holds up the black, leather bag.

Tony blinks at him, still unable to get his brain to function properly. For a second, he imagines the look on Pepper’s face as she’s yelling at him for losing yet another briefcase full of important files, but his mind is soon infiltrated by the stranger in front of him.

There’s a weak indent on his left cheek, one that probably deepens into a small dimple the wider his smile gets. His nose is covered by a light sprinkle of freckles that Tony guesses have come as a result of New York recently being graced with the Sun’s presence. And good God, his eyes — Tony could spend hours, days even, trying to figure out what shade of blue they are.

“I just- I saw you leaving, and it was still there, so I figured…”

The man looks a little uncertain, as if he had gotten it wrong and it wasn’t actually Tony’s briefcase but someone else’s entirely, and that’s when Tony realizes he still hasn’t said a word.

He gratefully accepts the case and nods at the stunner, who he notices is shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

“Right. Thank you,” Tony says, opens the case and reaches for his wallet.

The man’s eyes widen as Tony starts looking through it, then rushes out, “I didn’t steal anything, I promise.”

It occurs to Tony that it definitely looks like he’s checking if everything’s still there, which is surely not what Tony intended. “Oh, I didn’t— I was just,” Tony tries and fails to articulate, instead opting for just waving the $100 bill in the air between them, gesturing for the man who just saved Tony from another earful to take the money and saying a final, “thank you.”

The bluest eyes Tony has ever seen grows impossibly wider when he understands, then holds up his hands, palms facing Tony and the money. “Oh, no, I can’t accept that.”

Tony sighs internally. Of fucking course. Not only is the guy hot as hell, but he’s also as polite as can be. Figures.

“Please, it’s the least I can do.” He pushes the bill closer to the man, then, with a smirk, adds, “You just saved me from a whole lotta trouble, so.”

The chuckle that slips through those luscious, pink lips is so low and sultry, it’s actually kind of offensive, Tony thinks.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service. Anyone would’ve done the same, though,” he says and gently nudges Tony’s hand down, smiling sheepishly.

“We both know that’s not true,” Tony quips with a raise of an eyebrow.

“Anyone decent, then,” he amends and this time, when he beams at Tony, Tony catches a glimpse of the perfect, pearly white teeth that are hidden behind his lips.

If Tony wasn’t so distracted and preoccupied by daydreaming about his rom-com worthy meet-cute, he maybe would’ve asked for the guy’s number, or even just his name, but all of Tony’s composure has apparently left the building.

“Are you sure?” Tony asks, frowning. “I insist—“

“Absolutely sure,” he assures. “Just being a decent human. Have a good day, sir.” He flashes Tony one last, soft smile as he pockets his hands and walks away.

Tony stays still for a minute, watching as he makes his way down the street. He can’t help the warmth that rises to his face and the blush that colors he cheeks when the most gorgeous man in New York City glances over his shoulder and looks right at Tony with a similar fond expression and cheeks tinted crimson.

A good day indeed.

[melanielocke]

@idrisnnet's 2021 secret santa event: merry christmas to Tara@kitslightwood

(I'm really hoping I tagged the right person as I got a previous URL in my inbox)

Grace hesitated for a moment before she knocked on the door of the Fairchild residence. She didn’t know who she’d find here but she hoped Christopher would be in the lab. At least that was where his aunt and uncle thought he would be. She had no interest in speaking to anyone else in the Fairchild residence, and certainly not Charles. Grace didn’t know why she’d ever thought marrying him was a good idea. She’d thought someone powerful like him could protect from her mother, and although powerful men like Charles could be an entirely new trap, Grace had the power to keep him under control. Or at least she used to. The silent brothers had removed that power. She was nothing now.

Ever since the demon had gifted her with her siren like powers, that was how Grace had gone through life, what Tatiana had taught her to do. Whatever she needed, she’d find a man capable of getting it for her and force him. She’d never liked using her powers. She also had no real alternative for getting what she needed. That was what brother Zachariah had told her anyway, that she had kept using her powers despite hating them because she didn’t know any other ways to solve her problems. Then he’d taken that power away. He was right to, she knew that. No one should have the power she used to have. But she felt naked without it, vulnerable.

