#i'm huffing and puffing look at me go

[yoiku]

that's chapter 3 in the bag. that means 71 pages in total finished so far, and that's already a crazy number to me. almost halfway to what i have drafted so far, so i guess after summer with the bookbinding done by then, it's time to go back to storyboarding. Funny thing is that I'd really want to draw some illustrations in between but once the comic gears have started moving it cannot be stopped until i hit some sort of wall with it, lol. still, i'm gonna try and see if i could just do some sketches for the next few days at least, before starting to tackle chapter 4.

[stopfunkinwmyheart]

there are way more cool custies n coworkers than lame ones but the bad ones stand out soooo much more.

[tsuma-senju]

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who only cares about winning, even if he has to be the biggest asshole in the world, ignoring anything other than the next fight.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who runs away from interviews like the plague, flinching in his chair as he hears the usual inane questions. His manager, a man blessed by heaven to be able to put up with the fighter's persistently optimistic mood, tries to keep his composure, but every dry, monosyllabic answer from Sukuna makes the sweat drip down his temple.

“Sukuna, how are you preparing for the fight against the Thai champion?”

“Training”

“Any new strategies?”

“Fighting”

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who was forced to be there against his will, stands up abruptly. The photographers are startled by the movement. The businessman tries to reach him, desperate.

"Sukuna! No! Only ten minutes to go!"

But it's no use. The champion is already leaving, with heavy, irritated steps, while the security guards try to clear the way. He ignores shouts, cameras, microphones and questions. And off he goes, towards the underground parking lot

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who is itching to get in and disappear in his matte black sports car.

He gets into the vehicle, starts the engine with a furious roar and begins to maneuver without paying much attention.

That's when you appear.

You, completely distracted, holding your cell phone and a shopping bag that almost falls to the ground.

The roar of the engine makes you look back, but it's too late.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, driving like an impatient ogre, almost runs you over.

“ARE YOU CRAZY, YOU SON OF A BITCH?!” you shout, slamming your palm down hard on the car window. “WHAT KIND OF IDIOT RUNS OUT OF THE PARKING LOT LIKE THAT?!”

You're furious. Your blood is boiling. Without even thinking about it, you're already hitting the bodywork harder.

"GET OUT OF THAT FUCKING CAR NOW! YOU IGNORANT"

The window starts to roll down. You're still huffing and puffing, indignant and ready to curse, until you see... him.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who is enchanted by your courage and audacity, appears like a huge shadow inside the car. His red eyes stare into yours as if studying you. The crooked smile at the corner of his mouth reveals that he is not in the least annoyed. On the contrary... he seems to be enjoying himself.

“Are you always like this?” he asks, getting out of the car with an annoying calmness and a body that makes the ground seem smaller.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who exudes imposing bearing, stretches himself to the maximum as he gets out of the car. His muscles bulge out from under his tight T-shirt, the tattoos decorating his arms like a dangerous map. You take two steps back, still holding the shopping bag as if it were a weapon.

"I-I... look, I'm sorry, okay? I... I thought you were some rich slacker"

“Technically, I am,” he replies, running his tongue over his teeth, approaching as if he were in a ring. “But your reaction... It was interesting”

Now that the initial shock has worn off, you realize who this is. Your eyes widen, the name slips out of your mouth like a secret:

"Ryomen Sukuna? The muai thai world champion?"

He shrugs.

"It depends. If I tell you no, will you keep shouting at me?"

You let out a nervous laugh, putting your hand to your forehead.

“Oh my God... I almost insulted you”

“Almost? You did” He smiles wider.

You try to apologize in every way, stumbling over your words, mixing up “I'm sorry”, “I really am sorry”, and “I didn't mean to”. But he raises a hand, cutting your apology in half.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who doesn't care about flattery or apologies, looks at you with a sharp look and says:

"Do you really want to apologize? Then give me your number."

You freeze.

“What?”

"That's it. Give me your number. I won't insist, but it would be a shame to let this story end in the parking lot."

You stare at him for a moment. He's not joking. And honestly? Maybe you're not either.

You take out your cell phone, type in your number and hand it over. He types something into his cell phone, and soon after, you receive a message:

Unknown number: "If I win the next fight, you owe me a coffee. If I lose... too. ;) - Sukuna."

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who gives you one last look before heading back to his car. Leaving you standing there, staring at your cell phone screen and trying to understand what the hell just happened.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who never gets distracted by anything outside the ring, didn't expect to fall in love with a woman he almost ran over in the parking lot. In front of the strong-tempered woman, drinking a coffee that he certainly won't let her pay for.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who, a few months later, is standing in the room he himself prepared with red petals scattered everywhere, lit candles emitting his favorite scent, the one you once mentioned casually one afternoon and he memorized as if it were the next technique that would save his life in the ring.

You open the front door thinking you're just going to find Sukuna grumpy and sweaty after training. But when you step inside, everything changes. The light is low, the sweet, familiar smell envelops you, and there, in the center of it all, is him, that man no one dares to contradict, holding a discreet ring in his calloused hand, as if it were made of glass.

"I almost ran you over," he begins, with that crooked, insolent smile, "and ever since then, I've never wanted you to get out of my way. Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who used to be cold, rough and averse to any sentimentality, now wants to hide you from the press because you're his little, and not at all defenseless, girlfriend. The woman who shouted at him without fear and who now sleeps on his chest every night. And he keeps it as a precious secret. For months, no one knows he's with someone. You live behind the scenes, away from the spotlight, safe and loved.

When you ask, he replies with the same expression as always:

"Next question."

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who marries you a year later. It was a simple, private ceremony, with no paparazzi or magazine covers. The only flashes were from close friends and family. But there was too much sincerity in that exchange of vows. He wore a suit, his hair neatly combed, and a look that seemed ready to cry, even if he would never admit it.

"I'm yours. Forever. Even when I'm far away. Even when my fists are closed. Even when life wants to beat me down... you'll be the only thing that keeps me standing."

You cried. He held your hand tightly. And when you were pronounced husband and wife, the world stopped for a few seconds.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who has a dry, impersonal Instagram, with only training videos, photos with medals and short phrases like “ready” or “focus”. But one day, he surprised all of his almost six million followers with something no one expected.

One photo. No caption. Three hands.

His, scarred, rough, with knuckles hardened from so many punches.

Yours, soft, smooth, resting on top of his.

And between them, a chubby, innocent little hand, grasping Sukuna's finger as if it already knew it was safe there.

The comments explode.

“Is he a FATHER?” “Is this photo real???” “STOP THE WORLD I NEED INFORMATION” “Someone warn me that Sukuna has become a dilf”

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who doesn't give interviews about his personal life, remains silent. He deactivates the comments hours later. He leaves the image there, alone, saying everything he will never put into words.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who could never have imagined that his life would change completely in four years, now wakes up at dawn to hold a baby on his lap. He sings, walks down the dark corridor with slow, careful steps, and holds the child like he holds his own heart in his hands.

He finds himself looking at you, sleeping exhausted after another difficult night, and feels his chest tighten with love.

"Thank you," he whispers softly, so no one can hear.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who used to think only of winning, now measures victories in quiet cries, small laughs and kisses on the top of your head.

He is still the champion. He is still feared. He still fights like a demon when he's in the octagon.

But at home, he's just the man who can't stop thanking you.

For you. For the baby. For the life he never planned to have, but which has turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 2)

Hi guys, I’m alive. I’ve just been sick and then found out that my dog’s cancer spread and the surgery costs $3,000 which is insane. Anyways, I’ve been working irl so I completely forgot about this account. Sorry pookies🤕🙏.

If anyone wants to know I’m still taking commissions, and if my price doesn’t work for you I’m sure I can lower it!! Honestly, I’ll write for whatever price I’m lowkey desperate.😭🙏

The next morning, you wake up in panic, shit, you slept in. You rush out the manor forgoing breakfast, almost eating shit on the sidewalk in your rush. You hop onto your bike, pedaling as if death itself was chasing you, huffing and puffing. Thankfully you make it to school on time, if only just on time.

You fall into your seat just as the bell rings, letting the top half of your body crumple over the desk.

“Looks like somebody had a rough morning.” The familiar voice of one of your best friends.

“Fuck off Quinn.” You huff out tiredly.

“Fine, then I guess this extra black coffee I got at Gloria’s is going to waste then.” She said teasingly.

How is it that she always has impeccable intuition about these things?

You groaned sitting up, giving Quinn a tired look.

“Yikes, I was gonna make another smartass joke but you look like you’re about to keel over.” She said worriedly, handing over the extra coffee.

“Ha ha, yeah I feel like I'm about to keel over. Thanks for the coffee by the way.” You said dryly.

“Don’t sweat it girl, but–uh, what the hell happened.”

“Too much dude, too much. It's so much bullshit I don't even know where to start.”

“Im guessing its about–”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it.”

“Shit…how bad? They’re not gonna… you know…” Quinn stutters off.

“Kill me? Eat me?” 

She nodded.

You massage your forehead, a headache forming between your eyebrows. “I'll be so for real right now, I don't even know.”

“Damn, I don't even know what to say to that.” Quinn grimaces.

“It’d be weird if you did.” You joked giving her a sardonic smile.“Well if they’re gonna kill me, I hope they do it before finals.”

“You’ve got issues (Y/n).”

“I’m aware.”

Just then the chatter in the class started to pipe down as your history teacher, Mr. Lechliter, made his way into the room. However, something wasn’t right; his usually neat hair was in disarray and you could smell that he was profusely sweating. He was nervous, which was completely out of character. Sure Mr. Lechliter was awkward at times but he was normally confident and loud around the class, something was going on. 

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Lechliter began, but his voice was shaky, not at all the usual booming tone he used to command the room. “I-uh, hope you’re all ready to jump into… um, well, history.” He swallowed hard, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone—outside the door.

You look at Quinn with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is happening right now?

“We, um, actually have two guests who’ll be auditing a couple of classes today so we all want you guys on your best behavior. For our sakes and yours.” He said fidgeting with his paperweight globe, however, it was what he whispered under his breath that had you worried. What the fuck did he mean by that?!

“These guest speakers are one of the school's top sponsors so I truly cannot express the need we have for you all to behave and be on task, understand?” Mr. Lechliter spoke gravely.

The class let out a scattered “Yes” whilst others nodded. Now it was the class's turn to start getting nervous, the energy in the room now becoming quite grim. Seeing the class’s cooperation, Mr. Lechliter let out a shaky smile and nodded back at the class in approval. You sipped your coffee nervously in tandem.

“Good. Now, without further adieu, please welcome the esteemed Bruce Wayne and his son, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

And in walked your worst nightmare as you choked on your coffee. A hesitant applause began as a couple of heads turned your way, including the scrutinizing eyes of Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

“Jesus Christ (Y/n), are you good?” Quinn whispered, patting your back.

“Does it look like I'm good, Quinn?” You whisper-yell back.

“Sorry, dumb question.”

“I legitimately can't do this right now.” You groan out quietly.

Tim’s sharp, calculating gaze landed on you, and for a split second, his lips twitched upward in what looked disturbingly close to satisfaction. Bruce, however, kept his gaze steady, stoic, making his way to the front of the class like he owned every square inch of the room—and maybe, in a way, he did.

Bruce stepped forward, greeting Mr. Lechliter with a firm handshake before addressing the class. “Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth authority. “It’s always a pleasure to see the next generation of Gotham’s finest minds, and today, we’re here to discuss some unique opportunities with Wayne Enterprises—partnerships, scholarships, and mentorship programs that may be of interest to you in your future studies.”

Meanwhile, Tim’s gaze remained fixed on you, a silent warning lingering behind his polite smile. You swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact, hoping that blending in might somehow make you invisible. But Tim had no intention of letting you off the hook. He leaned slightly closer to Bruce, murmuring something that made Bruce’s eyes flicker in your direction, his expression unreadable.

Quinn leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. “(Y/n), what the hell is going on? They keep looking at you.”

“Trust me, I wish I knew,” you muttered back, managing to take a sip of coffee without choking this time. “They’re just here to make my life a living nightmare, apparently.”

As Bruce and Tim began their presentation, outlining all the “wonderful opportunities” that a connection to Wayne Enterprises could bring, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Every line, every subtle glance, seemed like a reminder that escape from their influence was impossible. They were inescapable, even here, in the one place you thought you could breathe.

