#and so i get this for breathing basically

[keirareidss]

sexy in uniform - s.r

♡ summary: you love the way your boyfriend looks in his FBI vest pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, p in v wc: 4.3k a/n: this was requested as a longer fic so I tried to add more storyline, hope you enjoy! based on this request

Dating an FBI agent came with many perks. You felt secure and protected when he was home and being so close to him and his team, just a phone call away, made you feel very safe. Another plus was the fact that your boyfriend is a genius. He could basically explain any outlandish question you had with facts to back it up. But your favorite part of Spencer Reid's job, was his uniform.

You loved the formal wear, his button up, cute sweater vests, and perfectly fitted slacks, but you were obsessed with the way he looked with that holstered gun on his hip and that kevlar vest, tight around his chest.

You rarely got to see it, Spencer typically leaving his vest at work and stowing his gun in the safe right when he got home, but damn if you weren't tempted to call in an emergency just to see that sexy uniform.

Sometimes, you'd find a reason to go into his work, maybe deciding to take him out for lunch on a slow day or distracting him in the morning so he'd forget his own lunch and you could bring it to him, all to see that uniform.

Today, it seemed you didn't need to make a reason to see him. That would happen naturally.

You weren't an FBI agent, like your boyfriend. No, you worked at a cozy library, where'd the two of you had met. You'd been working the counter when Spencer Reid came up, asking if you had 'Time is a mother' by Ocean Vuong. Your favorite poetry book. You found it for him and the two of you got to talking. You found out you shared interest in a lot of the same books and authors.

He was the one to ask you out, after some convincing from Derek and Penelope that it was the right choice, and the rest is history.

You were working today, sitting behind the counter, engrossed in one of the thrillers that your boyfriend had recommended to you. Said boyfriend was at work as well, his kiss goodbye that morning still lingering on your lips.

It was a slow day, but then again, working at a library, every day is a slow day. You heard the bell ding at the front door and took a moment to finish the page before glancing up. What you saw made your heart skip a beat.

Three men in black clothing and ski masks had entered, guns in their hands, and were corralling the few patrons against a wall. One of them spotted you and started towards your desk. You stood quickly, reaching for your phone in your pocket when suddenly the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol was pointed right at your forehead. Your breath hitched and you froze.

"Put your hands in the air! Now!" You complied, thinking back on what Spencer had informed you to do in a hostage situation. When Spencer started getting serious, seeing a real future with you, he felt the need to ensure your safety. Remain calm. Cooperate. Do not try to be a hero.

He briefed you on hostage situations, shootouts, kidnapping, files, the whole nine yards. Of course, these were hypothetical scenarios about what typically happens in those situations. You could still be doing everything right and still get hurt. Spencer didn't want to think about that.

"Get out from behind the desk!" The masked man ordered and you nodded, following slowly. You pressed the emergency button under the desk with your foot, the button strategically placed near the floor, hidden from view. The man kept his gun pointed at you until you joined the other people against the wall.

You had no clue why they were here. It's not like there was a lot of cash here, I mean, who robs a library of all places?

The BAU had been called in for a hostage situation. Apparently a panic alarm had been triggered and they were needed to negotiate with the criminals.

When the SUV pulled out outside the building and Spencer saw where they were, he swore his heart stopped. He scrambled out of the car, starting to rush towards the library when he was grabbed, a hand clamping on his bicep, yanking him back.

"Reid! What are you doing? Stop, Reid-" Morgan struggled to keep the man from sprinting into an active crime scene.

"I have to get in there, my girlfriend, she-"

"Hey, slow down."

"My girlfriend is in there, let me go, I need to-"

"Reid, listen, just calm down. It'll be okay, we'll get her out." Spencer's breathing was erratic and he wanted nothing more than to rush inside and get you out of danger as soon as possible, but he knew his friend was right. He gave a small nod and followed Derek to where the rest of the team was setting up.

He wanted to call you. Or text you. Contact you in some way just to know you were alright. But if you were hidden somewhere safe, your phone ringing could give you away and get you hurt. He pulled the kevlar vest onto his body that Morgan held out to him.

"Can we get in contact with them somehow?" Hotch asked one of the police officers.

"We could call the library phone. They might pick up."

"Try that, let me know when you reach them." Hotch ordered.

~♡~

Your hands were ziptied in front of you, your feet as well. There were five of you, three customers, your coworker, and you. The more you observe your captors, the more you realized how stupid they are.

All they did was argue with each other, waving their guns around like idiots. Suddenly, the phone on your desk rang and all three of their heads snapped in its direction.

"Just let it ring." The "leader" snapped. The other two complied but seconds after it stopped ringing, it started again. The leader grunted in frustration, storming over and answering the phone. "What?" There was a pause as he listened and the man cursed under his breath, stalking across the room to peek out the window, spotting the police along with the FBI all set up outside. "No, no one's hurt." He grunts, heading back to the desk. "Five... no. No fucking way... listen to me. We're not leaving this building unit you meet our demands. 500,000 dollars and a car waiting outside."

You didn't know what the person on the other end was saying. You'd heard about hostage negotiations, mainly from Spencer, seen a few on the news, but you'd never experienced one before. It was strange being on this end.

Suddenly the man slammed the phone back down on the receiver and stormed back over to the other two.

"What'd they say?"

"We'll get half the money when we release the hostages, the other half will be waiting in the car."

"Well great." One of the other dumbasses said.

"No! Not great! We're not releasing the hostages!"

~♡~

"They're not going to release the hostages." Hotch said after he hung up the phone. "We need to be able to make sure the hostages are out of the way before we storm the building."

"Can we figure out a way to send someone in?" Prentiss asked and Hotch sighed.

"I don't know. It'd be tricky."

"I could try to text my girlfriend." Spencer offers and the team looks at him. "Maybe she could warn the other hostages and get them all out of the way."

"Or she could get caught with her phone and get one of them shot." Hotch responds, making Spencer winced at the thought of you being shot. Hotch sighs, his voice taking a softer tone. "We'll circle back to that." He amends, back to brainstorming. He dials the phone number again, waiting for the man to pick up again.

"Marcus, this is Agent Hotchner again, I'll send someone in with the money as soon as possible."

"Change of plans. I want all the money now. And don't send anyone in, leave it at the back door, unguarded."

"Are any of the hostages hurt?" Hotch tries to redirect the conversation instead of promising something he couldn't do.

"No, but they will be if you don't meet my demands." He snaps and then hangs up. Hotch glances at Spencer.

"Alright. Text her."

Your phone buzzed quietly in the back pocket of your jeans. You glanced at the three men before nudging your coworker with your elbow.

"Hey. Can you grab my phone? It's in my pocket." You shuffled closer to her slightly and she reached out, going slow as to not alert your captors. When it's slid out of your pocket, you shift, lifting your thigh so she can hide it under your leg.

"What are you doing?" She whispers, watching as you covertly slide your phone between your thighs, unlocking it to find a text from Spencer. You turn your phone on silent, glancing at the men every few seconds so you're not caught.

Spencer: Are you okay? I'm outside with my team.

You: I'm fine.

Your phone buzzed a few seconds later.

Spencer: How close are you to the unsub's?

You: A few feet. Why?

Spencer: Is there a safe place for you to easily get to?

You: I don't understand.

Spencer: We're planning on storming the building but we can't risk the hostages lives.

You glance around the library. You could try to get the hostages to one of the conference rooms. Maybe if you distracted the men, you could give the others time to run. They didn't seem like the type to shoot a hostage.

You: Do you know any of the unsub's?

Spencer: What do you mean?

You: Their names? Anything about them?

It was a minute or two before he responded.

Spencer: Marcus Richards is the name of the man who answered the phone. Why?

You: I can get the hostages away, when are you coming in?

Spencer: How soon can you get them safe?

You: Now.

The team was preparing to go in. They were banking on the fact that you had gotten the hostages out of the way.

"Ready?" Morgan asked, glancing back at the team behind him. The other half of the team had gone to the back door, police officers on both sides. Hotch nodded and Morgan kicked the door open, agents storming in, guns raised.

"FBI hands in the air!" Morgan shouted. What they saw was not what they expected. The hostages were gone, all of them except you who was pinned to one of the bookshelves, Marcus's gun aimed at your temple.

Your plan to get the others to safety was to distract Marcus. You'd called his name, standing up and holding your tied hands out as a sign of peace. You antagonized him to keep their attention on you while the others snuck to the conference room. He eventually got angry enough to put his gun to your head, but luckily it didn't go any farther than that.

When the FBI came in the door, they dropped their guns and surrendered pretty quickly. Spencer, whose breath had caught when he saw you in that position, quickly rushed over to you. He was wearing his kevlar vest and holstering his gun as he stood in front of you.

"Are you okay? You said you were getting to safety." His hands found your upper arms as he checked you over.

"I said I was getting the hostages to safety."

"You were a hostage, angel."

"Um, can you maybe cut these off me?" You change the subject, holding up your wrists. He finds scissors at the front desk, cutting your ties before kneeling down to cut the ones at your feet.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little frazzled." You wanted to pretend having a gun to your head didn't scare you but Spencer's soft gaze pulled it out of you. The fact that your hands were shaking slightly gave it away as well.

"Come on, let me take you home."

Maybe it was the rush he was in to get you to safety or back in comfortable territory, or maybe it was just plain old forgetfulness that made Spencer keep his kevlar vest on as he brought you home. He only realized he was still wearing it as he stepped through your door.

What he didn't realize was the way your eyes followed him. You stared at how the vest clung tight to his chest, the white of his button up contrasting with the navy blue admirably.

"What is it? Are you alright?" He asked when he noticed your stare.

"No I'm fine, you're just... you look really hot right now."

"What?" His face grew red as his eyebrows raised slightly. You stepped closer, your hands finding the straps of the vest, grasping tightly as you pressed your body to him.

"You look sexy in this vest." You purred, grinning up at him.

"Oh, uh- I forgot I was wearing it." He murmurs.

"I wish you'd wear it more." You said, leaning up to kiss his jaw, trailing your lips down his neck, pulling his tie out from under the vest and yanking it loose. You push him back against the front door, tossing his tie aside and undoing the buttons of his shirt you can reach without him taking off the vest.

"Well, technically wearing it more would mean there's a situation in which I'm at risk of being shot, so I don't know if that'd be the best-"

"Spence, I meant here. Wear it more while you're here. And the only thing that'll be shot is your energy after I'm done with you." You teased, kissing at the bits of skin you'd revealed.

"I- I don't understand." He stammers and you pull back a bit to look up at him.

"You don't think you look sexy right now?"

"Well, I don't think I look sexy ever."

"Oh that's just insane. You look sexy all the time!" He clears his throat, avoiding your gaze awkwardly. "Let me show you how much you turn me on." You murmured, pulling him forward. You tug him down to kiss you, sliding your tongue past his lips as the two of you stumble to the bedroom. When the backs of your thighs hit the foot of the bed, you pull away, sitting down on the edge.

Biting your lip, you lean back on your hands to look up at him. You shuffled back until you were at the pillows, waiting for Spencer to crawl over to you. He followed, meeting your lips once he was hovering over you. He reached up, starting to undo the vest but you stopped him.

"No, no, baby, leave it on."

"What?" He looked down at you, brows furrowed, a confused frown on his lips.

"Leave the vest on. I want you to fuck me in it." He stops breathing for a moment and you have to pay his cheek to bring him back to reality. He nods, dropping his hand to the mattress. He kissed you again, his body pressing down into yours.

"You know, people are often attracted to uniforms because of the power, authority, and confidence they convey." He murmurs against your lips, unable to help himself from spouting off his knowledge. Where he learned this, you're not sure. "They also evoke a sense of security, protection, and even heroism." You pull back to look at him.

"Oh yeah? Well, you're my hero." You catch a glimpse of his blush before he's smashing his lips against yours once again. He moves his bruising kisses to your neck, humming against you. "Uniforms can also imply a sense of grooming and discipline which can be appealing to many people. It's very common with professions like military, police, and firefighters."

"And FBI agents?"

"That too." He agrees, nearing your chest with the drag of his lips.

"Well you don't have a strict uniform, so why do you think I'm so attracted to your attire?" He glanced up at you from where he's kissing the top of your breasts.

"You're attracted to my clothes?"

"No, silly, I'm attracted to the way you look in them." You grinned teasingly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." Your hands slide over his shoulders, down his back, to his waist where you grip tightly. "That you look hot in your button downs and your well-fitted slacks."

"So you're saying it's the proper appearance that attracts you? The cleanliness?"

"Maybe." You shrugged. "Or maybe it's just you." His head tilts in confusion, so you continue. "You could be wearing frilly pink shorts, a garbage bag for a top, and clown shows and I'd still be attracted to you. It's just a sweet addition that you look really good in a Kevlar vest." He chuckles before moving back up to kiss you again. "Now please, for the love of God, can you just fuck me already?"

Your hands find his belt as he pulls off your shirt. Your pants come off next, and you're left in your bra and panties. Spencer's hand slides down your stomach, pinky finger toying with the land band of your underwear before his hand slides beneath the fabric.

You gasp when his fingers find your wetness, sliding the slick across your core before one of his finger plunges inside you. He starts pumping and before long, another finger goes in, the stretch welcoming and satisfying.

"Is that good?'

"Yes, baby. Perfect." You breathed, letting your head fall back against the pillows. But it's not enough. You need more. "Spencer, I- I need you. I need you inside me." He pulled his fingers out of you, the emptiness making you whine. You were soon placated as Spencer freed his cock from his pants, sliding the head along the seam of your pussy before thrusting in. You moan in tandem, your lips inches apart as you breathe into each other.

He starts slow but, as it always goes when he fucks you, he speeds up, the feeling of his impending orgasm taking over his need to savor the moment. You're grasping onto the straps on his kevlar vest as he fucks into you, his moans and whines stifled in your neck where he'd buried his face.

His hands are roaming your body, finding the clasp of your bra where he undoes it with one flick on his wrist, tossing the garment across the room as his fingers find your nipple. He pinches, brushes softly, rolls the hard bud between his pointer and thumb. He squeezed your breast in his palm, grinding into you faster.