Except that one time with Christopher. She’d never felt the urge to use her powers on him for some reason. She didn’t need to. He was so unlike other men she’d met. Everyone else was mesmerized by her beauty, and Grace had begun to realize that to them she wasn’t really a person. She was just a pretty looking doll, and Grace had perfected that sweet, innocent helpless girl act. But that wasn’t who she wanted to be anymore. And Christopher Lightwood might be the only one who could help her now. Other men hated her or adored her. But Christopher had appreciated her. He hadn’t questioned her presence in his lab, and she’d never felt more human than when they had solved the mystery of the pithos together.

She remembered the first time she’d met Christopher. He’d accompanied her in her carriage to make sure she arrived safely, and had talked about bacteria cultures for the entire ride. Grace had said nothing. Her mother would not want her to learn about such inappropriate subjects, and more importantly, her mother would not want her to interact with the children of her brothers. But she’d been fascinated. She’d listened intently, even if she’d pretended to stare out of the window in boredom. Thankfully, Christopher had not gotten the hint at all and had just continued talking.

It wasn’t Christopher who opened the door. It wasn’t one of the Fairchilds either, thank the angel. Instead, Alastair Carstairs was standing in front of the door.

‘Good afternoon,’ Grace said politely. ‘Is Mr. Lightwood here?’

‘Both of them are in the lab,’ Alastair said. ‘I think something is about to explode down there, you might want to stay away.’

‘Would it be alright if I joined you in the lab?’

Alastair shrugged. ‘If that’s what you prefer.’

Grace followed him inside and to the lab.

‘I heard you broke off your engagement,’ Alastair said.

‘I did. Charles is boring and stupid and I pity the person who is unfortunate enough to marry him.’

She knew it wasn’t fair to him, she had forced him into the engagement after all. She hadn’t spoken to him since her powers had become public knowledge, she didn’t know what she could say. Charles might be boring but she shouldn’t have used her powers on him. She wondered sometimes if he and Ariadne had loved each other and if she’d destroyed that, but after living with Ariadne for several months she had realized Ariadne hadn’t cared much for Charles either.

‘Me too,’ Alastair said, and Grace wondered what he knew of Charles. ‘I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Christopher.’

‘I am living with his uncle and aunt, but hadn’t seen him since everything.’

The Bridgestocks had kicked her out despite Ariadne’s attempts to convince them to let her stay, and Grace had had no choice but to take up Gideon and Sophie Lightwood’s offer to let her stay with them. As much as she hated it, it was better than living on the streets, or the London Institute with James’ family. Gideon and Sophie had been nothing but kind to her, and their daughter Eugenia had tried to spend time with her just like Ariadne had, but Grace didn’t know what to do with any of them. All she needed was a roof over her head.

‘If you want my advice, James might not forgive you for everything that happened. Their group has a tendency to hold grudges, and it’s best not to let it get to you.’

‘But you’re here with Christopher too, aren’t you?’ Grace asked.

‘Christopher is the more forgiving among the four of them. Thomas too. But I expect James and Matthew will hate you forever. And I’m just saying… It’s no use letting them hurt you over and over again for something you did when you were just a child in an impossible situation. You can find better friends.’

‘I don’t have friends,’ Grace said coldly.

All she had was Jesse, but she wasn’t allowed to see him. Not yet, at least, but it had been decided that if the Clave let him go free, he would move in with Gideon and Sophie Lightwood for the time being, meaning she would be living with her brother again. She sure hoped so, Jesse was the only person who’d ever cared for her. And Christopher, she hoped. Perhaps Alastair was right, perhaps he would be angry about what she’d done. It wasn’t like she didn’t deserve that. But she hoped Christopher would be forgiving, and that he’d let her help him with his experiments.