When they finally wrapped up their presentation, Bruce offered to answer questions, his gaze settling on you for the briefest moment, as if daring you to speak up. You just nervously looked away, its fine, they’ve said their piece and will be leaving soon.

But of course life doesn't ever go the way that you want.

The relief that had started to settle in evaporated as Bruce and Tim made no move to leave. Instead, they took seats at the back of the classroom, settling in with that same poised, assessing presence that dominated every room they entered. Bruce folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and inscrutable, while Tim casually crossed his arms, his eyes tracking every student’s reaction, but always coming back to you.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Quinn, who was now just as unsettled as you were. “Are they… staying?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in worry.

“Looks like it,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Mr. Lechliter, visibly tense under the weight of their scrutiny, resumed his lesson with all the grace of a man on the edge of a breakdown. Every time he stumbled over his words or glanced nervously at Bruce, the room felt as if it held its breath.

“This, um, particular era in history…” Mr. Lechliter began, stammering slightly as he struggled to keep his usual confident tone. “It’s a time when alliances shifted often, and there was…constant jockeying for power…”

Bruce and Tim watched, expressions neutral, but you knew better than to believe their act. They weren’t here for any genuine interest in educational standards; they were here as a reminder, a warning that the Wayne influence extended beyond the manor walls.

You focused on your notebook, pen tapping anxiously against the paper as you tried to tune them out and take frantic notes. But it was impossible to ignore the cold prickle at the back of your neck. Every glance felt like a needle, each second stretching longer than the last.

Mr. Lechliter’s lecture painstakingly continued on for another thirty minutes before class started coming to an end.

The bell finally rang as you shot up out of your seat and practically sprinted out the door. You head to your locker, feeling the many starters of students and teachers bore into you. Another thing was that everyone kinda knew that the Wayne’s didn't like you, it was very obvious. Which meant the media had a field day, letting the entirety of Gotham know how much the famous pack hated you. So now your business was also aired out to the entire world to know. Wonderful, am I right?

You shove your unneeded books into your (tbh, very cutely) decorated locker, while grabbing the science textbook you needed for your next class, AP Biology. This class was the absolute bane of your existence. Not only was the content hard, the teacher was also absolutely nuts. You walk over to your Bio class, clutching your books like a lifeline. “Please, dont be here too.” You pray to yourself. Thankfully, this class was normal, well, as normal as it could get. The other two classes you have before lunch ended the same way, Wayneless. 

As your fourth class comes to an end your stomach starts to growl. You’d be embarrassed, but everyone else in your class was in a similar starved state. When the lunch bell goes off, you’re excitedly grabbing your things and making your way down. Fucking finally it was lunchtime. You made your way to the quickly growing lunchline

Your friends were already sitting at your usual table as you made your way over and slammed your lunch tray on the table.

“Im gonna kill myself.”

“I can't even say anything about that.” One of your other friends Daniel says.

You groaned holding your head in your hands, your headache becoming more prevalent as you turn to look at him.

“Man all I did was ask to leave, and now this shit? I can't even right now.”

“You finally asked to leave, huh? I'm guessing it didn't go well.” Daniel asks.

“Nope, but when does anything ever go right in my life.”

Just as you finish talking, the noisy cafeteria falls abruptly silent. The usual clatter of trays and chatter of students fades, replaced by an almost eerie quiet. You and your friends exchange confused glances before turning to see what—or who—could possibly have silenced a room full of teenagers. But in the pit of your stomach, you already have an idea.

Sure enough, walking through the entrance are Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne, looking completely out of place in their immaculate suits and composed expressions. Their powerful, calculating gazes sweep across the crowd, searching for someone, before both of their eyes zero in on you and your table. Instinctively, you tense up, your shoulders hunching as if to make yourself smaller, and you feel the flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks under their scrutiny.

Their focused stares make you flinch, and you quickly look away, facing your friends once more. “See what I mean?” you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s like the universe is out to get me.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the Waynes, a flicker of worry passing over his face. "What are they doing here? This isn’t normal, right?”

“No, it’s definitely not,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart races. “They’re here to make a point.”

You further slump into the table, arms cradling your head as the cafeteria slowly starts to go back to its normal noise level. Both Tim and Bruce take a seat at a table opposite to where you’re sitting, which gives them a perfect view of your table. Great.

“Guys talk to me. Anything–talk about anything please.” You beg quietly.

Quinn leans in, glancing nervously at the Waynes across the cafeteria. “Uh, did you hear about Chief Keef performing soon? Apparently, he’ll be in Gotham.”

Daniel nods, catching on to your plea for distraction. “Yeah, yeah, I heard he's gonna bring another artist on stage. Mauve Travis or something if we’re lucky?.”

You smile weakly, grateful for the distraction, even if your heart’s still pounding. You try to focus on what they’re saying, but you can feel Tim’s gaze on you like a laser, scrutinizing, watching every movement. You pretend not to notice, grabbing a fry from your tray and nodding along to whatever Daniel and Quinn are saying, forcing yourself to join in with a half-hearted laugh here and there.

Quinn suddenly brings up a story from her last weekend, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Okay, get this—I tried to impress this guy by pretending to know how to skate, but instead, I ended up flat on my face in front of, like, everyone. Mortifying, but he did buy me a smoothie as a consolation prize.”

You chuckle, letting the story pull you out of your anxious thoughts. “I mean, sounds like it kind of worked. You got a free smoothie, right?”

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. “Only because he felt bad, but hey, I’ll take pity smoothies.”

The laughter at your table grows, the lighthearted moment almost making you forget the ominous presence of Bruce and Tim nearby. But just as you’re starting to relax, you catch a glimpse of Tim’s amused smirk from the corner of your eye. His eyes don’t leave you, as if he knows exactly how unsettling his presence is and he’s reveling in it.

“I think he liked you,” Daniel teases Quinn, keeping the conversation going to help ease your nerves.

“Liked my bruised ego, maybe,” she snorts. “Anyway, what about you, (Y/n)? Got any secret admirers?”

You shake your head, grateful they’re keeping the focus off your current predicament. “Nope, unless you count the cadaver frog I accidentally dropped on my lab partner. He, uh-didn’t look at me the same after that.”

Your friends burst out laughing, and for a brief, blessed moment, you almost feel normal again. But when you glance back, Bruce’s eyes are still on you, cool and unyielding.

“Here’s to hoping they’re gone after lunch,” Daniel mutters, catching your uneasy glance.

“What good has hoping ever done me?” You sigh, picking at your food.

The tension in the cafeteria never fully fades. Despite the attempts from Quinn and Daniel to keep the conversation going, the presence of Bruce and Tim just continues to overwhelm you. Every so often, your eyes flit toward them, only to find them still seated, still watching, and their expressions betraying nothing of their true intent. It feels like they’re waiting for you to make a move, to react in some way that would justify their unsettling attention.

Lunch drags on in this uncomfortable limbo until, at last, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. Your friends gather their things, offering small words of encouragement or supportive smiles, though they too look wary of the Waynes’ lingering presence.

“I’ll see you both in Chem. Hopefully Mr. Domzalski isn't still in a bad mood from what happened yesterday.” You say.

“You mean from when you and Daniel set fire to one of his textbooks?” Quinn questions sardonically.

You and Daniel offer her a sheepish, guilty smile. 

“Hey–it was an accident!” he exclaims, feigning offense.

“Yeah, what he said! We followed all the instructions to a T!” You defend as well.

“Sure, whatever you both say. I'm just surprised he didn't automatically fail you two.” Quinn says fondly.

“It’s ‘cause we’re somehow his favorites? Don't ask me how or why though.” You respond.

As you and Daniel chuckle, the lightheartedness helps lift some of the weight that had been hanging over your head. The relief is short-lived, though, as you feel a prickle on the back of your neck—a feeling that’s become all too familiar lately.

You glance back to see Bruce and Tim still watching, and for a moment, something in Bruce’s gaze changes. You can’t quite read it, but it feels sharper, like he’s calculating, considering something he hasn’t said. You swallow, gripping your bag tighter as your friends move to head toward class, unaware of the silent tension hanging around you like a cloud.

You head to your APA Algebra II class alone, without the usual buffer of Daniel or Quinn’s lighthearted banter to ease the tension. The classroom is quiet, a different atmosphere from the lively lunch period, and you’re able to slip into your seat undisturbed, hoping that the math problems ahead will give you a welcome distraction.

As the class moves on, you find yourself lost in equations, the numbers and formulas acting as a temporary refuge from everything else. You keep your head down, concentrating on the work, grateful for the momentary peace that academics bring.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of Math, you gather your things and head to APA Chemistry, where you’d finally reunite with Daniel and Quinn. When you arrive in APA Chemistry, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. Mr. Domzalski hasn’t arrived yet, so everyone’s just hanging out, chatting about weekend plans, or joking around. You plop down next to Daniel, who’s already doodling on his notebook, and give Quinn a tired smile. It’s nice to have a few minutes to unwind before the usual controlled chaos of Mr. Domzalski’s class kicks in.

Then, the door swings open, and you freeze as Mr. Domzalski steps in with Tim Drake following close behind. Your stomach twists, and you have to swallow down a groan. Thankfully, Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Small blessings, you suppose; better not to question it too much. You look at your friends, trying to convey your annoyance with a single tired look as Mr. Domzalski beams with a sort of overdone excitement that sets you on edge.

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome a special guest,” he says, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is here to observe our class today.”

You sink lower in your chair, stifling a grumble. Great, just great. This whole thing was growing stale fast. You try to ignore the interested murmurs spreading through the class as everyone stares at Tim, who stands there with that same polite, professional smile he’s been flashing all day. You avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the edge of your desk as Mr. Domzalski continues.

“Now,” Mr. Domzalski goes on, shifting his focus to the lab materials, “before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s review what went wrong in yesterday’s lab.”

He shoots a pointed look in your direction, his smile still in place, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not exactly thrilled. “For those who might need a reminder,” he continues, not-so-subtly side-eyeing you and Daniel, “improper handling of materials led to one of my textbooks, which I cherish dearly, being set on fire.”

The class erupts into quiet snickers, and Daniel coughs into his hand, trying to disguise his laughter. You roll your eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Even Tim’s eyes change a bit, as if interested.

Mr. Domzalski clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Let’s aim for a little more caution today, shall we?”

The lab for the day was going to be more complex than usual. Mr. Domzalski, with a edge of nervousness in his tone, began rattling off the new, more complicated instructions. His gaze flicked to you and Daniel more than once, lingering just long enough to make his message clear: Please don’t mess up.

You slouched slightly in your seat, already feeling the weight of the unspoken pressure. It wasn’t lost on you how much was riding on this lab going smoothly—not just for your grade, but for Mr. Domzalski himself. With Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a member of one of Gotham’s most powerful packs, observing, any mishap could very well put your teacher’s job on the line.

Next to you, Daniel caught your eye, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. He leaned in, whispering, “Feel like we’re walking on eggshells today, huh?”

“More like a minefield,” you muttered back, eyeing the lab equipment warily. The setup looked far more intricate than usual—beakers and flasks stacked alongside pipettes, Bunsen burners, and an array of unfamiliar chemicals. It was a recipe for disaster, and you had no intention of being the one to set it off.

Tim, seated at the back of the room, watched the proceedings with his usual cool detachment. His presence was like a weight pressing down on the room, amplifying every minor sound and movement. You could practically feel his gaze on you, even when you weren’t looking his way.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Domzalski said, clapping his hands to gather the class’s attention. “Remember to follow the instructions precisely as they’re written. This is a delicate experiment, and precision is key. Any deviation could—well, let’s just say we don’t want any surprises today.”

The pointed glance he sent your way at the word “surprises” made you cringe internally. You shot Daniel a look. He seemed to get the message, giving you a small nod before turning his focus to the materials in front of him.

With a deep breath, you adjusted your goggles and got to work, determined not to give anyone—especially Tim—a reason to criticize.

