#I just think there’s a lot more going on here. and there being more to it doesn’t necessarily conflict with the message of s1

[wingfleur]

# — calling mark grayson "small."

got fried as fuck and this shit came to me like a prophecy. a dream. i know i have my to-do list, but it’s hard for me to write stuff i’m no longer in the exact headspace for. like, i need to wait until i can get into it enough to feel it the way i did when i first thought of it. anyways, this is set in a universe that’s pretty canon-compliant: mark and amber broke up, but he hasn’t dropped out of college (yet) or ended up with eve. you also have no clue he’s invincible, just that he’s had a glow up and your cute, dorky friend from high school is now fine as shit. i also listened to “party favors” by leon thomas and big sean the entire time i worked on this.

lastly, i'd like to give a humongous shoutout to @omniphilic for beta-reading this monster for me! much love, sunshine, and godspeed, my children. enjoy! | wc: 7.9k words.

cw: nsfw mdni (18+), afab!reader, a lot of porn with a lot of plot, light angst, confessions, banter, friends-to-lovers, mentions of amber (i love you girl but it’s so easy to use you as a plot device </3), oral sex (f!recieving), explicit sex (p in v), missionary, squirting, dirty talk, praise, soft!dom mark, consider this my apology for the hurt/very little comfort v!card mark x reader fic <3

thinking about you joking around with mark grayson and calling him… small. you know where.

it sounds like such a silly scenario, but walk w/ me: you and mark have an… odd friendship. looking back on it, you two were an unlikelier pair than winning the lottery. you’re from completely different worlds– you were more on the straight and narrow: the academic side of things. all you did was bust your ass, and you had plenty to show for it– friends, awards, this air of recognition that followed you from classroom to classroom.

and mark? well, he fell more into the category of incredibly average. average grades, average social life, even an average reputation amongst the student body– the kind that makes you easy to remember and always gets you labeled as a “pretty cool guy,” but keeps you out of any real trouble. maybe that’s part of his charm– the fact that everything about him is initially so unassuming, so run of the mill that you don’t even think twice. not until you start to get to know him.

there’s plenty that sticks out once you get to know him.

then, somehow, at the start of your senior year, you two ended up partnered together for a project in the same upper-level english class. y’know, the college freshman one everyone takes because it’s a cheap credit, regardless of if they’re going to harvard to study law, or to the local community college to save a bit of money. neither of you had many expectations, but you and mark became fast friends. mark’s awkward charm grew on you, and he already had a decent opinion of you from seeing you around, but finally being in a situation where he could talk to you and not feel like a nuisance only made him think of you more highly than before. you were cool as shit; he has no idea how you two hadn’t spoken sooner.

but it’s no surprise that you two absolutely nailed the project. with your smarts and mark’s willingness to learn, the grade on it ended up being so good that it made you jump into mark’s arms out of pure excitement. mark caught you effortlessly, spinning you around and giggling alongside you without a second thought. the intimacy of such a reaction didn’t dawn on you two until long after he set you down, you grinning giddily in his face, while he could do nothing but grin back.

that’s how you ended up here– lying in mark’s bed, long after graduation, and visiting home from campus on a long weekend. you’re wearing one of his t-shirts and reading one of his copies of seance dog as he works on a paper. when you found out you two would be attending the same university, you were more than stoked. mark was stoked too, but he was so sure you could’ve gotten into one of chicago’s finest, or, better yet, move away from illinois entirely, rather than attend upstate university. he gave you a hesitant look when you said you were more than content with your choice, saying that a degree is a degree no matter where you went and that as long as you could be with mark, it would be worth it. deep down, though, mark swore something bloomed in his chest that day. he doesn’t really know what that feeling was– is, to be more accurate, because he still feels it sometimes– but that’s the least of his worries. 

his main worry is getting this paper in by 11:59 pm tonight. 

and just like that, the rhythmic clacking of mark’s fingers against the keyboard fills the silence and leaves you to bask in this comforting sensation of warmth. you’re so relaxed that you can’t bring yourself to move. not that you would have wanted to, anyway.

it’s peaceful. so, of course, you have to ruin it. 

“you ever want to fuck a cartoon character?” you suddenly say, the copy of seance dog in your hand and your foot crossed over your knee. you hear the way mark’s typing pauses for a moment, and imagining his reaction forces you to bite back a snicker. a pregnant silence fills the room before the typing begins again, just as rhythmic and hypnotic as before.

“i know you’re not saying that about seance dog,” mark finally quips back, his voice dripping with an absurd amount of mirth. you can hear his smile in his voice– you always can, because mark rarely doesn’t smile. it’s one of your favorite things about him.

you can’t help but take the bait.

“you think i could be?” you ask, tone scandalized and brows raised. neither of you move to face each other just yet– you don’t need to. you can tell exactly what face mark’s making from the sound of his voice, and mark can do the same for you. it’s how he knows that you’ve stopped biting back that smug smile of yours– the one that creeps across your face when you’re clearly up to something, but he doesn’t know what. you’re a troublemaker; it’s one of his favorite things about you.

“yeah,” he replies without missing a beat, “i clearly know nothing about you. i was once dumb enough to think you were intimidating.”

“i’m still intimidating!”

“yeah, maybe on occasion,” mark teases, his typing ceasing completely so that he can spin around in his chair. he leans against it with his head tossed back and his arms on the armrests, eying you gleefully as you put the comic face down on the bed. “most of the time i forget because you’re too busy saying shit that’s uncomfortably close to ‘i wanna fuck seance dog.’”

“eat shit and die, mark.”

“i don’t wanna.”

“then shut the fuck up and answer the question!”

“fine, fine!” mark laughs and lifts his hands up lazily off the chair in mock-surrender. “‘course i’ve wanted to fuck a cartoon character. who hasn’t? i’m not a nun.”

something flashes in your eyes, and you shift to lean forward towards where mark’s sitting, propping up on your elbows on the bed. you grin mischievously; it’s clear you’re up to nothing remotely good. 

“who?” you ask.

mark replies immediately. “koriand’r.”

“wha– from the titans?”

“no, from the avengers. yes, from the titans. who else would i be talking about?”

“alright, down, boy,” you say amusedly, making mark roll his eyes. “i was just checking. but you obviously can’t handle that.”

mark raises an eyebrow. “says who?”

“uhh, says me?"

the two of you are still for a moment, and you start to fear you said something wrong until you see mark’s eyes darken in that telltale way they do when he starts to feel challenged. then, as if that wasn’t enough to give you goosebumps, he does that stupid, mindless thing he does with his tongue, where he runs it along the inside of his cheek. your breath stills in your chest when mark pushes up off the back of his chair and leans forward towards where you lie on the bed, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped between his thighs. 

it’s hard to keep your gaze from dropping to the veins in his hands.

“oh yeah?” mark asks incredulously, tilting his head. you were joking about being the intimidating one earlier, but the real intimidator is mark. when he gets serious, you swear you can feel something in the air shift. maybe that’s why it feels like the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up right now.

“why not?”

the question, in its simple nature, catches you off guard, and in a brief moment of confusion, you tilt your head. “why not what?” “why couldn’t i handle her?”

you stare at mark as if he’s joking, but instead of him laughing and waving you off, mark stares back at you expectantly, brow arched and lips quirked up at the corners. it’s like he wants to smile, but he can’t. won’t. 

this dickhead must have a death wish.

“what do you mean ‘why couldn’t you handle her?’” you say casually– like what you’re saying is most obvious thing in the world. “it’s koriand’r, mark. she’d chew you up and spit you out before you even had time to undo your belt.”

you swipe up your copy of seance dog and busy yourself with trying to find where on the page you last left off. honestly, it doesn’t matter where you start reading. you’re willing to do anything to help get your mind off the weight of mark’s eyes boring into you.

“besides,” you huff, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, “koriand’r has standards, and you probably have a small dick, anyway.”

the second those words leave your mouth, the room falls deathly silent, and you swear it’s as if the air has been sucked out of the room. you fall still where you’re at, hoping that somehow, someway, you not moving will make mark want to kill you less. you really don’t know what possessed you to say that– it was a poor attempt at deflection, considering the growing amount of tension you began feeling in that room– but you don’t mean it. didn’t mean it. not one bit. 

you’re doing mental gymnastics to figure out how you can take it back without sounding like a total loser before mark starts laughing, and the joyous and boisterous sound gives you pause.

he couldn’t have found that funny… could he? 

okay, yeah, after a little bit of consideration, he very well could have. this is mark grayson, you’re talking about– not one of the insecure guys you were used to dealing with, who were more likely to blow a blood vessel than a load at the idea of being perceived as “unmanly.” mark’s the type of guy to wear one of your crop tops because he knows you’ll whine about him stretching them out, or wear a maid dress as a punishment for losing a bet, masking his embarrassment with quips about how good his legs look. you also know mark enough to know he’s not a virgin, nor is he a prude, but not well enough to know intimate details about his sex life. sure, jokes are fine, but a play-by-play on how he screwed his ex feels… invasive. beyond the scope of your shared comfort. it was just something you never thought of asking.

well, more like something you could never bring yourself to ask.

you set the comic back down on the bed just in time to watch mark wipe some tears from his eyes, twisting around to face his laptop with a smile on his face. he resumes typing like nothing happened, like you didn’t just obliterate his manhood and leave it in pieces for him to pick up off the floor. it’s hard not to gawk at him in disbelief, blinking rapidly for a few moments before speaking.

“that– didn’t upset you?” you say tentatively, voice a lot meeker than initially intended. mark huffs out a laugh and spins around, hands back to resting on the armrests.

“why would it have?” he says bemusedly, still smiling from before. “we joke like that all the time. honestly, i’m surprised you hadn’t said something like that sooner.”

you can only stare at him blankly, brows knitting in confusion as mark continues to regard you patiently. then, you sit up, pushing up off your elbows to swing around and upright, one leg dangling off the bed while the other stays bent in front of you. 

“why didn’t you get mad?”

mark pauses, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head. “...is this a trick question? why would i? you were joking around.”

“most guys would’ve gotten mad about me saying something like that.”

“yeah, well, most guys aren’t exactly confident about what they’re packing downstairs.”

“and you are?”

mark’s lips part for a second, but no words come out. he quickly shuts his mouth and stares at you, but you stare back, ignoring the way your cheeks start to burn with red-hot embarrassment. 

“well, yeah,” mark finally says, eyes flickering nervously to the side. he looks everywhere– the alarm clock on the dresser, his posters on the wall, everywhere but where you are, sitting prettily on his bed– but his eyes have no choice but to finally lock back onto yours, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. “‘course i’m confident about it.”

“...‘cause it’s not small.”

he pauses. “yeah. ‘cause it’s not small.”

your brain short-circuits right then and there.

you aren’t sure why you’re so surprised by this. it wouldn’t have taken a rocket scientist to arrive to this conclusion. you were around when mark started dating his ex-girlfriend, amber– around long enough to have seen the exact point in their relationship where they shed the last of their inhibitions and began interacting with each other much more comfortably. you were also around long enough to watch mark come into himself– to lose that dweebish, unsure aura around him and become more confident. muscled. tall. even if he was still pretty dorky most of the time.

perhaps that’s when the thoughts started: when you started to think of mark less as a boy, and more as a man. when you began wondering things about him that you desperately wanted to know, but were much too scared to ask.

at least you have an answer to one of them now.

“hey,” mark says suddenly, voice sharp enough to cut through all your overthinking and analyses. mark’s closer to you now– right next to you, actually, the scent of his cologne filling your nose– and he has your hand in his, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back. “you okay? should i not have said that–?”

you frantically shake your head. “no–! i mean, yes– god, fuck, no, mark, it’s okay.” you take a deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut. “i’m the one who asked. you just answered.”

you take in a shaky breath and let your eyes flutter open to find mark watching you adeptly, his eyes trained on your face. the expression he’s wearing is one of worry, those dark brows of his pinched in the middle to form a wrinkle you so desperately want to smooth out with your thumb. his plush, pink lips are parted, and in an attempt not to stare at them, your eyes fall to the floor, but not before momentarily catching on how his biceps strain against his sleeves.

for fuck’s sake, this is not the time to be focusing on how attractive you find your best friend.

“i wanted to know,” you finally say, voice soft and a little frayed around the edges. your eyes flutter shut again– something to give you a bit of extra courage to say what you need to say, and not cave under the pressure of your nerves. “i wanted the answer to that question. it sounds weird as fuck, and i totally understand if you want me to leave and never show my face around here again, but i’d be lying if i said i didn’t want to know.”

you open your eyes again to find mark still staring at you, eyes jumping all over your face, while sporting an unreadable expression. you find yourself swallowing hard as you steel yourself for what you want to say next, adjusting to sit and face mark completely. “i wanna know a lot of things about you, actually. and none of them are all that appropriate for two people who are supposed to be ‘best friends.’”

it’s mark’s turn to short-circuit.

“w–what?” mark stutters out, staring at you with a dumbfounded expression as his eyebrows shoot up in suprise. his mouth falls agape, opening and closing fruitlessly as he tries to figure out what to say. “i– jesus christ, i don’t think you understand what you’re saying–”

“i know exactly what i’m saying.” your interjection is quick and firm, your expression void of your previous nervousness and now completely serious. “and you know it. don’t insult me like that again.”

mark’s protests die in his throat.

“i want to know you,” you start. “honestly. intimately. fuck, to be honest, i want to see you– naked, in my bed– but i didn’t wanna make things weird, and then you had that whole thing with amber, and then i thought you were gonna date eve, so i kinda just kept it to myself, but–”

“you can know me.” 

you freeze. “what–?”

“you can know me,” mark says again, his hand squeezing the one that he has wrapped in his. “you can know me. and see me. and i’ll answer every other question you’ve had about me, ‘cause i wanna know you too.”

you can’t help but stare at mark , absolutely and completely dumbfounded. if he notices, he doesn’t judge. doesn’t acknowledge it at all, actually. he just continues to steamroll ahead.

“god, fuck, i really wanna know you like that, too,” he sighs. “always have– like, all the way back in high school. i’d see you in the halls with your friends and think, ‘man, they’re hot,’ then move on with my life because i thought there was no way i’d ever have a chance with you. then, we got partnered up for that project, and i learned that you were so much cooler and more approachable than i had ever imagined, and i wanted to make a move on you so bad, but i still thought there was no way you could ever like me. william can testify to this– i was talking his ear off about you 24/7. still do. he is seriously getting sick of it.” 

the way mark talks is fast– so much so that all his words bleed together, voice full of excitement and sincerity. it make your eyes sting. after he finishes, his quick way of talking tapers off into a hefty bout of silence, his beautiful brown eyes flickering down to your joint hands. 

“and then came amber.”

the quiet that follows drapes over the two of you like a blanket, heavy with the weight of everything you two are thinking, but ultimately remains unsaid. the fact of the matter is that it doesn’t need to be said. you and mark just… know– understand– that amber was the first person, aside from you, to treat mark as less of an expendable, and more like somebody worth knowing. she took the opportunities you were too afraid to– penciled her name in where yours was meant to be and slipped right on into that “partner” position, wearing it as if it was custom-fitted. it may as well have been, because it sure looked good on her. 

he looked good on her. that’s why you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad.

“i never would’ve gone out with her if i knew you wanted me even half as much as i wanted you,” mark says quietly, reaching up to rub a tear from your cheek that you didn’t even know you shed. “but i didn’t. and we dated, and i slept with her, and i loved her, but i feel all of that for you too, y’know.” he cradles your face delicately as he climbs up onto his knees, his movements slow, as if moving too quickly would scare you off. moving too quickly would remind you that this is real; remind you that you probably shouldn’t be doing this, causing you to hop off the bed and run down the hall, flying down the stairs, past debbie, and out the front door.

but you don’t have to worry. never have, actually, because the way mark treats you is careful. cautious. he’s kneeling on the bed and easing you onto your back with such rapt attention that it makes your cheeks warm, head turning to the side to shield it from him before he turns your head right back to where it was.

“i want you to ask your questions,” mark says slowly, large hands pushing your knees apart to make room for him between your legs. you can’t help but stare at him helplessly, any and all words dying in your throat, but mark moves with a confidence that makes it clear you don’t need to speak. not when he’s hovering over you like this. 

“i want to answer your questions, and i want you to do the same for mine. ‘cause i’ve thought about you. a lot. and not all of it was decent. actually, most of it probably wasn’t.”

mark lets himself laugh softly at the admission, but you can only look up at him in awe, the muscles of your brows twitching from the urge to knit in confusion. mark’s eyes catch this, and he reaches down to smooth his thumb over the spot right between your eyebrows– the same way you wanted to do for him earlier.

“so tell me that this is okay.”

mark trails his fingers across your skin, skimming over your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder, and all the way down your arm until reaching your hand. he tangles your fingers together and brings your wrist to his lips, a soft kiss being pressed to your pulse, which makes your heart stutter in your chest. mark doesn’t tease you for how vulnerably you stare at him, or for how red his actions make your face. he only looks down at you with a soft smile, peppering kisses to your palm.

“holy shit, mark, this is more than okay.”

mark’s grin is blinding when you surge forward to kiss him.

the thing that surprises you most about it isn’t how good of a kisser mark is, or how nice it feels for his big hands to come up and cradle your jaw. it’s how easy all of this is– how uncomplicated it is to be making out with mark, how your lips slot together as if it’s always meant to be this way, how raw his groan is when you tangle your fingers into his hair and tug. he has you pressed against the bed in seconds, one hand slowly slipping beneath your t-shirt as the other squeezes at your outer thigh. you feel dizzy when your lips part and he ducks his head down into your neck, sucking bruises into the skin with a fervor that makes you squirm.

“i– fuck, mark, not where people can see–!”

“does it matter if it’s visible? ‘s not like you’re fucking anyone else right now besides me.”

you hit mark hard against his back, but it only makes him chuckle, sitting up to look at you with messy hair and blown pupils. “what? you haven’t slept with anybody in a while, and you’re about to sleep with me. i didn’t say anything wrong.”

“how do you even know that, asshole?”

mark grins, sitting back on his haunches as he hooks the hem of your shirt on his index finger. he tugs it up enough to reveal your stomach. “‘cause you’re lying here in my bed, wearing my shirt, with me sitting between your legs. if i was the person you’ve been fucking, i’d definitely feel some type of way about that.”

you scoff, moving one of your legs to try and kick at mark’s chest. like the little shit he is, he catches it easily and presses a kiss to your ankle, setting it on one of his shoulders. “that doesn’t mean anything. i could have casual sex if i wanted to.”

“yeah,” mark agrees, both hands coming to smooth his shirt up the expanse of your body, “you could. if you wanted to. but you don’t, ‘cause you’re not like that.”

“bullshit.”

“is not. here, open your mouth for me.”

“wh–?”

“shut up and open it for a second, would you?”

you shoot mark a withering glare, but he just grins back, pushing your shirt up under your chin and offering the hem for you to bite down on.

“thank you,” he says gleefully, his words a little too airy and sing-songy for you to let slide. you try and kick him again, but he blocks your leg without much of a second thought, eyes laser focused on the sight of your tits in front of him.

“wow, you are so fucking pretty.”

the way he says it is so full of awe– so genuine– that it makes your mouth fall open. the t-shirt in your mouth gets stuck on your bottom lip in the process, and the sight makes mark chuckle, a boyish grin settling on his face. he reaches up to adjust it and pulls it back up so you can bite down on it again.

“i didn’t even say anything crazy yet,” he teases, laughing as you do your best to swear at him from around the fabric. mark ignores it to focus on the sight in front of him instead, though, fingers tracing up your rib cage before cupping the underside of each of your breasts.

your mind goes blank when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

“oh, fuck,” you gasp out, back arching off the bed and into his mouth. the t-shirt slips from between your teeth again, and you can feel mark grin around where his tongue swirls around your skin, popping off to look at you and chastise you softly.

“jeez, you really suck at following instructions,” mark playfully says. “and did you forget that my mom is downstairs? i’ve had her knock on the door during sex before, and trust me, it does not help to sustain the mood.”

