#good luck with your designs!!! my best advice is to not worry about it too much!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lemonluvgirl · 2 years ago

Text

The Designation Games (Part 2)

Ya’ll are in luck, I busted my butt this weekend to not only revamp this story, and edit it, but I also wrote another chapter/part. And I added some typical Alpha/Omega smut adjacent behavior! Enjoy, your thirsty babies ;)

The Remake Center was everything Haymitch had warned them it would be and more.

After a long day of being poked, prodded, tested, waxed, plucked, and scrubbed to near death, She, and all the other tributes were released back to their rooms at the training facility. The preps explained it was so they could eat and rest and talk strategy with their mentors until the next morning when they would meet their stylists and receive the results of their genetic testing.

Katniss did her best to remain cooperative when the strange people who made up her ‘prep team’ worked on her body. They were like a trio of colorful birds who flitted about with their strange tools and chirped in their odd Capitol accents. They were all betas and didn’t make one comment about her designation. They were too preoccupied with the sorry state of her nail beds and her split ends.

Things Katniss had never had cause to fuss over in her life before. They complimented her in the end though and said she was a change of pace to work on because she never complained. After she thanked them for their services and they gushed over her. She had a feeling she had made allies of them or at least endeared them to herself. And while she didn’t think they would be of any help when she was in the arena she also acknowledged the fact that acting agreeable could be of some benefit in the week preceding the start of the Games. These were the people in charge of making her look presentable to the Capitol audiences, which in turn helped her garner sponsors. So she took Haymitch’s advice and didn’t fight them, even when they poured hot wax on her legs and yanked out the hairs section by section.

Later, at dinner, with Haymitch, Peeta, and their escort, Effie, she tried to pace herself in between courses.

While the dining on the train had been lavish, here in the tribute center it was even more opulent. The meal was an entire affair, with things like appetizers, and something called hors d'oeuvres, salad, and soup courses. All that before even getting to the main course. Then there was dessert. By the time it was over, she was relieved to not feel sick again like she had the first night on the train.

Everyone made small talk, about the prepping process, and Katniss and Peeta had informed Haymitch that they followed his instructions to the letter.

“Good, because the preps report to the stylists and they can make or break you come time for the interviews. You need to stay on their good sides.” Haymitch cautioned as he placed a hand over the top of his drink when an Avox, a mute demi-human servant, came over to try and refill his glass.

It made Katniss feel slightly better to see Haymitch taking it easy on the drinking, and focusing more on the conversation.

She hoped things would stay that way throughout the next few days while they prepared for the Games.

When Haymitch invited them to the roof for a nightcap, she almost declined out of principle, but Haymitch practically ordered her to accompany him and Peeta. Effie was miffed about being excluded but Haymitch put her off, citing mentor/tribute privilege.

When they finally got up to the roof, it was late and Katniss was disappointed to see that the stars were rendered almost invisible by the brightness of the Capitol lights. The sight made her chest ache with a longing for home so acute that she had to stifle a small whimper. She felt more than heard Peeta shifting closer to her, maybe alerted to something in her scent that signaled distress.

Katniss almost groaned in frustration. She didn’t want him hovering, worrying about her like she was some weak and pathetic creature just because of her designation. But at the same time, something inside her felt pulled towards him and his rich and calming scent, like she was on an invisible string. It was a concerted effort to remain as she was. She didn’t want to shrink in fear, or approach in curiosity. Still, she felt Peeta studying her as if searching for the slightest change in her demeanor.

“Alright, so I figured it was time for us three to have some more honest talk.” Haymitch began, getting her attention as he beckoned them over to a section of the roof that contained a small garden replete with windchimes.

He took out a flask and then produced two small tea cups from his coat pockets. He proceeded to unscrew the cap on his flask and tip it into the first cup, filling it midway with some kind of light brown liquid.

“Drink this.” He said, passing the cup to Peeta. Peeta took it gingerly, careful not to spill but he didn’t immediately drink it either. Haymitch didn’t bother repeating his instruction, but went on to pour some liquid into the second cup and then he extended his arm to offer the cup to Katniss.

She automatically shook her head. She felt her skin pimple into goosebumps with awareness like it did whenever she felt danger or risk had entered a situation.

“I don’t want it.” She said in refusal.

Haymitch made an impatient noise and thrust the cup at her, barely managing to not spill the contents.

“Just drink it.” He ordered. She frowned, and opened her mouth to argue, but was cut off.

“We already had wine with dinner, Haymitch.” Peeta protested, seemingly on her behalf. Katniss frowned, formulating a retort in her mind to let Peeta know she didn’t want or need his interference.

“This is the part where you both start trusting your mentor because he knows what the hell he’s doing.” Haymitch asserted in a steely tone and after a moment Katniss reached out and took the cup.

It was lukewarm and only smelled faintly of alcohol.

“What’s in this?” She questioned, unable to help herself.

“Something to calm your nerves. It should help you both concentrate.” Haymitch promised.

She lifted the cup to her nose and underneath the light liquor scent, she detected some familiar notes of herbs and spices. Tea and something else.

“Is it a suppressant?” Peeta asked in a skeptical tone. Katniss’ mind nearly boggled to hear Peeta say the word. Suppressants were illegal, at least in the districts. The Capitol didn’t want their district workforce to have access to anything that could help them hide their Alpha or Omega natures. So no, suppressants were not something brought up in casual conversation.

“Something like that,” Haymitch said before taking a gulp from his own flask. ��Don’t worry, it’s perfectly fine here in the Capitol. They give it to us mentors all the time.” He said, then he noticed his tributes’ nervous expressions and he spoke again, “We can speak freely here. The wind and the chimes drown out most listening devices.” Haymitch added.

Katniss breathed in and inhaled the rich and earthy smell of the tea that had been infused with whatever Haymitch kept in his flask. The sharp scent of the middle-aged alpha man in front of her also made its way to her nostrils when she inhaled, plus the deeply distracting but fresh and soothing scent of the young alpha next to her.

The tea itself smelled remarkably similar to the one she remembered her mother brewing at home for her father, in the years before the Capitol found them. Her mother had been a district trained healer before she became an Alpha’s mate. She had a vast knowledge of plants and herbs and the various ways to combine them.

Katniss took a small sip of the tea. Peeta, after seeing her, did the same. Then they all waited. A minute passed by and a slight tingling sensation started on her tongue and made its way down her throat. Then it spread, slowly through her body.

It did make her feel calmer, in a way. The scent of the two Alphas near her became muted and she was able to take deeper breaths. The suppressant in the tea dulled her senses as well, but right now that was what she probably needed. Being in the presence of two alphas was not an everyday occurrence for her. Especially when she felt so out of sorts. She quickly drained her cup dry, diving into the comfort it provided. A few minutes ago she had felt prickly and ready to flee or fight, like her every instinct was heightened and every nerve in her body had been sent on high alert.

But the herbs in the tea helped her to push those clamoring sensations down, and focus. Besides that, the taste reminded her of home.

“What do you know about the different designations?” Their mentor asked, breaking the silence. He was looking at her, not at Peeta. She felt singled out for a moment, but then again, she had been the one who was thrown off the most by her mentor’s discussion of heats and ruts, and the intricacies of Alpha and Omega dynamics.

She looked into his Seam gray eyes and felt placated by the lack of artifice in them.

“I know-” She hesitated, wishing she had paid more attention in her history of designations class when she was in school. She had been too preoccupied with her plans for hunting and foraging. With staying alive.

“I know what everyone knows I guess. What they taught in school. There are three distinct types—alpha, beta, and omega.” She offered.

Haymitch nodded at this but remained silent as if encouraging her to go on. Peeta shifted slightly, turning as if to get a better view of her while she spoke. It almost made her scowl, but she resisted the urge. Determined to ignore it, and answer the question, she focused on Haymitch.