"I'm so close." He whimpers in the warm crevice between your shoulder and jaw.

"Me too baby, cum for me." You fist a hand in his brown locks, tugging roughly. With just a few more thrusts, he's moaning and releasing inside you, his orgasm triggering yours. You clench around him and, with a loud moan, you're pushed past the edge as well, holding tightly to your boyfriend as you come.

His body melts on top of you, the two of you breathing heavily, coming down from your high. Your arms are around his shoulders, his legs entangled with yours, his cock going soft inside you.

"Are you okay?" You ask after a moment, running your fingers through his brown locks.

"Yeah, just a little sweaty." He mumbles, peeling himself off of you. He was in fact sweating, you guessed due to the fact that he was fully dressed wearing a thick bulletproof vest.

"Do you want to go shower?" You asked softly, brushing his hair behind his ears.

"Are you coming with?" He asked hopefully and you grinned.

"If you want me to." He nodded eagerly and you giggled, the two of you clambering out of bed and making your way to the bathroom for round two.

It was a stupid fight. Something about the dishes maybe? You couldn't remember. All you knew was that since the argument last night, your whole day had been ruined. You hadn't gotten your kiss goodbye from Spencer, you hadn't had your extra ten minute cuddle session like every other morning, you had just gotten ready for work separately, and gone your separate way without texting or calling each other.

Spencer was having a similar dilemma, unable to focus on his work because all he could think about was how to make it up to you. He didn't know which one of you was in the wrong, you probably thought it was him and he, childishly thought it was you. He would go to one of his friends for help but he didn't want to bother them with relationship drama.

He was refilling his coffee for the third time when he had an idea. Just last week you had ravished him after seeing him in his FBI vest in the safety of your home. Maybe, if he brought it home again, you'd be too distracted by the way he looks in it, which he still didn't understand by the way, to even remember the fight.

He just had to find a way to sneak it out of work. This part of the plan turned out not to be too hard. Hotch sent everyone home early since it was just another paperwork day. Spencer, on his way out, took a detour to the storage room, snagged a vest, and took a back exit before rushing through the parking garage to his car.

Before walking into your apartment, he slipped the kevlar vest on, tightening it against his torso. He took out his spare set of keys, unlocking the door.

"Angel, are you here?" He called, dropping his bag, toeing off his shoes, and hanging his jacket up before trudging further inside to find you. You come walking out of the bedroom, rubbing your eye sleepily. You'd fallen asleep reading in bed again.

You stop in your tracks once you see him. More specifically, when you see what he's wearing.

"What... what is that?"

"What's what?"

"Why are you wearing that?"

"Oh, I must have forgotten to take it off." He feigned innocence, glancing down at it. You swallow, feeling a wetness pool between your legs. "Is everything alright?" He asks when you don't say anything, only staring at him.

"Yeah. I'm fine." You said roughly. You slowly move closer to him. Your anticipation of continuing the argument had disappeared when you'd seen what he was wearing and know, any thoughts of the fight at all had left your brain entirely.

Your hands find purchase on his chest as you finally tilt your head up to look at his face. He's clearly holding back a smug grin. He's won.

You can't hold back anymore, surging forward to crash your lips against his, your arms winding around his neck. His wrap around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. You both stumbled to the living room, bumping into end tables and armchairs in your blind trail to the couch before you fall onto the cushions, Spencer on his back, you on his lap.

"Fuck, you did this on purpose didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He lets the grin onto his face, pleased with himself. You lean down over him, sucking and biting at his neck, jaw, and chest as you yank his belt off frantically, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. You palm him through his slacks, making him let out a soft moan.

You can't wait anymore, needing to feel him inside you again. You're sure the FBI vest is magic. It does something to you, multiplies your sex drive by a thousand. You pull him free from his pants and boxers, pumping him a few times to ready him before pulling your shorts and panties off and sinking down onto his length.

You take a moment to adjust to the stretch, whining softly at the feeling of being so full.

"Don't hurt yourself angel." Spencer chides softly, hands at your hips, holding you still you you don't sprain something with how bad you need to ride him.

"I'm fine." You breathed, moving your hips slowly. Spencer guides your movements, groaning from below you, his eyes squeezing shut. His hips thrust upwards, meeting the roll of your hips deliciously.

"Fuck, oh god... so good, Spence." You moaned, dropping your head back. Spencer sits up, the new angle filling you even more. He kisses at the exposed skin before deciding he needs more, pulling your shirt over your head. He kisses and nips at your breasts, leaving possessive marks.

You start moving faster, chasing your release. Spencer moans as your hands scrape at the vest before clinging tightly to the neckline. Spencer's hands slide up from your waist, cupping your jaw and bringing your face down to meet his lips in a passionate kiss.

"Mphf, gonna cum, gonna-" You mumble, your lips still pressed against his.

"Me too." He says on a whimper, grasping at your hips, pulling you to move faster. You comply and, after a few more thrusts, you're both cumming, releases mixing with each other and spilling out.

You sigh as you slump into him, his arms wrapped around you as he falls back to the cushions. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him as you feel your eyes fluttering closed. Spencer carefully pulls himself out of you, struggling to take the kevlar vest off while keeping you on top of him. He's eventually able to shrug out of it, tossing it to the floor and wrapping his arms around you again.

You're asleep in no time, no doubt having dreams of Spencer heroically saving you in his kevlar vest followed by lots and lots of sex. Spencer, going limp underneath you, dreamt of the exact same thing.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

[savemeafruitjuice]

I've had a video game idea recently too. Alright, its about ✨anxiety✨.. Basically, it's kind of like an interactive story game (maybe the character just has a normal life, so you're going to school/work, OR there's some kind of interesting plot idk), BUT out of nowhere, you will suddenly get hit with a wave of anxiety, and have to suddenly take over a ton of controls to keep yourself acting normal. This is especially high stakes if you're in public, or in a conversation with someone.

Like, you could be just walking to your next class (the game does this automatically, you probably just press a button that makes the character go that way) and suddenly there are a ton of controls to keep up with, such as breathing, blinking, keeping yourself upward, managing your movement and so forth. Then, if you're talking to someone, you've gotta choose speech options, or even disguise your symptoms until you either leave or the anxiety passes. It would be entirely random as to when this happens, and it can happen for any amount of time. I imagine it would kind of be like an old game called 'Octodad', where you've gotta appear normal or you lose the game.

Idk, this isn't necessarily important or anything, but it's worth it to just get it out of my head 😅

A video game mechanic of "fucking say it", where you get a random dialogue button in random situations, when you're not even in a conversation or anything, and you have no idea what you're about to say. It's a quick time event, too, so you've got to choose fast whether you're going to say that shit that just popped into the character's head.

There's a 40% chance that the response you get is just mildly negative but doesn't really change anything. 25% chance that it's going to start a fight you're probably not prepared for. 34% of something wildly positive happening because the shit you just said was so funny and clever, or the NPC you just insulted was impressed by your audacity. 1% chance that whoever you said that to will just straight-up kill you.

[strnilolover]

request:

teaser!mean!chris! x crybaby! nerd !reader

chris basically eats out reader as she’s trying to study, but chris forces her to/ taunts her to proceed with studying while he’s going down on her.

i hope this makes sense?? it was just a thought- 🙏

⌗ . . . STUDYING

WARNINGS : SMUT. MEAN!CHRIS. SUB!READER. ORAL (f receiving). TEASING. DEGRADING. PRAISING. OVERSTIMULATION.

“you said you had to study baby,” chris sneers, his body crouched on the floor between your legs—his face so close you could feel his breath against your sensitive skin.

god was he right—you were supposed to be studying for your upcoming test. but once he came in here and started teasing you? running his hands along your arms and whispering dirty things into your ears? you knew you were fucked.

your thighs suddenly twitch in his grasp as he began to hike them around his shoulders. “I– I do.” you whined softly, though you meant for it to not sound so desperate just to have his tongue buried in your pussy.

he smirks up at you, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “then go on.” he rasps, his hand tapping two fingers against your thigh. “read it.” and you sniffle slightly, shaking your head. your face is flushed—glasses starting to fog against your face from how hot you were. your hands were clenched in his hair—or really in whatever you could grab.

chris then leans in and presses his mouth to your soaked panties, mouthing at the fabric until your hips begin to buck up against his face. you hear him hum like it’s a fucking joke to him, like your squirming is just background noise. “cute little brain’s short-circuiting already, huh?” he mutters, pulling back slightly.

a loud whimper slips past your lips, your hips still grinding, but against nothing now. your eyes fluttered shut at the already overwhelming feeling of your arousal. but chris wasn’t appreciating your disobedience. his hand moved to pull back, and a sharp slap came down against your thigh.

the sting of his hand against your skin isn’t hard, but it was sharp enough to make your eyes fly open—realizing you were getting so caught up in your own head. your eyes flick down to him quickly. “did I tell you to close your eyes?”

your eyes go wide, quickly shaking your head. your voice was high pitched when you said a quick “no” to him. “no…” he echoes mockingly. “then keep ‘em open, sweetheart. you’re supposed to be studying, remember? or can you not do it anymore hm?” he taunts, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

your bottom lip began to tremble now, brows furrowing and you run your tongue along your lips. “I–I’m trying—i promise.” you try to beg sweetly.

but he just tsks.

“i know you are,” he coos sarcastically. “Trying real hard to be a good girl, huh?—mm, fuck, you’re soaked.” his fingers hook into the waist band of your panties and yanks them to the side. “s’like you were waiting for me hm?” he taunts, his eyes locking onto your soaked folds.

you shook your head. you weren’t waiting for him necessarily—but you couldn’t help to where your mind would wander when you got distracted. “wasn’t waitin’ for you. was—” you started to mumble, but he could see right through you.

he hums, ignoring your talking and leaned forward. he cuts you off with a flick of his tongue against your clit that makes you jolt in your seat, both of your hands scrambling for the edge of the desk.

“such a bad liar.” he growls against your cunt, his tongue licking again, slower this time. letting the pressure build while your legs tremble around him. he pulled away from your pussy for just a moment, his blue eyes flicking up to yours. “all wet and needy for me while pretending to study. poor baby doesn’t know what she wants.” his lips were wet, chin already glistening from your arousal.

“I—I do.” you gasp, the burn in your stomach already tightening way too fast. “chris, I—please.” he gives you a smug little smirk before he leans back in, bringing his hands up and spreading your folds with his thumbs before spitting directly onto your cunt.

you cry at the contact. and he doesn’t wait—he dives back in with slow, agonizing licks, alternating between flattening his tongue and wrapping his lips around your clit just to suck. “read the next line.” he says without lifting his mouth. his words muffled.

“c-cant..” you breathed, letting your hips shift up to grind against his face just the slightest. your mind was drifting again, not being able to focus on anything. you didn’t feel when he pulled back until—

slap.

this time it’s your cunt he taps, light but that doesn’t mean it didn’t send a jolt through your body. you gasp, your back arching against your chair at the feeling. “yes, you can. you’re my smart girl, right?” he purrs. “c’mon say it. say you’re my smart girl.”

your cheeks were burning, eyes welling a little. “m—I’m your smart girl.” you sob quietly. and he rewards you with bringing his mouth back, letting his lips wrap around your clit to suck once more, dragging his tongue hard and slow over your slit, letting you feel every hot inch of it.

“then act like it and read the line.” and so you reach for the book with trembling fingers. you try—god you fucking try. you squint your eyes, trying to blink past tears, and as soon as your lips part to get out one word—his tongue slides inside you.

a gasp slips from your lips, followed by a broken moan at the feeling of his tongue now beginning to fuck your soaked cunt. and he doesn’t stop when you start to whimper little ‘pleases’ and ‘i can’t’. he doesn’t slow—he just grabs your thighs and holds your legs wide open, burying his face deeper into your pussy as his tongue fucks you.

“keep going.” he growls against you—the vibrations of his voice making you sob. “come on, you wanted to study. don’t stop now. barely even done anything.” he was mocking you again. you should hate the way he’s speaking to you—making you feel as if you weren’t as smart as you were—but you didn’t. fuck you loved it.

you shook your head, sobbing harder. “i—can’t.” you said again, your voice cracking as you tremble, your hips rocking helplessly into his mouth. it wasn’t long before he pulled away again, making you whine at the loss.

“y’wanna be like that then baby, huh?” he asked, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs now. “guess you’re failing your test baby.” he says as he brings a hand up and drags two fingers through your slit, smirking at how much of a mess you were.

you were so sensitive, thighs trying to close around his hand, but he just kept you open. “but, you’re real good at being my toy aren’t you?” he cooed, leaning back down again. “gonna ruin this pretty little pussy baby.”

a/n : i’d be the same. would not be able to focus one bit.

[iluvbuckets]

can i try?

paige bueckers x fem!reader 

summary: paige tries your strap for the first time

warnings: sub!paige but teeters into vers!paige territory, spit (not at all sorry about it), dirty talk, praise, strap!

word count: 1.7k

notes: idek how i thought of this it was like a demon took over me when i opened a new document ok anyways hope you like it happy casa amor day

also for u shawty @moshuka

✷✷✷

“can i try your strap?”

were the words you were not expecting to come out of paige’s mouth on a random tuesday night. surprised was an understatement, to say the least. it wasn’t that you weren’t expecting it because she was a pillow princess, but because you barely ever used the strap on her yourself. in all honesty, you often would forget that you even owned one because it was rarely ever used.

nevertheless, you agreed without hesitation. how could you not? she was staring at you with a curious glint in her eyes and an excited smile pulling at her lips like she won a trophy when she asked, and she just looked so adorable. plus, you weren’t really a fan of telling that girl no and you knew she loved to make you feel good.

her hands ran softly over your sides as she stared down at you, seemingly taking in the moment like she couldn’t believe it was real. you were lying on your back with your head against the pillows, knees bent and parted with your feet flat on the mattress as you waited for her. she was kneeling between them but sitting back on her heels, the strap dangling between you two as she took in the sight of you beneath her.

and she’s looking at you with fascination, like she’s never seen anything like this–that she can’t believe she’s actually doing this. 

one of her hands trailed from your side, tracing over your stomach and down to ghost over your clit. you sucked in a breath at the feeling, but held eye contact with her. you were growing a little impatient as she just sat there. she had already given you one orgasm with her mouth and fingers, but you were pretty much desperate to see the way she handled this–how she looked on top of you, inside you.