The lab was rough from the very start. No matter how tightly you adjusted your goggles, they kept fogging up, obscuring your vision at the worst possible moments. You constantly had to pause to wipe them off, and each time, you felt Tim's Gaze flicker towards you. Daniel, meanwhile, was no better. He almost tipped over a vial of some unpronounceable chemical twice, and each time, you barely managed to steady it before disaster struck.

“Bro you have to lock in.” you said under your breath.

“I'm trying–fuck. My hands are too shaky.” Daniel whispered back, nervous as he tried held out his hands for you to see. He carefully set the vial down, only for his elbow to nudge another piece of equipment. You caught it just in time, your heart leaping into your throat.

The instructions seemed to come at lightning speed, Mr. Domzalski rattling off steps faster than you could write them down. Each new instruction layered on top of the last until your head was spinning with measurements, temperatures, and reaction times. You were doing your best to keep up—you think you were doing it right—but the constant noise and movement around you made it feel like everything was closing in.

You glanced at the flask on your workstation, bubbling faintly as it was supposed to, and double-checked the temperature. It seemed fine. Probably fine. Hopefully fine. But the nagging thought that you might’ve missed a step wouldn’t go away.

Behind you, Tim’s silent observation was like a shadow, adding another layer of stress to the already chaotic atmosphere. Every time you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, you swore his expression was unreadable, yet somehow judgmental.

“I think this is right,” you muttered, glancing at the next step in the instructions and adjusting your setup.

“‘Think’ isn’t reassuring, (Y/n),” Daniel replied, he was nervous. “Don’t blow us up, okay?”

“Not funny,” you snapped, though your lips twitched in a half-smile despite the stress. “Just keep stirring before we mess up the timing.”

The rest of the lab dragged on in a haze of nervous energy and frantic adjustments. Your hands trembled slightly as you measured out the final chemical, careful not to let even a drop spill. When you finally completed the experiment, the mixture in the beaker turned the correct pale blue color, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“See?” Daniel said, flashing you a grin. “We nailed it.”

You gave him a tired look. “Barely.”

As Mr. Domzalski approached to check your work, you held your breath, praying there wasn’t some detail you’d overlooked. When he gave a curt nod of approval, you finally relaxed, though your nerves still felt frayed. Even then, you could feel Tim’s eyes on you, as if silently appraising every moment of your struggle.

The lab was over, but the stress lingered like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You packed up your materials with shaky hands, grateful to escape the pressure of both the experiment and the unrelenting scrutiny.

As the class wrapped up, Mr. Domzalski passed by your station, his sharp eyes flicking over the completed experiment. The pale blue liquid in the beaker must have been just right because, instead of his usual critical remarks, he gave a subtle nod and a quiet, “Good work.” The words weren’t overly enthusiastic, but coming from him—and especially with Tim Drake watching—it was as close to praise as you could get.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, and you let out a long sigh of relief. You and Daniel exchanged a look, his triumphant grin mirrored by the faintest smile you allowed yourself. You’d passed. Somehow, despite the foggy goggles, Daniel’s near-disasters, and the relentless pressure, you’d made it through the lab unscathed.

As you finished cleaning up, Mr. Domzalski gave you a brief, silent glance of thanks. It wasn’t much, but you knew what it meant: he was grateful you hadn’t turned today’s experiment into another headline-worthy incident. You nodded subtly back, grateful that the ordeal was over.

With the last of your equipment put away, you grabbed your bag and escaped the lab as quickly as possible, the weight of Tim’s lingering gaze finally lifting as you stepped into the hallway. Quinn was waiting by the door, chatting with Daniel, who was still buzzing with post-lab adrenaline.

“Well, looks like you didn’t burn down the school,” Quinn teased, grinning as she fell into step with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “We’re still alive, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Hey give us more credit.” Daniel chimed in, earning a laugh from both you and Quinn.

As the three of you headed for the stairs, you said goodbye to Daniel, who was heading to a different class. “See you later, guys.” he said, waving as he turned down another hallway.

You and Quinn made your way toward the gym for your seventh period, the final class of the day. The familiar chatter and clang of lockers greeted you as you stepped into the changing area. Gym wasn’t exactly your favorite class, but after the stress of the lab, it was almost a relief to have something physical to focus on instead of the constant mental strain.

“Think they’ll leave you alone for the day?” Quinn asked as you pulled on your gym shoes.

“I hope so,” you replied, your voice weary. “I can’t handle any more of this. It’s like they can’t even wait to-to…you know.”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” But she smiles back at you, as if tying to make you perk up. “Well, at least we’re doing dodgeball today, you should blow off some steam.”

You huff, amused. “Mm, maybe nailing Farah in the head with a dodgeball would do me some good.”

“Straight on bitch, that girl needs to be humbled.” Quinn says.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to hit something.”

The two of you stepped into the gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the buzz of students warming up filling the air. It wasn’t the easiest day, but at least the end was finally in sight.

The day finally winds down as you head to the locker rooms to change. The smell of sweat and disinfectant fills the air as you and the other students shuffle to your lockers, exchanging the occasional half-hearted quip about how much of a drill sergeant Coach Walker was today. You change quickly, eager to escape the lingering humidity of the gym, and sling your bag over your shoulder just as the dismissal bell rings.

Joining the tide of students heading toward the front exit, you fall into step with Quinn, chatting idly about homework and plans for the weekend. The sprawling line of cars in the pick-up area is already forming, parents eager to whisk their kids away from the chaos of the school day.

Daniel spots you both as he weaves through the crowd toward his mom’s car, parked conveniently near the front of the line. “Guess that’s my ride,” he calls, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Try not to miss me too much tomorrow, I've got a doc's appointment.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, you wish asshole.”

“Later!” he shouts, hopping into the passenger seat of his mom’s car as it pulls away. You and Quinn wave after him before continuing toward the pick-up zone.

“Alfred here today?” Quinn asks, glancing around at the cars idling nearby.

“Probably not,” you reply with a shrug. “Haven’t heard from him, so it’s probably just me and the bike today.”

Quinn nods, her attention already shifting to a car pulling up in the distance. “Looks like my dad’s almost here.”

You glance toward the pickup area and spot the familiar vehicle inching closer. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yep. Don’t get mugged on the way home,” she jokes, smirking as she adjusts her backpack.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply with a laugh. With a quick goodbye, you head toward the bike rack to unlock your trusty two-wheeler.

The quietness of the parking lot is a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of the day. You crouch down, fiddling with the combination lock on your bike, when a hulking shadow falls over you. The sudden shift in light is enough to make your instincts bristle, but you stay focused on the lock, rolling your eyes at the interruption.

“Bro, if you’re lookin’ to mug me,” you say without looking up, your tone flat and unamused, “you should know I’m skint broke. Try some other bitch.”

The air around you seems to thicken with tension, and you feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze boring into you. It’s enough to make you pause mid-turn on the lock, your breath catching as a low, familiar voice responds.

“I sure hope you’re not talking to me?” Comes your father, Bruce’s, deep voice.

Your head snaps up, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize it’s not some wannabe punk standing over you.

You pale instantly, the color draining from your face as you meet his icy blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating. The sheer presence of him—imposing, cold, and unnervingly silent—makes your stomach churn with dread. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for words, your brain tripping over itself in panic.

“Oh—uh, Mr. Wayne—I didn’t—I mean, I thought…” you stammer, trying to cobble together an explanation and an apology all at once. Your hands fumble with the lock on your bike, suddenly feeling clumsy under his scrutiny. “I—um—sorry! I thought—uh—someone else—”

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest shift in his expression, but it’s enough to make you flinch. You straighten up, clutching your bike for dear life, feeling small and utterly exposed under his towering figure.

“I see,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with that undercurrent of authority that makes it clear he’s not just seeing. He’s assessing.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” you blurt, trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I thought it was, uh, someone else. Someone trying to—um—mug me?” The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, and you wince inwardly at how ridiculous it must sound.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you make a habit of mouthing off to strangers you assume are threats?” he asks, his tone deceptively mild.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, shaking your head quickly. “I just—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking—”

He holds up a hand, cutting off your rambling. “Enough,” he says, “I’m here to pick you up. Alfred’s occupied.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, as you try to process his words. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Bruce might be the one picking you up today. Of course, the thought of him going out of his way to do so hadn’t even crossed your mind, it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way for you before.

“Oh,” you manage after an awkward pause. “Right. Thanks.”

You still have your conversation from the previous day in mind.

“Come on,” he says, turning without another word. “We’re leaving.”

You hastily shove your bike into the back of his sleek black car, your movements hurried and uncoordinated under the pressure of his presence. Sliding into the back seat, you notice Tim sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at you through the rear mirror. You avert your gaze, clasping your hands tightly in your lap, trying not to fidget as the engine purrs to life. The air inside the car is thick with silence, broken only by the occasional click of the turn signal as Bruce maneuvers through traffic.

You steal a glance at him, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite the tension knotting your stomach, you force yourself to speak. “I—uh, thanks for picking me up,” you mumble, staring out the window.

Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the road. When he finally speaks, his tone is even but firm. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Your throat tightens when you see Tim's glee filled smile, as if a cat had just caught a canary. You nod mutely, knowing there’s no point in arguing. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be pleasant.

[Hope you guys liked the chapter!! I'm sorry for the delay and the ghosting, more fics will be updated trust!! Also thank you to all the people who were checking on me, I really appreciate it!!]

[emilys-bangs]

you come back with gravity | e.p

Tags: unit chief!emily, assistant!reader, brief mentions of blood, small injury, emily resisting reader (but not for long), reader's a rambler and just trying to let emily let them do their goddamn job, one bribery attempt in the form of coffee (it doesn't work)

Summary: Your boss isn’t your biggest fan. You spend precious company time trying to get into her good graces.

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: I've been so excited to write this dynamic and I know I advertised this as flirty reader but that will happen!! They just needed to get into emily's good graces first heh :p anyway, I'm pretty sure half the wc is just reader yapping, I've grown quite fond of them and they do remind me of myself....so if you hate them don't let me knowww. Anyway! More of this reader coming hopefully soon <3 (gosh we know where they got the yapping from)

Your boss thinks you’re entirely useless. Dark haired, sharp eyed, and beautiful, she keeps you ten feet away and flashes you tight-lipped, diplomatic smiles each time you try to get close to doing your job. From your first day you’ve been met with cool surprise at your arrival, then polite but ruthless dismissals of any and all attempts to help. Can you get her a coffee? No, she can get it herself. Can you help her organize her files? You sure as fuck can’t. Can she break down her schedule for you so you can take over the ropes? Yeah, keep dreaming.

You’re hardly what they call a profiler, but it’s clear as day to anyone: she doesn’t want you here. 

It’s only been a week and the rejection is grating down on your bones. You hadn’t been aware that she didn’t know of—or approve—your recruitment, but two minutes into your first visit to her office and it had been made all too clear. It didn’t take long before the fog lifted, her jaw setting in a hard angle, lips pressed thin into a carefully neutral line. She had looked you dead in the eye, ignoring the five boxes of neglected case files sitting neatly on a forklift in the corner of her office, and very cooly dismissed any notion of wanting you.

It stung—it still does—to be so easily dismissed, swatted away like a bothersome fly. And it’s not like you’ve been dying your whole life for the opportunity to be some higher up’s assistant, but damn it, it’s in your hand now and you’re not going to let go.

You aren’t here by her approval, but by god are you going to stay.

“She hates me.” You moan to Penelope through a bite of flaky pastry, crumbs floating down to your sensible, neatly pressed slacks. “She hates me, and she’s gonna keep pushing me away until I’m useless enough that she has enough reason to fire me.”

“Sweets, she’s not gonna do that.” Penelope laughs as she types on her keyboard. Too late, you realize that maybe you shouldn’t be huffing and puffing about your boss to possibly one of her closest friends, but Garcia loosens your tongue like that. “Em just needs time to get used to you. She’s totally convinced she can do this on her own—and not that she can’t, obviously, she’s a super boss if I’ve ever seen one, but,” she spins her chair to face you, “it gets too much, even for the super bosses. You’re exactly what she needs, she just doesn’t know it yet.” 

You sullenly wipe the crumbs from your thighs. “How do I make her know it?”