After a moment she resumed.

“Designations were the reason for the catastrophes that destroyed the modern world in the previous era. They caused wars and unrest and the human race tore itself to pieces because alphas and omegas couldn’t suppress their savage natures. The Capitol says that’s why they can’t allow alphas and omegas to live among betas. That’s why they are reaped for the Designation Games. To weed out the unmanageable ones. To keep the beta population safe from violence and savagery.” She says in an almost rote tone, something she memorized to pass an examination, but never took to heart. The words leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Her father was an alpha and he hadn’t been a mindless, violent savage. Neither had her mother been a hapless Omega slave he ordered about. They had been a man and woman, human as any other. Who loved each other and their family.

The fact that others like them were reaped and forced to fight to the death savagely, simply for being born something other than a beta, wasn’t a flaw of designation, it was the error of those who came up with the Games and those who perpetuated them. Anyone would fight to preserve their life. Alpha, omega, or beta alike.

“Did you know that everyone alive today has an alpha or omega in their ancestry? And you don’t even need to go back very far. As little as four generations in most people.” Haymitch asked before taking a sip from his flask.

Katniss blinked at him, startled.

He ignored her look of shock and forged ahead.

“What they don’t teach in the districts is the history of post-cataclysmic genetics, it's not essential for most of the jobs we do. Miners don’t need advanced schooling to break down rocks. But in the Capitol, the history of designations also comes with a genetics class. Everyone who has gone through secondary school there can tell you that alphas and omegas make up an integral part of the population. Something like 60 to 70%.”

“But that’s just not possible,” Peeta said, taking the words right out of her mouth.

“It is actually because it’s not their primary designation. It’s their secondary designation. Their dormant designation.” Haymitch disclosed quietly.

“Wait, what? How can someone have two designations? And how can one of them be what did you say--dormant?” Peeta said in a bewildered tone while Katniss stood in stunned silence.

“After the catastrophe that destroyed North America, the survivors, all the scientists, and leaders did their best to try and correct the problem of designations. They envisioned a world full of betas, without the messiness of alpha and omega instincts. At first, they thought to breed alphas and omegas out of the population entirely, but there weren’t enough people left to successfully eliminate those designations. They needed alphas and omegas, specifically because alphas and omegas are among the most naturally fertile, especially when paired together. So, instead of trying to breed alphas and omegas out, they tried to alter their genetic makeup to bypass their baser instincts. Suppressants only worked as long as alphas and omegas took them and had access to them. Which, in a post-apocalyptic world, that had suffered a major collapse of infrastructure and industry, was not a long-term solution. So the idea was to overwrite alpha and omega DNA with beta DNA and breed a new generation of people who despite their parents’ designations, would never go into heat, or rut, or show signs of being anything other than even-tempered betas.”

“That’s…” Peeta began but trailed off.

“Yes, it's quite the feat of science,” Haymitch said the words with a spiteful sort of sarcasm.

“Wait. How can you tell us all of this? Isn’t it some kind of secret? I mean, why keep it from the people in the district if it's a part of history?” Katniss finally found her voice, and she questioned Haymitch while her eyes narrowed skeptically.

“Well, there are two parts to that answer. Let’s take the easiest one first. It’s not exactly a secret. The information is out there, but not many people are smart enough to connect the dots. I believe they teach something about genetic failure in the school unless things have changed since my day.” Haymitch said arching a brow.

Katniss thought for a moment, she vaguely recalled her monotone history teacher's voice saying something along those lines, and posters in the school hallways encouraging people to make note of their friends and family members’ temperaments in the event of GF.

She nodded, carefully. Beside her, Peeta gave a sound of agreement.

“Right, so, genetic failure occurs when something goes wrong with an individual’s written code. It’s uncontrollable, and it only occurs during the late adolescent stage of development, when a person’s hormones are still fluctuating and unpredictable. That’s why only people between the ages of 16-18 present. There’s a breakdown in the genetic programming that allows the individual’s secondary designation to overcome the beta overlay.” Haymitch explained.

“Oh.” Katniss sat back with a frown. She tried to wrap her mind around the idea that she, and the people like her, her father, mother, Haymitch, and Peeta, had their lives upended and often cut short because of a failure of genetic programming. A failure they had no control over, if what Haymtich was saying was correct.

“So why even have the Games? Why not just round up every person who presents as an alpha or omega and execute them?” She demanded, angrily. Haymitch frowned at her, but after a moment he replied.

“For the same reason that the scientists couldn’t breed alphas and omegas out of the gene pool. We are integral to the population. Without the assistance of alpha and omega fertility, an all-beta population would go extinct within three generations. Society is still recovering from the cataclysms. Our population can only handle so much pruning at this point. We still need alphas and omegas, even those who somehow overcome their genetic programming. They need young alphas and omegas that are bright and capable, smart, and able to curb their instincts as well as utilize them. They need them to win the Games and contribute to the local population.” Haymitch informed.

“Is that why the children of victors are often reaped?” Katniss asked, her voice alight with realization.

“For the most part. Victors tend to have large families, and though the majority of their offspring often turn out beta dominant, there’s always the chance that one or two might present as something else.”

“So that leaves the other half of the question. Why are you telling us this?” Peeta asked.

“All the mentors inform their tributes at some point. Most do it on their first night on the train. Unfortunately, that night I was indisposed.” He paused here, and Katniss is sure they are all recalling how he had gotten so drunk they hadn’t even seen him until the next day.

“But I’m clear-headed enough now, so I thought it best not to beat around the bush any longer.” Haymitch said.

“So all the other tributes will know about dual designations?” Peeta queried in a serious voice.

“Yes. And they’ll be out to play you and your natures against each other. Which is why I want you two to present a united front. This has to look like a team effort, you two are going to be friends, like we talked about. Close friends for the next few days.” Haymitch said in a more commanding tone.

“You want Peeta to put his what where?!” Katniss almost shouted. They had been discussing their strategy for how the two of them would tackle their training session tomorrow.

It would be the first time they met all the other tributes, and Haymitch had some crazy plan that was supposed to create some kind of scent barrier that would keep the other Alphas and Omegas from getting too close.

“Shh.” Haymitch hushed her harshly.

Peeta was already shaking his head.

“I’m not going to do that. That’s—it would be too much, Haymitch!” Peeta replied testily.

Katniss stole a glance at him. The spot of color high on his cheeks told her he was as uncomfortable with this idea as she was.

“You two are the strongest contenders that 12 has produced in years. I can smell how strong you are and I’m old and sloshed more than half the time. Those sharks down there,” Haymitch stopped to point to the floor, and Katniss took his gesture to mean the other tributes who were occupying the floors of the training center below them, “they’ll be able to smell it too. The tributes from the Career districts look for angles to exploit like this. Those with demi-human parentage train at a special academy from the time they’re young. They specifically spend time around other Alphas and Omegas on purpose to prepare for the Games. They desensitize themselves for years until they are basically immune to the opposite gender’s pheromones. And then they volunteer when they turn eighteen. They will single you out, play their little games and force a physical response that will put you at a disadvantage. In the past five years, I’ve had one or both of my tributes sabotaged with premature heat or rut before the gong even sounded. Trust me when I say you don’t want to start off the Games doped up out of your mind on some Capitol concoction to pause a heat or rut, and then be forced to sweat out the meds and wait for your full senses to come back to you. The Careers will get the upper hand and they will hunt you down if you two try to go it alone.” Their mentor told them in a deadly serious tone.

Katniss felt the blood drain from her face as the scenario that Haymitch had just painted sprung to life in her mind. Real terror clawed it's way up her throat.

Peeta appeared beside her, suddenly closer than he had been a second ago, his hand clutching the cup tightly in his grip. A soft growl escaped his lips.

Katniss looked over at him with shock, but he was staring directly at Haymitch, not quite baring his teeth, but it certainly wasn’t a smile that was on his face.