Just before they descended the stairs, something exploded. Alastair startled and then started muttering something in a language Grace didn’t understand. He and his sister were Persian, she remembered. Alastair rushed down the stairs and Grace followed him. Thomas and Christopher were extinguishing the fire, running around. It was chaotic. Grace loved it.

‘I go answer the door for a few minutes and you’ve already blown up the lab,’ Alastair said.

‘Oh, hullo Grace,’ Christopher said. ‘It’s good to see you! We’re working on our fire message technique. It involves a lot of fire.’

Grace stared at the boys. ‘Yes, I can see that. Your arm is on fire, by the way.’

Christopher looked down at his arm and started shaking it until Thomas threw some water over it.

‘Right, thank you,’ Christopher said.

‘No success sending any messages?’ Grace asked.

‘No, we figured that part out,’ Christopher said. ‘We can address the note to any runed shadowhunter. The problems start when the note arrives. The idea is that the note goes up in fire and then is remade from fire when it arrives with the other person. Except the note doesn’t reform, the recipient just receives more fire.’

Not exactly what they were going for, but being able to send magic fire to any runed shadowhunter certainly had its uses.

‘So how does it work?’ Grace asked.

‘Write the note, then add the powder and runes to activate it. I’m thinking we’re missing something with the runes, but I haven’t figured out a solution yet.’

The obvious solution to too much fire was water, but in case of a note adding water would just soak the note, making it impossible to read. Instead, they were looking for a rune to reverse. Grace wasn’t sure if such a thing existed, her knowledge on runes was lacking. Still, she wanted to give it a try.

She took a piece of paper from the pile Christopher had made, wrote it and addressed it.

‘What runes do I add?’ she asked.

‘They’re in my notes, here… Somewhere.’

Alastair grabbed a piece of paper and handed it to her. ‘These. But it’s just going to explode.’

‘That’s the point,’ Grace said and she copied the runes with the stele lying on the table, probably Christopher’s. It always gave her a headache, looking at runes, was it like that for all shadowhunters?

She sent the note and watched it go up in flames.

‘Who did you send it?’ Alastair asked.

‘My mother,’ Grace said defiantly. ‘I hope it blows up in her face. But if you want it to work, you need a rune to reverse the process… The first part works, and the last part is to turn it all back.’

‘There’s a turn back time rune,’ Alastair said. ‘It’s more commonly known as a mending rune, but the basis of it is that it reverts time on the object it’s placed on. I’m pretty good with that rune, so I could add it if you want more accurate results.’

‘Of course,’ Christopher said. ‘I tried mending runes far earlier in the process, but it didn’t work well. Of course, there are several different mending runes.’

‘It’s this one,’ Alastair said, drawing it with a pen on a piece of paper. ‘This one turns back time on the object. Other mending runes might interfere too much or not mend the note at all.’

Grace wondered how Alastair knew so much about mending runes. She wished she could have learnt more. It was a pretty rune, she guessed, decorative. Difficult to draw for those who weren’t talented with a stele, maybe. Alastair’s drawing was neat though.

‘I think I need to add the mending rune last,’ Christopher said. ‘ Grace, can you write another message?’

Grace hesitated, and then wrote on a piece of paper. It was a simple message, addressed to Christopher. She added the first couple of runes and then handed the message to Alastair who finished it. Undoubtedly he was better at runes than she was. A few moments later a spark appeared in front of Christopher, and Grace watched as it transformed into more sparks, except it didn’t set anything on fire. Instead, the sparks died out, revealing the note Grace had written. It was a little burnt on the edges, but otherwise it looked just like it had before adding the runes. Christopher’s eyes went wide.

‘It worked!’ Christopher exclaimed. ‘It really worked! Grace, you’re a genius.’

‘It was just a suggestion,’ Grace said, but she liked the compliment.

Grace was used to compliments, of course. All over Europe men had complimented her on her beauty, and, ironically, her grace. It meant nothing compared to what Christopher said.