“god, you sound like such a dork. ‘it does not help to sustain–’”

mark cuts you off with a groan, fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts and panties. “shut up and lift your hips already.”

you giggle. “fine, fine.”

you plant your feet and lift your hips off the bed enough for mark to tug your clothes off, separating your shorts from your underwear so he can tuck the garment into his pocket. You look at him with a flustered expression, mouth dropping open in bewilderment, but mark simply sticks his tongue out at you and flings your shorts to the floor, panties nowhere in sight. you hardly have enough time to process him keeping them for himself before he’s wrapping his hands around your thighs and tugging them onto his shoulders, putting him face to face with your cunt and lifting your lower back completely off the bed.

you knew mark was strong, but you never thought of him using his strength like this.

mark holds you firmly as he busies himself with eating you out like a man starved. those big, brown doe eyes of his look down at you, sometimes lingering on the rise and fall of your chest, and sometimes taking in the sight of your knitted brows and parted lips, both your hands tangled in the pillow behind your head. his eyes do fall shut every once in a while as if he’s savoring the taste of you on his tongue, and he probably is, knowing mark, but you don’t have the wherewithal to tease him. not now, at least. not when he’s got his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking in these sporadic little bursts that make your stomach burn with molten need.

“oh, f-uck,” you gasp, voice cracking on the expletive. in your defense, it’s the only word you currently feel like you know how to say, but mark doesn’t laugh or tease you for it. he just presses a messy kiss to your clit, then slides his tongue down through your folds to circle your hole, slowly and messily pressing inside of you. he pumps it in and out for a few moments, as if he’s trying to fuck you with his tongue, then flattens the muscle and drags it back up to your clit to press into it firmly. you untangle your fingers from the sheets and reach up to swat at mark’s thigh, twisting and turning frantically in his hold.

“oh my fucking god, mark, let go!” your whines are urgent, thighs beginning to quiver on either side of mark’s head. his eyes flutter open enough to look at you through his long, thick lashes, but his firm grip on your waist doesn’t let up in the slightest. his arms tighten around you, keeping your pussy to his lips and your body off the bed as he continues to ravage you like it’s the one thing he was born to do. “mark! ‘m fuckin’ serious– i’m gonna squirt if you don’t let go of m– oh, fuck!”

you realize your warning is a bit late as you feel that knot tighten and snap in your belly, but it would’ve fallen on deaf ears regardless of whether you said it earlier or not. your cunt gushes all over mark’s nose, lips, and chin, soaking the top of his t-shirt and dribbling a bit down onto the bed below. you’d think he’d have a concern of drowning, but mark’s tongue keeps moving as you cum, legs squeezing against his ears so tight that you’re sure he can hear absolutely nothing but his own heartbeat. you know you sure can’t– all you can hear is the distant sound of your own voice, and the way your breathing stutters in your chest, a series of tremors wracking your body so brutally that you’d liken them to an earthquake. 

“shit,” you gasp softly, limbs tingling once they regain sensation. you wriggle in mark’s grasp and he pulls back from your pussy with a pop!, lowering your hips down to the bed as he runs his tongue along his lower lip.

“you said you were about to squirt as if that was going to deter me,” mark says breathlessly, a soft laugh punctuating his sentence. his face is covered with your slick all over his lips and chin, the sun from the window catching on it in a way that makes it glisten. you’re embarrassed by his nonchalance, but it���s hard to be mad when mark looks this good. you did this to him– made his perfectly slicked-back hair disheveled, and soaked his lower face and chest in your cum. normally, you would reply to his quip right away, but right now, you don’t. you’re much too focused on watching how mark leans down to reach behind his head and grab at his shirt, shucking it off in one smooth motion to join your discarded shorts on the floor.

“it was supposed to,” you finally say, voice sounding just as breathless as mark’s. his lips quirk up at the corners, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. instead, he leans over you to open his bedside drawer, and you take that as an opportunity to continue. “didn’t realize i was sleeping with superfreak, over here.”

mark snorts. “i’m just a guy who prioritizes my partner’s pleasure over mine.”

“that’s a roundabout way to say you like to eat pussy. and ass. oh god, mark, you don’t eat ass, do you?”

mark wiggles his eyebrows in response, and you look at him with such a horrified expression that a giggle can’t help but escape from his chest. he shuts the bedside table with a soft thud and leans back over you with a strip of two condoms hanging from his mouth. your brows shoot up at the sight, but mark doesn’t see it. he’s much too focused on pushing his sweatpants and boxers down to his thighs, cock slapping lightly against his abs.

oh. you always knew mark looked good, but this? this is something else entirely.

“you’re staring,” mark says wryly, tearing one of the condoms from the strip, then opening up the wrapper with his teeth. you watch as he pinches the tip and rolls the condom onto himself with a level of precision that screams of practice. if you hadn’t just cum your brains out, you might’ve found yourself feeling a little bit jealous.

“‘course i am.” your reply is shameless, and it makes mark bark out a startled laugh. “you said it was big, not that you were carrying a weapon. now here you are, looking like asian adonis with my jizz on your face, rolling a condom on with the ease of a common whore. not to mention that you grabbed two of them.”

a giddy smile spreads across mark’s face in reply, but it’s not one of his usual ones: it’s bashful. it’s the kind of smile where he bites his lip to force it down, but it doesn’t work, so his bottom lip slowly unfurls from between his teeth. your ears burn bright red at the sight, but mark doesn’t comment on it. mark’s never been good at multitasking, and he’s much too focused on tossing the unopened condom to the side, then tugging you against him by your thighs.

“we don’t have to use them both,” mark says softly, the sweetness of his smile bleeding into his voice. it’s a bit jarring for him to be acting so adorably, like he’s not running his cock along the seam of your folds. the tip catches on your clit every so often, making your breath catch in the back of your throat.

“i like how that’s what you chose to comment on.” 

he shrugs. “didn’t have much else to say.”

“you’re a dog, you know that, mark?”

mark grins at you wickedly, leaning down to lick a stripe up your cheek.

“mm, yeah. ‘m guilty as charged.”

and just like that, he sinks into you, bottoming out in one smooth thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. your eyes screw shut, but you latch onto him immediately, hand shooting out in search of his. he takes it wordlessly, bringing your hand up so he can kiss your knuckles.

“you okay?” he asks tenderly, lips pressed to the back of your hand. you open your eyes, tears pricking at the corners, then nod slowly as a deep breath leaves your nose.

“yeah,” you say shakily. “just been a while. warn me next time.”

mark nods, doing his best not to get caught up on the fact that you want there to be a next time. “sure,” he answers. “sorry. here– put your legs on my shoulder.”

you lift your legs for mark to take, and he settles both of your feet on one of his shoulders like they belong there. then, he shifts forward, shuffling up so that his thighs bracket your hips, which slots him deeper into you than he has any business being.

it makes you feel crazy. you fucking love it.

once mark feels stable in his position, and any remnants of discomfort bleed from your expression, he starts rocking his hips in and out of you at a pace too quick to be languid, but too slow to be considered harsh. whatever rhythm he’s fallen into, it feels good. you’re clawing at the sheets at your sides and behind your head like a madman, that copy of seance dog he lent you long forgotten on the floor, along with everything else you two have taken off. 

“does this answer one of your questions?” mark asks lowly, eyes half-lidded and jaw tight. he’s got your legs pressed to his chest with one hand, the other splayed across your stomach to hold you in place. you can tell it’s not that simple, though; the firmness with which he presses down against your stomach is as if he’s feeling for something, and the realization makes you clench, cunt squelching lewdly around his cock inside you. “did you wonder how i fuck? if i liked it fast? or did it slow?”

in your day-to-day conversations, mark doesn’t swear all that often– at least, not compared to you– but the mouth he’s got on him in bed is a surprise that makes you flush down to your chest. you look up to see mark gazing at you with eyes that are almost black, a bright blush fanning across his freckled cheeks and nose. when he sees you struggle to answer, the gears clearly turning, but no words coming out, he grips your legs tighter and quickens the snap of his hips. mark’s lips fall open with a breathy moan as he watches the way your eyes roll back, and his abdomen clenches with the need to keep his own pleasure at bay. “c’mon, baby. tell me. tell me how you want it, ‘n’ i promise i’ll do whatever you say.”

“i– god, fuck, mark, yes, i wondered how you fucked!” your reply comes out breathy, whiny, and and rushed– a result of you making an actual effort to focus so it didn’t come out as a jumbled, inaudible mess. “i w-wondered if you’d treat me like glass, or fuck me like i had no self-respect. i don’t care what you do right now– swear t’god i don’t– ‘cause i just wanna cum. don’t fucking stop.”

mark huffs out a laugh at how desperate you sound, lips quirking up in a lopsided smile that shows off the cute little fangs he has in the corners of his mouth. he turns his head to kiss one of your ankles, then takes one to put it on the opposite side, making it so you have one leg on each of his shoulders. large, calloused hands slide down your legs and smooth over your thighs before taking your hands into each of his. you’re about to ask what he’s doing, but there’s no time for the words to come out. he’s already gripping both your wrists and tugging you forward, forcing your ass to smack against his thighs with every brutal snap of his hips.

your brain is about to melt out of your fucking ears.

“did you touch yourself?” mark’s asks breathlessly, dark eyes focused on your face. you try desperately to free your hands from his grasp, but your attempts are pathetically uncoordinated. the way his cock is rearranging your guts makes it impossibly difficult to focus. but despite your lack of success, your writhing makes mark tut at you disapprovingly, and he leans forward to keep you in place by resting a fraction of his body weight on your chest. “quit trying to run ‘n’ tell me. did you touch yourself thinking about me fucking you? imagining how it would be?”

mark leans down to lick a stripe up the side of your neck, voice dropping to a filthy, sultry whisper. “‘cause i did. thought about this all the time, what you’d feel like around me. it’s so much fuckin’ better than i imagined.”

you nod your head frantically, hands clenched into fists, and your nails dig so roughly into your palms that it’s a miracle it hasn’t drawn blood. mark isn’t completely satisfied with your response, but he takes it for what it is and releases both of your wrists in favor of grabbing onto your hips.

“if you touched yourself while thinking of me, then show me. play with it for me, hm?”

you don’t need much more coaxing than that.

your fingers fly to your clit at lightening speed, middle and ring finger rubbing in quick, tight circles that mark finds absolutely hypnotizing. your other hand comes up to palm at your breasts, pinching and tweaking at your nipples in a way that makes you whine. mark damn near growls at the sight, a string of expletives you’ve never heard from him before being let out into the ether as he doubles his efforts to fuck you into the mattress.

“open your eyes,” mark demands, his words oozing with a tone you’re very much not used to being addressed with. his voice is low, gravely, and deeply affected by the way your walls squeeze around him, and you find that you quite like having him like this: wrapped around your finger, barely hanging on, lost in everything pertaining to you. the sentiment is definitely shared, because as you force your eyes open, you feel your features pinch the way they do when you’re trying not to cry. it’s nothing bad– far from it, actually. it’s just that mark is fucking you so good that you feel like you’re losing your mind, and the pleasure is so mindboggling that it makes you wanna sob. 

“there y’go, baby,” mark sighs, “just keep lookin’ at me. i wanna see your face when you cum.”

his honest admission shoots straight through you and right to your core, pussy clenching around him tightly, your clit throbbing beneath your fingers. mark moans low and long at the feeling, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows hard.

“fuck, i like when y’do that– when you like what i say and you get all tight around me. just– keep touching yourself, pretty. look at me and let it happen.”

all you can do is nod helplessly. mark ducks down to press a kiss to your cheek, fingers pressing what will definitely be bruises tomorrow morning into the skin of your hips. his cock splits you open in a mindbending way, your fingers flicking at your clit so frantically that your hand has become nothing but a blur. 

then, the bubble bursts. your orgasm hits you like a truck, your head flying back, and the muscles in your jaw and neck pulling taut. the same goes for your legs– your knees lock up and your thighs pull tight, shaking with violent tremors as you gush again, this time, around mark’s cock. you do your best to keep your eyes open as you cum, but it’s hard. from what you can see, though, mark’s mouth drops open and his eyes flash with something bright– yellow, even– as he takes in the sight of you falling apart. whatever it is, you don’t give it much thought. your brain is much too fried to be trusting everything you see right now.

“you’re a fucking dream like this,” mark mutters, his tone oozing with awe and disbelief. dutifully, he fucks you through your second orgasm– all the squirming, pulsing, and wetness that’s stained his sheets twice in one night– and holds your unfocused gaze all throughout it before he feels you coming down and abruptly pulls out. your twitching legs drop unceremoniously to the bed, and mark swings his thighs over you to settle over your chest, fingers peeling off the condom and tossing it lamely to the side. all you can see past your wet lashes and teary eyes is mark’s fist moving in an urgent blur before he cums all over your chest, the orgasm hitting him so hard that he has to grip the headboard to stabilize himself. his super strength causes it to splinter just slightly as his legs shake, so much so that he can hardly hold himself up.

his cum paints your tits in hot, thick, pearly white strands, and mark clambers up from over you to lay down on the other side of the bed. you find it unfair, the way that he’s panting and shaking much less than you, but you don’t comment. you just stare up at the ceiling, the sound of your breathing filling the air.

“i hope that was good,” mark says earnestly, rolling lazily onto his side to look at you. you take another deep, grounding breath, then turn your head to look at him. your arm comes out too weakly to swat at his chest.

“there’s no way you just asked me that when your cum is drying on my chest.”

mark stares at you for a moment, then busts out into a fit of laughter, reaching behind his head to take the pillow so he can drop it casually onto your face. you can’t help but laugh too, arms coming up to shield yourself from the pillow, and you toss it back to mark where he catches it, then tucks it back under his head. “fuck me for trying to make sure you’re okay, i guess,” he says dramatically, rolling his eyes.

you flip over onto your stomach and bunch the pillow up under your chin, careful to ignore the wet parts of your chest as you widely grin and quip back. “i just did.”

“more like the other way around. this was me fucking you. into the mattress, might i add.” mark grins mischievously and reaches out to place his hand on your lower back, smoothing over your ass before dipping between your legs to find your folds. he trails his fingers up and down your wet and puffy slit, tongue darting out to wet his lips when he feels you shiver in reply. “but we can go again with you on top if you wanna fuck me. not like i’d ever say no to that. plus, it’d answer one of my questions.”

you’re part your lips to reply, but the sound of feet padding up the stairs, partnered with a soft call of mark’s name, makes you both freeze exactly where you’re at. you look at each other in panic, then scramble to get rid of the proof of what you two just did. mark leaps off the bed and onto his feet with impressive athleticism, tossing you your discarded copy of seance dog that you catch effortlessly with one hand. you tug your t-shirt down over your chest, ignoring the fact that there’s still cum on it you’ve hardly wiped off, and he busies himself with pulling his pants back up and slipping his t-shirt on. the fact that it’s still damp around the collar doesn’t matter– not when there’s much more incriminating evidence like his used condom on the bed, alongside the wrapper and the new one he was about to use on you again ten seconds ago.

you barely manage to get under the covers to hide your lower half by the time debbie opens the door, your shorts haphazardly kicked under the bed, and your panties in mark’s pocket. you double-check to make sure your comic isn’t upside down and open it to a random page, holding it as inconspicuously as possible, right in front of your face. mark’s hands are stuffed into his pants, the condoms and the wrapper fisted tightly in his hands.

“hey, you two,” debbie says sweetly, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you. you swear, even if you two didn’t look suspicious as hell, debbie would still be looking at you two like she knows you did something wrong. ���just came to let you know that dinner is ready. and that you two shouldn’t stay up too late tonight. i’m driving you two back to campus early, so i can get to work on time.”

mark smiles tightly. “okay, mom, thanks,” he says, pulling a hand out of his pocket to wave at her goodbye. debbie eyes him amusedly, taking in both of your disheveled appearances one more time before nodding and moving to close the door.

“oh, and mark? it’s been a long time coming, so i don’t mind if you two are having sex, as long as it’s safe and i don’t have to worry about becoming a grandma.”

the color drains from both of your faces, but debbie only laughs, a smile as sweet as her son’s spreading across her face. “but next time, if you’re gonna try and hide it, make sure the panties are tucked all the way into your pocket. i’m not judging what you’re into, but it’s kind of a dead giveaway when blue lace is halfway hanging out of your sweatpants.”

# — navigation

[heartmix]

Private Screening - MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warning: Max being oblivious, mention of sad reader

Summary: You really wanted to go to the private screening of the F1 movie, but Max doesn't want to

A/N: messy and all over the place

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

To say you loved movies was an understatement. At any free moment, there was bound to be a movie on. Which is why when they announced they were making a movie about F1 with the same director as Top Gun: Maverick, you were beyond excited. 

The chance to watch them film during the season and also meet the actors made you giddy. Your excitement was more than all the drivers combined, which was hardly any, considering they honestly couldn't have cared less about it. 

Max was one of those who wanted to stay away from the movie. If he had the chance to decline partaking in it, he would have dropped it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately for him, his job forced him, and even more so, you would not stop talking about it every time a promo dropped. 

"Do you think you guys will be invited to the premiere or a private screening?" You asked Max one day while watching yet another trailer drop. 

"If we do, I probably won't go," Max said, not even batting an eye. It was off-handed and you knew you shouldn't have made it a big deal, but deep inside, you were a little hurt. 

The next week, it seemed like everyone was talking about the private screening of the movie for everyone who worked in F1, even down to the engineers. Knowing Max would decline meant you wouldn't be able to go; you were sulking whenever the topic was brought up. 

"What's with the sad face?" Charles asked, seeing your face drop as he and Alexandra were talking about what they were wearing to the premiere next week. 

"You're coming right?" Alex inquired, seemingly knowing what was going on, but she wanted you to be the one to say it. 

"I wish. Max doesn't want to go, and Red Bull is giving him an out." The fact that your eyes didn't meet theirs, instead focusing on the drink in front of you, was a sign that it bothered you a lot. 

"Does he know how excited you are for it? I swear it's all you've been talking about last season." 

"He knows, but I don't think he declined the invite to hurt me. He saw an opportunity to get out of going and took it. I know I shouldn't be sad about it, but I'll get over it." 

"Come with us," Charles mentioned. 

"What?" Your eyes snapped up to his in disbelief, thinking he was playing around. Instead, you found a genuine smile. 

"Oh yes! You can hang out with me! It'll be so fun!" Alex exclaimed with a big smile plastered on her face. 

"Are you guys sure? I don't want to overstep." 

"Trust me. It'll be fine." Charles waved off your concern, not showing a hint of worry. 

Leading up to the premiere, you were super happy. No more the gloomy state you were in. Max noticed it, of course, he noticed mostly everything about you. He was curious about the sudden mood change, but didn't chalk it up to anything. Maybe it was just one of those weeks. If it were anything important, he would be the first one you told. 

He didn't ask about it until the night before the premiere. He was lounging on the bed with the cats while you were in the walk-in closet trying to find something to wear. Not like you were going to be photographed, but there might be a picture or two that would be circulated. This was a big deal to you, and you wanted to look as good as you were going to feel. 

"Schatje, are you almost done? I want to relax and I can't do that without you right here in my arms." He yelled out, borderline whining that you weren't in bed with him. 

"Yeah, just give me a few minutes." 

"The race isn't for a few more days, you don't need to look for an outfit right now. Plus, in case you didn't know, it's in the city we live in. No need to rush." He tried again, but to no avail, you didn't come to bed. 

"Not for the race bubs. It's for tomorrow." 

"Going out with the girls?" He wondered, thinking he had forgotten that you mentioned it to him. 

"Yeah, you can say that. Alex and Charles invited me to the F1 movie screening." Hearing that, he got off the bed and made his way to the closest, confused. Did he hear you right? 

"The what?" 

"Remember the private screening for the drivers and crew. Well, since you weren't going, Charles invited me." You shrugged, not making a big deal. It wasn't a big deal anymore, now that you were going. 

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to go?" 

"Because you said you weren't going to go before I even had the chance. Even so, you know I've been excited for it, of course, I would want to go." You sighed, looking at him standing in the doorway. It was foolish to think he wouldn't find out, but you didn't know he would make something out of it. 

"I'm sorry, you get excited for practically every movie. I wasn't thinking." He frowned, pulling you into his arms. You knew he felt bad, but there was nothing to hold against him. 

"Don't stress it. I know you don't like media stuff, and you aren't that interested in the movie." 

"Let me take you tomorrow." At this, you chuckled at his sudden urge to wanting to go. He was doing this because he felt bad. You didn't want to force him to go if he really didn't want to, and you know he didn't. 

"Don't be silly. How often do they let you decline something work-related? Plus, I'm going with Charles and Alex." 

"I know you're excited for it, and that's all I need. I'm taking you." The comment came out more as a statement. It was final. He was going to take you no matter how hard you tried to convince him. 

"It's the night before, what are you going to tell the team?" 

"Im Max Verstappen, 4 time world champion. What are they going to do? Decline me?" He had that famous Max Verstappen smugness in his tone. One that would eat everyone up. 

"And your fans say you're humble." You rolled your eyes, and he couldn't help but chuckle. 