Haymitch merely rolled his eyes, dismissing Peeta’s behavior. Katniss looked down and away from them, fighting the urge to blush. Why did the idea of Peeta growling at Haymitch because of her make her heart race?

“That’s a good start, but save it for training. The wind chimes cover a lot but they don’t cover shouting or fighting. And you better finish drinking your tea boy. No need for all that posturing with me.” Haymitch warned in a half-amused tone.

“Alright, say we believe you about how serious it is that the other tributes will want to sabotage us, what’s to say that Peeta…what did you call it? Scenting me? Won’t do the same thing and trigger a biological response anyway?” Katniss asked, wanting to get off the topic of alpha posturing and back on their strategic planning.

“Because I’ll be here to supervise,” Haymitch replied.

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or—” Katniss said, uncomfortable with the idea of not only letting Peeta scent her but also with the stipulation that a third party would be present to watch them. It sounded creepy.

“Look, I don’t get off on teenage fumbling if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, you have all the charm of a dead slug, sweetheart. No, I would be there to make sure you two follow instructions and don’t get carried away. Also, I’d be dosing you two with some light suppressants right before each scenting session so your responses would be mitigated.” Haymitch explained.

Katniss bit back a few choice words, especially after hearing him liken her to a dead slug. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

What possible reason could Haymitch have for instructing his tributes to bond together in such a way? For all his faults he really didn’t appear to be a pervert. And if Peeta was in the same precarious position she was in, didn’t it make sense for the two of them to help each other?

This was just a strategy.

It was all part of playing the Games.

So if that was true, why did it feel like some insane voice in her head was practically purring at the thought of Peeta rubbing his scent all over her?

“Okay,” Katniss said, almost too quickly.

Haymitch looked over towards Peeta.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Peeta asked Haymitch, voice full of concern.

“Much safer than some random Omega stealthing you with her slick on your scent glad when you’re not looking, boy.” Haymitch replied tersely.

Katniss let out a quiet gasp.

Did Omegas really do that???

She couldn’t even imagine…

Ok, no stop it. She told herself, immediately trying to erase the mental image of rubbing her own wet fingers over the raised, puffy gland on Peeta’s neck.

She was suddenly very glad for the tea Haymitch had given her. In fact, she wondered if he had any more on hand.

Katniss cleared her throat, “So what do we have to do?”

They were directed to sit down beside each other. Peeta led her, hand hovering above the small of her back to the small bench in the rooftop garden.

For the first few minutes, they simply sat next to each other and Haymitch asked them to concentrate on each other’s scent and proximity.

Katniss could taste Peeta’s trepidation on the roof of her tongue, and she was sure he could probably taste hers. But underneath that, there was an undercurrent of other notes in his scent.

Skepticism, uncertainty, and faint flickers of…anticipation? Excitement?

She tried to concentrate on his scent but the more she tuned into him, the fuzzier her thoughts became.

That same languid warmth spread through her again, slowly, making her relax and filling her with a strange sort of comfort.

In the quietness of that headspace, Katniss heard the voice that had been swimming in the back of her mind, not quite loud enough to be heard before, but always present, and lurking ever since she went through her fever.

Alpha is strong and kind. He would be a good mate. We must show him our neck. We must be good! Please our Alpha, and he will care for us!

“Oh, my odds! What the hell was that?!” Katniss spoke up, startled.

She heard Haymitch try and stifle a chuckle.

“That, I’d hazard to guess, would be your Omega voice, sweetheart,” Haymitch replied.

“My what?” Katniss asked, bewildered.

“You know, the mental manifestation of your biological imperatives. The little voice that tells you to suck up to any Alpha in the vicinity. She’s an untrustworthy little bitch, but it’s better that you get acquainted with her now and get used to ignoring her bullshit advice than being blindsided during the Games.” Haymitch explained.

“How? How do you know she’s untrustworthy?” Katniss managed to ask after a brief pause.

“Because Alphas have their own stupid little voice. Except it ain’t so little and its twice as stupid. Am I right, boy?” Haymitch asked, looking over at Peeta.

Peeta now had his eyes open and was regarding Haymitch with something like frustration.

But when Katniss turned her attention to him he refocused on her.

“I—um, yeah. I started to hear it after I came out of my fever.” Peeta admitted, one hand scratching the back of his neck self-consciously.

“What does it say to you?” Katniss asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s always barking at me about stupid things. I honestly just try to ignore it, most of the time.” Peeta replied vaguely.

Katniss wanted to press him for more information but Haymitch cleared his throat.

“As much as I love you all’s little sharing fest, it's getting late and you two have to get an early start tomorrow. So, now that you both have been introduced to your hormonal alter egos, I say we get this show on the road.” Haymitch drawled impatiently.

Katniss felt her heart speed up, and the now significantly louder voice inside her head was practically salivating at the idea of letting Peeta scent her.

Peeta for his part look slightly stressed and hesitated to come any closer to her.

“Um, do you want to—?”

“We should just—”

They both began speaking at the same time and behind them, Haymitch let out an exasperated sigh.

“Sometime before my liver gives out on me.” Their mentor needled them.

“Now you’re just outlining the benefits for us to drag this out.” Peeta bit back turning his head to stare down their mentor over his shoulder. His comment was rather acerbic and surprising to Katniss.

But then she giggled. She realized if there was one thing she could get on board with Peeta about, it was serving up some sass to their slightly overbearing mentor.

Peeta’s head whipped back around at the sound of her laugh and his eyes widened. He seemed stunned that he had made her laugh.

Katniss’ eyes crinkled, and she held her smile, willing him to see that it was ok.

His gaze locked on her smiling lips, and he breathed out a relieved breath. Then he gave her a smile that was so genuine and sweet, with just a hint of shyness that it made her inner Omega practically swoon.

Katniss found herself leaning in without thinking, and tilting her head slightly to offer up her neck to him.

Peeta’s pupils grew dilated, and he sucked in a breath. The tip of his tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his soft-looking, plush, and rosy lips. He leaned in, but then pulled back slightly.

Katniss fought a whimper, and the urge to pull his mouth down to her neck.

He reached out and gently took her hand.

“Is this okay?” He asked, blue eyes holding hers until they darted back down to her neck, and the soft patch of skin that was beginning to throb under his scrutiny.

“Yes,” Katniss breathed the word softly, in a voice that she would have been embarrassed to hear coming from her mouth at any other time.

Peeta nodded to himself and leaned in.

She had expected him to start licking immediately. Because that was how Haymitch had explained it. An Alpha’s saliva could create a temporary bond with an Omega if applied directly to her scent gland, and vice versa.

So Katniss was surprised when Peeta’s lips placed a tentative kiss on the side of her neck instead, right above her scent gland.

But still, even with that tiny, almost chase kiss, it felt like her body had erupted with heat.

“Oh,” She exclaimed, involuntarily, in a high and surprised voice and it seemed to trigger something in Peeta, because, in the next moment, he attached his whole mouth to her gland and absolutely covered it in kisses.

And the sensation was unlike anything Katniss had ever felt before.

Her entire body was alive, and thrumming with energy. Her muscles tensed and arched under his touch. She found herself tilting her head back more, inviting him to claim her neck and her scent gland thoroughly.

And he did. He parted his lips and began to suck. An intense ripple of pleasure surged through her, and she bit down on her lip to stifle a cry.

Waves of delicious and forbidden heat spread down to her lower abdomen and then lower still, to a part of her that she had never felt so aware of or preoccupied with before. There was a needfulness rousing inside her, curling and coiling into something splendid or awful, she wasn’t sure which.

The only thing she was sure of was that Peeta’s mouth was magic and she never wanted him to stop—

“Okay, that’s enough.” Came Haymitch’s rude interruption.