Penelope’s eyes gleam. Apart from your stingy, avoidant boss, everyone else in the BAU has welcomed you with open arms, apparently also glad that you’re there to lighten their unit chief’s load. JJ helped you situate yourself in what she told you was her old office and Reid welcomed you to his stash of sugar in the kitchenette, having heard your ramble to Tara about the painfully bitter kitchenette coffee you’d sworn off after a few mouthfuls. They’ve all been lovely, considering you’ve only known them for a few days; you’ve warmed up to Garcia the most, having known her for a few weeks longer while everyone else was on leave.

“Now we’re talking.” She nods approvingly. “To start with—”

The phone rings. She clicks on speaker as you chew through another mouthful of your croissant.

“Garcia, any hits on our unsub’s accomplice?”

You pause at the sound of Emily’s voice, sharp even as it buzzes with static.

“Facial recognition is still running, my sweet, I haven’t gotten anything yet.”

A low sigh blows through the phone. “Alright, well, try searching through the unsub’s friends and family in the meantime. Past school friends, colleagues—everyone.”

“Already on it.” Garcia says promptly. “I’ll hit you back.” She ends the call and turns to you again. Her brown eyes shimmer behind her glasses. You subconsciously lean in close, anticipating some wild secret to earning the way to your boss’ heart.

“You’re gonna need a vanilla latte.” She announces.

____

It takes four days before you come face to face with her again. Four days you’ve spent mostly in idleness, picking up the odd job here and there and helping Garcia behind the scenes, not quite brave enough to encroach onto your boss’ business while her claws are still out. The jet lands from Florida late at night, rather conveniently setting up your fresh attempt at sweetening her up.

You’re in early the next morning, a brimming cup of vanilla latte heating your palm as you head up the stairs. The bullpen is still fairly empty, its usual buzz tuned down low and sluggish. You absently tug your collar above your sweater vest, smoothing it down flat against your throat before knocking on your unit chief’s door. 

She answers quickly. You shove one deep breath into your lungs before swinging the door open and walking in.

“Good morning.” You say cheerfully, smiling as you cross the floor to her desk. It doesn’t escape your notice how unfairly good she looks, dark hair blending into her navy blazer, bangs soft and shiny above eyes that track your approach.

“Morning.” She intones. You hand her the coffee and her expression softens, the corner of her mouth pulling just slightly. “Aw, thank you. What do I owe you?”

Four twenty five.

“Oh, nothing.” You wave your hand dismissively. She frowns, brows furrowing. “Uh, well, how about your calendar? Or a planner, if I can have a look at that?” You channel your brightest smile.

Emily tilts her head, idly tracing her finger over the plastic lid. “Calendar? Why do you need that?”

“Well, I’m a little…” out of my depth, “...lost concerning your schedule. There’s a few things I’ve written down that need to get done, but I can’t fit them into a time slot without knowing—”

“It’s fine.” There’s that tight smile again. It’s miles away from the easy grin she gives to her colleagues. “My schedule doesn’t need arranging. I’ve got it handled.”

Stupid, stubborn FBI agents.

“I’m not trying to imply that you don’t!” You blurt out. “Really, Chief Prentiss, I’m just here to make your life easier.” You force out a nervous laugh, swallowing the sour taste in your mouth. “Scout’s honor.”

Her hum is thick with something you can’t place as she looks away, her hand dipping into her bag. She hands you a crisp ten dollar bill and a look that says get out. “Thank you, Y/N. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it. Really.”

You want to argue that she doesn’t seem too appreciative, but the sharp tilt of her eyes makes you tuck your tongue under your teeth. 

She’s your boss. Totally capable of firing you, with or without reasonable justification.

You bite down on a huff, take the money, and try not to shrink beneath her eyes as you see yourself out.

____

Admittedly, this does feel a touch illicit. But it’s her work calendar—or so you’ve been informed—so it’s not like you’re snooping through her underwear drawer.

You’re just doing your job. 

You look down at your notepad, pursing your lips at the list of meetings and tasks your boss needs to get done by the end of—yep, this month. No biggie, except that less than half of them are actually written on the calendar. It’s blank, for the most part, excepting a few days with all-caps tasks filling up their boxes.

“This won’t work here,” you mutter to yourself, glancing at the full slot for Tuesday. You’ve already got three bullet points written down for it. 

As you’re shifting it, a new icon comes to life on the screen, a glaring bold EP blinking next to your initials on the top corner of the page. The bubble crawls down until it’s in the Tuesday box, side by side with yours where you’re halfway through deleting the task Emily had already written down.

Shit.

You pause, twisting one of your rings around your finger as you wait for her to do something. Blue light burns itself into your retinas. 

The bubble stays still for a few seconds. You watch as it moves, springing back the words you’d erased. 

Well, fine. You’ll have to make do with Wednesday. 

You start typing down the other assignments, one eye on your notepad and the other on the EP bubble. It stays still, so you continue.

“What are you doing?”

You startle, shoulders jumping at the sound of Emily’s voice. She doesn’t wait at the door, walking in and rounding your desk like she owns it. 

You flash her a smile like your heart isn’t pounding. “Trying to organize your schedule.”

Disapproval carves itself in the space between her brows. “How did you even access it?”

“Penelope got me in.” You say brightly. “Don’t—I mean, I don’t know your password or anything, it’s just that I was kind of flying blind like I told you, so she helped me out a little.”

Way to throw her under the bus. 

But she’s her best friend. You’re decidedly not.

“And,” you continue hastily, grabbing your notepad before she flicks you away like you’re a bothersome crumb on her suit, “this is what I’ve got so far. Cruz’s report is due by the end of the week, and you’ve also got a budget justification meeting—plus Penelope mentioned two PD’s that need your help with consults while you were away in Florida.” 

You’ve had time to work things through while she was away. But unfortunately not much to do without her sign off.

Emily’s tongue drags over her lip. One of her brows arches—an irritated tick, you’ve realized.

“Fine. This has to stay on Tuesday. I’ll get someone on the consults tomorrow, if we don’t get a case, and the meeting…” her lips purse just slightly as she presses two fingers between her brows, massaging the wrinkle. In the low, dim lights of your office, she seems much less stiff. A lot more exhausted. “Do with that what you will, just don’t make it Friday.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And don’t call me Ma’am.”

A grin tickles your lips. She’s already walking away, unaware of your teeth biting down on your triumph.

“You got it, g—Chief.”

____

There’s an undeniable pep in your step when you walk through the dim BAU halls the next day. Part of your brain realizes that you’re being entirely ridiculous, but the larger, louder part can’t really care. Cracking through the hard shell of Emily Prentiss’ exterior is possibly harder than cracking ancient hieroglyphics. Maybe it wasn’t a clean crack, sure—and okay, you weren’t able to reach in too deep—but now you can feel faint warmth rather than rough-hewn stone under your fingertips.

You’re lightly chatting with Luke and Tara over a box of pastries you’d gotten when she calls you into her office, her voice low yet still carrying throughout the bullpen. 

“Trouble?” Luke raises his eyebrows, his smile partially hidden behind a Danish.

Your stomach turns at the thought. You dust powdered sugar off of your fingertips, failing to muster a smile when Tara scolds him for it, a thud sounding beneath the desks which could mean her boot connected with his ankle. 

All of your surety suddenly dissolves, your good mood churning in your gut as you climb up the stairs and hesitantly approach Emily’s office, as if she rigged the floor with land mines.

God, you hadn’t done anything, had you? All you did was fix up her schedule. Could you have fucked it up that horrendously? Made her miss a hugely important meeting with the director of the goddamn—

“Are these yours?”

She points to a pair of earbuds on her desk.

You blink. “What?” You say stupidly.

Emily picks up the earbuds. They’re marked with a swipe of nail polish at the base, glossy red and definitely yours. You needlessly pat your pockets, silently wondering when you’d misplaced them.

“Oh. Yeah, they are.” You can feel your face flame hot as you take them from her and stuff them in your pocket. 

You wait. She doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. Well, not for a few beats. 

“Is that…is that all?” 

Emily nods. “That’s all.”

Your eyes drop to the multitude of files on her desk. “You don’t need me to do anything?”

“Not as of right now.” 

You can feel the walls rising up, blocking you out. Your desperation rises similarly, bubbling up and spilling out when your eyes drop from hers and fall to the orchid pot on her windowsill. The droopy leaves catch your attention, wilting on top of each other and curving downward.

“These orchids are overwatered.” You blurt out, walking over to them and touching one of the yellowing leaves. You also note the way its white petals are turning golden, wrinkled at the edges. They catch the full force of the sunlight streaming in through the window. 

“You shouldn’t keep them in direct sunlight, they get sunburned. Orchids are quite delicate. How often are you watering them?” You turn to your boss in time to see her brows tick up, bemused.

“Uh, every day.” She taps her pen against the desk, chewing on her lip. “The leaves have been turning yellow.”

“That’s because of overwatering. It can often look like underwatering. Orchids are difficult to care for, but they don’t need that much water—you were drowning them.”

The corner of her mouth twitches.

You clear your throat, neck ablaze, “I can fix them up for you. If you’d like. Uh, I do know a bit about plants.”

Emily tilts her head in a nod. “Okay.” She agrees.

“Yep. Great, I’ll just—” You point to the door and quickly follow your finger, an orchid pot tucked to your side like you’re smuggling contraband. “I’ll take care of them!” You throw over your shoulder, internally cringing as you go down the stairs, hugging your boss’ rotting plant.

____

“Nothing’s been deleted, the folders have just shifted. You can find them here.” You run the mouse down the bottom edge of the screen, prompting the taskbar to slide up. “See, just there.” You click on a partially hidden icon, and Reid’s files bloom on the screen. 

He nods slowly, a little pinch between his brows. “I see. I just don’t get why they’re so elusive.” He mutters, “Or why they don’t attach user guides on how to operate the updates.” 

You shrug, lips twisting against the smile trying to break free. It’s truly endearing how so thoroughly a certified genius gets stumped by technology. But it’s not like you can blame him in this case; the update really is ridiculous—and wildly unnecessary.

“Do you have any idea why they keep doing these?” He runs his fingers through unruly, golden brown curls.

“Well, tech’s gotta have something to do, right? I think they try to hide them more with each update so they can confuse the hell out of anyone trying to break in.” You laugh. It prompts a smile from him, a little bashful, soft as his cardigan. Idly, you think maybe he should meet one of your girlfriends.

He takes a sip from his coffee. “You should help Emily out with that too, she’s been complaining about it.”

You tilt your head. “Has she?”

“Have I been complaining about what?” Emily’s voice curls around the back of your chair, spiking your heart rate as you spin to see her. 

“The new update.” Reid pipes up. “Y/N just helped me figure out where my files and emails went.”

Her eyes slide to you. It’s a slow drag that leaves heat in its wake, your blood simmering with the full force of her attention. 

You fidget with your ring, offering her a smile. “I can show you how it works.”

Her fingers flex around her coffee mug. “It’s your lunch break.” She hedges.

“I don’t mind.” You’re strangely breathless. “It won’t take long. Unless you’re busy.”

She considers you for a beat, then shakes her head. You jump up from Reid’s chair, trying not to look like an overeager puppy following at her heels. 

“Thanks, Y/N!” Reid calls out.

You do something with your hand, half dazed. “Sure thing, doc.”

The rush of air that Emily leaves behind smells like coffee and sugar and something like caramel. The scent tickles your nose as you follow her across the bullpen. You’re not quite sure if you should lengthen your stride, walk next to her, but she outpaces you anyway, nimbly climbing the stairs and offering you her chair as you walk through the door.

“Have a seat.”

You decide not to protest. Spinning to her desktop, you wiggle the mouse and bring the screen to life, then walk her through the steps you’d shown Reid. She hovers over your shoulder as you ramble, the smooth scent you’ve now discovered is her perfume clouding your lungs. It’s that caramel; something warm, silky and sweet, almost entirely cutting off the airflow to your brain.

The distinct weight of her hand presses down on the back of your—her��chair as she grips it, giving the occasional hum in response to your instructions. You jiggle the mouse, double clicking more than necessary in an attempt to hide the gravel in your voice. You almost lose your train of thought more than once, but you manage to hold it together.

“That’s it.” You end lamely, letting go of the mouse. The rich brown of her eyes is only a few inches from yours when you look up. 

Jesus. 