Like it was planned all along, you and Max were making your way up the steps of the theater. Cameras flashed from all around you, but you didn't care about any of that. The only thing you cared about was watching the movie. 

"Max! Looks like you made it!" You looked up to the Red Bull social media, Jessica already with a phone fired up in her hand. 

"I did." He said with a slight smile, his way of telling her it was okay to film. 

"Are you excited to see the movie?" She said, holding up the camera to get it all on record.

"My girls' excited about it, so that means I am too." At this comment, you could feel the heat rise to your face, and you tried to look anywhere but the camera. You felt Max's eyes peering down at you, and from he corner of your eyes, you saw Jessica smirking while filming you. Whether it was the bluntness of Max or the numbers it will do on social media, she loved the comment either way. 

"We are glad to have you both." She smiled before ending the video and putting her phone down, thanking you both for the content. 

"Well, well, well, look who decided to show up." Charles' voice came in right from behind you guys with Alex on his arm. 

"Did she tell you about the situation?" Max groaned, not liking Charles' smug look. 

"I knew, I just got the confession out of her." Alex shrugged like it was nothing. 

"Well, all that matters is I'm going to have the chance to see the movie a whole month early. Speaking of you guys should hurry up and do press so we can get to the actual movie." You pushed the two drivers away in the direction of where the rest of them were. 

"You practically begged me to come, now you're getting rid of me?" Max couldn't help but tease. 

With a raised eyebrow, you looked at him in disbelief, "If I remember correctly, you begged me to let you take me." 

"Same thing." 

"Will you just go? I'll meet you inside." Rolling your eyes yet again, this pulled a laugh out of him.  

"Save me a seat?" 

"Least I could do." You smiled before he pulled you in for a kiss. 

[mssnoozable]

I can't tell if this person is saying that hw has been proven to be ineffective or that hw has not been researched to be effective. I'm not conceptually in favor of busy work. The best example of how hw can be done dynamically is khan academy. If you already know the subject it can take about 5 minutes to finish, if you don't, you could take up to an hour... of course, the biggest problem is for the "soft" subjects where we don't have an easy way to score it through a computer...

Ultimately, I think of hw as structured studying. There's very little pressure in elementary (at least in the US) to learn study tactics bc tests are crazy easy. I didn't feel challenged at anything until middle school. idk if hw really taught me to study, but it did kinda force me to study. I would arrogantly say I don't need to do hw in elementary and passed all the tests, I said the same thing in middle but didn't pass the tests. It was a tiny metric that could show progression.

Unfortunately, a lot of education is pomp and circumstance. I proposed once at our coding after school program that maybe it'd be more efficient to not make accounts for every kid when we do group stuff. The problem with that is that the parents might want to see their kid's progress, and if you don't have it saved then there is nothing to measure.

Even stuff like grades have some evidence of being bad for students... which I can kinda agree with when I heard the argument. Doing that would be an extreme upheaval of schools. But then we have to ask what school even is for. If you can't measure someone's ability, how do you know that they are qualified for a job? How do you know if the teachers are properly teaching? Grades aren't for students, they are for everyone else.

I agree that there had been too much at one point. There was a lot of discourse when I was in high school abot kids just can't even get proper sleep. I think I even did a presentation on it at some point and advocated that school should start later. I think some schools did shift, but only by half an hour. There was a lot of consensus on the data but it's hard to make every parent drop their kid off at 9 when their job starts at 9. Kids are primarily dropped off here and can't just use public transport. School Buses are also available here, but you have to get up earlier than the average student bc the bus is way slower.

I also don't know why this person's post says at the end like teachers think "it's the children who are wrong". Maybe sometimes, the rhetoric isn't properly placed and accidentally gets directed at the kids. It's more like I get mad at kids when I tell them "don't use AI" and they just go "fuck you you can't tell me what to do" I don't blame kids for using the "tool" that many adults are using around them, I blame AI companies, school districts, and parents. Almost every teacher I talked to has the same sentiment. I haven't worked super long, but most of th.

I think ultimately a majority of teachers nowadays have their heart in the right place. I remember a few really grumpy jaded teachers (maybe I'm that to some of these troublesome kids). It 's just so many systemic things. Like I said, data showed school should start around 9:30-10. Teachers agreed. The district couldn't possibly follow through on that. I can confiscate phones, but the more times parents sue the district, the more times those parents win lawsuits, the more the district has a chilling effect on confiscation. There are so so many problems just like with any industry. I get that from the outside you can say all you want that hw is bad, but it doesn't help. If I grade kids who use AI they will all pretty much have the same scores. Maybe not 100% but close to the same. If they put in college applications that A doesn't mean anything anymore your GPA can't be a metric for college or anything else. Maybe the students don't care about this or the parents, but society at large still does.

Ultimately, I'd be fine with getting rid of hw or substantially slimming it down. The problem is kids use AI IN the classroom. Then when does the learning happen?! Teaching can't operate if you never force them to think. They don't read the question they might as well not even know what class it is. Literally even typing out the question is gone bc ai bots can parse images now so they just take a picture and then handwrite the answer in front of me. I could give 0 hw or the most hw and all the kids would still get the same grades.... Idk .... again if I was a proper teacher (I'm only a sub rn) and I could just ignore all this other stuff, I might consider no HW. I'd maybe try it for a semester and see how they do. I've shifted a bit on that from talking to @greenflamethegf. But I probably need to fight tooth and nail for something that might just give me more of a headache. You'd be fighting the principal, every parent whose kids have good grades in other classes, every parent whose kids have bad grades in other classes, the district policy on curriculum standards (might need to check that one), and other teachers (the kids will complain to their other teachers that they shouldn't get hw bc I don't give it).

I know this is rambly. My apologies, I don't tumblr. Hope you enjoy the text wall I guess.

A couple of years ago we were all terribly concerned about the fact that a lot of American high schools are assigning such crushing homework loads that some kids literally don't have enough time to eat or sleep (and all this in spite of the fact that there's no good evidence that assigning homework actually improves academic outcomes at the pre-university level), but now we're hearing stories about those same schools struggling to stop kids from using ChatGPT to write their essays and suddenly It's The Children Who Are Wrong. Like, do you think maybe there's a certain level of cause and effect in play here?

[rafesangelita]

♡ #400 ‘orgazm generator’ - position request

warnings: dbf!rafe x swan!reader, lots of praise, unprotected sex, soft sex (?), little bit of overstimulation, light fluff

“you were flawless tonight, baby, i can’t believe how perfect that performance was.” rafe praised you, taking a seat in the velvety cushioned chair in the corner of his bedroom. you smiled sweetly, the sight tugging on rafe’s heartstrings. “you really think so?” you let your hair down from its slick bun, sighing in relief once you felt the tension leave the roots of your hair. rafe admired you from across the room, humming in agreement as you got undressed, leaving yourself in nothing but a matching set you put on for this exact moment. “how about another performance? except this one’s just for you..”

in minutes, rafe’s clothes, along with your bra and panties were lost on the floor, his hands holding you up from the back of your thighs as he moved you up and down his cock. reaching down, you craded his head, letting out a hushed whisper of his name when you felt your clit meet his base. he gazed up at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes as he bounced you on top of him with ease. “i knew you were flexible, but this is like.. fucking unreal..” rafe was in disbelief, his jaw falling slack as he watched the way your cunt swallowed him whole.

resting your hands on his chest, you leaned your weight on your palms before moving your hips in unison with his thrusts, the added effort not being lost on neither one of you. rafe cursed under his breath, his fingers digging harshly into your skin as your mouth fell open, your pretty moans sounding like music to his ears. meeting his gaze, rafe cupped your face, his thumb stroking your cheek tenderly. “i love seeing you like this,” he confessed, “your face, your body.. i don’t know where to look when you’re just this fucking beautiful,” rafe groaned, his high approaching quickly.

“shit—!” he hissed, his hips coming to a stuttering stop as you continued moving, determined to make him cum and fall apart underneath you. “y/n— god..” he grunted, his eyebrows knitting together when he felt the plunge in his stomach, his orgasm washing over him as he looked like he wanted to cry at the searing pleasure alone. you were mesmerized at the sight, your chest blooming with pride as you watched this man crumble before your eyes. mouth falling agape, rafe couldn’t believe that as long as he had lived, this level of bliss could even exist.

taking the reigns as soon as he was able to think a single, clear thought, rafe stopped your movements in order to keep you from putting in any more work than you already had. “you’re too good to me.” were the last words you heard him say before he made you go into hysterics, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside of you that made fireworks burst in your tummy, your body threatening to double over as he rubbed your clit mercilessly until you cried, overstimulation setting in for both of you as you trembled in his embrace. “i think that was your best performance yet..” he sighed, his words making you smile against his skin.

submit your own req from here ! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[xoxojisu]

CRASHOUT CENTRAL!

synopsis: katsuki has no idea if you like him or not

notes: bubbly + affectionate reader. umm implied hetero girl i think? but could also apply to not hetero i have no idea im sorry im just writing. idk if men crashout the way girls do but i like to think so. a lot of excessive unnecessary swearing bc it's katsuki. this is so ooc bc lets be fr when does katsuki talk abt *puke* feelings

he’s pacing.

shirtless. agitated. hair all mussed from his own frustrated hands.

kirishima’s lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, watching his best friend spiral for what has to be the third time this week.

“she said i smelled good,” katsuki huffs, whirling around. “who says that? who just..! says that to someone?”

“people who think you smell good?” kirishima offers helpfully.

katsuki glares at him like he’s the dumbest person alive. “she said it while huggin' me. and she said it in that sweet fuckin' singsongy voice.”

“right.”

“and then laughed when i didn’t say anything back. all fuckin' giggly and stupid.”

“you like when she’s giggly and stupid,” kirishima points out.

katsuki makes a noise in his throat. “not when i’m trying to figure out if she’s in love with me or just likes everyone.”

kirishima hums. “well. she is kind of a naturally affectionate person.”

“exactly!” katsuki snaps, flinging his arms out. “what if i’m just one of her little fuckin'.. plushies she likes huggin' or some shit? what if she’s going around being all sweet and smiley with everyone and i’m here thinking she wants to marry me? like, seriously. i've seen her cuddle with fuckin' pinky and round cheeks too, and she's always so.. giggly! and when i think she's flirting, she says it so fuckin' casual. like it's nothing. and i must be fuckin' delusional to think that it's anything more.”

kirishima snorts. “well, ashido and uraraka are both girls. and she doesn’t cuddle me the way she cuddles you.”

katsuki freezes.

“…you think?”

“bro, she lies on top of you like you’re a mattress. more than that, she like really curls in to you. no one does that platonically. that's just not a thing.”

katsuki makes another miserable groaning sound and throws himself down into the beanbag chair like he’s been wounded. he drags his hands down his face, muffling a scream into his palms.

“i don’t know anymore,” he mutters. “she calls me ‘kats’ like it’s just a nickname but then she’ll say it in that soft fuckin' voice like it’s something else. she’s always touching me and smiling and calling me cute but she does it so casually, like it’s just her being her. i don’t know what’s real. i don’t know if i’m hallucinating. i think i’m losing my goddamn mind. like, it's the tone. she goes all 'aweee, thanks kats!' in that stupid fuckin' sing-songy tone. i hate it! fucking..!” kirishima has no idea what katsuki's trying to punch to death. the air, maybe?

after watching him flop around like a dying fish for a moment, he offered gently, “why don’t you just ask her how she feels?”

katsuki sits up. furious.

he says nothing, but kirishima can tell what he's trying to say just from his look.

“well then,” kirishima shrugs. “guess you’ll just have to keep suffering.”

and katsuki does. every time you brush your fingers over his knuckles or play with his hoodie strings or grin at him from across the room with that stupid sweet look in your eyes, he suffers. quietly. dramatically.

because he wants you to mean it so badly.

but he has no idea if you do.

masterlist

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Okay, now I’m doing my post about the things I love about the character development of Cinderella’s prince in this story.

See, it is a nigh-ubiquitous trope to make a royal character (or one with similar kinds of power) hate their job as a positive trait. See, they’re not on a power trip! They just want to hang out and ride horses and read books or whatever their interest is! And that’s how the prince starts out here, and it does make him appealing. He just wants to be treated as a regular guy and not as his position!

And then – it deconstructs this. Sure, that’s better than if the prince had a swelled head and enjoyed people fawning on him, but what does it mean? It means that when he ignores and tunes out all the women competing for his favour at the ball, he’s showing disrespect to families whose entire livelihoods are hanging on his actions. It means that because of not socially interacting with his people, he has little knowledge of their lives. It means that he’s not looking at addressing problems that exist in the kingdom. It means, in short, that intentionally choosing not to do your job is a character flaw!

And this addressed something that had been bugging me for a long time about a lot of fantasy novels: that virtually any positively-portrayed character who has to do politics spends their time thinking about how much they hate politics and how bad they are at it. Think of id we treated warrior characters like that: this person is bad at combat, has zero desire to be better at combat, and people around them are dying because of it. Would that be sympathic? And yet we treat “politics” – the act of governing, of working with people who have disparate views and a variety of personality flaws, and coming to good solutions and implementing them – as more dirty, as more corrupting, than having the job of literally killing people.

How are we supposed to govern ourselves well if we regard the skill of doing so as inherently negative?

So – after constructing the usual mold of “the court are silly and shallow and I hate spending time with them” – the story them breaks out of it to show, no, a lot of these are three-dimensional people with reasonable things going on, if the prince meets them in a context that is not basically a job interview (with the job in question being ‘princess’). Because the structure of a job interview doesn’t really encourage sincerity and authenticity! The story shows the prince engaging with people, doing things to help solve their problems and make their lives a little better – the same thing that Cinderella has been doing with everyone she encounters despite having powe that is miniscule next to the prince’s!

It’s a really good arc. It’s one thing to introduce a character with obvious flaws amd have them overcome them; it’s a more impressive one to introduce a character who seems pretty positive and then gradually shift things to examine: which of these ‘virtues’ are actually flaws? And to have the audience take that journey alongside the character.

The Cindy Masterpost

I’ll edit and reblog this with updates as I post new bits of the Cinderella story I’m working on, but for now, here are all the current chapters out:

Part One (In Which Things Would Be Simpler If The Prince Was A Horny Piece of Shit)

Part Two (In Which No Rats Were Harmed In The Making Of These Horses)

Part Three (The OG post which technically is kind of told out of order because there’s a reblog and like, look, I could see this was becoming a thing, but I didn’t think it would be a thing-thing but now it’s a thing-thing and I have to deal with it. I mean I’m writing a masterpost for cryin’ out loud)

Part Four (In Which Cindy and the Fairy Godmother Run from the Cops)

Part Five (In Which The Prince Begins His Investigation While The Narrator yells About Foot Fetishes Because look I’m sick of that joke I’m SO FUCKING SICK of that joke it’s so fucking unoriginal.)

Part Six  (In which we meet The Queen because fuck you she was alive in the Rogers and Hammerstein version)

Part Seven (In which news of the slipper is spread throughout the kingdom and the narrator talks about this one time when they passed out at a Dickens fair and that’s totally definitely relevant.)

Part Eight (In Which the narrator wants to include more slapstick but is also wary about all the implications with regards to class differences and also the slipper is a non-euclidean object which defies all rules of mass and physics.)

Part Nine (In which Cindy is every drunk girl who has ever comforted you in a bar or club bathroom)

Part Ten (In which Cindy has no interest in being that wife chained up in the attic in Jane Eyre)

Part Eleven (In which tasty pies are consumed and also maybe the slipper fits someone or whatever)

Part Twelve (In which we meet the parents)

Part Thirteen (In which Cindy is going to be okay but also it’s not a fairy tale unless the ending has at least a little bit of threatening ambiguity towards the audience)

UPDATE: The story is now complete, and uploaded to AO3!!

UPDATE: There have been several specially requested chapters that are now included here:

Smoky Tea: An expansion on the first meeting of the King and Queen.

Ball’s In Your Court: Further notes on the King and Queen’s romance

Orphan Tears: A Fairy Godmother-centric paralogue.

The Hunt: A short conversation between Cindy and the King

[cameronsbabydoll]

hii !! i dint know which rafe fits in this req but basically i loove mangoes although im a messy eater.. and i was thinking of they went on a date to a farm..ish? like a field full of fruits. and reader and rafe was offered fresh sweet mangoes, rafe being rafe was able to eat it the proper and neat way, meanwhile reader keeps dropping it on her shirt or the juice spilling to her arm if you understand what i mean 😓 then rafe saw so he kind of scolded her, he’s like saying “baby that’s not the proper way to eat a mango” something like that 😭 and he helps her out and a fluffy ending if you want.. i was also thinking this is how rafe eats his mango

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZShwYBhTq/

he just asks for a spoon or just slurps it up I DUNNO!! ive been thinking about it

MANGO MESS ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

rafe cameron x puppy!reader

warnings: foodplay (mango juice, messy eating), soft puppyplay dynamics, light scolding/praise, fluffy doting rafe, mentions of having a meltdown over stickiness, lots of babying

a/n: divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !! and i def imagined this with my puppy!reader

you were bouncing in the passenger seat before the car had even turned off.

“rafe!” you gasped, nose practically pressed to the glass. “look—look, look, the trees! they’re all yellow!”

he didn’t need to look. he could hear the smile in your voice. see the sticky fingers in his future.

“yeah, pup,” he said, resting a hand on your thigh to stop you from wiggling too much. “they’re mango trees.”

your eyes went wide.

you’d been waiting for this all week. a whole fruit farm, just like the ones you saw on pinterest, with baskets and trees and sunshine and bees and pretty dresses. you picked your outfit special — a gingham dress with frilly straps and a bow that tied in the back, white eyelet socks and your little mary janes. and in your tote bag, carefully zipped into the front pocket, was your favorite sonny angel. the orange one to match the mangoes.

when you finally got out, your arms stretched over your head like a sleepy puppy, rafe just shook his head, smiling a little.

“this place is huge,” you breathed. “do they have strawberries? and peaches? and and—mangos?”

“that’s what we’re here for, baby,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he led you toward the rows of trees. “just mangoes today.”

you nodded dutifully, trying not to get distracted by the buzzing bees and bright flowers. and for a little while, you were good. listened while the farmer talked about ripeness and harvesting. held rafe’s hand and squeezed it every time you saw a bird.

and then he handed you a mango.

bright orange and warm from the sun, soft like your cheek when rafe cups it at night. you held it in both hands like a treasure, eyes round.

“i can eat it now?”

“go ahead, pup,” rafe said, already peeling his with the little knife he brought from the truck. he was neat. clean slices. perfect cubes. didn’t spill a drop.

you, on the other hand, immediately took a bite.

slurp.

juice squirted down your chin. dripped onto your chest. sticky golden syrup smeared down your wrist and splashed onto your dress.

“mmmfff—issssooooo good,” you tried to say around the fruit, talking with your mouth full.

rafe paused mid-cut.

“…baby,” he said slowly, trying not to laugh. “that’s not the proper way to eat a mango.”

you looked up, cheeks puffed out, mango string in your teeth. your lip trembled just slightly.

“‘m sorry…” you mumbled, voice wobbly. “i got it on my dress.”

your hands were sticky. your chin was sticky. your knees were sticky and you didn’t even know how.

rafe exhaled through his nose, crouching down in front of you.

“give me that,” he said, taking the mango from your hand. “jesus, pup.”

“don’t be mad,” you sniffled.

“i’m not mad,” he muttered, wiping your mouth gently with the edge of his shirt. “just knew this was gonna happen.”

you blinked at him with big, wet eyes as he wet a napkin and dabbed at your hands, your neck, your elbows (how??).

“you’re a mess,” he muttered. “my messy little baby.”

you sniffled again.

“don’t cry,” he said, holding your face in both hands now. “i got you, yeah? just lemme help.”

and help he did.

he cleaned your hands. kissed the tip of your nose. unwrapped the sticky bow from your ponytail. even held your mango for you and fed you tiny neat bites — holding the fruit to your mouth while you licked around the edge, juice running down your lips, your lashes fluttering when he called you so good, pup. that’s it. such a good girl.

by the time you curled up in his lap under a mango tree, sticky and sleepy and full, your sonny angel tucked into your pocket, your chin tucked under his, you were content.

“think that orange doll brought you good luck,” he whispered against your hair.

“mhm,” you yawned. “gonna name him rafe junior.”

“jesus christ,” he muttered, but he kissed your forehead anyway.

and the mango juice on his shirt? worth it. every drop.