Katniss’ eyes blinked open and she was startled to discover their mentor standing just a few feet away. She had forgotten he was there! That he was supervising them! She struggled with an overwhelming sense of aggravation at his interruption and also a small but growing sense of mortification that he had witnessed her wanton behavior, but Peeta it seemed hadn’t even heard him. He was still lavishing her gland with his mouth.

“I mean it, let her go,” Haymitch repeated, and this time Peeta did respond, with a low growl, more intense than any sound she had heard him make before.

It shocked Katniss and scared her a little. But the moment her scent changed from that of a receptive and pleased Omega to one rife with fear and worry, Peeta pulled back and stopped.

“There he is. Thought we lost you for a minute there, boy.” Haymitch said gruffly, approaching them slowly and cautiously, as Peeta leaned back and blinked his eyes slowly, as if trying to blink away a dream.

“Sorry…” Peeta answered, still somewhat out of it. His eyes had the look of a man who had dived too deep and come up too quickly.

“The first time touching an Omega up close can be intoxicating.” Haymitch replied dismissively, almost too casually. But when Katniss looked at his expression she could tell he was unsettled.

But then he gestured for them both to stand up. When they did, Haymitch stepped towards her and cocked his head to the side, inspecting.

Their mentor let out a low whistle.

“He got you good, sweetheart.”

Katniss clamped a hand down over her swollen and tender scent gland and shot Haymitch a murderous glare, but he just laughed.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to return the favor right now. You two need some time to cool off, so we’ll have you scent him in the morning.” Haymitch instructed.

The rush of endorphins was finally starting to abate and her head was clearing more by the second. And in the wake of her unrestrained behavior, she felt completely shocked and caught off guard at her own response to Peeta’s scenting of her.

So she took Haymitch’s instructions for what they were, a dismissal, and used the opportunity to flee the rooftop as quickly as her feet could carry her.

#everlark fanfiction #everlark #everlark a/b/o #thg #peeta and katniss #lemonluvwrites #The Effect #The Designation Games #tdg #alpha peeta #omega katniss

77 notes · View notes

misc-obeyme · 7 months ago

Note

second ten pull I got luke, Lucifer, and belphie, so this is me blessing everyone's pulls 🙏💪 may your boys come home in 20 pulls or less !!!

BUT ALL I WANT IS LEVI AND I GOT LUCIFER AGAIN, AND THEN SIMEON. 50 PULLS TOTAL SO FAR BUT TECHNICALLY I'M INVESTING BECAUSE I GOTTA WIN THE VOUCHERS BACK AND MAKE IT TO BOX FOUR FOR MAMMON'S OUTFIT

also the event ssr with thirteen and asmo like... I am on my KNEES and DROOLING AND NO BETTER BECAUSE SHE LOOKS SO HOT AND PRETTY AND I'M AKWKWJDJF. she's wearing an outfit with stars and moon detailing, LIKEEE ONE CHANCE PLEASE MA'AM

this was the universe making today up to me because work was bad today and i cried in front of everyone 😭 I've just been pushing myself too hard/out of my comfort zone a lot training in framing these two weeks. Unfortunately my coworker trying to rp a difficult framing customer so i could design an order was what broke the dam (i still feel terrible because he felt so bad)💀

they're requiring managers to learn basics now, but framing always terrified me and i avoided it before they required it. BUT i am learning more than the basics, as scary as it is, out of SPITE and because I want to negotiate more pay. The company is fucked silly and doesn't want to pay me more for being bilingual either. My old coworkers tell me to not utilize that skill if they won't compensate me but I can't find it in me to do that. Like customers shouldn't have to suffer because of a poor company decision, it's not fair. Especially when i see the relief on their faces knowing I can speak spanish, and having seen my own parents struggles when I was younger.

That took a complete 180 I'm so sorry 😭 i hope i don't work sunday because i really wanna ramble about mc's mortality and stuff, THE IDEAS ARE RATTLING IN MY BRAIN

- ✨ anon

WOOO that is some good luck!!

I have pulled an unfortunate amount of times, but so far only Luke has come home. I wasn't really aiming for anyone in particular, I just wanted cheat cards lol. Though I would love to get Simeon, Levi, or Lucifer...

OKAY that Thirteen SSR is honestly giving me so much life, I can't even BEGIN to describe. She looks absolutely STUNNING. I mean, I didn't think anybody could upstage Asmo, but yo... Thirteen is giving him a run for his money~

Ah, now see, all companies are fucked. Due to being in the workforce for many years, I know this to be true. My advice? If they won't pay you for being bilingual, find a new job that will. I obviously don't know your entire situation, but my experience is that most companies will never pay you more for things you're already doing. If you find another job, you can give them your two weeks notice and let them give you a counteroffer where they pay you what you're worth. You might not even need to leave, but if they don't give you what you want, you still have another job.

Of course you understand your own situation best. In the end, you have to make the right decision for yourself. I hope things work out! I believe in you!

Also no worries, you're free to talk about anything you like! I would love to hear about your MC mortality ideas!

#honestly companies are shit #unless you work for one of the unusual progressive ones #which is like good luck 'cause everybody wants those jobs #anyway I'm not bitter or anything lol #✨ anon #misc answers

4 notes · View notes

selenastaylors · 1 year ago

Note

Sleep advice! Ok so caveat, I went HARD on getting a sleep routine that worked for me so pick and choose what might work for you:

Prioritize sleep: This means planning your life around going to bed at as close to the same time every night as possible. I left parties early, declined plans that started too late, and did my best to maintain a bedtime that was within the same hour or two every single night, even weekends

Set up a routine: Mine was getting off my phone an hour before bed, then doing the same thing every night which was jammies, brush teeth, wash face, make a cup of decaf tea, and make a to do list for the next day (so my brain wouldn't worry about forgetting things, this is also an ADHD hack) and then read until its time for lights out

Give yourself more time than you need: I put myself to bed at 8:30, knowing I needed to be asleep by 10 to get 8 hours of sleep before wake up time. This way regardless of how long it took me to fall asleep, I was still hitting close to the right number of hours

Only use your bed for sleep: This one was hard for a long time but then I finally lived in a place with a chair in my bedroom so I started doing all my tv watching, internet-ing, and reading there. Nothing but sleep in the bed. That way, when I got into bed, my body would know what we were doing right away.

Wake up at the same time every day no matter what: Not going to lie, this one sucks at first, but its so important to get your body used to what time we wake up and what time we go to bed. Consistency is SO key.

Avoid caffeine of any kind after noon: there is caffeine in chocolate. I'm sorry.

Relax: Your body will sleep, it is designed to, and no matter what is going on you WILL sleep. Even if it feels like you won't, you will, trust that.

I did this hardcore for about six months to a year, and its done WONDERS for my sleep schedule and hygeine. I also recommend you get your phone out of your room or across it, get a cheap little alarm clock instead of using your phone. Phones are addicting and bright!

Good luck, I hope this wasn't too insane but I worked hard and sleep is hard so I hope it helps!!!

omg this was so nice of u and im gonna write this down!!! thank u so much bestie💖

7 notes · View notes

misscammiedawn · 2 years ago

Note

Any advice for an aspiring hypnotist hoping to get their first real-world experience at an upcoming con? Assume a very anxious bean that's worried about making a fool of themselves 😅

Good question!

The first thing I will note is that the convention begins in the preparation. Beguiled's schedule is up now so a lot of pre-con prep is starting up. I would recommend being active on the convention's Discord and making some connections before the convention. I always have an easier time talking to someone who I have an air of familiarity with.

At the event, find the areas where people gravitate for "down time" and just be open and casual there. My first event I was in the con suite drinking coffee and someone was talking about MCStories and as they spoke I realized I knew who they were and enthusiastically praised their work. We ended up chatting and now that person is one of my closest community friends and we always make time to share a food.