“you still want me to?” she asked softly. 

“yes,” you breathed.

she nodded once, then leaned forward so she was hovering over you and braced herself with one hand resting next to your head on the pillow. a sudden nervousness from the new experience washed over her, but she shook her head almost imperceptibly to rid her mind of the thoughts and any doubt that may cause her to back out. but when she raised her hand to her mouth and casually let a slow string of spit fall into her palm, then reached down and rubbed it onto the silicone, it seemed like she had done it a million times before.

“wanna make it feel good,” she mumbled sheepishly, looking down between the two of you.

“that was hot,” you said with raised eyebrows even though she couldn’t see it.

she pressed the tip of the silicone against you, rubbing it over your clit a few times before settling on your entrance. her eyes flicked back up to your face as she pressed against it, enough to apply pressure but not enough to push inside you yet.

“yeah?” she asked with a sultry tone, a proud smirk–proud of herself for doing well–tugging at the corners of her mouth. her hand rose from the silicone, coming up to cradle your jaw like it wasn’t still a little slick. 

she looked delicious. her pupils were blown and cheeks were flushed from lust, her hair thrown into a low messy bun so it didn’t get in her face, and her lips were red and swollen from kissing.

she softly pressed her thumb against your bottom lip. “open your mouth,” she whispered, then quickly added, “please.”

you wanted to smile from how you had basically trained her to say please when she was asking for something, even if it sounded more like a demand. but you didn’t, you did what she said and opened your mouth, suddenly feeling curious for where this was about to go–even though you had an idea.

and then, just like she did with her palm, she let a slow string of spit fall from her lips onto your tongue. she kept her eyes trained on yours like she was afraid you would pull away from the obscene act, trying to make sure that you weren’t turned off by the action. you held eye contact as you closed your mouth and swallowed.

without warning, her hips jerked a little bit, causing the tip to dip inside you–only about an inch. 

“fuck,” you moaned softly at the unexpected intrusion. your eyes fell shut for a moment and hands flew to her sides, but you quickly opened them again as a signal that you were okay. that you were just surprised and it felt good.

“shit, ’m sorry,” she said softly, moving her thumb from your lip so her hand could rest on the side of your neck. her eyes were wide in surprise, her hips frozen in place like she had done something wrong. “i didn’t mean to. i wanted to go slow–make it really good for you.” 

you smiled reassuringly, raising one of your hands to cup her cheek. “you’re doing so good, baby. keep going.” 

still, she didn’t seem convinced. her eyes shifted back and forth between yours for a few seconds, searching for any kind of doubt. when she didn’t find any, she leaned forward to press a soft kiss against your lips–her movements tense like she was suddenly stripped of her confidence. but she rocked her hips forward just slightly anyway, testing the waters, not pushing anymore than another inch.

she flicked her eyes down, her mouth dropping open when she saw the way you were swallowing the silicone. the hand on your jaw shifted to the pillow beside you so she could brace herself, caging you in with her arms as her fingers gripped the fabric tightly. her eyes stayed trained where they were as she continued to slowly push in. 

when she got halfway, you were admittedly getting a little impatient, so you shifted your hips so that she bottomed out. a gasp left her lips, her eyes shifting back up to yours. instead of waiting to give her the go-ahead and wait for her, you ground your hips against it, letting out a soft moan at the feeling.  

she watched you grind–slow and greedy, watching the way your face contorted from pleasure–for about half a minute before she brought a hand down to press flatly on your lower stomach in an attempt to still your hips and calm you down–or maybe herself. her chest was heaving, lips still parted because she couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“fuck, i could come just watching you do that,” she said breathily.

you wrapped your legs around her waist, locking your ankles behind her back and pulling her all the way in. “paige,” you said, your tone stern from your impatience. “just fuck me, please.”

the sound that choked out from the back of her throat sounded almost inhumane, and her hips snapped forward on their own accord to push the silicone even deeper, even though the full length was already inside you. you arched up into her automatically at the feeling.

“oh my god,” she moaned. 

almost as if her elbow gave out, her body dropped on top of you so she was bracing herself against her forearm instead. and just like you wanted, she was moving her hips–slowly and shallowly thrusting in and out like she’s afraid to hurt you. she dropped her head into your neck, biting down on the soft skin of your trap muscle like it could somehow ground her.

“good girl,” you said, dragging your nails down her back.

as expected, her hips jolted forward again and she finally increased her pace to try to hide it. she picked up her head from your neck, too, wanting to watch your face as she worked into you at a speed that would have you convinced that this isn’t the first time. you couldn’t help but let your eyes fall closed and lips part.

“fuck, fuck,” she moaned, “thank you for letting me fuck you like this. love making you feel good.”

you couldn’t even contain the smile that rose to your lips at her adorable words–it was definitely a form of praise that you had not tapped into yet, but you were so glad that she said it in her drunken-off-pleasure state.

“i’m so proud of you, baby. doing so well for me,” you managed to choke out. “i should let you fuck me like this more often."

she slammed into you after that, not really on purpose, but it caused you to scream from pleasure. maybe it was the way her clit was grinding against the strap, maybe it was the pure bliss she felt from getting you off and hearing your moans (especially that scream), or maybe it was a mixture of both, but she felt herself squeezing her eyes shut tightly with a choked moan herself as she unraveled on top of you. her hips rolled quickly inside of you on their own accord, finding a rhythm that was by pure accident. 

you reached between your bodies to circle your own clit with two fingers at a fast pace, trying to chase your own high as you watched her fall apart with trained eyes. it didn’t take longer than a few seconds before you were arching up into her again in your own orgasm. she came down before you did, and her body twitched above you as she watched you ride it out on the silicone.

when you finally came down, she collapsed her entire body weight on top of you with a groan. she didn’t bother to pull out, she made sure her hips stayed frozen so she didn’t overstimulate you while you were sensitive.

“i didn’t mean for that to be so fast,” she mumbled into the pillow next to your head.

you laughed, smoothing your palm over her back comfortingly. “it’s okay, baby. we’ll just go again.”

[stoopkidlisteningtocsh]

Some objectums in the tag: damn date everything sucks even though literally from the start it was pretty clear the objects would turn humanoid. As seen by. The every single advertisement for it. But i need to be upset!

People into date everything in the tag: uh hey so what does it mean if the object dating games makes me blush looking at the ac vent? Like the real one? Is this what its like??

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

The sad thing is, there isn't two issues here.

When addicts don't have safe, private, affordable housing, then they are forced to go wherever they can, including the buss stop shelter.

What separate solution to that can you imagine?

Station a cop at the buss shelter to arrest them? And do what with them, take them away and put them where, for how long, with what money? A night in jail? A few years in prison? If they died that would solve your problem, except it won't, because those addicts are part of other lives and starting an addiction is a painfully common way to cope with someone you love dying.

Same with the 2AM screaming and door banging and threats. As long as people with mental illness are thought of as dangerous, they'll be treated like criminals by default, not worth any time or resources to help. Just ignore them or lock them up.

That's not working for you though, is it. There's no one safe for you to call when someone needs help, when you need help with a situation you're not trained to deal with.

You know how protests bock streets and stop traffic? How some protests bring broken windows?

That's not a separate problem from the issue that got those people on the street. We can't solve our own problems by pretending that the pain of other people is separate from us.

I will never be safe until the people around me are too.

So I smile and keep walking when the guy follows me down the street yelling threats with his fists up. When someone bangs on the door at midnight.

My adult nephew shouts random insults while walking down main street, he cackles and breaks into a run, and I hope no one new to town sees him and gets scared. The people who know my nephew know he's never hurt anyone. They know that just the idea of hurting someone's feelings can send him spiraling, desperately trying to make it right. He's on mediation for depression. He does daily meditation.

But a stranger won't know that.

The people threatening me or making my hackles rise might be drunk, or having some kinda episode, or maybe just be an asshole, but I don't want them dead. I don't want them shot or tossed in prison for resisting arrest. It won't help.

What might help is

-the practice some places are starting, where trained mental health professionals and people who know how to deescalate are dispatched instead of the cops. People feel safer calling them. Less people get hurt, when guns and handcuffs aren't being waved around, when the only long term result isn't just a fine or holding cell. More people end up getting help when it's there to be given.

What might help is

-a program like one of my neighboring communities have, where there are purpose built houses people can live in for free and if no one's actively living in it for a year the place goes to someone else. Compare that to half the houses in my town standing empty, slowly rotting, while lots of the people where I live are technically homeless. Some live outside in tents at -50 F.

My grandma lived just down the street from a safe home for troubled adults. She could barely walk and was basically blind, and went to the little local store for her shopping alone. When my nephew visited her, for the first ever, he was SAFE walking down those streets too. People were used to seeing someone like him around. They knew there was someone they could call if anything happened they needed help with, and they knew it wouldn't end in anyone getting shot or locked up.

Strangers saw my nephew yelling in the middle of the street and stopped to chat about the weather with him. Can you imagine?

We're all getting hurt from different parts of the same issue.

Those of us dealing with unusable buss shelters and seeing someone be scary in public still have a little more breathing room than the people who everyone's told to be scared of.

We've got more social credit. We can make the people in charge listen. We can help fix this. For them and us. For everyone.

But not by saying there are separate issues here.

I wish there were a better way to talk about some hot button issues without pushing the hot button.

[mona-risms]

Rumi x Reader where Reader is a cursed deity that helps the hunters generations (through financially or become a manager once etc.) and finally meets Rumi after the defeat of the demon king. and Mira and Zoey are chaotic match makers

◆ MAIN COURSE: Rumi x cursed diety!gn!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: N/A

◆ NOTES: I LOVE RUMI SO BAD but also it's half 2 rn why did I stay awake to finish this bro........never letting anyone tell me I give up halfway in anything

Man. You musta done something to get cursed to be a manager for eternity 😭 joke but not actually joke. I can't replace Bobby man.......therefore INTRODUCING 🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁 the A&R Manager role!!!!! This'll be one of the Only times my music diploma will Ever come in handy

For reference before getting into it (bare w me please let me ramble even though this'll never be mentioned about again), an A&R Manager kinda oversees a LOT of things. While a unit/artist manager like Bobby is mostly responsible for one/a few units at a time, an A&R manager's responsible for a HUGE range of things like scouting/signing/developing new talent, being a liaison for the artist and the label, overseeing the recording process, to even being aware of different trends and demographics so that they keep the popularity up with the label and its artists

Much as it is a role for them to be personally involved in basically everything, the fact that there's a lot to do most definitely makes it hard to really do so, which will explain why they wouldn't have really met each other this entire time until the defeat of the Gwi-Ma. Bc honestly let's be real there's no way HUNTR/X is the only unit in their label, just the most famous one........and the one trained to handle demon slaying lol

ANYWAY ONTO THE ACTUAL. THING

When Celine first came up to you about what the next generation of Hunters should be, you weren't necessarily surprised about her proposal that fully leaned into the flashfire that was K-Pop in the modern age. Once upon a time, it would've been more traditional forms of musical entertainment, but there's a reason why you were tasked to oversee 'trends' and such for the next generation to create the Golden Honmoon with.. and take on the world by storm, you supposed.

So seeing them for the first time?

..Yeah, this was definitely going to match up with the algorithm.

"Girls," you hear Celine introduce you as you bowed respectfully, "meet the A&R manager for DH Entertainment, several years your senior."

(An understatement, of course.)

Either way, you follow it up with a simple introduction at the same time as the trio bowed in reciprocation, "[L/N] [Y/N], a pleasure to meet the three of you. Former trainees now, yes?"

The one who piped up first was not only the shortest one, but was most likely the loudest one out of the three, "Yes!! We've been working so hard for this, so it feels like such a dream--"

"Right," you cut her off, though not unkindly, "though do remember that you're not just debuting as idols—you're debuting as Hunters, first and foremost. ..Though I doubt you three can debut without any names..?"

"Oh, oh!" The loud one piped up again with an endearingly playful energy, "So I'm Zoey, and the grumpy-looking one's Mira--"

"Really, Zoey--"

"Shh, it's okay, this is just, like, first-hand practice for when we have to MC on stage and--"

You couldn't help the chuckle that left your lips. "Thank you, Zoey. I.. assume you're the leader, then?"

"If I may," Celine interjects, a slight humorous look on her face from watching the entire exchange, "you assume incorrectly."

"Really? Then who..?"

You see Mira nudge her head to the same person that Zoe ends up glomping from behind, "This one! Her name's--"

"Rumi."

The purple-haired woman spoke—or rather, breathed out—her own name, though she doesn't seem all there, if her expression was any indication. Her brown eyes were wide, as if she was witnessing, beholding, some sort of majesty (which, really, wasn't that much far off, though it's not as if it mattered anymore after so long). She stood stock still, as if suddenly unsure of how to act.

And it seems like the other unit members noticed too.

"..Rumi? You okay?" Mira nudged Rumi's side, "you're acting weird all of a sudden—what happened to your freakish proactivity?"

That seemed to snap Rumi out of whatever reverie she was in, scrambling to form a response, "OH! Shoot, uh, sorry! For staring, I mean, I just--

"Hmm? What's this?"

"Shut up, Zoey, let them talk."

"Don't worry about it," you waved it off with a kind smile and ignored the other two and their whispering. "So you're the unlucky leader?"

Rumi lets out a small snort of laughter before nodding, forgetting her initial awkwardness, "Yeah. Though I'd feel bad if I left them to anyone else."

"Hey!"

"Ha. Good luck with that—I've only had the pleasure of exposure for a few minutes, yet I can already tell they'll be a handful. And so will you."

"Wha-- what's that supposed to mean?"

You simply give her a smile as you stepped back, hands raised in a surrendering position, "It means I can tell that the three of you are going to give me a very hard time, just like the other generations before you."