“You could’ve told me, you know. I’m”—just here to help—“pretty good with computers. I took a few coding classes back in college—and Garcia’s been showing me the ropes, too! So I think I’m proficient enough. If you, um, ever need anything. Computer related or otherwise.” 

You realize that you should stand. You do, hands automatically smoothing over your blazer. “Anything else I can help with?” You ask hopefully.

Emily shakes her head. “That’s all, thank you. Enjoy your lunch break.” She softens the words with a smile, a hint of a dimple rendering you unable to push back. 

You walk out as dazed as you were when you walked in.

____

You’re wincing as you shoulder your way through the bathroom door, one hand cupped under the other to catch the drip of blood from your palm. It’s not a deep cut, you don’t think, but it stings like hell. At least you can’t see any shard of ceramic lodged beneath the blood.

Well, not yet.

The door swings shut behind you, but you’re not alone. 

Drying her hands at the sinks is none other than your boss. She immediately notices your hand, her brows drawing together in sharp lines.

“What happened?”

“Chief Prentiss!” Your voice echoes loudly against the tiles. You bite down on another wince and shove your hands under the tap. “It’s nothing. Just a small cut, it hardly hurts—”

“That’s not what I asked.” Her heels click against the floor. Suddenly she’s there, right at your elbow, her fingers closing around your wet wrist. The blood washes clean under the water, but it still forms up against the flow, rushing to escape your veins. You barely notice the sting as Emily tilts your hand, observing the thin line running from your middle finger to the base of your thumb.

Her eyes flick up to yours, obsidian dark. Her brows raise expectantly.

“Uh. Reid dropped his mug. I was just helping him clean up, but,” your shoulder touches your ear, “I was a little clumsy with it. It’s fine, really, doesn’t even hurt!”

A displeased hum cuts through your ramble. “Cleaning up after Spencer isn’t part of your job description.”

“What is?” You ask, tired from her hot and cold, your tongue loose from the press of her fingers on your wrist. You snap your mouth shut too late, internally cursing.

Emily is quiet as she tilts your hand under the water. “Rounding up last week’s reports.” She says eventually. Your head snaps up. “Spencer hasn’t turned his in yet and Luke’s backlog is at least three cases behind.” She glances at your hand. “If you can, that is.”

“Yeah!” Jesus, dial it down. You clear your throat, nodding, “Yes, definitely can do, Chief.” You would salute, if your hand wasn’t held in hers beneath the water (why is she still holding it?).

A sharp dip of her chin is all the reply you get back. “A bandaid won’t hold.” She murmurs, dropping your hand and grabbing the first aid kit hanging on the wall. “You’ll need to bandage it.”

“That seems excessive.” Directly disagreeing. “Ma’am.” She told you not to call her Ma’am. “It’s already stopped bleeding—”

“No one will appreciate it if your blood’s all over the paperwork.” She says wryly, placing the kit on the counter.

“Right.” You snap your mouth shut. “Of course not.”

“And don’t call me Ma’am again.”

“Does gorgeous work?”

She blinks.

“Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what—” you clamp your hand over your mouth. “I’ll just leave now.” You mumble, mortification weakening your knees.

Emily shakes her head, the corner of her mouth tilting as she walks past you and out of the bathroom. Her perfume washes over you, lingering with your stinging hand and the boiling heat of shame crawling all over your body.

____

You’re heading to the elevators, coat slung over your arm, when you glimpse the light on in Emily’s office. It’s not terribly late, but there’s no one else on the floor, either. You make a detour to the glass doors of the bullpen, swinging them open and walking in.

Even before you reach her office your breath is catching, a dampness in your palms that you hastily wipe away on your clothes. She’s past the point of tossing you to someone else, you try to tell yourself, but the voice in your head is weak. You’ve been getting her to bend more, widening the crack and worming yourself through the gap, but she still makes your insides flutter nervously. 

Maybe Emily Prentiss has resigned herself to your help. You don’t think she’s reached the point of liking you yet.

Still, you knock on her open door and poke your head in. The orchids sit pretty on her desk, warmed to a faint yellow beneath the lamplight.

You’re usually a confident person. But the second her eyes lock with yours, your knees just about turn to jelly.

“Hi.” Your voice is soft. “It’s, uh—it’s late.”

She sets her pen down. “Didn’t know you set a curfew for me.”

“Oh! No, of course not, that’s not what I—”

Her low laugh makes you freeze in place. It doesn’t last long, but it washes over you like a faint glow, warmth kissing the surface of your skin. Too late, you realize the teasing in her voice—silk soft and pliant, the way it is when she’s talking to Reid or Garcia.

“I’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know what you’re apologizing for. You venture deeper into her office, feeling her eyes track your steps. “What I mean to say is you shouldn’t have to be here longer than anyone else.” 

Emily’s lips press together into a pitiful smile. 

You fiddle with your coat, shrugging a little. “Sure, you’re the boss, but…I can help.” 

If you’d gotten a dollar for every time you’ve spoken that phrase over the past two weeks, you’d be swimming in money. Still, you clear your throat.

“I can go through the paperwork with you, and I can help organize your schedule to make room for it when you’re not on cases, and I can help you prioritize everything so you don’t fall behind. It’s not much, and I know you can do it all on your own,” your hand flaps at your side, “but you don’t have to. That’s what I’m here for.”

The remnants of your voice echo around her office as Emily laces her fingers together and sets her chin on top of her fists. Your heart skips as she looks you over, the sharpness of her gaze softened by the warm light of the lamp at her elbow.

“You’d be in for a late night.” She says eventually.

Your eyes widen. “That’s fine! I mean—not too late, obviously, but”—you shrug, fiddling with a loose string on your coat and forcing nonchalance in your voice—“it is my job.”

It’s an electric zap up your spine when you glimpse both her dimples. “Tomorrow.” Emily says. It holds a shade of promise, not as airy as her other dismissals. “Go home for now.”

“I will if you will.”

She softly clucks her tongue. “Don’t push it.”

Your body flushes with heat.

“Y-Yes, Ma—yes, Chief. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll @slutforabbyanderson @maximoffcarter @cns-mari @daddy-heather-dunbar @lcvessapphic

[kissandtellus]

Prepare for Takeoff

Synopsis: Caleb is still as in love with MC as he was pre-kids, back when they were younger and deep in love. He doesn’t plan on changing, ever.

Warnings: Fluff, breeding, pregnancy, light choking, overstim.

The tarmac runway of Farspace Fleet's military base thrummed with activity as military planes and fighter jets roared overhead, the sound echoing like thunder through the air.

Caleb stood at the edge of the landing strip, his boots planted firmly on the ground as fellow recruits and commanders saluted him in passing. The bright late afternoon sun beat down on his back and caused him to squint.

He was just about to head back to the locker room when he heard a familiar cry ring out across the air.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Recognizing the high-pitched voice, Caleb turned around just in time to see a small tornado of energy barreling towards him.

A beaming smile immediately broke across his face, the weariness he felt from the training disappearing almost instantly.

"There’s my little man!" Caleb chuckled as he crouched down and spread wide his arms, ready to welcome his little 3 year old boy into a tight, loving embrace.

The boy leaped into his father's arms, burying his face into Caleb's chest. His small arms and legs were wrapped tightly around his dad’s waist, like a koala clinging onto a tree branch, as if the very act of holding on would ground him to his father for all eternity.

Caleb straightened up, wrapping his arms around the child in return, holding him close and steady. He chuckled, running a hand through the boy's messy hair.

"What are you doing here, huh? Shouldn’t you be with mommy?"

As if on cue, MC came waddling as fast as she could while cradling her 5 month belly. “Atlas! I told you to wait for me.” She huffed, but her face softened when she saw the scene in front of her.

Caleb looked up and saw MC approaching, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He hoisted his son up easily, resting the boy on his broad shoulders. The boy’s legs dangled on either side of Caleb's head playfully.

Caleb met MC’s gaze, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of fondness and pride. “Atlas wanted to surprise his old man, didn’t he?” he said, affection evident in his voice.

MC shook her head, but a soft smile still lingered on her lips. She let out a small sigh, her hand instinctively moving to rub her heavily pregnant belly. "He's getting too big for his own good."

She looked at her son, perched on his father's shoulders like a little king, and reached out to gently tap the tip of his nose. "And you, young man, need to listen to mommy."

Atlas giggled in response, sticking out his tongue at his mother.

Atlas squealed and kicked his feet. “Daddy! Can I sit in your jet? I promise to be really good!”

Caleb chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, and looked up at his son perched high on his shoulders. "You want to sit in Daddy's jet, huh?"

Atlas nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide with excitement. "Yes, please! I'll be so good, I promise!"

Caleb pretended to consider the request, tilting his head thoughtfully to the side. "Hmm...I don't know. My jet's pretty complicated for a little boy like you. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"I'm big enough! I'm three and a half!" Atlas protested, puffing out his cheeks in protest.

Caleb laughed, the sound booming through the air. "Well, you've got me there. Three and a half is practically an adult."

MC just rolled her eyes at the banter, gently shaking her head. "You're encouraging him. You know he's going to want to fly the jet now, right?"

Caleb shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hey, I'm just instilling a love for aviation in the next generation. It's never too early to start."

He reached up and grabbed one of Atlas's little feet, giving it a playful tug. "But if you want to sit in my jet, you need to promise to listen to every word I say. Safety first, buddy. Understood?"

"Jet! Jet!"

Atlas chanted, kicking his legs back and forth in the air.

MC couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face. Even at three, he looked so much like Caleb, from the same bright purple eyes and dimples to the same cheeky grin. And just as stubborn too, it seemed.

"All right, all right, settle down." Caleb chuckled again, trying to calm his over-excited son. He looked at his wife, an eyebrow raised in silent question.

She sighed dramatically, although there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, go ahead. But if he turns the autopilot on and takes it for a joy-ride, I'm telling them it's all your fault."

"And here I was, thinking you actually trusted me." Caleb feigned hurt, his lips curving into a playful pout.

He adjusted Atlas on his shoulders before starting to walk towards the hangar where the jets were parked. "You coming, Pipsqueak?" He called back to MC over his shoulder.

MC rolled her eyes once again, but followed them nonetheless, her hands protectively cradling her belly.

When they reached the hangar, she hung back by the entrance, leaning against the side of the wall as she watched her husband and son approach one of the sleek fighter jets.

Atlas was absolutely enthralled by the sight of the jet. He stared at it with wide eyes, almost falling off Caleb's shoulders in excitement.

Caleb laughed, quickly steadying his son before he could take a tumble. "Careful, sprout. You can't pilot the jet if you're flat on your face."

He gently lifted the boy off his shoulders, setting him down on the ground in front of the jet. Atlas immediately reached out to touch the cool metal of the belly of the jet, his little hand tracing the insignia of Farspace Fleet's emblem.

"Daddy, how does it fly?" Atlas asked, looking up at Caleb with curious eyes.

Caleb crouched down to be eye level with his son. "Well, kiddo, it's all about science. You see, the engines at the back create a lot of force, which pushes the jet forward. And the wings at the side help it stay in the air. It's pretty neat, huh?"

Caleb’s eyes softened as he saw the sheer awe on his face. "You like it, huh?"

Atlas nodded vigorously, his hand still running along the length of the jet, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. Caleb ruffled his hair once again, a look of pride on his face. "That's a Black Star. Fastest fighter we have, and the one I fly."

"Wow!"

Caleb chuckled again at his son's reaction. "Not bad for a beginner, huh? But this baby right here..." He patted the jet affectionately. "...is just for grown-ups," he said with a mock stern tone.

Atlas looked up at him, pouting just like his mother. "Why?"

"Because you have to be a certain age and rank to fly it. And you're still too little for now." Caleb explained, ruffling the boy's hair again.

“Andddd little pilots who miss dinner time don’t get dessert. That’s why daddy hasn’t had ice cream in a very long time.” MC cheekily says, stroking Atlas’ dark hair out of his face.

"Hey! I did not miss dinner time!"

Caleb protested, feigning offense, though the twinkle in his eyes showed that he was enjoying the banter. He stood up, dusting off his knees.

Atlas giggled, clearly enjoying the banter between his parents.

MC rolled her eyes dramatically again, but her smirk showed she was just kidding. "Sure you didn't, Colonel. And I'm the Queen of Farspace."