Classes can be a good tool too, just be engaged. If you have honest questions and the presenter is open to questions from the audience then ask away, you'll leave an impression and get an answer.

Some events are designed for people looking to interact too. There's the Sapphic Soiree event for those who want to try a mingle in a sapphic coded space. There's speed trancing. There's also Uncon on Sunday which is way more free-form and open.

It's daunting the first time, but just remember that you're surrounded by your people. All you need to do is be yourself and you *will* find like minded people there. That's what all conventions are for. The odds of people who will get along with you is way higher in those spaces than elsewhere. Just dive in with the hope to engage and have fun.

I wish you luck!

I truly believe everyone's first event is a Special Thing and I want you to have all the best possible memories.

#camden asks #hypnokink #hypnocons

3 notes · View notes

palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 12,857

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

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

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

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

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

Ugh, why is this so stressful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

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

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

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

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

Wait. Sexy?

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s those eyes of his.

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

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

“Did you need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

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

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

God.

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

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

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

No. No, no, no, no.

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

God fucking damn it.

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

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

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

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

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

“Gimme the paperwork.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N).

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

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

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

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

“Something came up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah. But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Didn’t you just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what? The cell… ah–”

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

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

“I said, answer me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is the cell membrane?”

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

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

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

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s try another.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a faint clicking sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold still,” he commands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2K notes · View notes

salt-baby · 2 years ago

Note

I have a question.

So, I have hEDS, and the only thing that really helps are those microwaveable heating pad things. I'm trying to make some microwaveable plushies because I can't find the exact things I need, but i don't know what fabrics won't burn. Do you have any advice?

Unfortunately, I don't actually know all that much about what fabrics are microwave safe. Still, I have some ideas that might be helpful:

I've actually made one of these before by putting rice in an old sock, which worked very well and held up to many rounds of microwaving. I've also made a bunch of different kinds of plushies out of socks before, and I think if you replaced the stuffing with something like rice or those special microwaveable beads, you could make a pretty cute little heat pack. If you don't already have a design in mind, I've made both sock cats and sock monkeys before and they're great patterns (YouTube tutorials are also readily available for both of these).

Some brief research says to skip any fabric that's composed of too much plastic, with all natural fabrics being best. If you're not buying your fabric from a craft store and don't know what it is exactly, a good test for whether a material is synthetic or natural is to hold a lighter to the corner - if it burns and disintegrates, it's natural, but if it just melts it's probably pretty synthetic (here's a great guide for this). There's some exceptions to this but it should work well enough. Ideally, it's best to just identify the specific fabric type and research based on that. Similarly, skip plastic buttons or decorations and especially anything metal! Those are more risky in a microwave (and in the case of metal, downright dangerous).

Technically, even though it's pretty much safe, fabric still isn't meant to go in the microwave. If I was trying to avoid microwaving any fabric altogether, I'd probably try to make the filling removable. I'd personally probably make my plushie like normal, but leave the body unstuffed and add a zipper to the back. Then I'd create a removable pouch to go inside the body, and put the filling in this removable pouch. Anytime I wanted to heat it, I'd pour the rice into a microwave safe mug, heat it, then put it back into the pouch and zip it back into the plush. This way, you never have to worry about the fabric.

Anyway, these are my thoughts, and hopefully something here was helpful for you! Feel free to ask any follow up questions if you'd like. Best of luck with your project, and if you feel comfortable with it, I'd love to see some pictures when you're done!

#salt baby answers #diy

11 notes · View notes

silenceofthecookies · 4 years ago

Note

Author san!!! Can I use my free pass for the Black bull team pleasee!! I am sure one piece requests will flood away but I wanna read about the black bulls team so much. Fluff/Romance HCs. It can be anything like first meetings or kiss idk what ever you wish and feel like writing. Its your choice. The black bulls, I love them so much especially Zora... I absolutely fell in love with his charecter design, his outfit and his personality. Sadly he is not that popular. Please do justice for him. Thankyou!!!

Hi Abhi! I’m so glad to see you requesting something for the Black Bulls, they are such an amazing squad! For this one I decided to go with first kisses, since I recently wrote more kissing headcanons and I think they’re surprisingly fun to write UwU Zora is up first, and since you mentioned him not being popular, I decided to put more of the less-popular Bulls in here! I hope you enjoy ❤

Zora Ideale

Behind his though exterior, Zora is actually a little bit of a romantic. He doesn't quickly grow attached to someone, let alone fall in love, but it happened. Zora believes you deserve someone better than him, but you picked him so he'll just have to be the best version of himself for you.

He'll make sure the setting is right for the first kiss. Some place away from people, some please you can relax. Probably one of your favourite places. A first kiss should be memorable, right?

He'll place his hand on your cheek and lean In slowly, giving you enough time to turn away in case you'd be uncomfortable. He half expects you to punch him in the face or something.

The kiss is soft, your lips just barely touching. Zora is a little worried he'd hurt you or make you uncomfortable, and his pointy teeth may or may not be part of that worry. He's not changing them though, he likes them this way.

When he takes his hand off your cheek after the kiss there's a stinkbug on there. Zora wouldn't be himself if he was a perfect gentleman, right?

Charmy Pappitson

Your first kiss with Charmy will be kind of spontaneous, a kiss that will surprise both you and Charmy. It will, however, also be a sweet one, in more ways than one.

You and Charmy will just be relaxing, eating something sweet Charmy has made. Cupcakes, donuts, anything. As you're both enjoying it and gushing over the taste, Charmy notices a bit of frosting/filling/whatever stuck just above your lips. She'll point it out, but instead of describing exactly where it is so you can remove it yourself, she'll grab her chance, quickly lean in and clean it up herself.

The kiss lasts about a second, it's over before you even realise what just happened.

Charmy herself is a little surprised at her sudden bravado and looks away with a blush on her face, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. She liked it alright, but what if you didn't like it?

She'll be so taken off guard by her own action, that you have the perfect opportunity to lean in and place a kiss on her lips, this time a proper one. Once your lips part, she will be laughing awkwardly, probably avoiding your eyes by looking at the sweets.

Asta

“Y/n! Can I kiss you?!”

It's Asta's typical stressed/flustered way of shouting and even though he asked you away from other people, you're pretty sure anyone within the vicinity has heard him yelling.

Once Asta falls in love, he wastes no time getting his feelings across. He has no problem proclaiming them to you, be in privacy or in front of others. Once he knows you return his feelings, he will be so ecstatic that he forgets everything else. Including that he wants to kiss you.

So somewhere between 30 minutes and 3 hours after he confessed, he will be asking you if he can kiss you. When you say yes, he'll step closer to close the distance between the two of you, put his hands, which you can feel are a little sweaty because of the nerves, on your cheeks and slowly closes the distance.

The kiss itself is very careful, Asta has no idea what he's doing and he doesn't want to do anything wrong either. First kisses are special, right? He keeps his lips pressed to yours for a few seconds before pulling away with a big grin.

Grey, Henry, Luck, Noelle, Gauche, Gordon and Secre after the cut!

Grey

Grey is just not doing it. She's way too embarrassed, and there's just no way she can get herself to ask you to kiss you. She'll consider catching you by surprise and just doing it, but what if you don't want a kiss? Or what if she does it wrong?

She's an absolute mess. She'll ask Gauche and Noelle for help, but their advice is simply ‘just ask it’ or ‘just do it’. It's no help to her, which only makes her believe even more that she's a lost cause.

She will make several attempts to ask you, but she just never can get any further than the word ‘can'. The stuttering already starts when she calls out your name to get your attention, and after a few attempts to ask ‘can I kiss you?’ the embarrassment becomes too much and she transforms herself into the big guy. She's not finishing that sentence and no matter how much you ask her about it afterwards, she won't complete it.

Ideally, she'll wait for you to kiss her first. It'll still be super embarrassing, but at least she won't be the one who has to make the moves.