‘Although it works now, I think we should try to improve it, to make it safer,’ Grace said. ‘Right now, I imagine the message still explodes if you’re not in time with the mending rune and not everyone is as good at it as Alastair. Maybe something to slow the process down to give someone plenty of time to do all the runes correctly. A change in the mixture, perhaps?’

‘Too slow, and it won’t light at all, but you’re onto something,’ Christopher said. ‘And of course we need to test how far we can send a message with the current set up.’

‘We can try sending something to Mrs. Lightwood,’ Grace suggested. ‘Let her know that I found you here.’

Grace didn’t understand why, exactly, but Sophie Lightwood tended to worry when Grace disappeared for long stretches of time. She didn’t understand why any of them would care about her when they all hated her mother. Still, she guessed it was nice, in a way, and she didn’t want Mrs. Lightwood to worry.

‘Alastair and I were leaving for my parents’ house anyway,’ Thomas said. ‘So we can check if it sent.’

‘And send a message back,’ Alastair added as he scooped up some of the powder and put it inside a satchel.

‘Okay. Grace, if you like you can stay here and help me a little longer. Thomas doesn’t like letting me work here unsupervised, but that shouldn’t be a problem when you’re there.’

‘I guess so,’ Thomas said. ‘Try not to blow up the house.’

‘Or try to contain the explosion to Charles’ bedroom,’ Alastair said with a wicked gleam in his dark eyes.

Grace had to admit the idea was appealing. For a long time Grace had thought her beauty and her gift was all that mattered, that she would be a siren seductress and nothing else. But her mother was wrong about her. She wasn’t a seductress and she wouldn’t disappear into the books as some consul’s wife either. She was a scientist, and she had helped Christopher finish his invention to send messages to other shadowhunters. She wondered what else she could do if she gave herself the time to really learn the science behind all that Christopher did. She was ready to find out.

[quinnkeeper]

Hello dear.

It’s Me,

Your first and original redbull vodka anon. Back to say

MAXIMUS VERSTAPPEN 2021 WORLD CHAMPION!!!!!!!!!? 🛐✨🙏🏼 ALL MY LIVER POISONING WORKED!! ALL THE HANGOVERS WERE WORTH IT!!! I HAVE CELEBRATED WITH A GROSS AMOUNT OF REDBULL VODKAS SINCE AND I AM STILL GOING!!! (Expect for a small break Monday-Wednesday due to lack of resources).

WE DID IT!! WE FUCKING DID IT!! WE MANIFESTED AND WE PRAYED AND THAT LIL BOY IS A WDC!!!!!!

will now be sober until next season. My liver can only take so much. maybe small prayer circle for me?

And to all my fellow redbull vodka’s I say:

stay drunk stay hot and always remember: FOR MAXIMUS! 🛐✨🙏🏼

THE ORIGINAL RED BULL VODKA ANON HAS GRACED IS WITH THEIR PRESENCE!!!

My darling I must say, I’ve thought about you often, about calling into the void just hoping you’ll call back, you gave us such hope, such commitment to the cause. You have brought people laughter and excitement and this weird as thing we all do now together. You have inspired the manifestation of our dream and together we (in some small cosmic way) made it happen, MAX VERSTAPPEN IS WORLD CHAMPION.

On behalf of a grateful nation, the nation of Max Fam, we thank you, we honor your liver, we encourage you to take a break and drink some water, because it’s only 91 days until the season starts and we’ll be needing you back in the trenches. I will happily light the first prayer candle in your circle.

On a more personal note, I want to thank you for sending these to me, they seriously make me grin wider then anything, laugh, and ease the anxiety riddled tension I felt the last half of the season. My inbox is always open for you, my darling Red Bull Vodka Anon.

To our group, our darling Red Bull Vodka babies, I say thank you for this season, thank you for manifesting with us, thank you for the laughs, and most importantly, thank you for supporting Max. Because it’s all about him.

So one last time for 2021 I shall say, For Maximus 🛐✨🙏🏻