Now it was Celine's turn to sound offended, though in no part did it seem genuine, "May I remind you who was on field again?"

"Was, dear." It was probably a hypocritical push-back, considering how you haven't been on field at all since being cursed, but alas, life wasn't fair.

So you quickly follow it up by patting away imaginary lint off your clothes before taking out your phone, "Now, as much as I'd like to carry this on, I've got enough work to break a mortal's back." And you pat Rumi's shoulder, which her cheeks tint the slightest pink in response, "Good luck, HUNTR/X. I'll be seeing you around."

And you let your hand slide down and drop to your side as you walked off, though you can't help but catch snippets of remaining conversation:

"You've got the hots for the manager. No way."

"I do not!"

"You froze, Rumi. I have never seen you freeze in front of someone new before."

"Cut it out!"

Idk I felt like I had to write out their FIRST introduction, bc honestly I can't see them NOT meeting you if you're in a high-up role, considering their importance

This DOES set things up though, bc they know they exist. But let's be honest it's probably VERY rarely that you two would ever happen upon each other, and even then it's probably in passing, for a few seconds type shit

You might be cursed to roam the Earth instead of actually be the deity of whatever it is you were supposed to hold domain over, but again. You're STILL a deity. So maybe after sensing that something is ABSOLUTELY WRONG, you manage to find where everyone's gathered, where the Saja Boys were performing, where Gwi-Ma had waited to devour all these souls before Rumi showed up, her half-demon heritage VERY out in the open now. Perhaps you even help them fend the demons off, either by boosting the power these souls had or outright using whatever power you had

I think after Gwi-Ma's banished, ever since you've been cursed, you've been in charge of cleanup. Erasing enough memories and proof to make the entire event seem like a Mandela Effect (you loathe how technology advances every minute bc there's THAT fucking issue too), structure reparation, everything. And THIS would be when you and HUNTR/X start interacting more

You'd probably most likely already know about Rumi's half-demon thing; you kinda had to be told by Celine ages ago for the sake of any possible damage control if, say, someome who shouldn't be able to see the markings see it. So when she asks you why you don't look shocked at all, it's because you're not. You've known what she is the entire time, and you don't really gaf. You're a cursed deity, why tf would you?

After the adrenaline wears off, she'd be back to oscillating between being SLIGHTLY awkward—because Jesus CHRIST she thought you were absolutely gorgeous then and she STILL thinks you're gorgeous now—and genuinely enjoying your presence, especially now that she doesn't really have to hide anymore (no thanks to Celine lmfao). Plus I think her newfound freedom opens up the actual excitement of learning about another supernatural entity that ISN'T a demon

Naturally, Zoey and Mira add 2+2 together and decide to meddle. Because honestly beyond the two of them, they know for a FACT that Rumi deserves happiness and acceptance from someone she genuinely likes. And considering you're there.......looking at her with those eyes............likeeeeee 😜😜😜😜 it's just basic girl math!!!!!

So it starts with them pushing Rumi towards you EVERY chance they get. You need to find new talent? Let Rumi help!!! You're going through recording? Oh suddenly the both of them have a cold oh noooooo Rumi will have to go on her own to record her own parts!! You're filling in paperwork? Oh em gee I wonder why we walked all the way here oh I think we left the oven on okay byeeee

It gets less subtle for them lol. They start asking Rumi how she feeeeeeels in so many different ways ("So is age and experience a thing for you?" "Wh--" "Just asking~! Jinu was like a few hundred, and [Y/N]'s been watching over several Hunter generations, so-- mmf!" "Eat your fries or so help me--"), and they even blatantly go up to ask you about preferences and stuff, even going so far as to just flat-out describe Rumi herself ("Purple hair and glowing demon marks; a turn-on or a turn-off?" "..Why?" "Just answer the question.")

Does it get you all closer? Yes. Does it also get you and Rumi closer? Yes, actually, but not just because of their wingmanning—both of you bond over the sheer exasperation at the VERY obvious attempts of playing matchmaker

The two of you probably eventually give in when you get individual messages from the other person about asking to meet at some secluded spot where you can see the stars really clearly without obstruction. How do you two give in, you ask? By just honestly going for it when the two of you realise that no, neither of you texted each other about meeting here and yes, this was absolutely planned by Zoey and Mira. You sit there on the picnic blanket that was mysteriously set up and kitted out with a vintage lantern from a some local goth shop and a basket of food, and the two of you talk personally: about your days; about how Rumi was handling being a demon out in the 'open' (aka humans can't really see it but supernaturals and Hunters can); about how and why you're cursed; about anything and everything

I don't think the two of you would kiss here, not on the lips anyway maybe the cheek ir the knuckle at MOST but otherwise nah. But it's the opening of something more, and when the two of you just lean on each other as you watch the stars, you can just hear a very faint shriek that sounds SUSPICIOUSLY like Zoey. But rn that's not your concern go back to your date 🙏

[seleneprince]

REBORN

Gotham Cathedral, Spring.

A majestic silence reigns around her, interrupted only by the occasional sound of the giant bell ringing above her.

She would like to think is because people have finally learnt to respect her space and stopped butting their noses into her bussiness.

But no. The truth is that the church is basically empty at this hour. The only other people are old ladies and some last-minute sinner in need of confession. It's quite normal in Gotham. We all become sinners eventually, she thinks. It's unavoidable.

The first days she started to come here for her prayer hours after her accident, people whispered non-stop when she passed by and could barely conceal their stares. Shocked to see her out of all people in a cathedral. A holy place.

"I didn't know Lady Wayne was so devoted."

"I don't think she's ever been in a church before."

"How...surprising of her to step so confidently into the Lord's holy place. She certainly lacks some self-awareness."

The sheer hypocrisy delights her as much as it infuriates her.

Because first of all, who are they to question her faith? Just because she doesn't make a show out of it doesn't mean it's up to debate. She's always been taught that one's faith is meant to be private and personal. It's not a reason to boast.

Which is why she's always looked down on those people who praise the Lord's name and present themselves as "true" Christians just for appearances or to give themselves a reason for their self-righteousness.

In reality, they're the ones completely devoid of any self-awareness.

"Either that or she just doesn't care about seeming direspectful. I mean, we all know the kind of woman she is."

"I heard she's not like that anymore. Apparently, she's changed a lot since the accident. Everyone says so. It's bizarre."

"Yeah. She's behaving surprisingly well lately. There hasn't been a scandal since."

"Maybe she hit her head so badly it reprogrammed her whole personality."

Idiots. If only they knew...

Well, guess she can't really fault them for not knowing. After all, there's no way they can even imagine the truth behind her change.

"Maybe that's not really her and we're just seeing someone else with her face."

"Sure. Or maybe she actually died on the accident and her body is currently possessed by an incredibly nice spirit."

They have no idea.

She raises her eyes to the cross in front of her, its figure looming over her head as if watching, where the image of the Lord was carved in a typical representation of the moment He died for humanity's sins.

The most remembered moment of His life. This is the first thing that pops into people's minds when they think of Him. Not all the good actions, not His endless kindness, His banter with the disciplines, His sense of humour, how He dedicated his life to help the poor and stood for what was right. Not even His beautiful relationship with His family. His mother, His father Joseph, even His siblings.

No. Instead, He'll be mostly remembered like this. In His death, with iron drilled into His body and bleeding out between two criminals. Sacrificing His life for sins that weren't His.

The Bible is full of passages depicting His humanity, His miracles, yet this moment is what will be forever His symbol.

Most people claim it's meant to be a reminder of how big His heart was. Of how He became a martyr.

To her, it's always felt more like a lesson.

That no matter how good you are and how much of yourself you give for others, you'll still get screwed over by those more powerful than you if they want to. That doing the right thing won't always be rewarded.

In the end, people value life the most when it's gone.

The thing about martyrs, she thinks, is that they have to die to be worshipped.

She makes one last prayer under her breath before standing up, sealing it with a kiss to the cross that dangles from her neck, putting back under her coat. She walks around the bench quietly as to not disturb the others and makes her way to the exit in the shadows.

Her phone vibrates again in her pocket. She pulls it out to see the several missed calls, messages, e-mails and the news.

On top of all, one name persists.

A name she wishes to never think of again.

Mr Wayne🙄

Where are you?

Seriously, where are you?

Don't you dare ignore me now.

You can't be serious.

I just found it laying on my desk this morning. Is this some sick joke of yours?

It better be.

I swear to God, where the fuck are you?? You can't just leave like this!

Those gossips don't know how close their little jokes are to the truth.

Because she didn't just change. She wasn't reprogrammed.

She catches her reflection in one of the windows. Her face, her hair, her body, even the way she moves. She still looks the same as before. Healthy and confident.

Except it's not her. Not really.

This body isn't hers. Just like the clothes. Just like the man pestering her on the phone. None of this belongs to her.

It's from that woman with her same name and face that died several weeks ago.

Mr Wayne 🙄

What do you mean with "divorce"??

Gotham City High School

They're still talking.

It's been several weeks but they haven't stopped. In fact, she'll say it's gotten worse.

Before, it was just whispers behind her back and poorly concealed side-eyes. Now, they've taken to brazenly stare at her like she's some exotic animal, even approaching her at times to ask about her health, only to step back when she answers with a gentle smile, their eyes reflecting something between horror and fascination.

She found it amusing at first. Their faces looked so stupid at time she had to supress her laugh a lot.

But it's getting annoying now.

Whenever she goes, whenever she looks, they're there. Muttering, blinking at her, trying to strike clumsy converstations as if she's some long-lost friend who finally returned. All while keeping their distance and staring at her unnervingly.

Sometimes, she feels like a desecrated creature on display.

A pair of girls stand straighter when she passes by, following her with their eyes wide open. She catches the magazine one of them is holding, reading the bold letters in the cover title.

"Wayne heiress's lavish purchases turned into secret charity donations? Follow Vicky Vale's interviews to witnesses for more!"

Of course. The media doesn't help the insanity.

(Good to know Vale is a monumental pain in the ass in every life)

She sighs, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. It's flashy and clearly expensive. Something made to draw attention to the teenage girl who wears it...and subtitly brag about her money.

In another life, she wouldn't have ever come to school with this thing, not even her mum wouldn't allow it. But everything is different now, isn't it?

To be honest, she can't really hold it against these guys for acting the way they do. From their perspective, this must be some kind of fever dream.

She knows her current behaviour clashes greatly with what everyone else is used to from her.

"She's gone mad. There's no other explanation."

"I don't know. She seems to be the same, but nicer."

"Seriously? She's already made three teachers cry from arguing about the lessons with them. Poor Miss Terris was about to faint!"

Yeah, well, she's not going to stay quiet when people who are expected to educate and prepare them for the future teach their damn subjects wrong.

Plus, Miss Terris's lessons were poorly structured and boring anyway. It was for the best.

"Didn't she also disagreed with Mr Johns so badly that he took a whole day off in the middle of class?"

"Oh my god, yes. Luke told me about it. She questioned his thesis for the PhD and started scrutinizing each point like she was grading the damn thesis herself. Apparently, half the arguments didn't stand and it lacked solid references."

"I saw the poor man afterwards. He looked like he was rethinking his whole existence."

That guy should've thought better before writing his thesis on cybersecurity, the one field she’s studied, mastered, and dominated for years. Reading that thing hurt her eyes more than her correction hurt his feelings.

Next time, he won't ignore her questions and shame her in front of the whole class. A time off sounds perfect for self-reflection.

"How can someone like her know so much about cybersecurity anyway? Enough to criticise a professional about it?"

"It's weird. I mean, do you remember the last time she talked back to teachers?"

"No. She's never interrupted lessons, much less to call them out on it. And she's actually right most of the time! It makes no sense."

Because she was a spoiled little brat who lowered her head at the first sign of dissapointment from adults and ran off to her mother to fight the battles for her.

Now she's a spoiled brat with a backbone.

But she understands their confusion. They have every reason for it. Ever since her return, she's been a walking contradiction of everything they've seen and known from her. A mystery.

Really, she's only annoyed when they invade her space with their antics. If you're going to speculate and gossip, do it quietly when the person in question can't hear you. Otherwise you look stupid and attention-seeking.

Or even better: Keep your thoughts to yourselves and let people live, geez.

She wonders if this the kind of attention she would've liked, once upon a time. Maybe this is what that part of her craved so bad. Or maybe she was content either way. Bad attention is still attention and all of that.

From afar, she spots Stephanie staring at her, arms crossed and eyebrows pinched in suspicion. She's no doubt thinking the worst of her, expecting a tantrum at any moment or anything that exposes whatever "scheme" she must have in mind.

Anything to remind everyone how rotten the spoiled Wayne heiress is.

"Do you think...she lost her memories somehow and doesn't remember how to act?"

"Don't be stupid, Kevin. If she lost her memories, she wouldn't even know where she is. Nah, this girl is perfectly fine. Probably just faking for attention again."

She snorts quietly. She can't help it.

Their theories aren't so far fetched. Just lacking a little twist.

Because it's not that she lost her memories.

She actually gained more.

As they wonder about her true motives and the reasons behind her change, none of them can come close to the truth.

That the girl they know died. Literally. Several weeks ago, her heart stopped beating as she bled out in the ice.

And somehow, she came back....with her soul and conscience fused to someone else's.

Wayne Manor

She hasn't moved from the greenhouse in twenty minutes.

Or so she thinks. She hasn't checked the time once since she arrived.

Everyone else is out, doing whatever they usually do at this hour. School, work, send criminals to the ER. Only Alfred is still around the manor.

And herself.

She should be at school now too, but claimed sickness and refused to leave her room. Alfred was worried about her and tried to pry, but her mother and sister covered her. They understood.

How can they not?

It wasn't until she knew for sure it was only Alfred left that she gathered courage to step out, heading towards the one place that has always made her feel safe.

The manor's greenhouse.

A botanical dream come true that only rich people can afford, and her personal paradise. It's supposed to be one of the Wayne's prides, but no one is interested in caring for plants in this family anymore. Only she and Alfred.

Well, maybe Damian too, but he barely shows up since she frequents the place, sticking to his precious farm instead.