Henry Legolant

Henry is a little hesitant about kissing you, he knows what effect he has on the people who come too close to him, but he really wants to! So he'll think about it for a good while before hatching a little plan.

On a moment when nobody is around, he'll call out your name, step closer to you slowly so you can step away if you become uncomfortable, slowly leans in when he's close enough and kisses you. He has his arms around you to support you, in case he's draining too much mana from you.

The kiss is soft and slow, and he stays close to you for a few seconds, not wanting to part from you too quickly. He tightens his hold on you a little, enjoying the rare feeling of being close, certainly this close, to someone.

He'll then hand you a little plate of food he had asked Charmy to prepare for him beforehand and step back to give you some space. It's Charmy's special food to restore mana. Of course Charmy was in on his plan, he had to tell her to get her to make something for him, and unknown to you she's sneakily watching through the keyhole of the door to see if their plan worked.

Luck Voltia

Luck didn't plan on kissing you today. Luck doesn't plan on anything. He always goes with the slow and his only goal is for the two of you to have fun. Aside from that, it really doesn't matter what happens. Though if fighting or pranks are involved, that's a plus! And that's exactly what put him in a good enough mood to kiss you.

The two of you had just played a huge prank and were running away from your poor victim, who seemed about ready to murder you. You were laughing like maniacs as you ran and you eventually lost them. The two of you now stood still, catching your breath and laughing.

That's when he does it, suddenly and unexpectedly. The kiss is story and sweet, gone as soon as you felt it. Just a little peck. Luck simply keeps smiling at you while you're trying to process what just happened. He'll start laughing at your reaction, and it makes you unable to stop yourself from laughing as well.

The whole situation is a little absurd, but there's no uncomfortable silences, no tension, no awkwardness. Just your boyfriend playing a little prank on you, one you certainly don't mind.

Noelle Silva

Noelle is going to do everything in her power to make you be the one to kiss her first. She's a royal, she shouldn't be the one making the first moves. Right?

She's tried to a few times, but she just gets too embarrassed every time and chickens out. Hence her new plan: make you want to kiss her. You're already attracted to her so it shouldn't be too hard, right?

She'll put some extra effort into looking pretty, and she'll try to bait you with things like a subtle with pretty lipgloss, or by leaving a little bit of food hanging on her lip. She's not the most subtle person, so her message should come across pretty easily. It's up to you whether you want to tease her a little about it and pretend to not notice, or to just give her what she wants.

If you keep ignoring her hints, she'll eventually find a moment to just tell you that you can kiss her. Mostly likely when you've gotten her something or done something for her.

“You did good, as a reward, you're allowed to kiss me.”

No, even though she said it, she's still not making that first move herself.

Gauche Adlai

Gauche is not a very subtle person. When he wants something, it's obvious. Usually he just makes sure he gets it too. You, however, are the one exception to that. The one person aside from Marie that he's careful with, about whose opinion he cares. So, instead of just kissing you right the moment when he feels like it, he waits a little.

He's not too worried about setting up a good romantic setting, that's not what matters anyway, it's the kiss that matters, but he does try to get some privacy for that moment. He doesn't need people commenting on him kissing you when he does, it's a pain in the ass.

But getting some privacy with the Black Bulls around is nearly impossible, and Gauche is struggling to even create such an opportunity. His patience runs thin pretty quickly, he just wants to kiss you already, so he pulls you away behind a corner, pulls you close to him and kisses you there.

The kiss is a little on the rough side, mostly due to Gauche's annoyance at the whole situation and at how long he had to wait. He calms down pretty fast though, now that he's gotten what he wanted.

Gordon Agrippa

Gordon usually goes with the flow, letting you take the lead, letting you set the boundaries. It was like that in his friendship with you, and it will continue to be like that in his relationship with you. However, you two have yet to have your first kiss and he's getting a little worried about it. So this time, he decides to make a move.

When the two of you are relaxed and away from prying eyes, he'll just talk to you about it. Not in a sad or an accusing kind of way, but in a way filled with curiosity. Were you shy? Were you uncomfortable? Did you just not want to? Were you waiting for him to make the first move? Despite the somewhat weird topic, it's a comfortable conversation.

Once you let him know you're comfortable with it, be it during that conversation or later, he'll carefully cup your cheek in his right hand, put his left hand around you to pull you close and then he'll kiss you in a soft yet sweet kiss. Nothing too overwhelming, just a relaxed and loving moment.

Mind the lipstick stains though. The other Bulls will have a riot when they see them.

Secre Swallowtail

Secre never really thought too much about kissing you. Sure, she loved you, but physical displays of affection are not really her forte, nor are they extremely important to her. She always figured that if you wanted to kiss, you'd come to her and kiss her, simple as that.

However, when Vanessa, be it in an alcohol-induced haze, informed her that kisses were needed to assure the other of your love for them, she got a little insecure. Was that the ramblings of a drunk woman? Or was there some truth in that and were you doubting her love for you?

She remembered Tetia and Licht, and how happy they seemed when they kissed, so there must be some truth in it at least, right?

So she asks you if it's bothering you. Expressing her emotions aren't her strongest point, but you can see some worry and uncertainty in her eyes. If you assure her you're fine, that's that. If you let her know in any way that you would like to kiss her though, she'll lean towards you and place a quick peck on your lips. The contact doesn't even last for a second, but Secre can't help herself from smiling. Maybe kisses were better than she thought.

#zora ideale x reader #charmy pappitson x reader #asta x reader #henry legolant x reader #luck voltia x reader #gauch adlai x reader #noelle silva x reader #gordon agrippa x reader #secre swallowtail x reader #grey x reader #black clover x reader #black clover imagine #cookie writes #headcanons #700 followers event #requested #vemuabhi #scheduled post

490 notes · View notes

leah-bobeea · 4 years ago

Text

Magazine Girl; Steve Rogers

You ever start writing a fic about a journalist reader at two am who’s eventually gonna end up doing steeb, over his desk, biting down on his expensive leather belt?

❀ ❀ ❀

Warnings: CEO!Steve x Journalist!Reader, Angst, Steve’s a little mean, Bossy Steve, Shy/Anxious reader, Dom!steve, mentions spanking, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, coercion (a little teensy bit), Bad writing lol

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Terrible writing w/ a terribly rushed ending. Written on my phone, in my notes app, not beta read, and barely proofread.

❀ ❀ ❀

Yes, your hands were busy. Not busy typing out a rough draft of this stupid article on Steve Rogers, not busy calling his secretary to set up a meeting with the man, or the closest to him you could get, not busy doing their job at all. They were busy tapping your pen against the glass tabletop of your desk, successfully annoying Wanda, who sent you an aggravated look from across the room.

“Seriously, Y/n?” Wanda moved from where she was at her desk, clearly not making a breakthrough on her article for this month's issue either. You could only shake your head in reply. Throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling, you starting explaining. “Maria gave me this huge article, Wanda. Cover! And, trust me, I know she’s testing me and doesn’t think I’ll actually be able to do it so she can fire me, or belittle me, or- or something! I don’t know what to do, help me, bestie.” As you finished rambling you looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes, hoping for some of that amazing advice she gives.

Wanda laughed and pulled a chair over from an empty desk, sitting down and haphazardly throwing her feet on top of your cluttered tabletop. “She wouldn’t give you an article you couldn’t handle, she loves you, Y/n. If it’s truly as difficult as you’re making it out as that means that she knows you’re ready for it, and you’ll do amazing. Who’s it on anyway?”

She was doing such a good job at easing your nerves until she brought up the topic. You whined high in your throat and threw your head to the side before uttering, “Steven Rogers,” you turned your body back to Wanda, “What more do I need to say?” Her eyes widened just a little. “Sheesh...I’d start making phone calls, and praying, maybe?”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Hello, Miss. Carter, um- this is Y/n L/n with Shield Mag-“ “Please hold, dear.”