[ckret2]

Chapter 95 of human Bill Cipher being not quite the Mystery Shack's prisoner anymore but sorta staying there anyway: the girls (plus Bill) have a sleepover, and the guys (plus Melody) have anime.

(‼️SUPER IMPORTANT PSA:‼️ it's dangerous to read alone. Take this.)

####

"Get out of the living room," Grenda shouted, charging in and chucking a duffel bag at an unoccupied chair. "We're having a sleepover movie marathon!"

"We are commandeering the TV." Candy plopped down in front of the TV and rummaging through her bag for some rental videos.

Dipper quickly escaped to join Ford and Soos in the entryway. "Great."

Soos said, "Wanna come with us to anime night? It'll keep you out of the girls' way."

"Thanks, Soos, but it's fine. As long as they aren't in the attic, maybe I can get some sleep."

"We won't bother you!" Mabel said. "We're staying in the living room! We're gonna stay up late and talk about boys and watch movies until we pass out!"

"Seriously?" Ford looked at Bill, leaning in the living room doorway. "Seriously? This is how you're spending your night?"

"Yes," Bill said. 

"Voluntarily?"

"This is the best socialization I've had since I d—got here. I'll take what I can get." He gestured at the girls; Candy and Grenda had taken a couple of video tapes out of their cases, and immediately started manipulating the cases like animal jaws to try to bite each other, complete with dinosaur noises. "Besides, kids are little chaos engines before they grow up and learn to be normal! I like 'em!"

The weirdest part was that Ford actually thought Bill was telling the truth. (And, in spite of his paranoia going what if, what if— all the evidence did suggest that Bill wanted to protect them.)

"Now get outta here," Bill said, "you're bringing down the mood."

"In a minute." Ford raised his voice. "Girls? I didn't get a chance to say this last time, but I have a few ground rules for tonight's sleepover."

The girls groaned. Warily, Mabel asked, "What is it?"

"No more demon summonings; no seances; no Bloody Mary or any similar games; I never want to see a spirit board under this roof; don't invite anything vampiric inside; and if you're visited by anything fae, call me."

"I think we can handle that."

Bill said, "Got it. Play with the Oui-Oui Spirit Board in the parking lot."

"No!"

He just grinned at Ford.

"You ready, Dr. Pines?" Soos asked. "We're gonna be late if we don't go."

Ford gave Bill one last warning look, and then followed Soos out.

As soon as the door was shut, Grenda loud-whispered, "Hey! We should totally play Bloody Mary!"

"Yes!" Candy cheered.

Bill yelped, "No!"

The girls stared at him. He swallowed hard.

"Why not?" Mabel asked.

Grenda added, "Yeah! You scared, Gold-o?"

"Of course not," he said testily.

"You're not Gold-o, you're Yell-o! As in yellow-bellied!"

"That's not the insult you think it is," Bill said. "And I'm not scared, I just think it sounds boring! Bloody Mary probably won't show up. And, if she does? I bet she isn't any fun! i don't even want to see her! I don't care! All right?"

The girls nodded, and each independently decided they were totally dragging him into playing Bloody Mary.

####

When Fiddleford answered the door, the first thing Ford said was, "You got new glasses?"

"Heh, yep!" Fiddleford proudly adjusted his glasses. Ford suspected it was the first new pair he'd gotten in thirty years. "Since my last pair got pulverized, I reckoned it was high time I stop trying to use some old hand-me-downs I found at the museum and get me a proper prescription pair!

Trying to suppress a grin, Ford said, "Is it just me, or do they look a little like..."

"You hush," Fiddleford said. "I know they look like your old ones. I'm an old man now! I can't get away with those little round readin' glasses anymore!"

Soos and Melody inspected Fiddleford's new glasses as they came in. Melody nodded approvingly, "They suit you."

Soos laughed, "Oh, dude! You two are like glasses twins now."

Ford frowned in faux consideration. "Do I need another twin my life...?"

"Might as well," Fiddleford shrugged. "We're already a couple'a Fords."

"That's true."

Fiddleford gestured to Soos and Melody, "You two run along and get comfortable! I need to have a talk with Stanford in private."

####

While the girls had dispersed to put on pajamas and/or retrieve snacks, Bill headed to the bathroom; but he stopped outside the door when he heard giggles and whispers inside. "Is this room occupied?"

Mabel pushed open the door and all three girls grinned at him. "Yeah, but you can help out!"

"Sure, as long as it doesn't involve any of the things people usually do in bathrooms." He leaned curiously into the room. "What are we doing?"

"Playing Bloody Mary."

Bill immediately tried to leave. "Nope."

"Come on, Goldie, don't be lame!"

"I'm not lame. You're lame," he said testily. "And I don't hang out with lame people! I'll be down in the living room, just scream if anyone starts dying." He attempted to back through the bathroom doorway.

Candy's steely grip wrapped around one arm. "You have to stay. You have no choice."

Grenda gripped his other arm. "Yeah! You're our adult supervision or something!"

Bill twisted around and grabbed at the door frame as half a dozen hands pulled at his arms and clothing. "No no no no no—!" He desperately clawed at the wall for purchase.

The door swung shut, smacking his fingers. He lost his grip and was dragged into the bathroom, screaming.

The door gently swayed shut.

####

Half of Fiddleford's lab was still in disarray from their brief contact with the Nightmare Realm a week ago; but one corner of his lab table was stacked with neat, tidy piles of papers covered in Fiddleford's neat, tidy calculations. Fiddleford led Ford over to those papers. "It's bad news."

Ford was afraid of that. "Does it have to do with Bill?"

Fiddleford gave him an unamused look—as if to say, is it ever anything else?

Ford sighed. "All right. Give me the news."

"I ran some figures using that equation you have to calculate the strength of the barrier a-draggin' weird things into town."

"Yes?"

Last year, Ford had passed all his research on the Theory of Weirdness, barrier equation included, to Fiddleford—mainly to show him that, at last, there was a tangible gain from their tragic youthful collaboration.

Fiddleford had offered to help Ford turn it into a publication-ready paper, Purely in a ghostwriting capacity—it would be Ford's name on the paper.

Ford had turned down the same offer thirty years ago, and he turned it down now. He didn't want to publish a paper with his name and Fiddleford's writing.

Instead, he wanted both their names at the top.

Fiddleford had bashfully accepted.

They'd hoped to spend this summer finalizing the paper; but, well, other things had come up.

Fiddleford flipped through his calculations as he went on, "Usually, we can just walk in and out of that barrier because its strength is proportionate to the weirdness in town. And the whole town's combined weirdness is strong enough to draw more things toward town, but not strong enough to trap 'em in town."

"Right," Ford said uneasily. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but he sensed bad news.

Fiddleford dropped the stack of papers in front of Ford and held out one page. "Well—I finally worked out exactly how much weirdness is needed to make that barrier solid. And for it to be completely impenetrable, whatever's trying to pass through it has to be more powerfully weird and weirdly powerful than anything found on Earth," he said. "Didn't you tell me a few days ago that Bill still can't get through the barrier?"

A chill ran up Ford's spine. "I... that's right." They'd found that out his first night in town, when they'd nearly driven him straight into the barrier before he screamed at them to stop.

Fiddleford began pacing. "If that devil could get through the barrier, it wouldn't necessarily prove anything. It might mean he's a human; it might mean he's still a... whatever he is—"

"Triangle."

"—still a demon triangle, but lost enough of his power to be 'normal enough' to get through; or, it might mean Bill himself weren't never weird enough on his lonesome to make that barrier solid without that rift open lettin' more weirdness pour in," Fiddleford said. "But since he can't get through the barrier... the only explanation is that all that power is still there, inside of him. And that means we know what shape his soul is."

Part of Ford wished they didn't. "It's still a triangle."

"And, he's just as dangerous as he ever was," Fiddleford said. "You know what we have to do."

"Yes." Ford took a deep breath. "We have to keep him alive at any cost so his soul can't escape."

"We have t—what?!" Fiddleford goggled at him. "Well, I was fixin' to say we have to destroy him and his soul right now, now we know he's a threat, but fine!" He flung his hands in the air. "Fine! He's not my prisoner! If you want to play around with the end of the world..."

Guilt twisted in Ford's stomach. "Fiddleford, I..." How could he apologize for something he planned to keep doing? (How could he tell him that Bill was much less of a prisoner now than he'd been a few hours ago?)

"Keep him alive! Of all the cockamamie..." Fiddleford's shoulders slumped in defeat. He sighed. "You really think you're doing the right thing?"

"I've asked myself that hundreds of times the past few days," Ford said wryly. "I think I think I'm doing the right thing."

"Well. If you were sure, I'd be worried."

Ford laughed dryly. "I'm not sure about anything. But I..." He rubbed his face. God, he was still so tired. "I know Bill could change. I—want—to think that he will."

Fiddleford took that in thoughtfully. "Why?"

Ford looked up at him. "Hm?"

"Why do you want him to change? Wouldn't you rather just... scootch him right on out of your life for good? He's not making you fancy promises again, is he?"

"Believe me, I wouldn't trust him if he did. I think he's finally given up on that, thank goodness."

"Then why do you want that demon alive?"

He could see Bill teaching Mabel about alien genetics and spherical geometry, Bill letting a couple contented kids sit on him after declaring them under his protection, Bill making up the most fascinating new chess rules but too exhausted to do anything with them. Bill teaching Ford about how to reach unseen stars. Bill comforting Ford when he was lonely.

The question was almost too easy to answer—and that made Ford second guess himself. But he said, "Because he's not a demon. He's just a person who's gotten too good at acting like one. But when he does act like a person... Well. He has—a lot to offer. Losing it would be a shame."

Fiddleford frowned hard as he listened, squinting at Ford. He took a moment to respond—rocking back on his heels, breaking eye contact with Ford as he took off his new glasses, carefully cleaning the lenses before he put them back on. To Ford's horrified fascination, Fiddleford cleaned his glasses with his beard.

Finally, he said, "I still don't remember... meetin' him. Not clearly, anyhow." (Ford's brows went up in surprise. This was the first time he'd ever heard Fiddleford acknowledge out loud that he had met him. They rarely mentioned the portal test at all—they certainly didn't discuss what Fiddleford had experienced.) "But—I recall how it felt. And 'demonic' is too sweet a word for the thing that I saw."

Ford nodded. He didn't know whether he'd seen the same sight, but he had seen Bill in his decaying kingdom, shrieking laughter echoing throughout the Nightmare Realm as though the whole dimension were an extension of his voice, surrounded by his monstrous minions as he lounged on his throne of illusions. (His chair custom-upholstered with the fabric of reality, with the autostereogram detailing that Bill couldn't even see.)

"But," Fiddleford said grudgingly, "he weren't never in my dreams. I reckon you might could've... seen some side of him I didn't."

"Or, he might have fooled me into seeing something that isn't there."

Fiddleford half-shrugged, half nodded. "Well, what do I know about what a 'person' is. These days there's aliens and clones and parallel people I don't know from Adam. If you say he's just a person... maybe he is. You want to try to reform him, then?"

Ford let out a disgusted laugh. "No," he said. "I want to see if he can reform himself."

####

"There!" Mabel slammed the door latch shut. "Now you're not going anywhere until we're done."

Bill swallowed nervously, already feeling the walls closing in on him. "You're exploiting my disability, and that's terrible of you."

Mabel blew a raspberry. "You'll live."

"Unless you don't," Grenda said ominously, wiggling her fingers spookily. "Ooo-oooh!"

He rolled his eye. "I am not worried about dying. In fact, I don't think anything'll happen. I bet she's not even real—and if she is, I heard that she doesn't show up if someone who doesn't believe in her is playing, so nothing'll happen if I'm here! You'd have better odds if you let me leave!"

"If nothing happens, then you've got nothing to be scared of," Candy said patiently.

"I'm not sc—UGH!" Bill yanked his hood over his face. "Fine, whatever! I don't care!" He edged toward the corner of the room, hunched his shoulders, and crossed his arms. 

"Okay," Mabel said, setting an unlit peaches and cream scented candle on the bathroom counter. She flipped off the light switch and held up her phone for light. "So what we have to do is turn off the lights completely, light a candle, and then say 'Bloody Mary' three times. And then a lady will show up in the mirror covered in blood and scream or tell us our future or try to strangle us or something."

Silently, Bill counted, one.

Mabel put a tub of baby wipes and a brush on the counter. "And that's when we offer her this and see if cleaning off that blood calms her down."

"That's not how it works," Candy said. "You're supposed to have all the lights off so it's completely dark. There's no candles."

Mabel pursed her lips doubtfully.

Grenda said, "But if it's totally dark, how can we see when Bloody Mary shows up?"

Two, Bill mouthed.

Candy paused. "Maybe that's why she screams. So we know she's here."

"And then what? Do we turn the light on?"

"Um... I don't think so..." Candy turned toward Bill, their resident expert in summoning what ought not be summoned.

He flipped a hand dismissively. "This is your project, not mine."

Mabel shot him a dirty look, but said, "Okay! This is what we're gonna do. We'll turn off all the lights, say her name three times, and then light the candle to see if she's here."

Candy and Grenda nodded.

"And if she's not, then we'll just say 'Bloody Mary' again with the candle lit," Mabel said.

Three. Bill pulled his hood lower and turned toward the window, feigning disinterest.

"Either way, that should get her to show u—"

A ghoulish blood-dripping face shrieked from the mirror.

The girls shrieked back, backing away from the mirror. Their backs hit the locked door. 

The mirror's glass rippled as Bloody Mary crawled through it, her eyeless sockets fixed on the girls, her lank black hair drifting weightlessly around her face, a breathy wailing sound whistling through her fleshless nasal cavity with each exhale. Her thin, papery lips curled back to reveal teeth elongated by receding gums. Blood drooled out from the gaps between her teeth to drip on her ruined chest, exposed muscles and ribs visible beneath the rotting remains of a lacy sleeveless black gown. One hand curled over the lip of the counter and the other stretched for Mabel's throat as she lurched closer to the girls.

And then in her periphery view she caught sight of a bright yellow triangular silhouette, her grip slipped, and her jaw smacked the counter's edge. She pushed herself back up and shrieked, "REHPIC LLIB?!"

Bill flinched, but pushed up his hood just enough to give her a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Yyyraaam, yeeeh."

"Laer rof uoy era? Ti eveileb t'nod I!" Outraged, she sat back on her knees and crossed her bony arms. "Em ot teg ot nerdlihc namuh gnisu er'uoy won tub, gniht eno saw Pilf morf rebmun wen ym teg ot gniyrt?!"

"Ekil skool ti tahw ton s'ti!" Bill said quickly. "Raews I! Ni em deggard yeht tub ti htiw od ot gnihtyna tnaw t'ndid I, gniyalp no detsisni sdik eht—"

Mary let out a shrill, disgusted laugh. "Erus m'I, ho! Rood eht tuo gniklaw dna meht gnillik morf uoy gnippots saw tahw dna?"

The girl's heads turned back and forth in wide-eyed bafflement as the incomprehensible conversation bounced back and forth.

Bill hesitated, grimacing. "Yrots gnol a s'ti—ti, kool, yako—"

"Elbaveilebnu. Elbaveileb! Nu!"

Bill gestured at Mabel. "Yako, tcap a tog ev'ew?!" He held up his wrist, pointing at his friendship bracelet. "Semitemos sevil s'rehto hcae evas ew, no gniog laed naidraug laicifeneb yllautum siht tog ev'I. Suoires m'I!"

Mabel looked down at her own bracelet collection and gave Candy and Grenda a baffled look. They shrugged, just as lost.

Mary took one look at the nazar eye beads and flinched back, hissing. "Yawa gniht taht tup, hgu," she snapped. "Yawyna, ereh gniod uoy era tahw?! Gnoleb uoy erehw nib yenool a ni pu uoy dekcol yllanif yeht draeh I."

Bill winced, hurt. "Wh— Yeh. Kniht uoy t'nod, evitisnesni elttil, Yram, sekiy?

"Evitisnesni!?" She laughed scornfully. "Ytrap yadhtrib s'retsis ym retfa, evitisnesni tuoba em ot klat ot tnaw uoy—?!"

Bill groaned, "Uoy era, og taht tel ot gniog reven era uoy, hgu?"

"Llib, sgniw retaw dezis-dlihc? Sgniw retaw?!"

"Romuh fo esnes on sah ehs tluaf ym ton s'ti! Ynnuf saw ti thguoht Anoroll tub ydobyreve! Dehgual Etreum neve!"

"Hgual ton did Etreum."

"Dennirg ehs—llew."

"Llib, lluks a s'ehs."

"Well—I mean—yeah, but..." He petered out. And then attempted, somewhat pathetically, "Thginot ecin gnikool er'uoy denoitnem I evah? Doolb hserf taht si?"

Mary made a grunt of disgust, waved Bill off, retreated into the mirror, and disappeared.

An awkward silence descended over the room.

Mabel flipped on the light. "Whaaat was that?"

Bill swallowed hard. "My ex?" 

The girls silently reevaluated their assumptions about Bill, his cowardice, his tastes, and Bloody Mary.

Wistfully, he added, "And she was wearing that dress that shows off her lungs."

####

In the middle of a smoky city battlefield, two combat mechs as tall as skyscrapers stood facing each other. Each one had an enormous pleated miniskirt, a heart-shaped glow in the center of its chest, and hair that seemed to be made from colored ribbons of light: the pink mech with two long, thin pigtails that would have reached the ground if they didn't float weightlessly around the machine; the blue mech with a bobcut that obscured one of its artificial eyes with a glowing curtain.

Above the dirty and damaged mechs floated a pristine white robot with hologram feather wings and an electric halo; and below them lay a crumpled orange mech, its orange corkscrew curls dimming and then deactivating, its heart cracked and black.

The blue pilot screamed, her voice distorted by the mech's speakers. "MOMOKO-CHAAAN! YOU KILLED HER!" She grabbed the pink mech's shoulders. "I warned you! I warned you that you're getting out of control! When you and Orenjiko-chan fought before the battle, I told you that you were taking it too far—and now you've killed her!"

"I-I didn't mean to!" The pink mech grabbed the blue one's wrists, threatening to crush them. "I couldn't control myself!" Momoko's voice was strained; inside her cockpit, her face was contorted not with grief but with rage, turning bright red, a vein bulging on her forehead. She squeezed the mech's controls as tightly as the mech grabbed her teammate's wrists, trying to control her rage. "Aoko-chan, stop shouting at me—BEFORE I KILL YOU TOO." She shoved the blue mech back hard enough to fling it into a building several blocks away.

Aoko got back to her feet with a groan; then gasped—"Wait!"—and turned toward the white robot above. "Why isn't the angel attacking?" The pink mech's head jerked too fast, like a raptor focusing on its prey, as it turned to stare at the floating robot as well.

"Guys," Soos loudly whispered, "this is the best part."

Momoko and Aoko both gasped and backed away as the orange mech at their feet shuddered. More scared than hopeful, Aoko said, "Orenji-chan...?"

The orange mech lurched to its feet. Its cracked heart shattered, glass raining to the street below, and the mech caught fire from the heart out, burning away its dirt and damage, its paint, and its pleated skirt, leaving the mech a pure, pristine white.

Aoko gasped in horror. "Is she...?! No! No!"

The mech's hologram projectors reactivated. Instead of forming orange curls, they projected a pair of wings; electricity arced through and out of the cockpit in its head, coils of lightning crackling and writhing until they resolved into the shape of a halo. It rose into the air; and the other angel nodded to it solemnly.

Momoko shouted, "Does this mean...?!"

"Yes!" At its desk back in headquarters, low light glinting menacingly off the bunny's sunglasses, Director Bunbun declared, "We are the angels!"

"NOOO!" The girls wailed in unison, Aoko dropping to her knees in despair, Momoko raising her fists to the sky.

"That's crazy, right?" Soos said. "It's like, pchooow," he pressed his hands to his head and lifted them off slowly, fingers expanding, "brain totally exploded, dude."

"Oh, Momoko-chan!" Sobbing, Aoko asked, "What do we do?"

In her cockpit, Momoko wasn't trembling anymore. Her hands gripped the controls tightly and confidently. She looked twice as furious, but her gaze was steely and focused. "I guess we'll just have to KILL HER TWICE!" With a roar, she charged into battle.

The screen went black. The words Neon Crisis Revelations Angry Cute Girl: Annihilation! Episode 37: Fukuin: This is the Angels' Gospel! filled the screen.

As the credits played, Fiddleford leaned toward Ford and said, "Something's on your mind, Stanford."

"Oh," Ford said. "It's—nothing. I'm just worrying about the Bill issue. As usual."