But when they are alone that night, Caleb is sure to treat his wife like a queen.

Once the house is quiet and Atlas is safely tucked in bed, Caleb loses no time in carrying MC to their bedroom. He lays her gently on the bed, his uniform already halfway unbuttoned. Kneeling between her legs, he removes her panties slowly, revealing her swollen belly and glistening folds.

He runs his gloved hands up her thighs, parting them wider. Caleb leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her mons before trailing his lips down to her entrance. He inhales her scent deeply, his breath hot against her core. “You smell like heaven, love."

MC covers her face with the back of her hand. “C-Caleb that’s so….dirty.” She blushes.

Caleb smirks against her skin, his gloved fingers parting her folds to reveal her soaked, swollen clit. He flicks his tongue out, circling the sensitive nub slowly. “Dirty? Or just a husband worshipping his pregnant wife?"

MC gives a short nod, her throat bobbing as he hooks one of her legs over his shoulder to open her up wider.

He hums in approval at her submission, then dives in again, this time flat against her center. His tongue explores every inch of her folds, circling her clit slowly before slipping lower to rim her entrance. He's deliberate and gentle, knowing just how sensitive she is in her current state.

He spreads her wider with his hands, his thumbs hooking inside her thighs. He can see how swollen and needy she is, her juices coating her inner thighs. "God, Pipsqueak." He mutters before covering her core entirely with his mouth, sucking softly like he would a ripe fruit.

MC mewls, her hips bucking off the bed as she desperately covers her mouth so they won’t wake Atlas.

He notices her move to muffle her sounds and smirks against her center. He replaces his finger with his tongue, lapping at her clit with long, slow licks. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as he eats her out with relish.

Her mewls grow louder despite muffling her mouth. He can feel she's close. Suddenly inspired, he adds a finger inside her, curling it upwards to hit that sweet spot while continuing to lick her clit fervently. "Come for me, love," he muffles against her pussy.

He slowly pulls his finger out, watching her carefully. He knows she's sensitive now but he can't resist one more taste. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her swollen clit before pulling back to admire his handiwork.

MC moans softly, reaching down to the front of his uniform pants to paw at his aching length. “I need you inside. Please?”

His eyes flash with desire. He quickly unbuckles his pants, freeing himself. He's hard as steel, already leaking pre-cum. Seeing MC like this - pregnant and needy - drives him wild. He positions himself between her thighs and slams home in one smooth stroke.

MC arches her back, taking him to the hilt. They both groan softly, careful not to wake Atlas. Caleb begins to move slowly, his hips rolling in gentle circles. He's careful not to be too rough, knowing she's sensitive and pregnant. Instead, he focuses on pressing deep.

He watches her carefully as he thrusts, his hands gently holding her hips. He's hitting that spot deep inside her that always makes her eyes roll back. He leans down to capture her mouth in a soft kiss, swallowing her whimpers as he starts to move a bit faster. "Fuck..."

MC wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Her nails dig into his back as she meets his thrusts, her moans growing louder. He silences her with kisses, fucking her slower but deeper, hitting that sweet spot perfectly.

He pulls almost all the way out, then guides her legs up over his shoulders. The new angle allows him to slide even deeper inside her. The change in position makes her gasp. "Shh..." he whispers, covering her mouth with his hand to muffle any noises.

He starts to move faster, his hips snapping forward in quick thrusts. He's hitting that spot with every push, filling her completely. His hand over her mouth muffles her moans as she starts to shake, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. “That's it, love. Take it.”

MC wriggles around, almost as if she’s trying to escape his thrust from overstimulation. She’s unfortunately grounded in place with her swollen stomach.

He holds her in place, his strong arms keeping her legs trapped over his shoulders. He starts fucking her mercilessly, his deep thrusts shaking the bed. He's deliberately hitting that overstimulated spot inside her, knowing it drives her wild. “Try running now, baby..." he challenges.

He leans down, his breath hot against her ear. “I'll catch you every time. You're mine to fuck tonight." He picks up the pace, his cock slamming into her harder and faster. Her moans are muffled by his hand but he can feel her body shaking beneath him.

His other hand reaches around to play with her clit, knowing it'll send her over the edge. She tries to push his hand away, but he just laughs softly and keeps going. “Nope. You're going to cum on my dick, pregnant or not."

Tears of pleasure and pain prick her eyes. “C-Caleb!” She cries out behind his hand covering her mouth. “C-Can’tttt!”

He smirks at her weak protests, knowing she's on the verge. His fingers move faster on her clit, pressing down hard. He thrusts deep and stays there, his thick cock stretching her open and applying delicious pressure. “You can and you will."

With a final, hard push of his fingers and a deep thrust of his hips, he sends her spiraling over the edge. She cries out behind his hand, her body convulsing with pleasure. He keeps thrusting slowly, riding out her orgasm and drawing it out as long as possible. “Good girl."

He leans down, his voice a low growl in her ear. “ Take Every. Single. Drop." *His hips move faster, his cock pounding into her with renewed vigor. He can feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening as he drives deeper into her wet heat. His gloved hand wraps around her throat, applying just enough to make her eyes water.

His grip on her throat tightens slightly as he hits his peak. With a final deep thrust, he buries himself inside her and comes hard, filling her up just like he promised. He stays there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of her wrapped around him before pulling out slightly and pushing back in again.

Caleb would keep her barefoot and pregnant with his babies until the end of time. They only needed him.

They would only ever need him.

[cinnamongrl2006]

Ok since we have college! Jason, mayhaps a professor Bruce? Who sees you walking home in the rain and gives you a ride back to your dorm but he takes the ✨scenic✨ route if you know what I mean lmao

౨ৎ Professor!Bruce Wayne x female student!reader ౨ৎ mdni (18+)

౨ৎ Warnings: Legal age gap, power imbalance, vaginal sex, unprotected sex.

౨ৎ a/n: I will never stop writing for Bale Bruce Wayne, he's the love of my life, man of my dreams, I'm insane for him. I obviously don't condone this kind of relationship, but all I write is fiction and I find it reallyyy attractive in fiction, SUE ME!! also, creds to my divas @ditzydoe444 and @ellesthots because their professor!Bruce fics are TO DIE FOR!!

You hadn't expected it to rain so much that afternoon; that's why you had forgone the idea of bringing an umbrella in your bag, it would only add weight to your already heavy backpack, and you'd spend most of your time in the library anyways.

You began to regret your decision when you exited the library and the cold water began to patter against your head and shoulders, soaking through your clothes. Your damp shirt was stuck to your chest uncomfortably, your shoulders shook with shivers. You really should have brought an umbrella, or at least a jacket.

You were cursing yourself on your walk back to the dorms when he saw you. Bruce was in his car, another late night after a long meeting with the dean. He registered your presence quickly, it was raining heavily and there wasn’t a soul in the street—there shouldn’t have been, much less a young woman like you, so cluelessly strolling alone at night, so he did what he thought necessary, he rolled down the window and called out your name.

“Mr. Wayne?” You looked at him with wide eyes, the surprise and embarrassment were evident in your soft features. God you were so unlucky, the day you go out thinking that nobody will see you you cross paths with the hottest professor in the entire college—just your luck.

“You look like you need a lift,” He smirked, poking his head out the window, and slowed the car down to a stop.

────୨ৎ────

The car ride was quiet at first, only the low hum and static of the radio on a rainy night broke through the silence. You had your bag in your lap, clutching it close to you for dear life.

Bruce wanted nothing more than to chuck the bag into the backseat and get his way with you, he felt like an asshole but the way your top was clinging to your chest was making his brain go haywire and his cock fatten up in his slacks.

“You can leave the bag in the backseat, more comfortable that way,” He spoke as if he knew better, as if that was the right thing to do; patronizing and authoritative.

You did as he said and threw the bag into the backseat, folding your hands in your now empty lap, awkwardly. The tension between you two could have been cut with a knife, the silence heavy and loud.

Bruce stretched out a hand to move something on the center console and instead of moving it back to the wheel, he placed it on your thigh, squeezing it softly. It was a declaration of intentions, he was giving you a way out.

"You shouldn't be walking alone so late, more so when it's raining." He sounded truly worried as he caressed the soft, damp, skin of your thigh.

"Lucky you were here, then." You spread your legs further, urging him to go higher, and he followed suit. His fingers danced along the seams of your panties, not quite hovering, not quite touching.

The bumps on the road were the only thing forcing contact between him and you, and they were few and far between. You were beginning to get desperate, your breaths were coming out whiny and shaky, your hips stuttered against his thick fingers.

And Bruce was just a man, his self control had been thrown out the window the moment he’d seen you walking back to your dorm drenched and shivering all alone. You were so helpless, huffing and puffing, feet dragging across the pavement, shirt drenched in water and sticking to your chest so deliciously; he had to help you, poor little girl, who didn’t even think to bring an umbrella.

The louder your whines got, the faster he drove; he moved through the back roads with expertise, not even wavering with the rain, his hands steady.

────୨ৎ────

You were sprawled across the backseat, your bag on the floor of the car, as Bruce pounded you mercilessly. He held your thighs apart as he thrusted in. A creamy white ring sat at the base of his cock from your previous orgasm

He didn't know what had gotten into him; he was usually so professional, never would have even glanced at a student before he met you. Maybe it was because of the way you looked at him, your gaze intense and unwavering, never missing one of his classes. Maybe it was because of the way you spoke to him during tutoring hours, your voice soft yet confident, drawing him in. Or perhaps it was the subtle way you brushed your leg against his when you sat side by side.

He was grown, after all; he was not stupid. He noticed how your eyes drifted down to his chest when he rolled his shoulders, or how they lingered on his arms when he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the toned muscles underneath. It made his heart race.

"That feel good, sweetheart?" He breathed out.

You knew if you tried to speak the words would not come out so, with your hands pawing and tugging at his shirt— all wrinkled and rumpled now, thanks to your relentless movements— you just nodded your head, staring at him with wide, glassy, eyes and an open mouth, letting out little whines and moans at the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Come on, you're a smart girl, my top student; you can use your words, can't you?" There it was again, the sweet voice, the patronizing tone.

"Yes. Feels good, sir." You managed to breathe out.

"Call me Bruce, let's leave the titles for the classroom, huh?"

You nodded, eyes meeting his hungry gaze. Bruce's cock twitched at the sight of your dazed smile, half lidded eyes, pupils blown wide and your cheeks flushed that pretty shade of pink you got when you made eye contact in class.

"mhm, Bruce," You whined, your hips stuttered up, back arching when he angled your hips to get slightly deeper. You could feel the slight burn from the way he was stretching you out, the spur of pain when the tip of his cock hit your cervix repeatedly, but all of that was kept in the back of your mind, as he kissed your lips and cooed at you.

"So pretty...you're a beautiful girl, you know that? Smart too," He spoke between kisses, his voice was hoarse, breathy.

Bruce didn't moan, but he grunted a lot, to punctuate his words when he spoke, or after a particularly deep thrust.

"So tight, baby. Just relax, I've got you." He spoke into your neck as his thrusts got messier, harder. The squelching and clapping of your thighs against his got louder, and so did your moans. You came almost instantly, leaning your head back against the car window, his hands held your waist, keeping you in place as he fucked his thick cock into you. He came shortly after you, with a hard thrust and a grunt.

After a moment of shared silence, the sound of the rain drumming against the car filled the space between you. You both caught your breath, the lingering warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. Bruce rested his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight.

"We should talk about this before Monday," He spoke as he caught his breath.

“Yeah, or it’ll be super awkward in class,” you replied, a light laugh escaping you. Bruce chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he tried to regain his composure.

“Well, we can just keep it professional, right?” he suggested, looking at you with a hint of amusement. 

────୨ৎ────

@lalitalux

[tfatwsbarnes]

don’t be tardy | tlou jesse

summary: jesse hates tardiness and you run late. you rub off on him and give him something to be late for.

pairing: jesse x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

trigger warnings: lil bit of bad language, jesse is kinda mean but not really, kissing, brief smut but not in great detail. reader doesn’t really take things seriously lmao

a/n: if me posting jesse fics keeps him alive i won’t ever stop 😤 love my diva. this is super choppy and short so i don’t expect enjoyment from it!

gif credit: @pedgito

      7:00am.