You pulled the phone away from your head and let it rest on your naked thigh, quickly pressing the speaker button. It was times like this when you were grateful that you let your grandma convince you to buy a house phone. Peggy Carter was the fifth person you’d contacted trying to get an interview with this man and she was the second lady that humored you enough to at least pretend like she’d get back to you.

She’s his main assistant so you might have better luck this time...

Thirty minutes later you had your head inches off the ground and your toes wiggling in the air. Humming the annoying hold music to yourself, you braided, unbraided, and re-braided a single strand of your hair. At thirty-nine minutes you were ready to give up until you heard a click on the other line.

You scrambled to turn off the speaker and press the phone back to your ear.

“Miss. Carter I was hoping to set up an interview with Mr. Rogers, over the phone, in person, or through email, if that’s possible?” You asked, hopeful that she wouldn’t shoot you down immediately like everyone else.

“Well, Magazine Girl, I only do in person. But I am a very busy man, so I need to know right away, what’s in it for me?” Your breath hitched and you almost fell and cracked your head open from how startled hearing his voice made you. Then, you nearly gave yourself a head rush from how fast you sat up.

“Well, um, Sir, you would get a headlining article, and uh, a cover on the June issue of Shield Magazine. That’s um, that’s if you want a cover- you don’t have to be on the cover if you don’t want to, just the interview would be mentioned on the cover, but-“ His chuckle was gritty and vivid, effective in stopping your babble. “I’ll see you Friday around noon. Goodbye Magazine Girl.” He hung up on you before you could even comprehend anything but that captivating laugh.

You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed your planner and pen. “Friday at noon...”

❀ ❀ ❀

The next day you were back in the office, sitting in Wanda’s stiff chair with twin caramel lattes sitting in front of you. That was the thing about you, you’d come to work early bearing gifts just to tell your closest friend your good news. You’re sweet like that.

When Wanda arrived it was fifteen minutes later and your latte was halfway gone. Hearing her black stilettos click on the glossy linoleum made you perk up immediately. As she approached, you stood, handing her the latte and wrapping your arms around her lithe body.

“I got an interview!” You squealed, rocking your bodies side to side. She stilled you and smiled. “Gosh, that’s great, Y/n. How’d you get it?”

“Well, I called, like everyone, and he picked up, Wanda! he picked up! I’m scheduled for Friday, and my Lord, Wanda, his laugh, it's like honey...” You trailed off, sighing at the thought of him. Your head was rested on her shoulder, a faint smile on your face. “You’ve got a crush on him!” Wanda exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and holding you an arm's length away to get a good look at your bashful face.

You gasped, “No I do not! That would be totally unprofessional!” The cackle that erupted from her made her sound like the wicked witch of the west. And honestly, under her stare, you felt like Dorothy stuck under that house.

When Wanda was finally done laughing maliciously she let you go, plopping down in her desk chair and sipping her latte. She pointed over and your desk and gave you a look. “Better start drafting those questions... we wouldn’t want you to blank on your crush.” “Wanda!”

❀ ❀ ❀

The days leading up to Friday were excruciatingly long, yet the hours until twelve flew past all too quickly.

It seemed as if your wardrobe was never ending, full of clothes that you deemed inappropriate for a meeting with the CEO of American Enterprises. You threw yourself back onto the bed, hair and makeup done but body still wrapped in a fluffy white towel. “Oh Milky, what am I gonna wear?” The soft white kitty glared at you from the pillow she was perched on, meowing at you aggressively.

Ten thirty blinked on the clock and you sat up, glancing at all of the clothes that were scattered on the floor. “I guess this will do.” You picked up the same emerald blazer you had chosen originally and layered it over some basic Levi’s, and gray low cut blouse flowing over your form. A belt was necessary, so you grazed over your options. Brown wouldn’t go, even though it was your only fancy belt. The only black one you had was old, the leather cracked and worn, but it had to do. You slipped on some pretty black heels, lucky that you painted your toes a similar color to your blouse. After accessorizing you sprayed your signature perfume, the one that got you your first college-aged boyfriend, and the same one that you were wearing when you got your first real job.

By the time you were on the Metro, it was eleven o’ six, and you were worried. If you were late you’d lose this chance, and probably your job. The car stopped around eleven fifteen, giving you fifteen minutes to make your way to the building, check-in, and try to not seem so nervous.

Finding the building wasn’t difficult at all, after all, it is the second biggest building in New York City, competing with Stark Tower. The “A” at the top wasn’t illuminated, but it still stood out against the other buildings, cowering over them.

You found that the doors were heavy and if you denied Wanda of going to those burn boot camps you would have extreme difficulty prying them open. The inside was classy, just as you expected. The lamps had blue shades and the front desk lit up with a design that resembled the American Flag, but with less curved stripes and only one large star.

The receptionist was one of the women who shot you down immediately when you called and was a little surprised when you checked in. “Hello, I’m here for Mr. Rogers, twelve o’clock?” She searched for something on her computer, clearly trying to see if the appointment was legitimate. When you were proven correct, she handed you a temporary security badge and a sharpie to write your name on it. “Have a seat over there when you’re finished. I’ll call for you when Mr. Rogers is ready for you.” She smiled, it was fake, but it helped you feel more comfortable.

The red couch was stiff and small, clearly not meant for long periods of sitting. The badge was clipped onto your blouse, not your blazer, and the weight of it was pulling at the already low cut neckline. You thought about moving it, but your attention was quickly turned to the coffee table, where your magazine sat, opened to an article you wrote. Your hands were a little shaky as you went to close the magazine, but you were interrupted before you could grasp the bent pages.

“Miss. Y/n? Mr. Rogers is ready for your interview. Head up to floor thirty six, the door on the right.” Miss receptionist sounded bored, her eyes never left the monitor in front of her. “Thanks.”

Some of the others in the waiting area looked up to you after hearing where you were going, causing you to blush.

You felt lucky to get the elevator to yourself. Thirty-six floors is a long way to go, yet you got there in under three. In the elevator you adjusted your outfit and flattened your hair, hoping it wasn’t frizzy.

The door on the right was clearly not just a meeting room but an office, which you thought was odd. You also found it odd that no one was in the room, you expected to at least be met with his assistant or secretary, if not Steve himself.

Your eyes scanned the room to make sure it was completely empty before taking a seat on the leather chair on the opposite side of the big desk. You opened your notebook and got out your lucky rooster pen before going over your questions once again, hoping he didn’t think they were stupid.

You waited fifteen minutes for him, growing increasingly irked as the minutes built up. When he walked through the door you felt like your heart stopped.

Six-four build covered in a black suit and tie, white undershirt pristine. Blonde hair disheveled and a perfectly manicured beard. The door slammed shut and you heard the clinking sound of a glass being set down. Steve lifted his head and you snapped yours to the front, hoping he didn’t catch you checking him out.

The room was silent besides a rustling coming from behind you. You busied yourself with your notebook, highlighting the questions you wanted to ask most.

“You’re a very patient girl.” He observed. Steve made you wait on purpose. He knew from the first person you called that you wanted an interview, he was friends with Maria Hill after all. But he wanted some entertainment, and after looking into you, he knew you were the right girl. So far he’s made you wait an hour and fourteen minutes for just a smidge of his attention.

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled, accidentally stopping the highlighter too soon, pressing it down, and letting the pink ink bleed to the next page. He hummed in approval as he rounded the corner, drink in his hand, coat jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, first couple buttons loose. Finally, Steve sat in the big chair, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany table.

“Give me that.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement, “What?” You asked, putting your pen down on your lap. Steve motioned for your notebook, and you opened your mouth, starting to stumble over your words. “Oh? um- Okay?” You handed it over to him and he relaxed back into his chair. A question bubbled in your throat, but you didn’t let it escape. Instead, you watched as his eyes scanned the papers, blue cursive, and pink highlighter, little stars and flowers drawn in the corners. “Mr. Rogers, are you ready to start the interview?” You tapped your watch, twelve twenty four.