Fiddleford said pointedly, "Something's on your mind, and you keep lookin' at me."

Ford winced at himself. "Ah. Well. It's nothing important." But Fiddleford kept staring; and Ford finally said, eyes fixed on the credits, "I visited the museum. And I... saw the Blind Eye society's collection of memories."

Now it was Fiddleford's turn to wince and look away. "Oh. The Hall of the Forgotten."

Ford nodded. "That's what—I was told it was called." (They were both aware of how carefully he'd sidestepped around saying who had told him what it was called.)

"Mm." Fiddleford let the conversation drop. If he'd just explored the ruins of his old friend's memory-wiping brainwashing cult, he'd probably give him a few odd looks, too.

(In retrospect, could Fiddleford really judge Stanford for giving that demon a second chance? He'd given Fiddleford one, too—and sometimes Fiddleford didn't feel like he was that much better.)

######

(Because chapter 60 came out last July and people have forgotten things since then, I know some of y'all are gonna go "whoa did Fiddleford just confirm that Bill's still a triangle?!" So let me remind y'all:

Fidds said that Bill is definitely still a hyper-weird triangle if he can't cross the barrier, but if he CAN cross the barrier it means his soul could be triangular OR human, he's just a little less weird than he was during Weirdmageddon. And we know that Ford and Fidds are mistaken because Bill did cross the barrier in ch 60.

TBOB! If I said "no yeah i totally wrote the bloody mary scene before tbob" y'all would think i'm psychic or lying. But no, tbob inspired the idea. The rest of the chapter is free of TBOB influence, though I can't think of anything y'all might think was inspired by TBOB except maybe mentioning spirit boards and Bill saying that kids are cool until they grow up.

Anyway looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!

I CANNOT overemphasize just how much I love writing the scenes from Soos's anime.)

[nghtwngs]

For emotional depth :) reader is really powerful. Like REALLY powerful (maybe part Celestial through some sort of serum/experiments? Or even a prophecy) and she was in the OG avengers but was really young (maybe not all that idk) but basically the Thunderbolts keep her around because she’s one of the only people who could stop Sentry. And he’s like “how do you stay so calm? You make this look easy?” And they like bond (maybe they’re already tg) over the weight of being that powerful

‘cause it feels like cpr

pairing. robert “bob” reynolds x avengers!reader

genre. fluff, angst, slightly hurt/comfort, mutual pining, eventual friends to lovers

warnings. very little backstory/context, which will be remedied in a 2nd part, kinda dialogue heavy

author’s notes. ok avengers!reader yay i had to do the math for this all to make sense though lol so reader got blippity blip blipped when they were like in their early twenties and is now ~thirty. i’m splitting this request into two parts (sorry) cause this ending feels like the most natural breaking point to me

part two. masterlist.

“How can be you so calm?” He huffs, scratching the sole of his black converse against the concrete. “You make it all look so easy.”

You crack a slight smile at that. “Takes a lot of work to make this look easy, but I’m flattered you think so. And calm is not a choice for me—it’s either that or wipe out an entire city by accident. Which one would you rather pick?”

Bob stays silent at that, and you stand up from the ledge you were sat on.

“It’s all patience and discipline, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.” You walk on the ledge of the building, stepping one foot in front of the other, shoulders shrugging. “That’s all basic, but it’s hard. Usually it’s the most foundational things that are like that. Simple, but it’s the consistency that makes them difficult.”

And then you’re letting yourself free fall off the side of the Avengers tower, much to Bob’s horror. He’s rushing to the edge of the building despite his extreme aversion to heights to see where you’ve gone, only to feel the air blow past his curls as you spring up in flight.

Smiling sheepishly, you apologize, “Sorry, I always love doing that to people. Bruce, um, the Hulk freaked the first time I did that to him. Almost went all Hulk to try and catch me. It was kind of sweet.” His cheeks go all rosy when you fly up to him, still in the air but with your crossed arms laid on the ledge of the tower. You lay your head down on your forearm, finding his bright blue eyes once more. “I think you might like this once you get the hang of things. And it makes you look super cool.” You grin, tilting your head to the other side. “Not that you need to look any cooler.”

Bob’s mouth dries a little at your flirtatious remark, not at all expecting it. You’re just trying to soothe his anxiety, and he really does appreciate it. What he doesn’t appreciate is how his cheeks get even hotter at your words.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

Thanks? Groaning internally at himself, he is almost considering walking off the side of the tower. Not that it’d even put a scratch on him. Actually, it might just be even more embarrassing because you’d almost certainly dive after him. This is why he lets you do most of the talking (totally not ‘cause your voice sounds so nice).

“No prob, Bob. Wow, I’ve never gotten to say that to an actual Bob before.” You wince. “Sorry, we’re totally getting sidetracked here. I don’t wanna waste your time.”

“No, it’s okay! I don’t mind… really. I usually have nothing better to do, so this is a big step up for me.”

“Me lecturing you?” You mock wince. “Jeez, you should get out more ‘cause this being a highlight of your day isn’t exactly ideal, I’d say.”

His head shakes quickly. “No, seriously. I’m alright with this. I don’t mind spending time with you.”

Well, you weren’t expecting that. “Thanks. That’s kind of you—alright, let’s continue. You’ve told me you don’t like using your abilities because of the Void. What makes you believe you don’t have control over that part of yourself?”

“When the Void took over, a lot of people got hurt because of me… I guess I’m scared that I won’t be able to contain it, and that the city will get swallowed by darkness again. And I can’t be the Sentry without the other half…”

You frown, thinking for a moment before a bulb lights up over your head. “But what if that’s it? They’re two sides of the same coin, you, and they must balance the other out. Being the Sentry made you feel great, didn’t it? Like you were in complete control of everything, and there were no variables you couldn’t face. Perhaps—and this is just a total guess, but maybe it’s the Void who keeps you grounded? The Void shows people’s deepest regrets and the stuff we like to keep tucked away, but we need those things. We need them to be better, y’know? It’s a kinda tricky ground since it can easily overwhelm you too, consuming you into the darkness like it did before. But also, you have to learn to control it, or else you might actually end up losing control just as you fear.”

He chews his lower lip, a thoughtful expression now taking over his face. “I never really thought about it like that…”

“Well, that’s why you guys keep me around, isn’t it?” You tease him, holding your hand out as an offering. ”You don’t gotta fly yet if you’re not up for it, Bob, but just let me show you how fun it is. And if you fall, I’ll catch you.”

The sweet smile on your face is one that deserves to be returned, so Bob finds himself with a matching one as he accepts your hand. When you take his other one too, you carefully begin guiding him off the edge of the tower. Even with his fear of heights still bubbling in his stomach, there is something about you that eases it. You make everything look easy, he thinks to himself this time, even flight.

Honestly, he’s more nervous about the fact that he’s holding your hands than he is about being hundreds of feet in the air above New York traffic. But you lead him high enough, protecting his head through the freezing clouds, to where the streets and even the skyscrapers are no longer visible. It’s actually kind of peaceful up here if keeps his gaze pointed around and not down. His eyes return to you, and you’re watching him curiously and with a childlike hope.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” you ask quietly, less confident than you were before.

He smiles at you, shaking his head with certainty. “Not at all.” Thankfully, Bob is able to blame his reddened cheeks on the cold air and not you. “It is pretty cool.”

“You wanna look down?”

“No,” he quickly answers with a swallow, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly.

You chuckle. “The first time I ever flew this high, I wanted to be brave and took a peek down below. I was scared, but I felt such an exhilarating rush that I wanted to do it anyway. I couldn’t even see people—the cars were just tiny moving dots. Even skyscrapers looked small from up there. It’s weird… I think more people focus on what it looks like above, but I think looking back down at the planet is just as beautiful.” You glance up at the dark night sky, twinkling lights surrounding the two of you. “I like staring at the stars as much as anyone else, but we have our own back on Earth too.”

But Bob believes that the only sight worth looking at right now is you.

[ferret5557]

ok so tbh idk anything about dating and if u need dating help im probably not the person to ask. HOWEVER i think applying these strategies in ur friendship life will expose you to more people which increases your odds of finding someone who you want to date and who wants to date you

you need three things to make friends as an adult:

1. solo hobbies, ideally making something.

you gotta do something with your free time other than bedrot. This works in two ways. First: When you are alone, your time still feels meaningful. No one can connect with others 24/7 and the feeling of desperation associated with "not being alone" can be both soul crushing and offputting. Second: when you do have the oppertunity to make friends, you have things to talk about that are interesting and exist in the real world. People are a lot more interested hearing about your garden or a bookshelf you built or your Gundam collection or your new lego set compared to what you're consuming. You can consume but your consumption habits should be minimal compared to your production habits, and you should try to be a productive consumer (IE, read/watch/listen to things which give you new ideas or new knowledge).

2. oppertunity

this is the hardest for people in suburbs or rural areas. You might have to bite the bullet and learn how to drive. This can be any social gathering where you might find likeminded people: go on google or facebook or whatever and type in "model building club near me" or "punk shows in my area" or whatever your interests are. If you're scared of cis people or white people or men, you can always find social groups based on your race, gender, or sexuality. Probably someone in that club will share your interests, and be able to introduce you to interest-based spaces which are friendly. The point is to show up somewhere. Don't stay in the group chat; go to the meetup.

3. DRIVE

everyone is just as shy and afraid of making mistakes as you. This is actually an advantage. If you can get over that and cold approach someone like "hey I'm new here" they will see you as straightforward and confident. If someone isn't interested in striking up conversation, or you don't share anything in common, politely recuse yourself by saying "it was nice meeting you" and moving on to someone else. You need to be the driver, because no one else will be. If you need to, practice phrases like "That sounds fun, can I come?" or "I'd like to see you again some time". You might fuck up, but being the plan-maker will draw people to you. Be spesific and direct: "do you want to grab lunch together on the 14th", "would you walk me home tonight?", "you should come to This Other Meetup with me on tuesday"

thats all i got. take it at your pace but push yourself to do more when you can. Not everyone is gonna like you and thats okay, keep trying even when you feel hopeless and you will find your people. end of post

do you ever have the sudden realization on how lonely you are and its just like

[booksandteaandtears]

Teaching Hospital

Michael 'Dr. Robby' Robinavitch x f!prosecutor!reader

Summary: You're a prosecutor and end up in the Pitt with a dislocated shoulder. You're a teaching case for Javadi and Dr. Robby supervises. Supervision turns into flirting quite easily

genre: pure fluff, smart and older female reader, flirty!Robinavitch, reader takes the first step, Dana is a wingwoman, Javadi is scared she'll mess up

about 1.4 k words

masterlist and I wrote a part 2

You had walked into the Pitt, your left arm supporting you right, two cops trailing you with worry. You'd told them several times already that it was your own fault for deciding to hop aboard their patrol. After two decades of relying on police investigations in the courtroom, you had wanted to see more of the process, but you were regretting it now.

You knew a lot of police work was dealing with rowdy drunks, even around noon on a weekday, so you'd stayed back when the cops had stopped outside a bar downtown. You had been so focused on what was happening in front of you that you hadn't seen the guy coming from your right. And now you were in a busy ER, holding your arm because it felt like it was going to get ripped from its socket.

Once you'd been triaged, given a sling and the doctors had decided you weren't badly injured, the cops you'd been with apologised and continued their shift. Your jacket had been cut open to access your injury, so the remaining half was draped over your right shoulder. The painkillers started to work after a while. You sat on a sticky plastic chair, surrounded by the nightly clientele of the Pitt, wishing you'd brought your laptop. You made do with your phone, pinching your eyes to read through the case you'd been sent that morning.

You were so caught up in it, that you didn't notice a deep voice calling your last name until he was right in front of you. A pair of soft brown eyes was looking at you, with a nice looking face to match. "Shoulder that needs resetting, that's you right?" He asked. "Sure, yes, sorry!" You apologised. "I got caught up in work, barely notice anything around me when I get into it." The doctor laughed softly at you and gestured towards an open bed. "You take a seat, I'm going to get a medical student and then we'll get about putting your shoulder back in the right way." You nodded and shuffled yourself on the bed awkwardly, trying not to make wild moves and make your arm worse.

The doctor came back with a petite girl who was smiling sweetly at you, but you could see the fear in her eyes. "Right," the bearded doctor said, "I'm Dr. Robinavitch, this is Dr. Javadi, our med student. She put a hip back in place last week, so she'll be trying your arm this time, this being a teaching hospital and all. I'm just here for support." Javadi cleared her throat and looked at the chart. "You've been given pain medication when you came in, correct?" You nodded and smiled at the girl. She was radiating anxiety and you could see her swallowing her fear. "It says here you were trailing with the police when someone knocked you down, is that correct." You nodded again. "And you work as a prosecutor here in Pittsburgh?" You sighed, "Yup, I got myself into this mess trying to get some hands-on experience." Dr. Robinavitch smirked from behind his med student. "Guess you're not trying that again anytime soon?" You laughed, wincing slightly as you moved your arm. "I'll be sticking to court for the next while, I think."

You smiled back at the doctor while Javadi prodded around your shoulder softly. His brown eyes focused on the student's hands, giving soft directions on what she should feel for. You were enjoying yourself, spending some time looking at him. Smart, ambitious men had always been your type. Bonus points if they looked cute. You startled and gave a small moan when Javadi prodded a particularly tender part of your shoulder, and she jumped back in worry.

You tried to make light of the situation to take some of the stress away. "Don't worry, Dr. Javadi, if you hurt me I'll only prosecute you for injuring a public official." You smiled up at her and saw that your joke did not have the desired effect. All the blood had left Javadi's face.

Dr. Robinavitch cleared his throat and Javadi turned to face him. "Go get the type of sling she'll need, take a breath, then you'll put it back." Javadi nodded and rushed off. "Sorry," Dr. Robinavitch said, "teaching hospital means teaching moments sometimes." You smiled up at him. "That's alright, Dr. Robinavitch, that's how we all were, those first years on the job. I called a judge mom in my first month, was about to quit then and there. Glad I stuck to it though." He laughed. "Dr. Robby." You raised your eyebrow. "What?" "It's Dr. Robby. At least for people who tell me their embarrassing stories within ten minutes of meeting me." You smiled at him and tasted the name on your lips. "Dr. Robby it is." You could swear you saw his ears go slightly red.

Robby tried to focus on something that wasn't your face because he could feel his ears turning red. Unfortunately for him, that was the moment the remains of your jacket slid of your shoulder, and he was staring at your collarbones beneath the spaghetti straps of you tanktop. Great, now his whole face would be turning red. You shivered and tried to grab your jacket from the floor, pulling a face as you twisted your shoulder. Robby reached forward on instinct and gently guided you upright again. He zipped his hoodie down and draped it over your shoulders. "Here, take mine. Yours isn't worth much and I've got an extra in my locker." The smell of laundry, cologne and something manly hit you. You liked it. "Thanks, I'll give it back before I leave." You said, smiling up at him once more.

Dana caught Javadi rushing back from the supply closet. She startled again and looked towards the charge nurse expectantly. "You just stay here for a minute longer, darling." Collins stopped next to Dana, both looking towards your bed, where Dr. Robby had rolled his chair slightly more towards you. "Do my eyes deceive me..." Collins started. "Or is Cap flirting with that poor girl?" Dana finished. "I think you're right. He's actually smiling at her. Oh look, she's flirting back, putting her hand on his arm. Poor sad boy, he's turning bright red. And my god, is that his hoodie that she's wearing?"

Javadi came back and set your shoulder expertly, earning her a nod from Dr. Robby and many thanks from you. You were sorry when they were called into an incoming trauma, leaving a nurse with you to discharge you. You tried to hang around for a while, but soon came to the realisation that they needed the bed. You hung near the desk for another ten minutes, hoping that Dr. Robby would emerge from the trauma room soon.

"You waiting for Robby?" A blond woman stood next to you, sipping a cup of coffee. "Yeah, just wanted to give him my thanks." The woman pulled up an eyebrow. "I thought Javadi treated you?" You sighed. "You caught me. Just wanted to ask Dr. Robby some questions." "Questions about what? Anything to do with that hoodie you're wearing?" Dana took a sip and stared at you. "Well, I guess straight forward is your way, ma'am. I appreciate that, 'cause it's my way as well. I have two questions mainly. If he's single, and if yes, if he's free for a date somewhere this week. I have a nice bottle of wine that needs opening but I can't really make it work with this arm." You pointed at your sling. The nurse smiled back at you. "I think a bottle of wine is just what that man needs. Can't help you with his schedule, I'm no personal assistant, but I can give you his cell number if that's of any help?" She winked at you. "Just tell him Dana gave the number, cause he's too much of a chicken to have done it himself. And tell him I like you and your straightforward ways." You flashed a bright smile at her. "Will do Dana, thank you. I'll tell him you're the best wingwoman I've ever met."

You were still wearing Dr. Robby's hoodie when left the Pitt, clutching a post-it with his phone number in your good hand.

[cod-bin]

okay babe i saw you were wanting requests and so here’s my shot! pls pls pls ignore it if this makes you uncomfy in any way tho

but hear me out: simon and/or johnny who’s incredibly sensitive during sex. like 5 minutes in at most and she writing away, moaning out “oh no’s” and “i cants” the second it’s more than her clit being rubbed or being fingered, instinctively backing away even though she does want it

basically just squirmy crybaby reader being manhandled

a/n: yesss girl I love this so much! I also went kinda crazy so enjoy lol. also off anon ily. I wrote this with simon cuz I think im better at writing with him because im practically in love with him ☺️

cw: smut, 18+ MDNI sub!reader/dom!simon, crybaby!reader

wc: 2.1k (😳 i did not realize it was this long)

You always come undone too fast.

It’s almost embarrassing, the way your body betrays you the second he even looks at you like that—hooded eyes, half-lidded and hungry, his voice sinking an octave as he murmurs your name like it’s already a promise. And now, on your back, flushed and slick with sweat and tears you don’t even remember starting to cry, you’re not even five minutes in and already—

You’re shaking.

“You’re doin’ it again,” Simon mutters, half against your skin. “Tryin’ to run from me.”

His voice is rough. Gentle, but undeniably teasing, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and he does. He always does. He’s got you pinned, one large palm firm at your hip to keep you in place while the other slips between your legs again, fingers already glistening from the mess he made of you earlier. His touch is lazy, unhurried, but too much all the same. You feel his fingertips drag up and down through your folds like he’s exploring, like he hasn’t memorized you by now.

Your breath catches. Your hips jump involuntarily, thighs trying to snap shut.

“Don’t—” you gasp, not knowing if you mean don’t stop or don’t touch. You want both. Neither. Everything.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mock concern draped in a low groan. “You’re already wrigglin’. Barely touched you and you’re soaked.”

He leans in, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, chest to chest as he nudges his nose against yours. “Still want me to stop?”

You shake your head instantly—panicked, breathless. “No, no—I want you, I do, I just—”

His fingers press into you, slow and deep.

You let out a broken little cry and arch helplessly, the world narrowing to the stretch of his knuckles, the way his hand fills you like it was made for it. Your nails claw into the sheets, or maybe his back—you can’t tell—your whole body trembling like a live wire.

Simon hums low in his throat. “There she is.”

You sob.

Not loud or dramatic—just one of those stuttering, overwhelmed little hiccups that slips out before you can hide it. Your legs twitch against the mattress. The heat in your belly is sharp, unbearable, cresting too fast. You squirm beneath him, trying to ease the pressure even though you don’t want him to stop.

“Simon—oh God—oh no, no, I can’t—” you cry, the words tumbling out between your choked little gasps. “It’s—it’s too much, I can’t—”

But you’re still clenching around his fingers like you’re begging for more.

“You always say that,” he whispers, a little cruel, a lot fond.

His other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb swiping over your cheekbone where the tears have started to streak. You don’t even know when you started crying. It just happens—whenever he’s like this. Focused. Gentle but relentless. Worshipping your body even as he breaks it down.

“Every time I touch you, you start cryin’,” he says, and there’s something like awe in his voice, like it actually wrecks him. “Like your body doesn’t even know how to take it.”

You try to nod, try to answer, but he crooks his fingers just right and you go liquid, back arching with another desperate sob.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight, Christ.”

His cock is hard and heavy against your hip. You feel it, even now, even through the haze, and the thought of him inside you—not just his fingers but all of him—makes your breath stutter.

“I want you,” you whimper. “I do, I want it, just—just not yet, please, I can’t yet—”

Simon shushes you immediately.

“Hey, hey, I know,” he breathes, brushing your hair back from your damp face. “We’re not rushin’ anything, alright? You just breathe for me.”

But he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t retreat.