She prefers it this way. It allows her to have the place all for herself. It's her corner to hide in when the world becomes too much, the familiar scent of her beloved flowers soothing her like a lullaby just for her ears.

And right now, the world is a lot bigger and more devastating that it's ever been.

It's been days. Long, excruciating days of processing what happened, what it means. Assimilating how things are now. Trying to get through the new routine without crashing out, despite being all she wants to do since she woke up.

Mum jumped right into action as soon as she got a hold over their new situation, and her older sister handled it as she handles everything: Adapting and somehow finding a way to benefit from it.

She envies them for it. For being able to go on with their new lives almost normally while she's still stuck repeating the same scene in her head over and over. What she saw, what she felt.

That's why she needed to come here. Nature has never dissapointed her. She loves her plants and all the green that surrounds her in a explosion of beauty she's nurtured over the years. In times of sorrow, it's her passion what comforted her, along with her family.

When you learn about mother nature, you understand everything follows a pre-established cycle that pushes it all forward, regardless of whatever obstacles there might be. It's about balance within the chaos. No one can evade it.

It's reassuring, to know that no matter what happens, you can trust nature to always find a way to fulfill its rules.

It's a shame my favourite color in the world is the same as certain asshole's eyes. Such beauty wasted on that demon, she bitterly recalls.

She inhales, taking in the scent of wet grass and some freshly bloomed flowers. It's the middle of Spring, after all. The season of life and rebirth, when all that died in winter blooms back with the same beauty as before, as if they never withered in the first place.

Just like she did.

Like the three of them did.

How deliciously ironic that it happened in Spring out of all. Maybe this is really mother nature's work, once again finding a way to restore the balance.

Or maybe it's some wicked game from the universe to make our lives even harder, her inner voice supplies.

She has no idea.

All she knows is that she should be dead. In fact, she vividly remembers dying, exhaling her last breath. Right on cue, she feels a sharp sting from her inner wrists. She rubs the pained zone over the bandage she put on herself.

It's a reminder of the incredibly dark motive behind her new life. Her second chance, as Mum said it is.

The death she remembers happened a lifetime ago....but the pain on her wrists belongs to someone's else death.

This greenhouse has been her paradise in another life, and her grave in this one.

And still..

What a beautiful place to part from, she can't help but think.

All of it, without ever noticing the shadow watching her back, still and silent in a corner of her sacred place. Waiting. Guessing. Or just looking.

a/n: Prologue for my uncoming Yandere! Batfam reincarnation au...with possible other Yandere! DC characters and my other ocs included in it because why not lmao I've been reading too many reincarnation of villainesses webtoons recently, so, here we are now

@la-patrona-magdalena (la culpable de este au, the enabler)

Taglist (for those who showed interest in this au first, thank you for the comments!): @therealme13posts, @coldilikeit, @like-thechocolate

[coolwyous]

┈─★ #1 𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺

  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan skiendiel loves three things in this world: her amazing brilliant wife, her incredible adorable kids, and the beautiful sport that is ice hockey.

   ˎˊ˗  ❄️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: hockey daddy!megan skiendiel x f!reader

   ➴ genre + wc: 3.3k, domestic parenting au, all fluff no pain baby!

┈─★ a/n: wrote this in 2 hrs bc i missed our big puppy hockey!megan so bad and this put such a cute fucking vision in my head. can def be read as a standalone but if you're new here, i highly encourage reading the college hockey!au verse this is based in! <3

“babe! baby! jesus christ babe, get in here!”

your mind goes to the worst possible places. your son could be choking, he could be having an allergic reaction, he could be stuck in between a piece of furniture, and your perfect angel of a wife could be having a crisis as she tries to figure out what exactly to do in an emergency.

marriage with megan has been an absolute dream, and you always knew she’d make an incredible parent. protective, calm, kind— basics, sure, but megan does them so easily, you never questioned that a family together would be an absolute dream. however, megan is still megan, and you love her for each part of her, including the parts that panic when things do not go according to plan. that’s where you balance each other out: you keep megan in line when she starts to spiral, and she reminds you of the beauty in the day to day.

in this scenario, you’re in panic-mode, racing into the living room expecting the worst.

you let out a gasp to find not only is there no crisis, no furniture on fire, no natural disaster sweeping up your son and wife, but quite the opposite.

megan is reaching her arms out, crouched down, and your infant son is taking his first steps towards her, his chubby face squished up in the cutest smile you could have ever imagined.

“look at this guy! so sturdy,” megan beams, reaching out ready to catch him should he start to wobble.

you laugh and take a mental picture of the moment. you see a mischievous glint to megan’s eyes as she watches his wobbly little body take another step forward.

“megan, i swear if you even think about—”

“i wasn’t gonna say it!” she throws her hands up innocently.

“he just took his first steps,” you chastise her, knowing her well enough after all your years together. “don’t do this. i didn’t start rambling about universities or classic literature when he first said mama.”

“fine,” megan shakes her head in defeat, focusing back on waving to your son to get him to take a few more steps forward. “fine.”

you smile and turn to go hunt down your phone to document the moment. before you’re fully out of the room, you hear a quiet voice whispering to the baby.

“you’re a tank, dude. you’re gonna make a killer defender. get that core strong and we’ll be on the ice in no time.”

“megan skiendiel,” you warn firmly.

“shit. mommy heard us talking about the no-no word.” megan swoops up your son and uses him like a human shield, knowing you can’t stay mad at your two favorite people in the whole world. “okay, okay. i can wait. i get it.”

“i just want one milestone where you’re not trying to prep him for the nhl, i’m begging,” you laugh, reaching out to kiss her. she grins and kisses you back, scooping up your son to hold him between you two.

you can’t even pretend to be mad. you have the most perfect family in the world, what more could someone want?

-

“push left, then push right.”

megan makes skating look so easy, impossibly easy as she always has. when the first snowflake of the season fell, you already knew to get the kids’ winter coats ready, knowing megan would force you all into the car and haul you all to the lake ASAP.

“this is hard,” maxie breathes, his lower lip jutting out in frustration. 

“guess what?” megan tells him, her voice softening as she realizes the emotions taking over your toddler. “it may be hard, but you can do hard things. and you’ll have me holding your hand all the way through.”

your daughter starts to squirm out of your grasp and eagerly reaches for her other mom. you press a kiss into the beautiful baby’s head and hold onto her, knowing your wife needs all her focus in one place right now.

“push left, push right. don’t be afraid to fall,” she nods confidently as you watch from the snow. “you’ve got this, dude. if i didn’t think you could do it, i wouldn’t be pushing you.”

your heart swells as you see your son’s eyes burn with determination at megan’s encouragement. max does exactly that, and he’s shaky, but making slow paces forward. 

megan skates over to you, giving your son some space to figure it out without her over his shoulder. you grin and reach out to kiss her reddened nose, cold to the touch from the chilly falltime air.

“forgot how good of a captain you were,” you compliment, your chest warm and fuzzy seeing how gently but firmly megan builds your son’s confidence. “might want another one just to keep seeing you be that good.”

“another team for me to captain?” megan grins.

you laugh. “no— another kid, loser.”

“oh.” her eyes widen, but that stupid dopey grin only multiplies on her face. “right right right.”

your daughter wiggles once more in your grip and reaches out again. you smile, handing her to megan, who nestles her onto her hip while skating backwards to keep her eyes fixed on your son. 

“look, look!” max calls out loudly, beaming with his precious toothless grin as he glides slowly along the ice.

you look up, ready to cheer him on, but your wife has already got you beat, her face lighting up instantly in pure, sincere, beaming pride.

“that’s my boy! that’s my boy!” she cheers.

megan throws your daughter up into the air and swings her legs around her neck to have the toddler sitting on her shoulders, causing the girl to giggle uncontrollably. max, still wobbly, manages to skid along the ice, his confidence increasing with each pace forward he makes without tipping. you smile at your little family. 

-

“baby,” you call out, peeking at the three on the ice from over the pages of your book. “your daughter is about to do a backflip off of the snowbank.”

“josie, sweetie, sit down please,” megan calls out to her, standing with max as the two practice passing a puck back and forth.

“no thank you,” the girl responds simply.

“okay, no, wait,” megan pauses, wrinkling her nose. “no, princess, it doesn’t work like that. daddy’s words are not an option.”

max pauses, watching the whole thing unfold in front of him. he shrugs and drops his stick, putting his hands on his hips as he innocently observes his sister. “auntie dani says sometimes you just gotta send it.”

“okay, no more time at auntie dani’s,” megan grits. you burst out laughing. 

“i told you she’d be a terrible influence.”

“i didn’t think she’d try to influence a five year old,” megan groans, grabbing josie to snatch her off the snowbank. the girl pouts and wiggles out of your wife’s grip, taking easily to the ice in her skates.

“babe, you know how daniela is,” you laugh. “you’re the only one to blame if you trusted her to be a good influence. i told you lara is more than happy to watch them.”

“lara has enough on her hands with the twins,” megan shakes her head, giving max a push to help him slide across the ice, sending the boy screaming laughing. “josie is a tornado.”

“so you stick her with the most insane person you know and expect it to go well?” you laugh.

“okay, okay, this is not bag on daddy time,” megan scrunches her nose at you, grabbing josie by her hood as the rambunctious child tries once more to climb the snow and jump. “i thought maybe dani could help me understand how to lay the law down more. you never have any problems with them.”

“the kids listen to me ‘cause i mean what i say,” you laugh, watching as megan increasingly fails to wrangle the two children as they go in opposite directions. “unfortunately, big bad strong hockey daddy folds every time your five-year-old gives you the puppy eyes.”

josie’s little voice cuts in, somehow at the top of the snowbank.

again.

“can you send a picture of me up here to auntie dani? i want her to see me send it!”

megan’s eyes nearly bug out of her head at the sight.

“my perfect sweet wife, will you grab your daughter, please?” she pleads, nervously holding her arms out in case the girl is too quick and jumps anyways.

you shake your head, pointing behind her as max is aimlessly hitting pucks off in random directions on the ice, pucks you know will never be found again.

“actually, my perfect sweet wife who doesn’t listen or learn, i wanted to do a library date. you’re the one who insisted on taking them to the lake. when you know i still can’t skate,” you remind her.

“oh my god,” megan groans, reaching up to snatch josie by the ankle, causing the little girl to giggle uncontrollably as she gets swung through the air and placed gently back down onto the ice. megan picks up her stick and quickly blocks max from hitting his last few pucks, instead redirecting them all easily back into the small bucket they came in. you watch, impressed. megan has been retired for a year now, shortly after josie turned 4, but she’s still good as ever.

“my thoughts exactly,” you laugh.

“remind me of this exact moment next time i suggest doing this again,” megan blinks.

“babe, this happens every time.” you remind her, flipping through another page in your book. “literally every weekend.”

megan, still impossibly strong, grabs both your kids by the back of their jackets, flipping them both around to face the same direction on the ice. the sound of their rumbling giggles makes your heart flip.

“laps, both of you.” she demands, her voice stern (or about as stern as your goofy, ridiculous megan can get.) “now, minions.”

“no,” josie pushes back challengingly. 

“oh yeah?” megan bends down, pointing a finger menacingly at your daughter. “why? scared you’ll get left in my dust?”

you laugh, watching as your wife takes off on the ice, your two bumbling children skating along after her in an attempt to catch her. your heart melts at the sight. 

-

even at lara and dani’s encouragement, megan had never seen herself as exactly coaching material. several colleges had tried soliciting her to coach for them after her time in the wnhl, and she had turned down each of them in favor of staying home with the kids while you continued to work. you didn’t mind— between what she had made playing professionally, your current job, and the current time she can dedicate to her family now that she’s done traveling, the trade off is well worth it.

but the perfect way to fill her time was coaching your son’s 7 & under junior hockey league. 

“way to take that shot, champ!” your wife cheers as max misses yet another practice shot. “love the confidence, buddy!”

you laugh and hand her the coffee you just picked up for her in the lobby. “you’re being surprisingly patient.”

“no, he’s honestly so, so bad at this, poor guy,” megan lets out a quiet breath, and the both of you laugh. one of the assistant coaches takes over the drills as you two watch the kids from the side. “he’s trying like hell, though.”

“alright, relax coach,” you wrinkle your nose at her playfully. 

you both hear a thud against the plexiglass and realize josie, who is supposed to be taking figure skating lessons on the other side of the rink while max’s team practices, is shoulder checking her poor coach into the wall again, much to the woman’s displeasure. you give her a sharp look to cut it out and she instantly straightens up, nodding at you in understanding.

megan gives you a quick look before bursting out into laughter. you know your daughter’s menace-like behavior is nothing to laugh at, but it’s such a sharp contrast to gentle and compliant max, you’re grateful to have such characters for children that keep you and megan on your toes.

“josie’s sick of figure skating, meg” you tell your wife gently, knowing you’re approaching a sensitive topic for her. “she’s been stealing his sticks and messing with his goal in the backyard. i know you’ve seen her.”

megan lets out a nervous sigh. “i was afraid that’d happen.”

when max happened, you saw it be so easy for megan, like being a boy dad was the most thing in the world. she had all the answers, no fears, no concerns. but as much as she loves both your children equally, you know for a fact that josie was different. megan was so, so much more nervous with raising a girl, and while you didn’t feel the same pressure, you knew it kept megan up at night wanting to make sure she did everything just right for your guys’ little princess.

“she wants to be just like you, meg,” you tell her gently as you both watch the girl roll her eyes at the coach and do another twirl. “she pays attention, talks about your teams, wants to watch your old games. she’s so eager to be part of that world, and you keep brushing her off.”

megan shakes her head, clearly wanting to pivot away from the topic. “mrs. baker called again today. she’s worried about her reading.”

you sigh. mrs. baker, josie’s kindergarten teacher. 

“i remember how the first meeting went, megan. i was there, remember?” you laugh, rubbing her arm soothingly. “josie’s still got time to figure it out before they go on diagnosing anything. she’s barely 5. give her time. you sound more worried than her teacher did.”

megan’s knits her brows, avoiding your gaze as she watches both kids on the ice. 