He nodded, “Yes, I’m ready.” You cleared your throat and went to ask for your notebook, but he beat you to it. “Miss. L/n, is there an achievement or something that you’ve contributed to me that you are most proud of?” Why was he asking you your own questions? “Sir, I-“ He cut you off once again. “Answer the question, doll.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “I- um, no. I haven’t contributed anything to you that I should be proud of, Sir.”

“Is there a particular moment or memory of building this relationship that stands out to you?” He continued with the questions, tilting his head to the side. Why was he twisting the questions onto you? When you didn’t come up with an answer he chuckled, sounding sickly sweet like molasses dripping straight from the sugarcane. “Patience finally wearing thin, honey?” You nodded eyes staring at his chest, you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to look him in the eye.

He snapped your notebook closed and slid it towards your side of the grand desk. “You couldn’t answer my questions correctly, Y/n.” You nodded, eyes now downcast, admiring the pattern on the blue carpet. You felt like you were going to cry. This big scary man was mean and just wouldn’t let you conduct your interview and you didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I know you are, doll. But, if you can’t answer my questions how can I answer yours? You have nothing to offer me.” This was it, you were losing your chance. “Business wise, that is.” Your head shook, and your hands were clasped together, your left thumb rubbing your right nail back and forth. “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I’m friends with Maria, Y/n. If you’re able to get this article done and get me on the cover you’re gonna get a promotion, you want that, right doll?” Your eyes went wide, “Yes, Sir.” Now, he stood, coming around to the front where you are and leaning against the desk. “She said to make it difficult, but I don’t care enough to do all that. So, doll, I’ll answer your questions. They’re quite good actually. And I’ll do a little photoshoot for the cover, but you’ll need to pay me back.” You gulped, hands suddenly sweaty, you felt like a little chihuahua, trembling under his gaze.

“How? Um, how do I pay you?” Gosh, even your voice was shaky. “Stand up. Lose the blazer.” Steve commanded, slowly unbuckling his belt. You could faintly tell from the buckle that it was Hermès. You stood and took off your blazer in a rush, folding it poorly and setting it on the arm of the chair. “Atta girl.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and then ran them down to your hands, giving them a little squeeze before he hooked his index fingers into your belt loops, pulling you closer. So close that the tips of your shoes were touching. He leaned down to kiss your neck and you stiffened, but when he grazed his teeth over the bruised spot he just created you melted into him, your hands grasping at the pristine white button up, letting out a little whimper.

Steve pushed you back a little and took in your form, then he pulled the little security badge off, tossing it to the side. Like a little kid, he pulled at the neckline of your shirt. “Off.” You would’ve giggled at him if he didn’t look so scary right now. His blue eyes were piercing into yours, left hand so tight on your hip you thought he might leave bruises.

By the time your shirt hit the floor, he was pushing at your shoulders, hinting at you to go to your knees. “Sir, I don’t know-“

You started, knees hitting the carpet underneath you. He shushed you and guided your head to look up at him. “It's okay, baby, you don’t have to know how. I’ll do all the work, doll. Now, undo your bra.” As expected you did as he asked immediately, fumbling with the clasp until it fell down your arms. It ended up next to your thigh as you watched him pull his belt through the loops.

Steve walked around you and kneeled down, belt in his hands. “Put your hands behind your back.” You nodded immediately, so submissive, completely at his mercy. “Yes, Sir.” Steve loved how polite you were. He made quick work of restraining you, tying your hands to rest against your jean clad ass. The metal felt harsh against your skin and the soft, expensive leather snaked up your arms.

When he was back in front of you he sighed and shook his head. “I should’ve had you unzip me first.” Hearing Steve say that finally brought you to the reality of what was about to happen. You watched with big eyes as he undid the button and then the zipper, the sound making you tremble. His dress pants puddled on the floor and you were in awe as he massaged his bulge through his boxers. Slowly, he pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. His cock bounced up to hit his abdomen and he hissed as he stroked it a few times. “Open as wide as you can, honey.”

As always, you did as asked. Your tongue stuck out a little, wetting your bottom lip. He grasped the back of your head and leaned you forward a little, then you felt his blunt tip on your tongue. You gagged and spluttered when Steve was about halfway seated, he pulled out and leaned down, kissing you sloppily. “Breathe through your nose, baby. Don’t forget.” Then he was back at slowly entering your throat. “Fuck...” he grunted, finally fully seated in your throat, your nose pressed against his nicely groomed pubic hair. He caressed your throat then, rubbing the bulge in your throat, resisting the urge to press down and have you choke on his cock even more. “So good, Y/n.”

Steve started rocking into your throat, slowly fucking it as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth. After minutes of abusing your throat, he finally pulled out, adoring the way tears ran down your cheeks and how you hiccupped, wanting to desperately rub at your raw throat to soothe it. Your hands pulled at the belt and your eyes begged Steve to undo it. “Up, doll.”

He hoisted you up from your armpits and bent you over the desk. Steve pressed kisses down your back and reached in front of you, unbuckling your belt and throwing it somewhere to the left of you, then he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, tugging them down with fervor.

Steve undid your restraints and left more kisses down your back until he reached your ass, spreading your cheeks to reveal your tight hole and glistening cunt. “I’d love to see this ass all bruised and red, but I’ll have to save that for another day.” His index and middle finger ran circles on your clit, your back arching to press into him more. “Sir, please!” You gasped, your hand flying out to the edge of the table and nearly knocking over the glass of whiskey he left on a coaster when Steve finally pushed two fingers into your aching hole.

“Gotta open you up first, doll, get you all sloppy and ready for my cock.” You cried out as he hooked his fingers, rubbing the magic spot inside of you. “Please, Steve, please.” He cooed at you, pulling his fingers out, and instead traced his name over your clit. “You gonna come, baby? Huh? You gonna drench my fingers, little girl?” You were moaning in wanton, hips humping his hand desperately. He brought his other hand down and started fingerfucking you again, giving you just enough to push you over the edge.

Your moans were breathy, your legs twitching, and you were panting by the time your orgasm faded. “I hope you know I’m not done with you yet, doll, I still haven’t come inside you.” That made you whine high in your throat and you tried, to no avail, to slam your legs shut around his hand.

Steve’s right hand fisted his cock a few times, making sure he’s rock hard and dripping with pre-cum, while his left kept your lips spread, showing him your gorgeous pussy. The blunt head at your entrance shocked you, and you yelped at the intrusion. “Sir!”

He leaned his head down and spit where you were joined, trying to make the glide even easier. “Shut up, doll.” He snapped after you cried out. Once he was as deep as possible inside of you he reached for his belt, looping it over as if he was going to spank you, and stuffed it into your mouth. “Bite down,” Steve demanded, a hand snaked around to the front of your neck where he was applying light pressure.

When you tried to push back against him he held your hips down against the wood steadily and started snapping his hips at a fast speed. Each thrust pushed you down onto the table, letting your clit rub against the mahogany wood.

Your vision felt spacey like you could black out any moment as he choked you. Your orgasm washed over you and you had to use all the strength you had in you to keep biting down on the belt. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you disobeyed his and let it go. Steve’s hips harshly snapped against your ass a few more times before he stilled inside of you, filling you with his spunk.

Before Steve cleaned you up and let you leave his office he had to finger his cum back inside of you, making sure none of it went to waste. Then, he made sure you had a way home, and a way to contact him, because, “Now you’re no longer Magazine Girl, but My Girl.”

@lo-bells

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve smut #steve rogers smut #dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #marvel #avengers fanfic #captain america #ceo!au #chris evans #leah-bobeea

355 notes · View notes