His fingers stay buried inside, moving in slow, controlled strokes, just enough to make your thighs tremble. His thumb finally brushes over your clit—just once—and your hips jerk again, a high-pitched ohfuck slipping from your lips.

Your legs instinctively try to close, to protect the overwhelming heat building between them, but he catches one with a hand under the knee and spreads you again, slow but unyielding.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmurs. “Let me see.”

“Simon—” you whine, nearly delirious.

He just looks at you then. Really looks. Like you’re something holy. Something broken open just for him.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he says. “All flushed and tearin’ up. Can’t even think straight, can you?”

You shake your head helplessly, lip wobbling.

He kisses you, finally, catching your bottom lip with his and biting it just enough to make you whimper. The kiss is messy. Deep. You’re still crying a little, but he swallows every sound you make like it’s something precious.

“Fuckin’ love it when you get like this,” he growls against your mouth. “You act like you’re shy, like you can’t take it—but your cunt tells me otherwise.”

“Simon—!”

You sob his name again, your whole body locked up with the incoming wave that’s barreling toward you. His fingers don’t stop. He keeps fucking you through it—slow, rhythmic, endless—and you’re nearly incoherent now, little gasps and whimpers spilling out with every breath.

And then you snap.

It hits all at once. Your back arches, your thighs quake, and you’re crying out so loudly you don’t even recognize your own voice. Your body writhes beneath him, trying to pull away even as your cunt clamps down like a vice.

“Thaaaat’s it,” Simon growls, pressing his mouth to your temple. “Cry it out, baby. That’s my girl.”

You’re still sobbing, still twitching through it, the aftershocks rattling your bones.

You don’t even realize he’s pulled his fingers out until you feel his hands slide up your body, anchoring your hips, holding you like you’re breakable and precious and his.

“You alright?” he murmurs, voice rough. “You with me?”

You nod, barely.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Mouth soft. Gentle.

And when you whisper, still shaking, “I still want you,” he presses his forehead to yours and groans like it’s killing him not to take you apart all over again.

“Then I’ll give you everything,” he promises. “Nice and slow. Gonna take care of you, baby. You just cry for me as much as you need.”

☆taglist☆

@h0lydrag0ns @little-mini-me-world @just-lost-inbetween-worlds

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Hii I really loved your poly!141 x administrator!reader series!! Could you please write part 3 as well?!! Thank you🥰

No One Touches Her

Pairing: Poly 141 x Administrator!Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, protective behavior, implied threats, verbal harassment (not from the boys), swearing, team dynamics, emotional vulnerability, reader is overwhelmed

Author's Note: You asked for another part, here you are!! Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Someone in command crosses a line with you during a mission briefing, and your boys don't just stand by.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The air in the logistics hallway was dry and over-warm, the fluorescent lights above buzzing with a soft, irritating hum. You clutched a folder against your chest—inventory reports from the last drop—and gave a tight-lipped smile as you stepped into the office.

Major Colton didn’t even look up from his screen.

You cleared your throat, professional and calm. “Sir, I’ve got the latest requisition breakdown. 141’s field kit resupply numbers are ready.”

He didn’t respond for a moment. Then a slow, derisive chuckle escaped his throat.

“You’re always so damn eager, aren’t you?”

You frowned, keeping your tone neutral. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“You’ve been doing a lot more than that, from what I’ve heard.”

His voice was lazy, but it carried an edge that set your skin on fire. You stiffened, heart beginning to thud unevenly. “I don’t follow.”

Colton finally looked up, his gaze sliding over you like grease. “Don’t play coy. You think people don’t notice the way you cozy up to Price and his little merry band of killers?”

Your jaw locked.

“Must be nice, being the only girl in a building full of desperate men. You picked well—big names, high ranks.” He leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. “Bet you’ve got a rotation going, huh? That’s how you keep getting special treatment.”

A low, vibrating pressure formed in your chest. Rage. Humiliation. Disbelief.

“You are out of line, sir.”

Colton raised a brow. “What? Can’t take a compliment? Or are you just upset I figured you out?”

You couldn’t even see straight. You turned, boots stiff against the tile as you walked out, fists clenched tight by your sides.

The door clicked shut behind you, and your breath hitched. You leaned against the cold wall, trying to stop the burn behind your eyes. One tear slipped free.

You quickly wiped it away.

What you didn’t see—what you couldn’t have seen—was Johnny standing at the end of the corridor, eyes wide, frozen in place.

He’d been there long enough to hear it all.

—

“Where the fuck is he?” Johnny slammed the mess hall door open an hour later, storming into your shared space with the rest of the team.

Simon looked up from his place by the window. “Who?”

“Major Colton,” Johnny growled. “Said somethin’ to her. Something disgusting. I heard the tail end of it—she looked wrecked.”

John stood slowly from his chair, eyes narrowing. “What did he say?”

“Didn’t catch all of it. But I heard him imply she was sleeping with us for favors.”

Kyle dropped his fork. “He what?”

Simon was already reaching for his balaclava, his voice low and lethal. “Tell me where he is.”

—

You were still at your desk, head bowed over meaningless reports, trying to pretend your eyes weren’t red and puffy when the door swung open.

John, Simon, Johnny, and Kyle entered like a wall of shadow and fire.

You stood so fast your chair scraped loudly against the floor. “What—?”

“You alright, love?” John asked, soft but serious.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” you rushed, blinking hard. “You don’t need to—”

“We do,” Simon interrupted. “You’re not fine.”

Your lip trembled, and Johnny was already by your side, arms wrapping around your shoulders.

“Soap said he heard Colton,” John said quietly. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I can handle it,” you whispered, but your voice cracked. “It’s fine, I—”

“No, it’s not,” Kyle said, stepping closer. “He crossed a line. And we’re not letting him get away with it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Simon touched your wrist, grounding you. “We’re not just your team. We’re yours. That makes you ours.”

You froze.

John leaned in, hand brushing the back of your neck. “Stay here, sweetheart. We’ll be back.”

You watched them go—uniforms sharp, shoulders squared, righteous fury barely contained.

And despite the nerves curling in your stomach… part of you felt warm. Safe.

—

Colton’s office door slammed open hard enough to rattle the glass.

John entered first, the perfect image of a furious Captain. “Major Colton.”

Colton looked up with a sneer. “Captain Price. What can I do for—”

Simon stepped in after him, towering and silent. Kyle and Johnny followed. The room suddenly felt about ten degrees colder.

“You spoke to our administrator earlier today,” John said, voice calm and cold as steel. “I’d like to hear exactly what you said.”

Colton blinked. “Is this about that little misunderstanding?”

“Try again,” Kyle snapped.

“Don’t know what she told you, but she’s sensitive. I made a joke, that’s all.”

“Insinuating she’s using sex to gain favor isn’t a joke,” Simon said. “It’s harassment.”

“And you’re damn lucky she didn’t report it,” Johnny added, arms crossed.

Colton’s smugness faltered.

John took a step closer, voice dangerously low. “That woman is the backbone of this base. She handles more intel, logistics, and personnel coordination than half the brass upstairs.”

“I didn’t mean any harm—”

“You humiliated her,” John cut in. “You disrespected her. And by extension, you disrespected this team.”

Colton went pale.

“If you ever speak to her again,” Simon said, “you won’t have a desk left to sit behind.”

“And if you breathe her name with anything less than respect,” John added, “I will file formal charges.”

The silence was deafening.

“Dismissed, Major,” John said, turning on his heel.

—

They returned just after sunset.

You were curled up on the couch in your office, a soft blanket around your shoulders, sipping cold coffee. When the door opened, all four walked in—calm, content.

John set down a warm bag of takeout. “Figured you could use some comfort food.”

You blinked at him. “You didn’t have to…”

“We wanted to,” Kyle said, sitting beside you.

Johnny plopped down on the other side, sandwiching you between them. “Told ya we’d handle it.”

Simon leaned against your desk, arms crossed, eyes watching you carefully. “You alright now?”

You nodded slowly. “Better. Because you were here.”

John smiled gently. “Always.”

—

You ate together in comfortable silence. No lectures. No pressure. Just warmth and safety and unspoken promise.

You weren’t just the admin. You were theirs.

And no one would ever forget that again.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[02lvr]

my dear melancholy — pjs

synopsis; jay's needy and he misses you -- soft dom! jay x female reader

warnings; unprotected sex (wrap it!), non-idol!jay, virgin jay + reader, cums untouched, oral (f. receiving), slight crying, riding, jay with a breeding kink (consensual), muncher! jay, cum eating, pet names (didn't proofread!)

now playing; pretty when you cry - lana del rey

jay misses you a lot, especially when the clock hits 1am and he sits in front of his laptop in the studio with no windows. he feels suffocated without any interaction for once, so he forces himself to finish the next verse in the song before grabbing his phone and texting you to come over.

"are you awake? do you think you can come over, i need your opinion on a song"

and there's no response. so jay scrolls on his phone and waits a bit before starting to pack his bag before the unlocked door opens and you're standing in front of him with tired eyes and him with a lovesick smile.

jay begins to hum low at the song that it sounds like a ballad until it turns into so much more than just the song but him so unbearably needy to feel you around him. so you two stare at eachother with the weird tension that the studio gives you two as the clock stops at 2am.

jay has thought about how good you'd ride him on the couch that sits on the right side of the room. so tiny but perfect for him to touch you.

"i'm sorry, this is so fucking weird and i didn't mean to do anything. i'm gonna leave now-"

so you pull his collar into a kiss, and he melts into the kiss as he falls onto the couch with you now riding him, and he isn't sure if the door is locked. and for jay it was the first time that he'd ever felt something like this and he could cum untouched but that was embarrassing to him.

all jay could think is about how good you feel around him and how fast he could come if you kept riding him like that; a pornographic type of moan that he was sure the studios next door could hear. and jay has touched himself before at the thought of you clenching around his dick.

and jay that feels the tension and decides to go in for a passionate kiss where you struggle to breathe, and he whimpers as he comes inside without a warning. so jay that takes a breather and looks at you like you put the stars in the sky.

he was so in love with you.

jay gets hard at how you moan loudly as he kisses down your neck, slowly reaching down and leaving hickeys on your chest. "so pretty just for me." he would lick like it was his last day seeing you like that in front of him.

jay that asks you if you're okay with continuing riding him because it felt as good as it did in his dream. he places his hands on your waist and slowly sits you, hovering over the tip as it barely goes in, and he moans at how sensitive he is. being so turned on that he doesn't realize your hand hovering over his throat.

he sits you down on the couch, and the only yellow lamp on his desk shows how desperate and needy he's gotten since you got here and he realized that he really could take his time with you. he licks while not breaking eye contact as you cover your mouth trying to not make noise.

"please baby I need to hear you." as he goes faster and faster and fingers you as you reach your high. moaning so loud that jay didn't care if everyone in the building could hear, he needed to take you in so badly in that moment.

jay cumming, with it spilling on the floor at the thought of someone catching you two in that moment because he thinks you look so pretty at the way you're taking him so well.

he takes his finger out and tastes it, moaning at how he sees how fucked you were. he hovers over you, kissing you passionately and looking at you while caressing your cheek.

"you're so fucking beautiful, please don't let this be a one night."

[shaunamilfman]

does your mother know?

pairing: Jackie Taylor x masc/butch!r summary: Jackie's been a titan in her industry for the last ten years. You're her hapless assistant she snapped up fresh out of college. She insists that you can't do anything right, but that's okay. You look good in a tie. And on your knees, probably. She hasn't gotten around to that. Yet. note: heavy on minors dni. based on this jackieshauna fanart i saw on twitter. most self-indulgent thing i've ever written i fear.

A shrill call of your name has you jumping out of your seat, your office chair rolling back into the wall as you hurry around your desk toward the door of the large office in the middle of the room. It's the third time just today that she's called for you suddenly like that, despite her continued ability to just message you, so you don't even flinch anymore at the interruption. She's trained you out of that. 

“Yes, Ms. Taylor,” you say as you step through the always open door. It was supposed to be some kind of metaphor about how you could always ask her for help since her door was always open, but you mostly believe it's to spy on her employees. 

Mainly you. 

You're not sure what she did with her day before she hired you 8 months ago right out of college. Honestly, you're not sure how you managed to get the job in the first place. Jackie Taylor was a well-known name—has been for nearly ten years—and one you definitely weren't qualified to work for in the first place. Somehow you had managed to ace the in-person interview with Jackie. You'd only applied for a laugh, but here you were. 

In hell. 

“Took you long enough.” She sniffs, eyes narrowing as she leans forward in her chair. “Is that a new cologne?”

Your eyes widen. “I, uh, yeah. Yes, I mean. It was a gift.” 

“A gift,” she repeats. “A gift from whom?”

“Someone. A woman. Did you need help with something?”

“Did I need help with something,” she mutters, seemingly letting the cologne thing go. You knew she wasn't. She was just waiting to bring it back up when you least expected it. When you're the most vulnerable. She was good like that. “Do you think I just called you in here to stare at you?”

Maybe. She's done it before when you came in with a tighter shirt. You couldn't prove it, but you knew from how flustered she seemed the entire day. Unfortunately, she's definitely calling you in to pile more tasks on you. 

You flip your notepad open, pen poised to write down notes faster than she spoke them as you look up at her expectantly. Jackie almost preens as you snap to attention, a pleased curl of her lips as she starts rolling off instruction after instruction. It's everything you can do to keep up with her at the best of times, and this was no exception. By the time she's finished, and you've gotten ink covering three pages and your fingertip, you feel like your hand has run a marathon of its own. 

Practice for tonight, maybe, if your date went well. You smile at the thought. 

You look back down at your sprawling notes, the tasks seeming to go on forever. If you’re fast enough, and you usually are—a product of being threatened with unemployment at least once a day through sharply worded emails or even sharper smiles—you’ll be able to finish it with just enough time to make it to the restaurant. Still in your work clothes, but you thought you made the tie work for you. A lot of women did, Jackie included.

That little smirk she wore after, like she was daring you to comment on it. It was nice to catch her staring, even if a part of you thought that you should go to HR about it. If Jackie had been a man, you wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. But Jackie was decidedly not a man. Not in those tight pencil skirts that seem to accentuate every inch of her hips and her thighs. Or those heels of hers that made her legs seem impossibly long even though she had to look up at you to address you.

Much to her continued chagrin.

She hated that you were taller. Hated that she had to tilt her chin up. But she never said anything. She just narrowed her eyes and found a new bullshit reason to call you to her office.

The point was, no one was going to HR. Your boss pervs on you from time to time, yes, but it’s not like she was some creepy old man with a wedding ring he forgot to take off. She has a good ten years on you, but time has been nothing but good to her. You would be jealous at how well she’s aging if you weren’t so busy thinking about bending her over any available surface at least half the time. And she was single. Blissfully single, if you hear her tell it. 

You don’t think that last part’s entirely true. Jackie’s the kind of woman you imagine attached at the hip with her partner, tripping over each other’s feet. If you have to take a guess, the only reason Jackie went home to an empty house was her commitment to her job. She was married to it and expected the same out of the rest of you. It was why her department tended to have such a high turnover rate, but her results spoke for themselves. There were few people in her field as well known as her, especially at how young she is.

Maybe you have a bit of a power crush on top of your real, actual crush. Whatever. It’s not like it could make you any less fired if she finds out about it. If she doesn’t already know. Knowing Jackie, she probably does. That woman seems to know everything. It was her trade, after all.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jackie asks, giving you a glare as you visibly startle out of your thoughts. 

You shake your head sheepishly, adjusting your grip on your pen. It was far too expensive for something you would buy for yourself, but Jackie had presented it to you a few months ago with a command not to leave a Bic in her company car ever again. You’re sure she had her driver burn it. You half expect the one in your hand to self-destruct if you ever displease her too much. Jackie has the kind of money that could buy that kind of thing if she really wanted to.

“You're fired,” she says flatly, waving a manicured hand in your direction dismissively.

You hum in acknowledgement, finishing up the last of your notes. “And will you still want lunch from—” 

“My usual. Yes.” Her voice softens just the slightest, a flicker of something indulgent in her voice before she plays it off. Jackie pinches the bridge of her nose as she leans back in her chair, her reading glasses pressed higher against her face.

You catch yourself watching her. Again. There’s something calculated in the way she sits in her chair, one leg crossing over the other at the knee. Like she’s giving you just enough rope to hang yourself with, and nothing more. Not an inch more.

She rests her head on her hands as she finally looks back at you. “Well, go. Do I need to hold your hand? 

You try not to think too hard about that last part. 

**

“Busy night?” Jackie asks, just as you reach her door to let her know you were about to head out. 

There's a sinking feeling in your chest as you wait in the doorway. The two of you are the last ones left in your department, working hours past when everyone else went home. That's how it usually went with Jackie. She works her employees hard and herself harder. Jackie seems to see you as an extension of herself. That usually just fucks you over twice as hard.

She carefully slides her glasses down the bridge of her nose, folding them up gently as she places them on her desk and looks up at you. 

“No,” you lie, rocking guiltily on the balls of your feet. Your expensive leather shoes, a graduation present you were stuck with in your fancy office job, squeak obnoxiously as you do so, making you wince. Jackie lets out a long-suffering sigh as she stares down at them before meeting your eyes again. The kind that wears you down before she even opens her mouth.

“No?” she asks slowly, folding her hands up in her lap. 

Fuck. 

She knows. 

“Ihaveadate,” you mutter, eyes downcast. Maybe if you don't look at her, she won't yell as loudly? It's never worked for you before, but you can't fight the urge. God knows why she seems so possessive of your time. She never got mad at anyone else for having plans outside of work, but whenever you did, she acted like it was a personal affront to her sensibilities. 

“What?” Her voice isn’t raised, but it cuts you just the same

“I have a date.” 

Jackie sits back in her chair, a look of disappointment crossing her face. It's not like you can avoid it, not with the way she sits there staring at you in silence. You squirm at the intensity of it as you finally bring yourself to meet her eyes again. That look wasn't anything you think you can ever grow used to. It's not the same look she gives you when you fuck one of her impossible tasks up. This was more personal and far more cutting for it. 

It makes you want to plead for forgiveness just about the same amount as it makes you want to take her by her shoulders and shake her. It wasn't any of her business what you do after work, right? This was crazy. 

“It’s not during work. I finished everything.”

“You scheduled a date during your working hours, and you're just going to rush out of here without finishing it?”

“I did finish. And everyone else left hours ago. ” You can’t help but protest, pulling out your notepad and flipping to all the tasks she'd given you earlier that day. Every single one of them was checked off. You had even started on some of the tasks you knew needed to be done tomorrow. You show her as much, but she doesn't seem impressed. She doesn’t even glance at it.

“And yet,” Jackie says slowly, gesturing to a fat stack of papers on her desk. “Your work remains.” 

“That’s not—that’s not fair,” you insist, suddenly feeling childish. The words just fall out, shaky and small. Like you're ten years old and being denied recess. It only makes you feel so much younger than you are, especially when standing in front of Jackie Taylor.

“Fair?”

Jackie scoffs, standing up out of her seat and walking up to you. You can barely stammer out an excuse before she’s grabbing onto your tie, right near the top where her fist curls around and pulls. You follow the motion unconsciously, gasping as it tightens around your throat and makes it harder to breathe. It’s not as bad when you lean down, eye to eye with Jackie for maybe the first time ever.

“Enough,” Jackie says, staring you straight in the eyes. You gulp, nodding rapidly and gasping as it tightens your tie around your throat. Her tone is cold and as firm as you've ever heard it. It goes straight through you in a way that's entirely too pleasant. It takes effort to avoid doing something humiliating.

Suddenly she’s off, pulling you by the tie behind her as she leads you through the office building, stumbling after her. She almost shoves you into your chair, your body hitting the chair with a thud that sends the chair back into the wall. Jackie leans down, one arm braced on the chair on the other side of your head. You’re breathing far too quickly for someone sitting on their ass in an office building.

“You’re not going on that date.”

You nod, again, at a loss for words. Jackie stomps off, and you take a moment to loosen your tie around your neck and try not to gasp too loudly for breath as you do. She slams the paperwork down on your desk with a thud, sparing one glance to the clock in the corner of the floor before heading back to her office.

What a bummer.

…

When you come in the next day, it’s to see security dragging out the friend you’d talked to about your date the day before out of Jackie’s office. She’s crying, a box of her things clutched in her arm as they escort her toward the elevator. You watch with wide eyes until the elevator doors close behind her, slowly turning to face Jackie’s office only to see her leaning in the doorway watching you.