“i don’t want her to distract herself with hockey if she’s already at risk of falling behind in school.”

“meg,” you soften your voice, leaning you weight against hers. “it’ll be okay. let her try, we can support her. she won’t fall behind.”

“i don’t want her to beat herself up.” her voice drops into a rasp as you see her swallow down nervously. “i don’t want her to feel stupid.”

your heart aches thinking about baby megan, all those years beating herself up over struggles that were never her fault. you see how anxiously she projects forward, wanting so desperately to spare your guys’ daughter from the same fate, the same self-consciousness, the same lack of confidence.

“she won’t. give her a chance. she might thrive,” you reassure her. “having something she’s that passionate about might make her motivated to work harder.”

megan nods, pressing a kiss into your head. you feel her body relax against yours as you two lean together, watching the practices go on. “you’re right. i’m overthinking it.”

“she might be the next you,” you smile.

before you can say anything else, megan is motioning for the figure skating coach to pause, waving for your daughter to come over to where you guys are standing. 

“max, come here,” she calls out, leaning down on the wall to be eye-to-eye with your kids as they both skate over, their eyes wide in confusion. “josie, go borrow your brother’s gear.”

“are you benching me?” maxie asks anxiously. 

“would you rather go get a new book and hot cocoa with your mom?” megan asks, her voice soft, her eyes scanning over your son’s face as she chooses her words carefully. “would you rather not come back to practice?”

“i like hockey,” max says quickly, almost too quickly. your heart aches. you see megan in him too— nervous, kind-hearted, eager to be good, not wanting to hurt anyone.

“but do you love it?” megan pries gently, taking one of his hands in hers to comfort him.

“i would rather be reading, yeah,” max admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

megan is quick to take his chin gently in her fingers and lift his gaze back up to hers. “hey, hey, that’s okay. were you afraid to hurt my feelings by telling me that?”

“yes,” he admits sheepishly. 

“thank you for being kind, but thank you even more for being brave and telling me the truth,” she pulls his helmet off of his head and presses a kiss into the top of his sweaty hair. “go with your mom. i love you so, so much. you’re the coolest kid.”

the boy complies, coming off the ice and taking off his gear, handing each piece to his younger sister. “i was scared you’d be mad at me.”

you see megan’s face wrinkle in concern. she shakes her head, reaching down to give the little boy a tight, comforting hug.

“never ever. i love you with my whole heart. i can’t wait to buy you all the books in the world, dude,” she reassures him, nodding. “go give your sister your gear. your mom is waiting.”

you smile and reach out to your son, handing him his hoodie. he swipes it up eagerly and takes your hand, beaming excitedly.

“i heard you’ve been practicing on your own,” megan says as she kneels down, focusing now on helping josie put on all the gear. it’s a size too big, but it’ll do. “you ready to show me what you can do?”

“really?” josie’s eyes light up.

“these boys are bigger than you are,” megan warns, but she doesn’t sound worried. she sounds eager, proud. “think you can keep up?”

“yes,” the girl nods eagerly. 

“go show off,” she encourages, giving josie a push on the ice to send her towards the practice. “but no backflips! you’ll give me a heart attack.”

“boring,” she gripes, skating off. 

you can’t help but laugh. 

“she’s going to kill me,” megan groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

you poke her in the cheek, letting max rest on the bench for a moment. 

“she’s karma for every single time you lashed out at one of your teammates. remember senior year?”

“yeah. alright, alright,” megan waves you off, rolling her eyes, but she pulls you in to give you a quick peck. you both watch as she boldly joins the drill as if she’s been doing it for years, quickly handling the stick and the puck with a confidence unmatched by most of the boys on the team.

“she’s a natural,” you beam proudly.

megan lets out a low whistle. “better than i was my first time on the ice.”

“i’ve always said she’s just a less anxious version of you,” you smile. “right down to the puppy dog eyes.”

megan grins back, wrapping an arm around your waist. “you love these puppy dog eyes.”

you look into those puppy dog eyes, the things that drew you in when you first met her, and the things you’re pretty sure were the first part of megan that you fell in love with, before the rest of her fell right into place inside your heart.

“being just like you won’t be the worst thing in the world, meg,” you tell her gently, you both watching as josie blasts past the other boys on the ice, handling the puck with unimaginable expertise. 

“at least college is paid for,” megan wrinkles her nose, letting out a sigh. “who knows. maybe some sucker will get roped into giving her their english class notes.”

“and then they fall in love with each other and become college sweethearts. and survive long distance, and get married. and have a super cute family with two kids and a crusty white dog,” you add on, wrapping your arms around her waist to pull her into a hug. 

“i got super lucky,” megan breathes, finally turning to look down at you.

“yes you did,” you grin back up at her. 

“i love you,” she tells you, kissing your forehead tenderly.

you admire her perfect face, looking back at your perfect daughter and your perfect son. your perfect little family, something you could have never pictured when you first met megan in your british literature class all those years ago.

you smile, reaching up for one more kiss.

“ditto.”

[all-with-angel]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Give your heart a break

...by Demi Lovato

❥ Satoru Gojo x Reader

Or how Gojo Satoru had tried to stop himself from loving you. (And how he failed miserably)

Made for Angels Birthday Event!

“Love? Bleuuuugh,” Satoru gagged, over emphasizing his disgust at the thought. “That thing is stupid. I’m never falling in love! Forget even marrying!” He’d exclaimed, puffing his chest and sneering at what you thought was hate for the emotion.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest, a feeling you had learned to manage, to hide within the confines of your ribcage. You kept quiet, kept smiling. You believed Satoru Gojo when he said he had not time for romance.

Until you noticed the cracks.

You didn’t even want to see them, you kept looking away, caught up in the lie and in the absolute belief that Gojo Satoru could not fall in love with you. But it was hard to pretend that he wasn’t. Not when it was this obvious.

Still, you turned a blind eye. Maybe Satoru appreciated that. The fact that you pretended that everything that the two of you were wasn’t special. Through high school and his teaching career, his role as the strongest and his clan pestering him ever so often about marriage to produce an heir— You stood beside him.

He was touchy— Always has been. But with you? He’d be attached 24/7. Some nights he’d crash on your bed instead of his, tangled in your sheets beside you, his cologne on your clothes. He’d take you shopping, take you to try sweets and call it a ‘date’. In a platonic way, of course.

The lie lasted very, very long basically. 

But as it did prolong, you grew more and more sure about the fact that Gojo Satoru was not incapable of romance, it's just that he fears it. He fears love and all that it could do to him. Fears what your love would do to him.

The tension between the two of you, the charged energy in the air whenever you two had ‘jokingly’ flirted with each other. It was getting all too obvious. Shoko would roll her eyes, yaga would scoff and sigh, muttering something about stupid young love.

And it was true, it was stupid. It was young. It was love. 

And it was undeniable as it was unavoidable.

You gained the courage to say it, braver than Satoru had ever been when you had called out to him before he ran off to another one of his week-long missions.

“Hmm? Whats up sweets? Miss me already?” He teased, a smirk on his pretty lips. Satoru looked relaxed, even as he held himself back from leaning into you and your scent.

“You know I love you, right?”

Satoru paused, smirk wiped from his face as he’s hit with the truth he’d been running from for years now. The curse he could never defeat. Love.

“Well yeah, doesn’t everyone?” He laughed awkwardly, desperate to repair the break in the lie. Still, much to his heart's dismay, you didn’t let up. Didn’t stop pushing.

“No, Satoru–” You paused, the lump in your throat screaming at you to just drop it. Forget about it. Don’t get hurt. Loving Gojo satoru will only ever end in tragedy.

So what? You thought. Satoru— your Satoru deserved to love. He deserved to be loved, to be held and to let his guard down. To relax as someone who isn’t who isn’t the strongest, but just as himself.

“I love you.” 

The silence was deafening, an arrow shot in the dark that undoubtedly reached its mark. It felt like forever with the two of you standing there, relishing in the truth being laid out right in front of your eyes. Satoru Gojo stood like an idiot, lips sealing into a thin line, eyes covered with the blindfold that obscured your view of his beautiful, bright blue eyes.

You could hear every creak in the floor, every breath taken, every beat of your heart. 

Satoru took a breath and called out your name, quiet and almost mournful, as if he had already accepted the bittersweet of the tragedy that the two of you would be. “I can’t–”

“Can’t what? Don’t act stupid now Satoru,” Your fear had washed away into something else, burning anger for all the years wasted on lingering touches and yearning stares. “I know you love me, and I know for a fact you’ve been loving me all this time,” That sounded egoistic, sure, but you knew you weren’t wrong. 

Gojo Satoru loves you. More than anything in the world. Thats why he stays quiet, because he has no power to lie and tell you that he doesn’t.

“And I’m sick and tired of pretending you don’t.” You snap, clenching your teeth as you fail to hold back the tears on your lashes. “Sick and tired of pretending that we aren't allowed to love.”

“We aren’t.” 

You feel your heart crack. Another break in the valley of what used to be a full heart. Another part of you that Satoru just couldn’t stop hurting despite doing what he thinks would save both you and him. “Why?” You ask. Voice a whisper, a question more to the world than Satoru.

Not like he could answer, standing so still compared to his usual twitchy and uncontrollable self. He knew why. But he was too much of a coward to say anything.

You take a breath, deep and burning into your lungs. You close your eyes, when you open them, you're met with the same sight that your heart never stopped beating for, and you're reminded that if you didn’t fight for this, no one else would.

Satoru hoped that you would fight. A small part of him did. The part of him that he had so carefully hid because he knew that if you made a move, told him you loved him, that he wouldn’t be able to hold back from loving you.

“Let me love you,” You start, tone low and careful as if you could scare him away at any moment. “Even if you’re scared. Let yourself love. Please.”

You couldn’t say anything else. Rational words and calculated thoughts thrown right out the window. So you reach out again, and Satoru flinches when your hand finds his. He didn’t realize he had let infinity down for you.

You trace your thumb on the back of his hand before squeezing and looking up, waiting for the answer that could make or break you.

“...Okay.”

A.N. This ended up longer than intended but its okay! I hope i did him justice <33

[enimsiyobeht]

Thinking about boypussy Lino and pussy drunk reader who always wants to eat his pretty princess out... just getting on his knees when they're having a movie night and devouring that pretty pussy, or laying between Minho's legs, throwing those legs over reader's shoulders and eating him out so vigorously...

and equally obsessed Minho..who wants reader inside him.. will cock warm reader when he's working, is basically free use because there's not one moment he doesn't want reader inside him

😩😩😩

admit it! (you're obsessed). minho x male reader.

1468 boypussy, unprotected (all scenes), oral sex (m. receiving), cockwarming (all scenes), dirty talk, overstimulation, oral fixation, pussy worship, power play, comfort sex elements, implied size kink, sensory kink, somnophilia-adjacent/sleepy sex (extra scene). mdni !!

a/n : i lob this request, and i bet my hubby... @spear-of-moonlight (hope for the best recovery of your wrist 😿😿💖) would love it 2!! 👉👈 i thought of some extra scenes to elaborate with the whole ask, enjoyyy.

The movie plays, mostly ignored.

Minho’s in your lap, pink cotton shorts pushed up high on his thighs, a faded tank top slipping off one shoulder. He’s pretending to focus on the screen—he always does, biting the inside of his cheek like he isn’t soaking the seat of your pants, legs twitching whenever your fingers shift an inch closer to where he wants them.

You’re not even halfway through the opening act when you drop to your knees.

“Again?” Minho teases, though his voice is already breathless. “Didn’t you get enough this morning?”

You don’t answer.

You just hook his legs over your shoulders, peel those pretty shorts down, and stare. His pussy’s puffy and slick, lips parted like it’s been waiting—like it knows you’re down there again.

“Fuck, look at you,” you murmur, palms pressing into his thighs to spread him open. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

Minho giggles, head tipping back, hair spilling over the couch cushions. “You’re the one crawling back between my legs, baby.”

You don’t deny it. You never do.

Because nothing compares to the way he tastes—warm and sticky, pussy twitching the moment your tongue touches it. You groan into him, suckled in like you’ve been starving, like you need him to breathe. And Minho? He’s already moaning, back arched, one hand in your hair and the other clutching the cushions like you’re fucking him with your mouth.

Your tongue drags slow over his slit, and Minho gasps—hips bucking despite himself. His thighs are already trembling, spreading wider over your shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe you’ve made it that way. He doesn’t even try to hide how wet he is, how swollen his pussy’s gotten from you just looking at him.

“You’re drooling,” he breathes, voice laced with smug arousal, “so disgusting.”

You groan into him, tongue dipping into his fluttering hole as your fingers press into the meat of his thighs, spreading him wider, pulling him open. “I can’t help it,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “You’re too fucking pretty. I want to live down here.”

“Then stay,” Minho says softly, and you look up—

—his eyes are half-lidded and shining, lips bitten raw, cheeks flushed. He’s got that same expression you dream about: smug yet ruined, like he’s got you wrapped around his little finger and wants to break you with it.

You bury yourself deeper, tongue fucking into him with purpose now, nose pressed to the slick mess between his folds as your fingers reach up to stroke his thighs, his hips, the little strip of skin above his clit that makes him gasp out loud.

“I’ll cum if you don’t stop,” he warns, breath catching, “and then I’ll get greedy.”

You smile into his cunt. “Good.”

You don’t let up. You eat him out like you’ve forgotten anything else exists—tongue curling and licking and sucking, lips sloppily devouring every drip of slick he gives you. You feel his pussy clamp around your tongue, feel the tension roll through his whole body as he tugs at your hair and writhes in your grip.

He cries out when he cums, the sound sharp and sweet, his back arching clear off the couch. You hold him down, licking him through it until his thighs twitch and he’s squealing from overstimulation, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

You pull back with a wet kiss to his inner thigh. “Princess tastes so fucking good.”

Minho lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one that made me like this.”

“You’ve always been like this.”

He’s still trembling when he shifts onto his side, shorts hanging from one ankle, legs sticky and shining with your spit. His eyes follow you as you sit back on the couch—your cock straining against your sweats now, fully hard, precum staining the waistband.