        You opened your eyes briefly to look at the red lights flickering on your alarm clock. The sun seeped in from between the thin, makeshift curtains, and you smiled into the duvet that covered you from neck to toe. For once, you felt serene, tranquility found in the Commune of Jackson. Survival a distant memory.

        You could do this forever.

        "Fuck!" Your eyes shot open, body upright as you read over the time once more.

        You were late. So fucking late.

You jumped into your clothes, swearing as you crashed into your cabinet when your foot got stuck in the leg of your pants. No time to fix your appearance, you slipped out of the front door, the profanities continuing to string along with you on your way to Main Street.

Feet pounded against the ground, wet mud flicked up behind you, chest heavy from panic when you managed to reach Main Street from your home in record timing. The building that held the Patrol meetings just adjacent to where you had skidded round the bend. Brass knob within your reach, you huffed as you grabbed and twisted it.

Door creaked to alert the compact group, you bared teeth as you cringed, boots tip-toed as best as you could above the old floorboards. As presumed, the meeting for morning Patrol had already started without you.

Familiar faces, Ellie and Dina, sat in amongst the older patrolmen, both offering a wave when you ducked your head in an attempt to conceal your lateness to Jesse who stood, arms crossed his chest, his eyes tracking you like prey for the taking.

"You're late." You winced at his deep tone.

Mottled hands from forgetting your gloves in a hurry, dragged the closest chair toward you. A concoction of embarrassment and shame crossed your face as eyes turned to you when Jesse spoke. Backside hitting the plastic chair, you felt the need to press your hands together; as if you were about to pray for his forgiveness.

OK. It wasn't near enough as good as an impression you could've made on your first patrol. It took months of arguments, pushing yourself to the limit and extra credit earned through mundane tasks that landed you the spot in the Jackson Patrol. And, now, you were late for your first meeting.

You had hoped it was Tommy or Joel Miller in charge. They'd have let it slide. You liked those brothers.

Jesse was your friend, if you could call someone you slept with on the regular, that. You met him by association of being relatively close to Ellie and Dina. He was a serious guy, little humour in duty-related situations, but you thought he was nice enough to engage in conversation with. And in turn, he showed you how nice he could be with your legs wrapped around his neck.

It was an added bonus that he was fun to look at.

You had wished he kept that momentum going when he stared you down, expectant of an explanation as to why you had tiptoed into the Patrol meeting.

"I'm sorry." You mustered.

Jesse puffed out, “Yeah—Sorry doesn’t cut it when you’re on duty. Thankfully, for you, your partnered with me. Otherwise, you would’ve cost us another Patrol member. A dip in our numbers, could mean we miss vital intel coming head-on to Jackson.”

“Alrigh’, she was late by minutes.” Joel Miller piped up from behind, “Give her a break.”

You didn’t dare move to mouth a ‘thank you’ to Joel. Mentally noted, you would buy him a drink at the Tipsy Bison later if Jesse hadn’t thrown you in jail for your tardiness.

Chairs creaked as people shifted awkwardly. Joel Miller was softened in his older years, but nobody dare speak out against him, especially Jesse — as much as undermining him set his internal anger ablaze.

“We’ll talk after.” He said. Which meant, we’ll talk when Joel Miller can’t defend you.

As he turned, you leant into Ellie, “Yeesh. Men are so touchy in Jackson.”

The meeting didn’t last long, or as long as you had hoped to avoid Jesse’s wrath in private. Every individual had an area to map out and scan to ensure there were no immediate threats to your Commune. There had been an increased sighting of the Infected in every direction, and this shook the infrastructure of Jackson. So, everybody was on high alert, observant of the grounds outside the confines of the walls.

You stood with the rest of the group, Ellie patted your shoulder for added sympathy for what you were about to face. She left you alone, head bumped with Dina as they spoke amongst themselves as the group bottle-necked at the entrance to the building.

An escape may have sufficed until you saw him later, but, that would’ve earned you an immediate dismissal from the Patrol Team and, you had a point to prove that you were worth the slot taken from others to maintain the safety of Jackson, Wyoming, whatever it took.

As the team filtered out, Jesse approached you with a mean-mug. No special chit-chat.

"Consider this a warning." Jesse was mad. Not the type of mad that would linger, but he had been on your side to convince Maria Miller that you were a good fit for the patrolmen. He didn't like his ass being shown.

You gawked, "A warning? Jesse, I thought we were friends—" You stopped following him when he turned sharply.

"—You want dismissed on your first day? If we weren't friends, that's where you would be. Shovelling horse shit and grovelling." He looked you up and down, "But, we are friends. So, you get a warning. Two more and I can't help you. Take your wins."

"OK." You kind of wished Joel stuck around to back you up. You twiddled your thumbs, reprimanded like a child. “Does this warning extend to tonight?”

You meant about having sex.

Jesse scanned his surroundings to ensure no eavesdropper had heard your invitation. He lowered his voice to a mumble, “No. Get to the stables.”

—

"You get the Appaloosa." Jesse informed when you reached the stables with the rest of the group.

You stopped in your tracks with your jaw slacked. There is one thing aside from the Cordyceps Outbreak that you loathed entirely and it was the Appaloosa stallion with a biting problem. Hoof battered against the stable door, the stallion whinnied in frustration from being contained — you presumed it craved human flesh.

He bucked when sat upon, you once going over the reigns and heavily winded when Jesse was showing you the ropes on how to properly guide a horse. After you had landed in the wet mud, the horse bit your arm for good measure.

That moment forward you both found enemies in each other.

Jesse was being cruel.

You followed Jesse to his selected horse, a gentle brown mare that liked you for your apples.

Throat cleared, Jesse turned to look at you innocently as you returned it with a plead, "Please don't make me ride that fucking Zombie—" You pointed to the stallion, "He has anger issues and, he's impossible to control."

Jesse threw the saddle over the mare and shrugged before swiftly straddling the horse, large hand smacked against the mare's neck as it stood grazing upon the hay in her stable.

"It's exposure therapy for you." He retaliated as he kicked the stirrups, his horse following the guidance with ease. He passed you slowly, a smile crept upon his face, "Teaches you how to deal with touchy men in Jackson."

He left you fighting the horse to get the saddle on its back, which in turn made you late to the gate with a grimace.

You had, surprisingly, survived the Patrol on Zombie, the Appaloosa. It seemed that you had breached through the stallion’s walls and managed to bribe him with soft-mints you stole from Jesse’s pocket when he scoped the land for any sign of an influx of Infected. In return for a mint after a handful of minutes apart, Zombie didn’t buck you off, or attempt to bite you despite your hand close to his mouth for the taking.

You returned to the stables, Jesse had taken the reigns of your horse, his private punishment over with as he guided it back into its area to rest. He came back, dusting his hands of the hay, a smile widened on his face.

“He didn’t kick you off.”

You threw him a petulant look, “Yeah. I know that broke your heart, you mean bastard.” Saddle in hand, you threw it onto the table, “And to think I was going to wrap my mouth—”

“—Enough.” Jesse warned.

“Sorry. Work hours.” You sighed at your brain’s disobedience to filter your mouth. From your peripheral, you saw Jesse shake his head in an attempt to hide his humour. You changed the subject, “Are you going to Maria Miller to debrief about the thirty dead?”

Jesse nodded.

“Can I come?” And he laughed. A genuine laugh in your face. If you weren’t on the receiving end, you may have begun to laugh with him because it was contagious for such a brooding man.

“No. You can’t” His laughter still sweet on his tongue, palm to his chest, “That’s called favouritism and we don’t need an uprising just because you’re pretty. Plus, I need to get there on time. Something you don’t know the meaning of.”

You blinked, “I’ve been on time.”

He spoke your name, “You have never been good at time-keeping. I’m pretty sure, Joel is still waiting for you for that one woodwork training session you organised last week—” Fuck! You knew you forgot about something, “It’s OK. I’ll keep us right for future events.”

Arms folded, you perked at his slip-up.

“Oh? There’s an us, now?” Stomach flipped, “I thought there was no blurring the lines, Captain Jesse.”

He said nothing more. Simply pecked your lips and exited the stables to his debrief with Maria Miller, and Tommy; they came as a package deal.

You went to go make amends with Joel before heading to Jesse’s for the night.

—

Jesse's workout chair had seen many workouts. It was sturdy, rattled a little when he was focussed on building muscle on his shoulders but all-in-all it was a good chair.

The bolt rattled at the base of the chair from the vigorous movement it was enduring. You were seated against the pleather, back hitting it with force as Jesse held your legs up by your ankles. Your knuckles were white from gripping onto the slim chair, mouth agape as Jesse continued his endeavour.

You hadn't meant to start this. It was a mere coincidence that you and Jesse were feeling some type of way the morning after you stayed for the first time, and you only encouraged it a smidge before caution was thrown to the wind and now, you were naked in Jesse's home, getting plowed on his workout chair.

"Oh my god." You whined which only spurred Jesse more.

He took both your ankles in one large palm, the other dove between your legs and your head hit the headrest, lids heavy as sweat followed the curve of your back. Jesse smirked at the vision he had created, the confidence built like a skyscraper in him for causing you that type of reaction.

        "Yeah?" He asked rhetorically and you nodded obediently. He went to open his mouth to let pure filth leave his tongue, only to jump from fright from the four knocks to his front door. His hips stuttered, "Shit. Hello?"

        "Jesse?" Ellie's voice called through the door and the pair of you looked to each other in panic. "I can't believe I'm about to say this—But—You're fucking late for patrol."

        Pinched brows, Jesse slowed his thrusts and craned his neck to look at the clock on his bedside table.

        Holy shit. Jesse was late.

        "Fuck—Yeah. Give me a minute."

        He unsheathed himself from you, a finger pressed to his lips when Ellie tried the door handle — both of you grateful that it was locked. Jesse threw his shirt on haphazardly, frustration shown in his hand gestures as he stumbled around the room, his patrol clothes unprepared which, again, was out of character.

        You stood from the chair, feet tiptoed to the door to grab his boots to unlace for him. Eyes squeezed shut, you could hear Ellie muttering to herself as she stomped the snow on her boots against the concrete of the steps. Jesse met you halfway, fully clothed compared to your bareness, a 'thank you' mouthed your way when he took the boots from your hands.

        "Will you hurry the fuck up?" Ellie called.

        Jesse swore under his breath, "Ellie, have a little patience."

        You and Ellie managed to scoff at the same time. A playful pinch to your budded nipple as retaliation, you swatted at his hand before he pulled you in for a chaste kiss.

        "See you later." He mumbled into your mouth, his willpower almost folded from feeling the hotness of your bare skin.

        "Mhm." You whispered. Quiet enough that Ellie wouldn't hear, "You deserve the Appaloosa today."

[sheepispink]

Dealing with a Siren was pretty hard as it is, but a grumpy one was on another level.

Ghost had somehow pissed you off a few hours ago, when you had come over to his small desk looking for some of his attention. No one else really came near your enclosure but him, so he can understand why you were starved for it. Though, that did not exempt you from trying to seduce him again for fun, and also pushing his paperwork aside so you could perch atop the desk, your flowy dress spilling onto the forms he had just filled out.

He may have been a little too stern with you, or maybe you just got too in your head again, but now you were sulking in the pit of the artificial moon pool, the cameras below showing your figure hidden by the long waving seaweed, as you curled up.

“If you don't come up, I'm gonna eat your food.” It was lunch time, and you still hadn’t surfaced since that morning, still angry at him for whatever you had deemed wrong about him. “Look— I know I've been out recently, and you haven't seen me all week but I'm here now. I can’t be here all the time.” He remarks, opening the container and hiking his mask up to his nose as he prepares to eat it.

Instantly, he sees the water ripple at the far end, before the glimmer of a tail peeks beneath the surface. “You could but you choose not to!” You huff, cheeks puffed as you make your way over to where he’s crouched, snatching the food from his hands.

“So you want me to drop all my missions and just sit here with you?”

“Bet you’d do it for the new mermaid.” You retort, scooping up the chicken salad with the fork and stuffing it in your mouth still your cheeks are full. It makes him snicker slightly apart from when he processes your words, raising a brow. “Hm? You know about that?