She gives you a little wave with her fingers, a smug look on her face, before she turns and disappears into her office like nothing’s even happened. You sit down wearily at your desk, slowly starting your computer up as you stare in the direction of Jackie’s office, like the walls could explain what just happened.

How is this your life?

…

The screen of your computer starts to feel like it’s staring back at you in what you’re sure is a side effect of only pretending to work. You had run out of things to do at least an hour ago, when you had last been brave enough to glance toward the clock, and have been clicking around on Excel to look busy ever since. 

Normally your days ended in a rush, struggling to finish what you’ve been assigned, but as you’re going on twelve straight hours of sitting in this chair, even Jackie ran out of tasks to give you.

“You’ll think of something,” she had assured you two hours ago before she slipped into a Zoom meeting you weren’t invited to. A group of investors halfway across the world that would only meet on their time, you're sure. 

The only question was why you still have to be here. Sure, you’re her assistant and all, but it wasn’t like she was actually letting you do anything at the moment. You reach for your coffee—cold. You look out the window—dark. You click another row, highlighting a row of numbers.

“Now,” Jackie calls out, and you can’t smile at the command. Smile. You’re so bored sitting here that you’re actually excited to be given more work. Like a dog summoned for a chore. She might as well give you a leash with how eager you are to do what she says. You hurry up and into her office, trying not to look too relieved as you stand by her desk. 

Despite calling you over, she doesn’t immediately give you something to do. She doesn’t even look at you as she types away at her computer, far too focused on whatever she was doing to even spare you a glance. Not a word, not a glance, not even a flicker of acknowledgement. That was… that was something.

You shift your weight from foot to foot as you stand there, hands resting by your sides as your fingers tap against your pants pockets idly. Does she want you to announce yourself or just wait for her to start speaking? Maybe this was your task, just to stand here waiting like an extra in an office movie without a speaking line. You wish you could see the screen from this angle, if only to see what she was working on.

A spreadsheet? An email? A memo from an office where assistants had something to do?

You start to wonder if she forgot you’re standing here when she suddenly starts to speak. “I need you to get on your knees.”

“Ex–excuse me?” You ask, wondering if you somehow heard her wrong. This was the kind of thing women like Jackie said in movies. A very specific type of movie that you wouldn’t admit to ever watching.

“Don’t be weird,” she says, rolling her eyes as she pushes away from her desk. Clearly unimpressed with the way you’re staring at her in shock and a tiny bit of awe. She waves her pantyhose-covered foot in your direction. “Help me put my heels on.”

Her heels are sitting just under the desk, where they always are when she’s alone in her office. She barely sits down before she slips them off, as you’ve witnessed a hundred times. You can’t imagine that they were all that comfortable, so you never questioned it. You’ve also never been asked to help her put them on before, either.

“My back hurts,” she adds, a light blush coloring her cheeks at the admission. That ten or so years on you catching up on her, it seems. You soften slightly, eyeing her heels with a sigh as you slowly sink to your knees on her carpeted office floor. This definitely was not in your job description.

The floor was firm beneath your knees, the kind of cheap carpet you only find in office buildings or schools. There was barely enough cushioning there for you to even consider it carpeting, but it was enough to stop the position from actively being uncomfortable for the moment. A win for you after a long day of losses. You almost have to crawl under the desk to reach her shoes, an activity not helped by the way Jackie plants herself in her chair like a tree, not moving even an inch out of the way to make the whole endeavor easier for you.

You wonder if a part of her just enjoys humiliating you. Moreover, you wonder how fucked up you have to be to like that thought. They’re lighter in your hand than you imagined them being. You’re surprised by the thought even as it crosses your mind, looping one finger through the straps of both heels as you shuffle back on your knees and raise them up questioningly.

“Do you see any other shoes down there?” She answers. You huff as you sit them on the ground by the side of her desk. Maybe it would’ve been a dumb question if the woman hadn’t owned so many pairs of shoes. You’ve been here for months and months, and she’s barely even repeated an outfit. Her closets must have closets, okay? It makes sense to check. You might have said such if looking up at her from this angle didn’t make your throat feel like it was closing up whenever you caught so much as a glance at the hem of her skirt so close to your face. 

It was like the protective glass in the museum had disappeared.

“I don’t, Ms. Taylor.”

She nods, gesturing down to her foot impatiently. Slowly, like you’re waiting for her to slap your hand away, you pick up the shoe and bring it toward her foot. You start with the easy one, her left foot hanging in the air where she has her leg crossed over the other. As your fingers run over the expensive red bottom, you worry about your mediocrity rubbing off on it. It wasn’t the type of shoe people in your tax bracket tended to see this closely, let alone touch. There you are, fumbling with something that probably costs more than your rent.

Jackie doesn’t say much as she sits above you, just watching you with those eyes of hers like she was taking in every single detail of it. You hold the bottom of her shoe to the sole of her foot with one hand as you draw the straps around her ankle, fiddling with the clasp for an embarrassingly long moment before you figure it out. It was far too small, making your fingers feel abnormally large and clumsy.

She’s still silent in a way that’s unusual for her. You can’t imagine her being this quiet in an office full of people, so she has to be at least somewhat affected by your presence. The idea is more soothing than it should be, relaxing you enough for you to move on to her next shoe with far more confidence than you had started with.

It’s the only reason you find yourself grabbing her ankle firmly, squeezing with enough pressure to force a gasp past her lips as you lift her foot off the ground. You slip her heel on with the same gentle dedication you did with the first, feeling brave enough to stroke her ankle with your thumb as you clasp her shoe together.

That bravery carries just long enough for you to sit her heel back on the ground, hands pressing against your thighs as you start to rise to your feet only to suddenly be pinned back against the edge of the desk by one heeled foot. The desk digs into your back, a complement to the feeling of the sharp tip of her heel pressing into your chest. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, quite literally.

There’s an effortless authority in the gesture that has you remaining tight-lipped, not able to voice a single protest about the treatment even if you had wanted to. You aren’t sure that you did. Whether you could muster up the courage, you’ll never know, because Jackie pulls her foot away just as quickly as she had positioned it there. 

She’s not even touching you anymore, but you swear you can still feel the echo of it against you. The lack of sleep was probably making you hallucinate. That was probably the explanation for why you swear that Jackie seemed contemplative for a moment before she let you go.

“Are you ready?” you ask, looking down at her in her chair as you rise unsteadily to your feet. Her eyes are wide. Just wide enough that you start to wonder if you somehow crossed a line during the whole thing. Maybe holding her ankle still the way you did was a little too much for someone like her.

“No.”

You try not to visibly deflate as you stare out the windows of her office longingly. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur. Jackie makes a little sound that you can only assume is dismissive at the words.

There went any chance of getting a decent night's sleep. Not, of course, that you’ve gotten one in months. If you aren’t at work, you’re dreaming of it anymore. Lately your dreams have taken on a singular nature that you can’t think about right now lest Jackie somehow read it out of your mind.

“No,” she repeats. “You go on ahead. I just need to finish something up.”

“Okay.” You aren’t giving her a chance to take it back as you give her a little wave and hurry your way out of her office and pull your jacket right off your chair. As you wait for the elevator, you hear a noise that sounds suspiciously breathy, but you put it out of your mind. Tonight, at least, the only date you have is with your mattress.

…

That constant brush, brush, brush of Jackie's bare thigh against your slacks during the dinner with investors you definitely aren't important enough to be invited to is driving you insane. No, you're past insane. Took a left at Crazy Town and blew through the stop signs to keep on driving. 

At first you were willing to brush it off as mere coincidence, but now you know better. It was too deliberate of a touch for it to be anything but a purposeful attack on your restraint. A brush here or there was fine—understandable, even. The too-cramped chairs crowded together around the table lent themselves to that excuse fairly handily until that slow drag of skin started, too undeniable in its intentions.

It’s just—you’ve thought about it, dreamed about it, even, but you never actually thought it could happen. Jackie’s actions, as blatant as they sometimes felt, could always be explained away by misinterpretation or just someone lacking boundaries until now. Everything you’ve wanted for months is being presented to you on a silver platter right now, and all you have to do is take it. 

That time you would usually take to think these kinds of things through has gone out the window. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to wait. Not when she’s so obviously asking for it.

Fine, you can let Jackie win. You’ve found so far that she usually does, but it doesn’t mean that you have to go down without a fight. You slip your non-dominant hand beneath the table casually, only to rest it firmly on her thigh. 

She tenses in the seat next to you, fork halfway to her lips and trembling just the slightest amount before she recovers. A question posed to her by an investor that Jackie answers masterfully, betrayed only by the minuscule quiver to her voice as your pinky curls beneath the hem of her dress. 

Her eyes bore into the side of you whenever she gets a moment away from the conversation, but you don’t want to look over at her and give away the game. You aren’t about to give up the free food they keep putting in front of you. Jackie doesn’t pay you enough to afford eating here. It only seems to irritate her more each time you bring your fork up to your lips like your hand isn’t where it is.

You don’t move your hand beyond that for a while, letting it be a constant weight that Jackie grows used to before you strike. Jackie seems almost relieved as you move your hand toward her knee. Relieved, but disappointed too. Both those emotions disappear as you slip your hand beneath her dress. 

Slowly at first, gauging her reaction before you get too far. There’s nothing on her face to give her away besides a light flush that could be attributed to a number of things, but then she carefully disguises spreading her legs for you as shifting in her chair. It was a barely-there parting of her knees, an invitation disguised as indifference—a Jackie Taylor specialty, lately—but it’s enough.

Bingo.

Her hand wraps around your wrist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to remind you who’s really in charge here It’s not a no or a stop. You know that much immediately. It was too possessive for that.

Can’t have any ideas going to your head, right?

That’s okay. 

That’s your favorite part.

**

“You can go home after you drop me off,” Jackie addresses her driver, fingers tapping away as she drafts an email on her phone. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen her stop working. 

What would that even take short of a minor miracle or a lotto win?

You slump down in your seat, looking up at the ceiling as you try not to visibly react. You must have really fucked something up at dinner if she wasn’t letting her driver take you home. Could she fire you for that when she was the one spreading her legs? You felt sure enough in the moment that you could’ve updated your job description to include it, but now you can feel the dread creeping up your throat.

Jackie nudges you with her knee, confusion slipping into concern into disappointment when you don't immediately respond to her flirty smile. Her lips purse before she catches herself and turns away as she tries to reel it back in. You don’t let her.

“He can go home because…” You trail off, needing to hear her say it. Just once. None of that ambiguity she’s been teasing you along with.

She hesitates, thumbs hovering over her phone indecisively. You imagine there must be a lot more risk to her answering that question than there was to you asking. She was your boss, after all, and the one that would ultimately get in trouble if she came onto you unwillingly. It would be her name splashed across the papers in the end, with you as nothing more than an unnamed twenty-something assistant. 

“You’re coming home with me,” Jackie confirms, shoulders straightening as she regains that air of confidence you know so well.

“Yeah, alright.” The words come out too quickly through nerves. 

“Yeah, alright,” Jackie mutters. “What am I thinking? Wait, hold on. Did you think I was going to make you walk home?”

You avoid eye contact as you suddenly find something far more interesting to look at through the heavily tinted windows. Mostly, you can just see Jackie’s reflection behind you as she shakes her head and turns her attention back to her phone. Dedicated to the end, that one. You half expect her to pull her phone out when you finally get down to it to shoot off one last email, but you hope even she has enough sense to leave it on a table somewhere.

Would she consider that foreplay? Her eyes scanning across her phone with one hand entwined in your hair, guiding you exactly where she wants you. Not rushed or frantic, not even affected by you as she works. Like it’s something she’s come to expect. Sending off an email while you’re between her legs, maybe even signing off with Best regards as you make her come.

The idea sends you down a line of thought that involves sexy emails before you can decide how ridiculous the concept is. 

You can imagine her sitting in a bed—you’ve never seen it, but you imagine it as the sprawling monstrosity it must be, far too large for her and covered in pillows with the softest sheets on the market—shooting you off an email. No subject line, just a message: Review Attached. Urgent. Maybe a photo, maybe something more.

It sounds like a fast track to an HR violation. Probably illegal. Definitely unethical. That might be what makes it fun for her. She’s never been all that shy. 

Jackie’s still sitting beside you, typing away. You wonder if she knows the effect she’s having on you without even trying as the driver pulls up to the front of her building. She pats your thigh affectionately as you start to open the door, sliding across the seat to slip out behind you.

Right. 

This was happening.

You follow behind Jackie on the way up to her apartment, if you could call the penthouse an apartment. You’ve never actually set foot inside this building despite how many times you’ve waited in the car with her driver, but you can’t bear to look at anything besides Jackie now that  you know how the night is going to end. It’s not like you won’t have time to look at the lobby during your inevitable walk of shame whenever Jackie kicks you out.

She steps inside her penthouse with that regal air that always follows her around the office, setting her things down with seemingly no rhyme or reason to their placement. There's some form of organization to it, but just like her desk, you find that it's a mystery to prying eyes. Just the way she likes it. 

Jackie saunters over to you, thumbs hooking in your belt as she presses herself up against your chest. 

“Ms. Taylor,” you murmur instinctively, flushing when it makes Jackie let out a low laugh.

“Not here,” she answers, pausing to consider before shaking her head. “Not right now, anyway. Maybe…”

If she has something else to say, she keeps it to herself.

You can work with that.

“Jackie,” you amend, enjoying the way the syllables feel in your mouth.

“Sounds nice when you say it.” A smile spreads across her lips. A real one, not the one she gives investors. It’s nice. “Again.” 

“Jackie.” 

The name barely leaves your lips before her lips are on yours, gentle but insistent as she rests a hand on your face to tilt your chin down. She kisses you like she’s been waiting for it, holding back just long enough to really savor it—savor you—before she fully commits to it. Her palm is so warm that you can feel the entirety of her hand against your skin as she guides you with that same quiet authority she always has. 

Even that has nothing on the way her tongue feels brushing against you as she parts her lips, coaxing rather than demanding, as you would’ve expected from her. It’s maddening in its contrast, enough to make you feel dizzy as you chase after her when she tries to pull away for air. She smiles against your lips, allowing you a few more desperate moments before she pushes you away with gentle hands.

Not a rejection, just a pause, but damn if it doesn’t feel that way for a moment. You stumble back half a step, already missing the feeling of her lips against yours. She’s the kind of woman you can get addicted to, and you’re already starting to fear what that might mean for the future.

Her chest moves rapidly as she catches her breath, drawing your attention down and down until you can’t help but sneak a peek down the top of her blouse. You didn’t figure she would mind all that much. In fact, she seems to welcome the attention as she strokes a lazy thumb along your jaw. It feels more affectionate than it should be and more than a little possessive.

She slips her hand down from your belt, sliding into each of your pockets and emptying them. Keys, wallet, headphones—whatever you have on you ends up strewn across the table by the door. Her eyes don’t leave yours, but her fingers return to hook her fingers into the waistband of your slacks. 

Jackie tugs, and you follow. Willingly. Happily. You would follow her anywhere she likes right about now. If only she wasn’t so smug about it, but then you might not like her half as much as you do. She leads you right into her bedroom without a moment of hesitation.

You’re not sure what you’re more impressed about: the fact that she’s walking backward through her apartment or the fact that she’s doing it in those heels. 

Jackie's just barely through the doorway before you surge forward, pressing her back against the wall and trapping her hands between your bodies. She manages to free her hands with nothing short of a smirk, but all thoughts of protest slip away as you slot your knee between hers. 

She gasps, grabbing at the back of your shirt as you drag her hips forward. It's taken as the hint it was, Jackie picking it right up as you split your attention between helping her grind against your thigh and mouthing at her neck. You want so badly to suck on that perfect, unmarked skin of her neck. To bite down and leave her with more than just a memory of the night, but more than anything you want to still have a job in the morning. 

You'll save it for somewhere she can hide it. You're generous like that. She should be grateful she has such an amazing assistant. 

You can't feel her as much as you want to through the fabric of your pants, but the warmth of her as she rolls her hips up against your thigh is undeniable. That wet drag of fabric as she lets out the best little noises against your ear before turning her head to bury it into your neck. 

A hand comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back as she takes a turn with the skin peeking out above the collar of your dress shirt. 

“Jackie, fuck.” 

“Just—just stay there,” Jackie demands. She has none of the same concern for leaving marks on you that you had for her, seeming to delight in the concept. It only makes her more eager to move against your thigh. 

“You're the boss.” 

“I am.” The words are almost thoughtful as she pushes you a step back, hands resting on your shoulders. 

She doesn’t give you a second to get your bearings together before she’s pushing you back onto her bed with a strength you weren’t aware she possessed.

She’s got one of your shoes untied before you even manage to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at her, pulling one and then the other off in a flash. 

“Scoot up,” Jackie says, pointing one finger up at her pillows.

(Just as many as you expected there would be.)

You settle down somewhere in the middle of them, looking for reassurance only to find Jackie kicking off her heels at the foot of the bed. She reaches behind her back, and her dress comes off with far less gravitas than you were expecting. Maybe she lost her desire to make a show out of it somewhere between your hand slipping up her dress and being pinned against the wall.

Either way, you couldn't help but stare. Slowly she puts one knee on the bed, crawling up to your side and giving you another kiss.

“Jackie,” you murmur afterward, hands reaching for her hips to pull her onto your lap. Jackie takes only a moment to swing her leg over your hip before settling down. You run your hands up her bare thighs the moment you get a chance to, finally seeing the legs that have been taunting you all night.

She doesn’t rush you now like she rushed you back into her room. She just watches, letting you explore. And explore you do, taking in every inch of skin that’s been presented to you until Jackie sighs, grabbing your tie and rolling it around her fist as she forces your attention back on her face. 

“Is that all you’re going to do?” Jackie asks, leaning close enough that you can feel the words about as much as you can hear them. 

“I was getting there.” 

You cut Jackie off before she starts to say whatever snide retort she has at the go, fingertips slipping just beneath the waistband of her panties before she catches your wrist and stops you. 

“Say please,” she orders, eager enough that you're sure she wouldn't be able to actually follow through if you didn't. There was a chance, though. Jackie was so stubborn at times.

A part of you enjoys following her orders. Enough that you do it without much thought.

“Please.”

Jackie’s expression shifts immediately into satisfaction, a reward that you’re happy to indulge in. Her hand pulls tighter around your tie, almost choking you as she slips her panties off. She won't give you enough room to look at anything other than her face—flushed and hungry—leaving you to blindly move your hand to find her entrance. 

She's wet enough that it takes a moment, fingers sliding across damp skin until you finally find what you're looking for. Her eyes meet yours and don't look away, hips rising just enough to sink down on your fingers with a breathy sigh. 

The tie tightens again as she exhales through her teeth, rolling her hips down impatiently enough that it clues you in on what to do.

“Shit, sorry,” you mutter, meeting her thrust for thrust as she settles into a rhythm.

A hand cracks across your cheek. Not enough to bruise, but enough to sting as you watch her through wide eyes. The skin tingles, feeling like it shoots adrenaline through your body. Fuck, you want her to do it again. 

“Should’ve expected you’d need help with this too.” The words are harsh, but the way the end breaks into a moan as you curl your fingers is enough to soothe the wound. 

You don’t bother to answer. You just give her what she wants, fingers working in fast, deliberate strokes that make her thighs tremble. Jackie leans into it, chasing that pleasure with every roll of her hips. Her hand shakes from the effort of holding onto your tie so tightly, but her eyes stay locked onto yours like she was daring you to look away.

When your palm presses against her clit, the noise she lets out is far needier than anything else you’ve heard from her tonight. Maybe ever. It was light at first, then firmer at her reaction. All you want to do is please her. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. It was quite literally your job, though this application was far outside your job description.

Her head tilts up, finally breaking eye contact as she lets go of your tie to hold onto your shoulders. You sit up, one arm wrapping around the small of her back to hold her as she buries her face into your shoulder. She clenches hard around you at the change in angle, whining into your neck as she speeds up. You hold still now, letting her set the pace as you grind your palm up against her.

You murmur her name against her ear, peppering the skin there with kisses as you splay your hand out across her back.

She’s close. You can hear it in her breathing as it hits her, that hitch right before she clenches hard around you and all but collapses into your chest. Each jerky thrust of her hips only further signifies her release as she rides it through.

It hits her hard. Not loudly, but intensely.

“Fuck,” Jackie breathes into your shoulder, shuddering on your lap as she clutches at you. You slip your fingers out gently to a sound of protest, squeezing her hip as Jackie pulls herself closer. 

She feels so comfortable in your lap, so warm and content, that you don’t ever want her to leave. Dangerous feelings to have about your boss, but ones that feel more undeniable the longer she remains curled up on top of you.