“You’re gonna take care of that, right?” Minho murmurs, crawling toward you. “Can’t let your princess do all the work.”

You expect him to drop to his knees and suck you off, like he’s done a dozen times before. But instead, he straddles your lap, kissing you open-mouthed and messy, grinding against your cock until your hands settle on his hips.

“Need you,” he breathes, voice breaking. “I want you inside. Now.”

“Min,” you whisper, “we just—”

“I don’t care,” he whines, gripping your shoulders as he lifts himself and lines you up. “I want you. I want to feel you again. I want to keep you in me forever.”

You don’t even try to argue.

He sinks down onto your cock with a breathy moan, pussy still wet and open from your tongue, welcoming you back like he was made for it. You groan, head dropping back against the couch as he fully sheathes himself, his thighs quivering around your waist.

“Fuck, you’re so warm—so tight still,” you pant, holding his hips as he starts to move.

But he shakes his head, hands pressing to your chest. “No. Don’t fuck me. Not yet.”

You blink. “Then—what?”

“Just sit. Let me warm you.”

You can barely hold in your whimper.

Minho curls against your chest, arms wrapping around your shoulders, cock pressed to your stomach as he sighs through his nose. His pussy clenches around you in slow, steady waves, like he’s savoring the stretch, letting you rest inside him without moving—but still making sure you feel every inch of him.

“I’m gonna ride you later,” he murmurs, “when you’re at your desk, pretending to work. I’m just gonna climb in your lap and sit on your cock like this… and not say a word until you beg me to move.”

You groan into his shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I want to,” he whispers, licking a stripe up your neck. “I want to ruin you for anything that isn’t me. I want to make you sick with it.”

You believe him.

Your cock twitches inside him, and he smiles, biting down on your shoulder as you finally start to grind up into him. Slow. Gentle. Lazy. The kind of rhythm that says we’ve got all day and I’m never pulling out.

“I love when you’re inside me,” he murmurs, clutching your shirt. “Even when I’m not cumming. Even when you’re just… holding me open.”

You press your face into his hair, wrap your arms around his waist, and keep your hips rolling.

“I could stay like this forever.”

extra scenes (2) below

Under the Table

You’re trying to finish emails on your laptop, legs crossed under the table, coffee long since gone cold beside you. Minho’s been quiet for a while, curled up on the floor in an oversized tee, pretending to scroll on his phone.

But then he shifts.

He slides under the table without a word, crawls into the space between your legs and rests his cheek on your thigh, nuzzling you through your sweats. You keep typing for a few more seconds, pretending to ignore him, until his fingers curl into your waistband and tug.

“Baby…” he says, voice muffled. “Can I have it?”

You don’t say yes. You don’t have to.

He pulls your cock out, eyes fluttering as it presses against his cheek, heavy and flushed. He lifts your shirt and slides your cock into him—not his mouth. His pussy.

Wet. Warm. Welcoming.

Minho straddles your thigh, folds spread open as he sinks down slowly, whining as he takes every inch. You groan, hands hovering over your keyboard, as he settles fully onto your lap, cock snug inside him.

“I won’t move,” he whispers, breathless. “Promise. Just need you in me.”

He stays like that the whole time you work—his heat pulsing around you, walls clenching when you get too focused. He doesn’t ride. Doesn’t beg. Just warms you, as promised. Until your hands leave the keyboard, and your fingers curl under his shirt, and you lose the will to pretend.

Middle of the Night

It’s 3:12 AM when you feel it.

Minho stirs beside you in bed, half-asleep and boneless, his bare thigh hooking over yours. He presses his body close—chest to your side, cheek on your shoulder—and lifts the covers without saying anything.

You feel him reach between your legs, guiding your half-hard cock to his entrance, slick and already aching for you.

“Can’t sleep,” he whispers. “Need you.”

You’re groggy, barely awake, but your body knows exactly what to do. You shift your hips and let him sink down onto you, slow and warm and perfect. He hums softly, nuzzling into your neck as he settles fully.

“Just stay like this,” he mumbles. “I’ll fall asleep like this. Just keep me full.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, hold him close, and let him fall asleep cockwarming you—pussy twitching in little spasms every time you breathe.

thanks for 570 followers btw :)

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

Mine // Luke Hughes

a follow up to The Manuscript, where Luke has some words to say.

part one - here

WC: 1.4k

CW: tears, a lil bit of self deprecation if you squint, post breakup sad, pet names, he lowkey fixes it

He was sitting in the passenger seat of Quinn’s car, riding down the road that now left a foul aftertaste in his mouth. Your house was coming up, 2 miles ahead on the right. The house with the big pine tree and endless kisses and now broken promises lived. 

A promise he'd always come back to you, promises of forever, promises of "I'll come whisk you away. I’ll be on one knee and it'll be you and me.”

That ring felt like it was burning a hole in his luggage. Almost like he could feel the hurt. He could feel hurt. All he felt lately was hurt. He had no one to blame but himself. 

“You could fix this Luke.” Quinn’s voice held a level of support for his brother but also an anger for her. For the girl who was his sister. Maybe not by blood, or even marriage now, but Quinn always supported her. “She’s hurt, but she wouldn’t just forget about you and everything you had in two weeks. Give her some time, get a plan, and bring her home.” 

Luke just nodded.

It had been 2 weeks since Luke had been in Michigan. 3 weeks, 3 days and 12 hours since the doorbell footage he couldn't stop watching. “I loved you, Lukey” playing on an endless cycle in his brain. Loved. Past tense. Had he really fucked this up so badly that she had time to fall out of love with him?

He was staring at the basket that was on the counter. The basket with everything you loved, the basket of proof he never stopped thinking about you. 

That stupid hoodie you always stole, a note front and center, some candy and other snacks, a blanket, the comfiest socks he could find and some books he knew you had been eyeing. Thankful for your goodreads being public enough he could see what books have been bought and what hasn't. 

Quinn had talked him out of waiting at the door with the basket, “That’s basically cornering her, Luke. You can’t do that. Drop it off on the porch, knock on the door and go back to the car.” and maybe Quinn was right. As much as Luke needed to see your face, needed you to see he wasn’t okay either– he knew that wouldn't end well for either of you.

So here he stood, oversized basket in his hand and the iced matcha with white chocolate and strawberry foam from the little coffee shop 20 minutes away that was your favorite in his other. Now all he had to do was knock. Knock and leave. No matter how much he didn’t want to leave, he knew he had to. 

The sound of a hard knock brought your attention away from your rewatch of Love, Actually. Waiting a couple minutes to see if whoever was there would knock again. The thought of social interaction was the last thing you wanted. All you wanted was this bottle of wine, stupid love stories with happy endings that you’ll never relate too and tears. 

Everyone told you, cry over him for a couple days and forget him. But Luke, he wasn't someone you wanted to forget. Luke was all you wanted. He was your safe space, your shoulder to cry on, your support. And for the first time in almost 6 years, you broke down fully alone. 

Finally willing yourself to get up, you wiped your tears and opened the door. 

There sat a basket and a drink. Not just any, yours. Your drink, from the cafe Luke took you to on your first date. 

Closing your front door, you sat on the porch pulling the paper with your name written in the messiest handwriting. 

Handwriting you’d never forget. Handwriting you had grown to know like it was your own secret language. Handwriting that belonged to the one guy you ever wanted. Luke’s handwriting.

Unfolding the paper you scanned over the scribbles. Eyes closed, taking a breath before you were ready to read this properly.

Hi baby,

Am I allowed to say that? Probably not, I'm sorry. I’m not off to a good start here. I've rewritten this 3 times, I decided it's better to just word vomit. That way i dont forget anything. 

God, baby, I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I was stupid. Stupid is really just putting it lightly. I was dumb, selfish, cold, and gone. I left you alone. I broke promises. I missed dinner. I missed hearing about your day. I missed hearing about your books. I missed hearing what your new favorite song was. I missed all of that, and more, for months. Months you waited for me to come back to you. I was so stuck in hockey, I was stuck giving more to a team than I was to you. 

I will never forgive myself for that. I will never forgive myself for allowing something so bad to happen. I will never forgive myself for setting you up for the perfect plan of falling out of love with me.

I never wanted to hurt you, seeing you cry on the camera broke me. It broke me in a way I don't even have words for. It felt like my heart was ripped out of my body. I never wanted to ever be the reason tears stained your pretty face. 

I was on my way, I texted you and when you didn't answer I thought you were napping. We were on break, we had a couple weeks before playoffs. I was coming home to you. Just you and me. And when I walked in and your bag was gone my heart dropped. Then I saw the box, and the necklace on the very top. I've never held something in my hand that hurt so badly. 

I know none of this is going to fix what I did. I know that, but I needed you to know im a fucking mess without you. Nothing’s been the same. There's no sunshine anymore, because you're not here. You brought the sunshine. You ARE the sunshine. You are everything that is pure and good in this world all wrapped up in one little person. One little person who I had the privilege of loving. No past tense, no loved. I will never stop loving you.

Jack told me I shouldn’t tell you, so did Quinn, but I can't lie to you again. I had a ring. In the closet, hidden in an old box on that shelf you never could reach. I had booked a little cottage up north in June. I was going to ask you to marry me on the 3rd day there. I had a whole script I wrote 7 months ago. I read it daily, I have it burning in my brain. I wasn't going to forget all the things I wanted to say that day.

Anyways I'm rambling real bad and a novel wont fix what I did to us. But please know, youre my past, present and my future. It will always be you. Even if I'm not your future. I'll cheer you on from afar.

I love you,

Lukey.

You couldn't stop the tears. The rest of the basket was forgotten. Reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked his name and held your breath.

Luke sat at the island in the kitchen. Quinn is cooking some sort of chicken. He wasn't sure, he stopped listening 15 minutes ago. Jack was digging around in the fridge and all Luke could focus on was if you got the basket. 

Everyone went silent as the bridge of Mine by Taylor Swift started blaring. Staring at the phone on the counter, your smile taking up the screen.

“Fucking answer it Luke!” Jack yelled, pushing the phone to his little brother. 

He forgot how to breathe, he didn't think you'd call. He didn't think he'd have the opportunity to ever hear your voice again.

“Hello?” His voice was soft, scared really.

“Did you mean it? The letter, did you mean it?” she was crying. He could tell and god that broke him.

“Every word of it. All of it.” He left no room for questions. No room for doubt.

His brothers watched with worry, Jack whispered, “put it on speaker!”

Quinn smacked his head, like he asked for the stupidest thing. They were too busy quietly arguing with one another that all they heard again was Luke.

“Yeah, honey. 10 minutes okay? I’ll see you in a few minutes.” It's almost like he knew what you were about to say. “You’re never going to have to wait again. The world can wait, my world can’t.”

[creativeheartgemini]

My mom was a nurse. They gave them the stupidest things every year it was so bad 😂 she ended up giving me most of the things and of course I was delighted. They literally gave them basic stones that looked like they’d just been picked up at a park or something with random words written on them in sharpie one year. I was overjoyed and played with that rock for years. But they gave one nurse who happened to have extreme asthma a rock that said Breath. My mom got either Love or Family that year I think? She got a slightly better one a few years later that was actually carved that she also gave me that had the other word, I can’t remember which was which. One year they gave them pens which okay goodish option right? Nope they got them from a convention so they had a bunch of random ass companies names and logos on them and were used and weren’t even very good pens 😂🥲 my mom started using it as the pen she handed to patients because they sometimes didn’t get them back and she was trying to lose it but couldn’t bring herself to throw it away. She couldn’t give it to me because it was a company that wouldn’t be appropriate for me to take to school or something 😂

Some tumblr conversations are fascinating because they really are like

"My job gave us these expensive trinkets that nobody wanted. All of us wish that they would've given us the money instead."

"I don't get it?? did you want some different trinket?"

"I think it was explicitly clear in the OP that they would have wanted the money that the company spent on the trinkets, not a trinket."

"But why? :0"

"Money can be exchanged for goods and services."

"Waow I didn't know that!! :0 reblogging to raise awareness!"

[raekensluver]

nsfw alphabet - george clarke

masterlist | main masterlist

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

softest boy alive. george is all kisses and mumbled reassurances after sex. tucks your hair behind your ear, tells you you did so well, pulls you into his chest and won’t let you go. if you’re sore, he gets the heating pad. if you’re quiet, he checks in gently. he’ll hold your hand under the blanket and press soft kisses to your temple until you fall asleep.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

on you: your back. he’s obsessed with trailing his fingers down your spine, kissing every inch, gripping your waist like he’s scared to let go. also loves your smile—especially when it’s for him. on himself: his lips. he knows it drives you mad. he smirks when you stare at them, and he uses them well - kisses, teasing, and a whole lot more.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

george is a little possessive about it. he prefers cumming inside—likes the idea of filling you up, seeing you messy but in a soft, intimate way. not into super flashy messes; more into closeness and the quiet heat of it. the way you cling to him after? it gets him every time.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s fantasized about you wearing a vibrator while he controls it in public. he acts sweet and polite on the outside, but he’d ruin you with a flick of his wrist and a smirk, whispering, “stay quiet, sweetheart, you don’t want anyone to notice, do you?”

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

george is experienced, but gentle. he’s the type to take his time learning exactly what makes you tick. he doesn’t rely on past knowledge—he customizes everything to your reactions. quick to pick up on subtle cues, and eager to please.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

cowgirl. george loves watching you ride him—loves the view, the control you take, the way he can grip your hips and guide you through it. he’s a groaner, always murmuring, “just like that, baby,” while his eyes stay locked on yours. your pace, your pleasure—it undoes him.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he can be a bit giggly if things get clumsy - he’ll smile into your skin, make a cheeky comment, kiss your shoulder to smooth it over. but once you’re both locked in, he gets serious. quiet. reverent.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

keeps it trimmed, clean. natural but groomed. nothing too fussy. he likes you however you are, but if you ever groom just for him? he’ll be down bad about it for days.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

intimacy is everything to george. he wants to feel emotionally connected the whole time. he’ll kiss you endlessly, keep whispering how much he loves you, hold your hand while he fucks you. even when it’s rougher, there’s this underlying devotion in every touch.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he does, especially when you’re apart. uses pics or videos you’ve sent him, sometimes moans your name under his breath. he always messages you after—sometimes it’s flirty, sometimes it’s just *"i miss you."