…

It’s thirty minutes into what Jackie described as a quote, quick, five minutes—really, you should’ve known better than to trust her when you had her calendar right there—that you feel a hand on your thigh. Her hand had slipped beneath the table ten minutes ago, but it’s the first time that it’s made itself known since then.

You stiffen in your seat, gripping your pen tighter as you slowly resume taking notes. There’s a line through the last sentence you wrote, a result of you jerking your hand in surprise, that you already dread having to copy over later. That was, presumably, the reason she dragged you along to this meeting in the first place. You’re starting to suspect she has ulterior motives for the whole thing.

She sneaks a peek at you as she rests her head on her hand, a carefully bored expression betrayed only by the way her lips twitch into something of a smile when she catches you staring back. Her hand slides up higher now that she can watch the journey your face goes through as you try to hide it. You can feel the blush crawling up your neck as you stare down at the notepad.

Jackie squeezes once, her touch lightening up for a moment before you nudge her leg with your knee. It only emboldens her.

You’re afraid of being pulled into HR later, but the way that the woman from HR is very carefully avoiding looking at either of you negates that possibility in your mind. You wonder what Jackie must have on her, considering how much joy Misty always takes in handing out violations and pulling people into her office.

The thought of Jackie blackmailing the HR lady has you squirming in your seat for an entirely different reason. It makes sense that your boss must have screwed over a lot of people to get where she is now, but you’ve never really thought about it all that much. Then, you think of your friend that Jackie had fired for nothing more than overhearing the two of you gossiping about your date. Gone like that with nothing more than a snap of her carefully manicured fingers.

Jackie was never shy about lauding that power she has over you, over everyone in her office, but the thought of it extending outside of even that was delightful. She was a handful, wasn’t she? Speaking of a handful—

She squeezes your thigh suddenly, fingers higher than they were before. It’s rougher this time, nails digging into skin through the fabric of your slacks like she’s trying to bruise you. A punishment for zoning out when she so obviously wants your attention. It’s not like you can explain to her that you’re thinking about her anyway, so all you can do is take it as you try not to visibly react in the middle of the meeting.

That woman can have such a temper when she wants to. You aren’t about to stop her from taking it out on you.

Jackie leans in, lips almost pressed against your ear as she whispers, “Pay attention.”

“...Of course,” you say, feigning a helpful smile. It’s hard to act respectful to someone whose tongue was in your mouth on the car ride here. The little smirk on Jackie’s face tells you that she feels the same.

**

“Maybe we shouldn’t…” Jackie says, sounding unconvinced even as she speaks the words. Maybe you would believe her more if it wasn’t the third time she’s said it only to kiss you again

“Shut up,” you murmur, one hand on her chin as you stop her from looking away. “You wouldn’t have spent twenty minutes feeling me up in that meeting if you didn’t want it.”

Her grin is devilish as it breaks her look of innocence as she shrugs, pushing the door to her office shut behind you with one heeled foot as she wraps her arms tighter around your shoulders. “Can’t a girl add some spark to her relationship without wanting something?”

“This one can’t.”

She kisses you again, which is answer enough.

Everyone else on the floor was away at lunch, a fact Jackie had assured herself of after walking out of the elevator after your meeting. It had only taken one quick glance before she had pulled you down by the collar of your shirt into that first kiss, and it had only escalated from there. 

You’re dimly aware there are cameras around the floor even if not in her office, a fact she had slyly mentioned to you a few days prior, but Jackie doesn’t seem to mind that she’s potentially giving security a hell of a show. Knowing her, she probably found a way for the cameras to mysteriously be down before you even left the meeting.

“Eager,” she accuses breathlessly as the two of you stumble into her office until the backs of her thighs hit her desk. Jackie starts to lift herself up onto it, already an idea formed in her head about what you’ll be doing.

You surprise her, for once, pulling her close and then spinning her around with hands on her hips. There’s not even an ounce of hesitation in her as she lets you lead her, laughing in startled delight as she braces her palms against the wood, her chest pressing flat against the surface as she wiggles her hips back into you.

You have to slap her hands away as she reaches behind her for the zipper of her skirt, briefly devolving into a little spat as she twists her head back to glare at you before you grab it yourself to pull it off of her.

She mutters something under her breath as her fingers grip the edge of her desk hard enough for her knuckles to whiten, spreading her legs wider as she’s freed from her tight skirt. You pull her panties off next, already soaked from a combination of her toying with you in the meeting and the fooling around on the way here. These you don’t carefully fold up like you did her skirt, instead surreptitiously slipping them into your pocket for later.

Jackie, utterly unaware of what's going on behind her, arches herself higher without a thought of shame in a silent reminder that she was still here. As if you could forget with the way she looks bent over her desk. You pop her on the ass, barely hard enough to sting but enough for Jackie to make an affronted noise and try to push herself up onto her elbows.

That you stop quickly. One hand pressing down between her shoulder blades is enough to make her go prone again, squirming beneath the touch until you slip a hand between her legs. You couldn’t resist the urge, not with her bent over like that in front of you. She was practically asking for it. Besides, she’s easy to make things up to.

“You're so wet,” you say, sighing as you make contact. You don't touch her where she wants immediately, and she's not a fan of it. Too used to demanding to be made to ask for it. There was time yet for her to learn. “Feel so good.” 

“You're fired,” she insists. 

You drag a fingertip through her, dipping inside to collect her wetness as you bring a finger up to her clit. Just a line, back and forth, over and over. Not enough to rub her off like she's so clearly aiming for as she tries in vain to move back against your hand, but enough to work her up. 

“Are you going to update my job description when you hire the next one?”

Before she can answer, you start to circle your finger around her clit, firmer now and enough for her to lose her train of thought. 

“Do—don't,” she breaks into a whine, “say that. I've just got you house-trained.” 

“You act like I'm a dog.” 

Jackie doesn't say anything. 

“Jackie.” It's meant to sound chiding, but it comes out far too affectionate to achieve that. 

Taking advantage of your moment of weakness, Jackie grips the desk for leverage as she grinds back against your hand. A silent plea for your fingers that you're happy to indulge her in. 

Fingertips slide back, teasing Jackie before sliding right in. She moans, hips jerking backward to take them deeper. 

“Fuck me,” Jackie says—no, demands—as she clenches tight around them. She takes them easily, like she always does. It feels like she was made for it, as sappy as it sounds. 

“So pretty,” you say, and Jackie shudders against the desk. “Yeah? You want to hear—”

“Don't,” she interrupts, aiming for stern and falling short by a mile, “let it go to your head.” 

“Of course, Ms. Taylor,” you say. 

“Touch me.” A demand. Always a demand. Has she ever asked you for anything?

Would you want her to? 

“I am.”

“You know what I mean,” Jackie insists. 

You reluctantly removed your hand from her shoulder blades to rub her clit, an action that's immediately followed by Jackie propping herself up on her elbows to fuck herself back on your fingers. You suspect that might have been the whole point. 

She was too smart for her own good sometimes, but not this time. Not with the way she moans as she buries her face into her arms, doing her best to get herself off with what little leverage she has. The muscles in her thighs tremble, exertion or pleasure you're not sure, but her heels only seem to further showcase her legs. 

It doesn't take long after that, not with the two of you working together to get her off. She's nearly silent as she comes, a fact that has less to do with your performance and more to do with how she's bitten her arm. Nearly silent, because even that can't completely silence a noise you're sure would echo down the hallways. 

She's come hard this time, maybe harder than you've seen her yet. Something about feeling you up in that meeting really got to her, or maybe it was just doing it in her office for the first time. You look around her office as you aimlessly rub the outside of her thigh as she breathes heavily into the desk and decide that must be it. 

Jackie looks pleased as she finally stands, grabbing onto your shoulder as she straightens out. It's not so much a smile that gives her away, not in her office of all places, but the lack of the stress she was wearing in the elevator ride up. 

“That's going on your performance review.” 

“To be a fly on the wall in HR when you submit that,” you say. 

“Maybe I'd leave that out,” she muses. “A raise, maybe.”

“A raise?” Your voice comes out higher than it should be, a little offended at the idea. Maybe you shouldn't be. It was so Jackie to try to reward you for good sex with more benefits to your job. Good behavior, good sex. What’s the difference? She was annoyingly efficient. “You're not paying me to—” 

“To what?” She gives you an expectant look, but not a single second to answer, let alone think. “Do you think you can tell me what I can and can't do?”

Oh.

You shake your head. 

“No,” she confirms, wrapping a hand loosely around your neck as she guides you to the other side of her desk. She keeps your head tilted toward a wall, ensuring you can't get a good look at her. “I want your mouth.”

“Oh—okay,” you agree. 

“And when you're done, you're going to go out there and write me an email about why you deserve a raise. It better be persuasive, ‘Kay?”

She squeezes your cheeks together in a way you're entirely too aware is unflattering, shaking you lightly back and forth before bringing her hand down across your cheek. Harder than last time, but still careful enough not to leave a lasting mark. Probably too aware of what people would think if you came back from your lunch break with a bruised face. 

You open your mouth as she presses her fingers against your lips, middle and ring fingertips rubbing against your tongue as you close your lips around them. Jackie hums pleasantly when you start to suck, tongue running along the outside of her fingers and then slipping between them. She just watches until she gets bored of it, smearing her spit-soaked fingers across the lower half of your face until she tires of that too. 

“Hold this.” Jackie lifts the end of your tie up to your mouth, nodding encouragingly as you hesitantly bite the end of it. You sink to your knees shortly after, a result of two unblemished hands pushing down on either shoulder. 

She sits back regally in her office chair with an ease you're almost jealous of. 

“Thanks,” she says as she gently pulls the tie free, almost immediately yanking you forward. Your hands grip her thighs, splayed out wide to support her as she scoots further down in her chair to throw a leg over your shoulder. 

“You look good on your knees. Should keep you there, don't you think?”

You gape up at her, searching for a reply that Jackie doesn't actually want to hear as she pulls you in. Just like that, you have a mouthful of Jackie Taylor's cunt. 

Jackie fists the tie around her hand, wrapped tightly as she holds you right where she wants you. One leg over your shoulders as you do less of eating her out and more of staying still while she fucks your face however she pleases. All you can do is flatten your tongue and let her use your mouth. 

“Just like that,” Jackie praises, rocking her hips to press more of her clit against your tongue. She's relentless, riding your face like you haven't already made her come today. You’re not sure you can ever get enough of her. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual.

It was hot. Hot, wet flesh rubbing against your tongue. Your lips. The way she smears herself across your face, mixing in with the spit left dripping from your open mouth. Wet, messy, and perfect. Right on her office chair—the place you've imagined having her for months.

Some rational part in the back of your mind hopes you haven't stained your clothes too badly before you have to go back out. 

You can't get any breaths around Jackie's thrusting, but that wasn't a problem. You took every breath she allowed you for what it was: a gift. 

Grateful. 

She likes you grateful. 

Jackie ruts mindlessly against your tongue, her heel digging into your back through your shirt as she tenses and gasps. You grab onto her thighs then, your mind finally catching up to you as you help work her through her orgasm now that she's a little too relaxed to do it herself. 

The lazy thrusts finally come to an end when she can't stand it anymore, letting go of your tie and absently tugging it looser just to watch the way you pant for air on your knees in front of her. She’s gentler now in the aftermath, not that she was ever that rough. But it was nice.

Jackie was something of a cuddler, you’ve noticed. It wasn’t something she could really indulge in at the moment, and given the hint of a pout gracing her lips, it seems to take a toll on her.

“Well?” Jackie says finally, patting a hand against your cheek patronizingly. She checks the time on her computer, starting to pull away now that she’s made the most she can of your lunch break. “Don't you have an email to write?”

Look. You take a lot of shit from Jackie. Most of the time it was hot, really hot. The kind of hot that makes you shift in your seat and count down the minutes until you can take care of it, one way or another. But this was a little too much, even for you. That Ms. Taylor thing can really go to her head. 

Jackie squeals as you yank her legs back apart, cursing under her breath as you dive back into her cunt. She doesn't protest, far from it, as she grabs a fistful of your hair and squirms beneath your tongue. You have to make an effort to hold her down now, to keep her from pulling away entirely. She's far too sensitive for such direct attention, but the fact that she can barely stand it is part of what makes it so good. 

It's so good it brings tears to her eyes, silent ones that trail down her face and past wide-open lips as she cries out. 

**

“I’m just gonna go wash up,” you say, lips brushing against her knee before pressing a departing kiss against it.

Jackie nods wearily, still catching her breath as she slumps back into her chair. You can hear her quiet breathing as she lets her eyes slip shut as you leave, carefully shutting the door behind you even though there’s no one outside her office.

By the time you get back from the bathroom, most of your colleagues have returned from lunch, and you slip in perfectly fine with the crowd. Not that it would’ve been suspicious that you’d worked through lunch with how hard Jackie always drives you. 

Speaking of Jackie, her office door has been propped back open like normal to maintain that open-door policy she always likes to go on about. Her face is carefully flushed as you peer in, letting her know you’ve returned from lunch like you always do. Jackie’s legs are crossed tightly beneath her desk as she gives you a look that’s just the right amount of panicked. 

You pat the left pocket of your slacks meaningfully, grinning as she pales slightly at the gesture. She presses her legs tighter together, squirming in her seat. You slip your hand in your pocket as you walk back to your desk, carefully fingering the lace of her panties.

[likelysobbing]

ok now listen…

KK ARNOLD + ALAM MO BA GIRL 😋😋

𖥻 BECAUSE IT’S YOU. kk arnold x reader

heavily based on ALAM MO BA GIRL - hev abi.

synopsis: kk's in a closet despite being out already, and she thinks about three things: her, you, and her and you.

notes: NONNIE YOU’RE A FUCKING GENIUS. heavily based on alam mo ba girl by hev abi; basically a song about wanting to pursue/love someone despite difficulties. also, i’m going to be honest you guys… i was indulging myself. reader’s situation is based off mine — she’s not out to her parents, but she’s out to everyone else. assume readers parents are socially dead! thanks. also, this is short because if i wrote as much as i usually do i’d end up writing 10k for a fanfic based off hev abi. i had to RESIST 💔

cw: kk and you being inlove but you mask it as just ‘liking’ eachother, reader is not out to her parents, reader is in a very complicated position, reader pursued kk over the course of five months because we lesbians are fast, this is like the most self indulgent fic i’ve ever written i am so sorry🤍

if there was anything kk was certain about, it was you.

there was no doubt about it—you were her girl. you wore her jersey, you held her hand (in public! because it’s legal now), and you even… kissed. lips locking and all that—the whole nine yards. you were kk’s girl, through and through. she’d do anything for you—she’s done it before. she slipped on mayonnaise once and actually didn’t have beef with the person who left it there accidentally (because it was you), she let you switch shoes with her (despite your slides being much less comfy than her own), hell— she even ate cold cookies because it was you that baked them. she’s done literally everything for you, and she’d do literally anything for you.

which is why she’s in the closet right now.

like, not the ‘i’m gay’ type of closet (she couldn’t hide the rainbow, even if she tried)—in an actual, sliding-door, filled-with-clothing-hangers closet. crouched between your folded stack of denim jeans and oversized t shirts (most of them were actually hers. once). she had snuck in through the window, and despite both of your attempts to be sneaky about it—your slow kissing was cut short by the shuffle of heavy footsteps you knew were your parent’s. they were too close by the time you heard them—curse kk and her tendency to make you tune out your surroundings—and so, with a few rushed and frantic whispers, you pushed her back inside the closet.

“no way you’re forcing me to un-out myself, girl…”

“kk, don’t start with me right now.”

“i’m going in, i’m going in—“

“put your hood up!” was the last thing you said to her before you closed the closet door, cheerily greeting your parent a “good moooorning!”

and kk stayed put, because she would do anything for you—

but damn, sometimes she wonders how the fuck she got here.

“kk!”

ah, you were the persistent one, she recalls; the persistent one, despite… well, the fact that you had a lot more to risk.

she remembers the first time you ever showed interest. a girl who was reportedly out to everyone but her parent/s—you were already odd in kk’s book. you just got even odd-er when you started noticing her absence.

“you know what, at the mixer, you weren’t there and i was so, like— i promise you i was concerned—“ you whined, arm hooked around her arm, thinking you were subtle in your affection. you weren’t. she heard you rambling about your ‘undying love’ for her to a friend in the back of a library, and decided to stay silent about it ever since. she could read you from a single moment of skin to skin contact. “you didn’t reply, you didn’t confirm—” you began again, and kk, despite herself, couldn’t hide the smile forming on her face at how you fussed and fretted over her. it was just a mixer— the usual ones, actually, the ones you usually went to. the ones you saw her at. “do you not want me—“ you fumbled, correcting yourself: “my company?” you pouted; a lighthearted jab that kk knew all too well to be an actual, genuine question masked as a joke.

it had been nearly five months since you met, and four of you obviously chasing after her—and… three months of her slowing down—softening up— just to let you catch up. she couldn’t, didn’t want to, run faster any time soon. she tilted her head, raising a brow at you and returning your same teasing lilt: “actually, i avoid your company.” you grinned, because you knew her well enough to know she meant the opposite.

she liked that you knew her well enough to know she meant the opposite.

she liked that you knew her.

she liked you.

she’s a sophomore, a division one athlete with multiple endorsements she can take in minutes. you’re a simple freshman getting by (trying to, atleast). there should be this unspoken gap in power between you, or atleast you feel like there should be—she’s much older, and everything she wants in terms of material goods is something she already has, or something you can not give (once again, simple freshman trying to get by). in your dreamland (read: slightly deranged fantasies; you have a big crush), you stay true to those roles—you’re just a street kid and she’s like… a foreigner, and she stops by your corner and suddenly you want her to stay in it.

it’s a bold feeling, especially since it’s not one you necessarily show. you’re not out to your parent(s)—atleast, traditionally. you haven’t told them yet. you’ve hinted at it! the rainbow seeps out on its own, or like… telepathically. you’ve come out to your parent(s) telepathically! straight up said, “hey, i’m a lesbian,” in your MIND. wow, so brave of you.

if only you could actually say it. maybe then it’d be… easier.

kk remembers a moment.

you talked about it with her, coincidentally a day before you got together.

she confronted you about it— your rather risky positions. “i’m not tryna be boastful, just… i’m kind of a big deal around here. people will talk. that talk might just get to your folks.”

she was right.

gossip spread like wildfire; didn’t stop until it got to every door step, open or not. it’d seep into every slightly open window, and yours wasn’t an exception. you could keep the relationship lowkey, if kk did accept your advances, but one wrong move? one wrong word? one second with kks arm around your waist, or your lips against her cheek or — god forbid— one syllable of endearment being uttered in public?

you’d be outed.

you stayed silent and you let that sink in.

kk remembers you chewing your lip raw and fiddling with the end of your shirt. remembers your eyes flickering between the floor and her.

you were choosing your next move.

another step forward on kks apartment floor would lead your feet to the door and make you turn the handle. it would make you leave.

kk wouldn’t be surprised if you did.

as much as she liked you, she understood the pressure better than anyone—so many eyes on your singular self? that would terrify anyone. so kk was okay.

kk was okay losing the comfortable silence, the whiny remarks you made whenever she was absent, the wave you did whenever you saw her in a room—kk was okay with losing the only person she thought truly complemented her.

kk was okay losing you, even though it hurt her head thinking about how to move on without you.

11:57 pm.

kk was okay losing you, but then you didn’t step forward. your eyes seemed to only know her. she remembers it— you took her hands in yours and caressed her knuckles with your thumb, and you kissed them gentle and soft.

“I don’t want to let you go.” you begin, and kk chokes.

11:58 pm.

“everything that i have been looking for, i’ve found in you, and i know i can’t give you a lot because you practically have it all—“ you ramble, squeezing her hands tighter but you are still so impossibly soft, and kk swears she can’t breathe.

11:59 pm.

“but i hope you don’t set me aside.” you finished. “god, kk, if only you knew how much I—“

kk kissed you the moment the clock struck midnight.

it was 12 am, and her lips were soft.

kk is back in the closet again. because of you. but she doesn’t mind, because you’re not afraid to be hers. you’ve proven that.

she hears you shuffling in the back, finishing up the impromptu conversation with your parent about… staying up late doing ‘nothing’.

kk snickers. you could’ve done her, if only your parent hadn’t went up to your room.

the closet door slides open, and you beam at her, and god— kk would do anything for you.

kk would do anything for you, because it’s you that risked everything for her.

because it’s you.

@likelysobbing