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise kink, big time. loves telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel, how proud he is of you. he’s also into overstimulation- keeping you coming until you’re breathless and begging, whispering, “you can take one more, right, baby?”

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

bedroom is sacred. but he’s also into the couch, your lap, and especially the shower. something about steam and skin and soapy hands sliding down your body has him weak every time.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you in his clothes. sleepy kisses. you looking at him with that smile that means trouble. also? neck kisses. whisper something filthy in his ear and he’ll be hard in seconds.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s not into extreme pain, anything involving bodily fluids, or full dom/sub contracts. he’ll degrade a little if you like it - call you filthy, say you’re being needy- but only if there’s still that soft, teasing affection behind it. if it gets too cold or disconnected? he’s out.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving is his thing. he’ll spend ages between your legs, groaning into you, gripping your thighs like a lifeline. he lives for the way you moan his name. receiving? he’s shy about it, but he’ll melt if you take your time with him.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

mostly slow and sensual. wants to feel every inch, every shiver. but if he’s frustrated or jealous? pace picks up fast. deep, deliberate thrusts while his mouth is on your neck, voice in your ear.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he likes them now and then, especially if you initiate. gets flustered easily when you’re bold. a quick handjob behind a locked door? you’ll have him blushing and grinning like mad after.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s cautious, but open-minded. if you bring up something new, he’ll listen. might be shy at first, but if he sees it turns you on? he’ll commit fully.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

one really good round that leaves you breathless is his standard. but if you want more? he’ll go again. he’s not a machine, but he’s thorough, and he makes every second count.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

a few, mostly for you. vibrators, plugs, things that make you squirm in his lap. he likes watching you fall apart while he whispers soft praise.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’s a known menace. he'll act all soft and innocent, but will tease you under the table, murmur filthy things in public, and edge you in bed just to watch you beg. he’s gentle, but unkind in the best way.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

low groans, breathy moans, soft swearing under his breath. when he gets really into it, he gets vocal—panting your name, muttering how good you feel, cursing when he’s close.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he’s turned on by making you breakfast while you wear nothing but one of his t-shirts. he’ll pull you onto the counter and have you right there, coffee forgotten, eggs burning, all soft giggles and kitchen sex.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

length above average, not massive - but he’s thick. veiny, with a curve that hits just right. when he presses in deep and slow, you see stars. and he knows it.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

higher than he lets on. he plays it cool, but he’s always thinking about it. the smallest touch, the way you say his name—he’s ready.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he likes to wind down with you. quiet cuddles, light kisses, hands tangled in your hair. he’ll fall asleep once he’s sure you’re warm, happy, and smiling against his chest.

[ruebossanova]

professor o'connell: the mini series - 1

college prof!billie x student!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension

summary: you never expected your literature professor to be young, sharp-tongued, and devastatingly captivating - but professor eilish is all that and more. between tense lectures, stolen glances, and secrets that linger after class, you find yourself tangled in a dangerous game of curiosity and control. how long can you keep it professional when the air between you burns with something more?

————————————————————————————

the hallway smelled like coffee and printer ink. lockers lined the walls even though no one really used them, and the sound of someone's sneakers squeaking across the linoleum echoed faintly. it was too early for anything to feel real, and liora was still half-dreaming when she pushed open the classroom door.

the light was soft inside, filtered through high windows that caught the morning haze. students filled the back rows first—classic. liora drifted somewhere near the middle, dropped her canvas bag beside the chair, and sank into the seat like she'd been holding her breath all morning.

she barely glanced at the front of the room at first, too busy unzipping her hoodie and smoothing out her notebook. then a voice—low, even, and almost too smooth—cut through the sleepy chatter.

"morning, everyone."

liora looked up.

and froze.

the woman at the front of the class wasn't what she expected. not even close.

tall, loose-fitted shirt hanging just right, her dark hair pulled back under a knit beanie like she hadn't tried at all and still managed to look—cool. cool in a way that made your chest tighten. her eyes, pale and unreadable, swept the room with a kind of calm confidence that didn't ask for attention but got it anyway.

professor o'connell.

liora didn't breathe until billie looked away.

billie set her laptop down on the desk and clicked something open on the screen. the soft tap of keys echoed, then stopped. she glanced up.

"so," she said, voice light but clear, "i'm professor o'connell. billie's fine, too, if that's more comfortable. i teach this course in creative composition and lyrical analysis—basically, it's english lit, but with more music and fewer essays you'll want to set on fire."

a few people chuckled, sleep still hanging off their voices. liora's stomach twisted. she didn't laugh, but her mouth tugged at the corner like it wanted to.

billie's eyes drifted back to the roster on her screen.

"let me just get a sense of who's here," she murmured, then started reading names.

"elliot abram?"

"here."

"cassidy baines?"

"present."

"liora... rai?"

"i'm here"

billie nodded slowly, her gaze lingering just a moment too long. "beautiful name," she said, like it meant something. "thank you."

liora stared down at her notebook. the top of the page blurred slightly before she forced herself to breathe again.

billie continued reading names, but the heat in liora's cheeks didn't go away. her full name never rolled off anyone's tongue like that—never without hesitation, never with intention.

when roll was done, billie leaned against the desk, her arms folded. "okay. i don't like icebreakers. they're awkward and fake and you all secretly hate them."

a few students laughed—this time, liora included.

"but i do want to know who you are. not in the cheesy way. in the why-are-you-here way."

she pushed her hair behind one ear and nodded toward the board.

"your first assignment's simple. it's not graded. i just want you to write a page about this question—what does music say that words can't?"

the room quieted.

billie continued, soft and serious now. "i don't care if you've never written anything in your life. this isn't about being good. it's about being honest."

someone raised their hand in the back. "can we write lyrics?"

"you can write in blood, for all i care," billie said, and a few students laughed again. "just don't be boring. if you're boring, i'll know."

her eyes flicked back to liora—quick, but unmistakable.

liora swallowed.

the lecture started slow.

not boring, just... soft. like billie was setting a mood more than teaching. she talked about metaphor, about musical phrasing as narrative structure, about the way a repeated lyric could punch harder than a paragraph. her voice never rushed, never cracked. she didn't fidget, didn't pace. she just leaned her hip against the desk, fingers tracing the edge of her water bottle like she was thinking out loud to a room full of ghosts.

liora watched her the way someone might watch a fire—entranced without realizing it.

she was used to professors being either stiff or overcompensating. too many tried too hard to prove they had authority. billie didn't do that. she just was. and it did something to the room. made everyone quieter. made the air feel heavier.

"there's something music can do," billie said, tapping the board with a dry erase marker, "that essays can't. it cuts through memory. not around it. through it. the right song doesn't remind you of a moment—it puts you in it. like time travel, but with better lighting."

liora didn't write that down, but she knew she'd remember it anyway.

the girl next to her had started doodling in the margins of her notebook. someone behind her was chewing gum too loudly. the boy by the window kept checking his phone. but liora didn't move. her pencil rested against the page, unmoving.

billie walked to the board and wrote:

"when language fails, music answers."

the chalk squeaked slightly. her handwriting was slanted, imperfect. under the lights, the ink on her exposed wrist caught liora's eye—lyrics tattooed in a fine line script she couldn't read from this far away.

"that's the quote we'll work from next week," billie said. "write it down. argue with it. prove it wrong if you want. just don't ignore it."

liora lowered her gaze. her fingers gripped the pencil. write it down, billie said. like it was just another sentence. like it didn't already live inside her ribs.

billie glanced toward the back row where a group of boys had started whispering. one of them smirked and said something too low for liora to hear, but she caught enough—something about billie's age, the word hot, the phrase bet she's not even a real professor.

billie didn't flinch. she let the silence stretch. then she walked slowly back to her desk, closed her laptop, and looked out across the room.

"if anyone's confused about whether i belong here," she said evenly, "you're welcome to drop this class. i promise your refund window is still open."

quiet.

no one moved.

liora felt something tighten in her chest. not pity. not admiration, either. something in between. like respect, but more personal. she hated the way billie had to defend herself for being young. for being her.

billie's gaze swept the room again, slower this time.

when it landed on liora, it didn't move away.

chairs scraped against tile as the clock hit the hour. papers rustled, bags zipped. the usual chaos of everyone rushing to leave—except for liora.

she moved slower. not on purpose, but something in her refused to follow the current. she tucked her notebook carefully into her bag, slung it over one shoulder, then pretended to fumble with the zipper a second longer than necessary.

billie was still at her desk, sliding her laptop into a worn leather sleeve, fingers moving with practiced ease. her head was tilted slightly, earbuds resting around her neck, a lazy kind of calm on her face that made it impossible to look away.

most of the room had cleared when billie glanced up—and caught her.

"you good?"

liora blinked. "oh—yeah. i just..." she hesitated, then stepped forward. "i had a question. about the assignment."

billie nodded once and leaned her elbow on the desk, fully facing her. "shoot."

liora hated how loud her heart sounded. she tried to ignore it.

"when you said we could write in any form... did you mean, like, lyrics? or poetry? or just... freewriting?"

"any form," billie said. "i meant it."

her voice was gentler now. less classroom, more personal. and now that they were this close—no rows of desks, no audience—liora could see the pale freckles scattered across her cheeks, the faint smudge of eyeliner just barely under her lashes. her eyes weren't just blue. they were gray, soft and stormy, with something behind them liora couldn't name.

"so if it's a poem that doesn't really make sense," liora said slowly, "that's still okay?"

billie tilted her head. "does it make you feel something?"

liora nodded before she could stop herself. "yeah."

"then it makes sense."

the words settled between them like warmth. not cheesy, not condescending—just simple. true.

liora looked down, letting her fingers curl around the strap of her bag.

"what do you usually write?" billie asked.

liora hesitated, then answered honestly. "stuff i never show anyone."

billie smiled—just barely. "those are usually the best kind."

she stepped around the desk then, close enough that liora caught the faint scent of something warm and clean—like sandalwood and fresh laundry. she reached for a printed syllabus on the edge of the table and handed it to her.

their fingers touched. just for a second. but it was enough to send a pulse through liora's spine.

"just in case you didn't grab one," billie said, casual again, but her voice had dipped lower. "i keep forgetting people actually read these."

liora took it with both hands, as if it were heavier than paper.

"thanks," she murmured.

billie gave a nod, slow and deliberate. "see you thursday, rai."

the way she said her name made liora's stomach flip. it wasn't just the pronunciation. it was the intention. like she wanted to say it again. like she liked saying it.

liora turned and walked out, heart pounding behind her ribs like it was trying to outrun her.

[runningracingdancingchasing]

She'd imagined sitting him down on the couch, maybe with some alcohol to make it all easier, imagined the lighting and how it would play on his features. But now they were in the kitchen, and the lighting was completely different, harsh and bright in comparison to her imagination. Well, that was on her. She was the one who'd started the conversation now instead of later.

Clearing her throat again, she found it hard to find her words, and even harder to look at him.

"I've been rehearsing this all day," she confessed with a little smile that didn't reach haunted eyes, toying with her own fingers while wishing she had Abraçinhos to hug. But he was in the living room, on the couch, where she'd meant to have this conversation. "But I can't seem to remember how it was going to go. Sorry if I'm about to ramble..."

Taking a deep breath, she thought through all of the myriad of rehearsals she'd gone through, then picked a place and started. Managing to look at him for a moment, she iterated, "Just know that I'm telling you this because I trust you." That was very important. It was easy for Rapunzel to love. She loved her friends almost right away. But trusting people wasn't so simple. That probably had something to do with what she was about to tell him...

Okay, here we go. Just breathe and... start. "Okay, so the thing is... I can't remember anything about my past up until a few years ago," she explained softly, "and that's by design. Something... happened when I was little. I'm not sure exactly what, but I know it was traumatic. My therapist thought -- and I agree -- that if I want to function as an adult, I had to lock it all away. It was really the only way to move forward. But that's why there are things that basically everyone knows that I don't know anything about. Which is so frustrating and embarrassing, because I'm usually so smart!"

Even talking about it now, she could feel that locked closet of memories getting banged on from the inside, and her shame from not knowing how schools worked. Her focus started turning inward, a slippery slope to a bad night, even if he decided she was worth hanging onto. Without thinking, she got a glass of cold water and sat down at the table again, pressing the cool glass against her face and neck to keep herself here and now and with him.

"There are things I don't remember so much as feel. Echoes of a voice I can't identify or- or thinking someone's going to react negatively to something when no one with half a heart would. Sometimes... it's like a part of my brain is trying to remember the stuff I've deliberately forgotten, and the rest of my brain is trying to keep me from remembering. When that happens I just kind of... go away. Like, I'm there, physically, but my mind..." She paused to sip some water and ran her fingers idly over the place mat in front of her, taking in the texture as the cool drink soothed her throat, keeping her grounded. She surprised herself by the fact that she didn't feel like she was going to cry. Not yet. If he decided this was it, yeah, she'd spend the rest of the night crying. But not yet.

A sad, scared sigh escaped her. "I'm broken, Rai. I'm broken, and I don't know if I can ever be fixed all the way. I know I should have told you this before I asked you out, because you deserve to have an informed choice, to know what you're getting into, and I totally get it if... if it's too much. If it's a deal-breaker. I can be a lot as it is, and this is just... it's a lot more. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

And she really hoped he'd stay, despite it. And she was terrified he wouldn't.

He'd busied himself washing out their wine glasses. Washing dishes was his least favourite of all chores - which he despised in general - but she'd gone through the effort to make dinner, and the least he could do was to help clean up.

He felt his shoulders tense a little as she spoke. Serious and important... Her tone and the entire vibe changed, and he tilted his head at her, a little furrow between his brows.

"Sure, girl." He set the glasses down and dried off his hands, leaning his hips back against the kitchen counter and folding his arms loosely. "What's, uh... what's up?" He deliberately kept his mind as blank as possible, refusing to jump to scary conclusions.