“Of course I do!” He almost flinches when you angrily say it back to him, never having seen you so riled up even when the chef accidentally gave you fish for dinner. “But-”

“Everyone talks about her! About how pretty she is.” Your tail thrashes in frustration, water almost spraying onto him for a second. Whilst he had been gone, he had left some soldiers to take his usual duties regarding you; they had likely fawned over the mermaid they rescued recently, unaware that you were listening from afar. “I bet you’re the same.” The scowl on your face is deadly to many, but he just leans down towards you.

“Really? You think that about me?”

Ghost isn’t even denying the accusation, and that boils your blood even more. “That’s where you go—isn't it? You go and talk to her, and look at how much shinier her tail is, and how much prettier she does her hair!”

The container is empty, swallowed down in a large gulp as you toss it on the side of the pool, glaring at him partly in disbelief as he doesn't even react. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest, ready to snap. “So it’s true? I knew it. All you soldiers are the damn same——“

His hand cups your cheek and all of sudden his nose touches yours, lips pressing against yours as he passionately kisses you. His gloves hands curl into your neck as they slide down, stabling himself as he leans over the edge before finally breaking away. “Not all soldiers, sweetheart. Never even spoke to her either.”

“I..i..” You’re left speechless, cheeks burning and suddenly you’re sure he’s set the water temperature too hot. “But—“

“Tsk, I can't believe you thought so low of me.” He huffs just as you did, fixing his mask, standing up, and walking towards the direction of the door.

One, two

A smirk rises behind his mask, boots echoing against the floor.

Three.

“Wait— no!”

You’re scrambling out of the pool, tail shifting into legs as you slip on the wet surface trying to run after him. “I— I didn't mean it!”

buy me a ko-fi!

cod masterlist

[randofics]

Pain and Warmth pt.1

🎶 The Midnight- Vampires

🎶 Deftones- Beauty School (slowed + reverb)

Dante Sparda x F reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, details of menstrual cycle, medication usage, L-word

Link to Dante x F reader Headcannons

16+

18+ if you squint

I finished the entire first season in 2 days, yall! I also get that it's not lore accurate in some aspects, but it's not really supposed to be. It's the director and wrighters interpretation. While I personally have never played the games, I did watch someone play a few years ago, along with watching the other anime adaptation (which I love dearly). Hopefully, I did this adaptation justice in this fic.

----------

As you walked to Dantes, place your cramps were getting serious. You'd have to take some ibuprofen when you got there. You huffed and puffed, trying to breathe through the pain as you finally made it to his doorstep.

You knock without much effort before just opening the door to let yourself in. You force out his name and hear his snoring stop with a snort.

As you pass the threshold into the room, he greets you. "Hey y/n! How's it going..." He trails off when he sees you. You're a bit unsteady on your feet, still panting with droopy eyes and your glasses slipping down your nose.

You cross the room to his side before he gets up, and you set your bag on the desk, pulling out your medicine bag. Taking an ibuprofen from the bottle, you pop it in your mouth and steal his soda from the desk to swallow it down. "Hey, that's my soda!"

"You give him a glare he's never seen on you before that shuts him up." He puts his hands up as he props his feet on the desk behind you again. You look at him analyzing something which he tilts his head at. "What is it?"

Suddenly, you're sitting in his lap, and he freezes as you lay against his chest. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"Ibuprofen won't work right away. Need warmth to stem the pain." Your shortened phrasing gives tell of the level of pain you're in. Suddenly, you grab his hand and slip it into the top of your pants, laying it over your abdomen. You sigh when the heat soakes into your skin.

He blushes, looking anywhere but at you. This is all so sudden! Are you in so much pain that you don't even care that it's HIM you're sitting on with HIS hand pressed against your bare skin!? He's freaking out internally. But suddenly, there's a scent in his nose. It's unmistakable yet tinged with something unfamiliar.

"You're bleeding... why are you bleeding!?"

You hiss and growl at him when he jostles you. Giving him an even more intense glare. "Stay still, Dante... or I swear I'll tear you to shreds."

"But why are you bleeding!?"

You sigh, not wanting to keep wasting energy on speaking. "I'm on my menstrual cycle."

"Ok, yeah, I forgot about that. But why do I smell so much?"

"I'm a heavy bleeder. It's normal for me."

"Shouldn't you get checked out for that, though? That doesn't seem normal to me."

"I'll schedule an appointment soon. Quit talking, I need sleep."

-------

By the time you've fallen asleep, Dante is bored out of his mind. He's already counted the cracks in the walls when there's a nock on the door. Enzo comes waltzing in.

"Hey Dante, I've got a..." Dante puts his finger to his lips with wide eyes frantically shushing him. Enzo spots you in his lap and gives Dante a knowing grin.

Dante mouths to him. "It's not like that, dude! She just jumped me!" He tries to free his other hand, but you grab hold of it, keeping it against your skin. A wave of pain hits you and you hiss. Opening your eyes, you look over at Enzo.

"Enzo my bag, please." He rounds the desk, handing you your bag, which you rummage through for another pill. "Soda." He holds it out for you, and you swallow the pill with another sip.

"Thank you, Enzo. Can you do me another favor, please?"

"Oh sure! What do ya need?"

"Call in a Subnautica Subs order for me. Italian bread with lettuce, spinach, provolone, ham, and mayo. You want anything, Dante?"

"Uh yeah, just get me the meat lover's sub."

"Dante can call you later about the job."

"How did you...?"

"Figured that's why you're here. That's usually why."

"Fair enough. See you two lovebirds later!"

You growl, but don't bother wasting your energy in retort. Dante yells after him. "I told you it's not like that!" The door clicks shut behind him.

You let out a groan, bringing his attention back to you. "I need to get up to use the restroom, but I don't wanna." He can hear the pout in your voice, and he lets a chuckle slip.

"You want me to carry you there?

"Please do." The slight bags under your eyes tell him just how drained you are as he frees his hand to scoop you up. You grab your bag on the way by.

He lets you down at the door, and you let out another uncomfortable sound, screwing your face up in a grimace.

"What is it?"

"The floodgates opened, so to speak."

He grimaced, too. "I'll wait out here for you."

"Ok, thanks, Dante."

-------

He pushes off the wall when you finally open the door. "Took a while. You ok?"

"Yeah, I had a lot of blood to clean up." As you walk past, the strong scent hits his nose along with your attempt to cover it with air freshener.

A nock on the door catches your attention. You're about to go answer it when Dante joggs past you. "Go sit down. I'll get it." You huff but a small smile cracks through your pained/irritated expression. The delivery guy hands him a bag from the restaurant. Dante hands him a few dollars and closes the door.

When he walks back into the room, he cracks a grin at you sitting in his chair. "Stealing my spot now, huh?"

"Hey, you just said to sit. You didn't specify where."

"Fair enoug.h. Here's yours." He sits against the desk beside you as he unwraps his sub, taking a bite. "Dat ibuwpofin wokin?"

You snort. "Yeah, I'm feeling a bit better now. And don't take such big bites you'll choke on it."

By the time he's finished with his, you're only halfway through yours. "Ya'know you're a real slow eater."

"Yes, I know. I prefer to savor the flavor than scarf it all down at once." You give him a pointed look. "You made a mess of yourself too." You stand boxing him in between you and the desk. "Hold still." You grip his jaw and, with your other hand, wipe the sauce from his mouth licking your thumb clean, and he glanced away.

Dante watches you put your wrapped up sub in the mini fridge. Totally not eyeing your rear before you turn back to him. He sits back in his chair, watching your fingers work circles into the skin of your lower back as your shirt rides up.

You move back over to him, and he thinks you're gonna sit across his lap like before. Instead, you straddle him. "Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing!?"

"Sittin' in your lap again."

"You-you shouldn't be straddling me!"

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you nuzzle into him. His muscles tense under you as he bites his lip, your body pressing into his. The heat from his lower stomach seeps into your abdomen.

-------

For a while, he just sits there holding his hands up awkwardly, not wanting to touch you without permission. Your voice muffled in his neck, startles him. "You can touch me, ya'know."

"Heh... I didn't want to assume." He gently lays his hands on your back.

As the time ticks by slowly, his hands start to rub circles into your back. When he adds more pressure, you practically melt into him. "A bit lower, please." He does as asked, remembering where you had massaged yourself earlier.

You let out a quiet gasp, gripping the back of his coat collar.

His hands freeze. "You ok?"

"I'm fine, keep going."

Pressing his fingers into your skin again, gently moving in circles. He sets his chin on your shoulder, letting his eyes close as he listens to your breathing.

The little pain left slowly seeps away as his fingers work across your muscles. You hold in any sounds that try to escape as you relax in his embrace.

This is probably the safest place in the world. The halfbreed demon hunter being one of the few things on earth capable of mass destruction should he choose it. And he's got you wrapped up in those demon killing arms with hands that can break bone being used to gently ease the pain in your back.

A wave of arousal washes over you. Those dang hormones surging through your body as you expel your uterine lining. You bite your lip as your mind races. What would it feel like to kiss him? Or have him kiss up your neck, leaving marks in his wake?

What if you kissed his neck right now? Would he be ok with it, or would he hate you for it?

Maybe you could just start slow? Just nuzzle under his chin.

You do just that, taking off your glasses and placing them on the desk behind you. You hook your nose under his jaw, closing your eyes as your breath tickles his neck.

His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling of your breath on his skin. You pull back just enough for him to see your eyes. They're lidded and glazed over with a familiar look. He turns bright red swallowing hard.

You trail your hands down to his chest, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Getting bashful on me darlin'?" He gives you a nervous grin. Leaning back down, you place a gentle kiss on his neck.

You feel his hands slip down to your hips, and his thumbs press into the sides of your abdomen, making you wince. "Easy big boy, I'm still sore." Suddenly, he moves a hand to your face, making you look at him. In a flash, his lips are on yours. You're stunned for a moment before your eyes slip closed, and you grip the hair at the back of his head.

Your heart races in your chest. You can't believe this is actually happening! The seconds go by before he pulls away, both of you panting for breath. He gives you a calculating look before his lips press into your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other pushing beneath your shirt. You feel the fabric of his gloves scratch against you.

A small sound escapes your throat as his mouth moves across your skin. Tilting your head back for him, you pull his white locks. He sucks on your pulse, likely to leave a mark. Your back arching into him as a moan bubbles up from your throat. His hands move to your thighs, and he picks you up, making you yelp.

"Wh-what are you doing, Dante?"

"Taking you to bed so you can rest some more. Don't worry. We can have a bit more fun before we hit the hay."

This time, you blush. "But I'm still bleeding."

"We aren't gonna do that. Not that I wouldn't be down for it either way..."

You blush like a tomato. Normally, guys gag at the thought of messing around when a woman's on her period. Then again, Dante's used to blood so it wouldn't bother him as much.

-------

He closes the door behind you with his boot and lays you down gently on the bed with your head on the pillow. "Just relax and let me do all the work." You give him a nod. "Good girl." He pulls off his gloves with his teeth and slips the grey Henley over his head.

As he settles in, pushing his face into your neck, you run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. A pleasured groan rumbles in his throat. You feel his tongue slide across your throat, making you gasp.

His hand gently caresses over your stomach, leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. You feel his hand slip under your wasteband and around to your lower back. His fingertips press into your muscles, gently moving in circles to ease their tension. You let out a pleasured sigh, arching your back a bit.

He shifts his weight so his other hand can slip behind your upper back beneath your shirt. You feel your bra pop open, releasing tension in your back and shoulders. You let a content purr escape your lips.

"I bet that feels better, doesn't it?" His voice a low rumble in your ear makes a shiver run up your spine. He can feel the muscles twitch under his fingertips. "Good, that's all I want right, now baby." He presses featherlight kisses all across your neck and lips before moving to your stomach.

More light kisses press into your skin as you relax and enjoy his touch. His teal eyes lock with yours as he pulls down your waistband just to the top of your pubic hair. With his thumbs, he gently presses into your abdomen. "Tell me where it's most tender." He moves his thumbs inward towards the center of your abdomen.

When they graze over your ovaries and uterus, you feel a twinge of pain. "Right there, huh? Alright, I'll be gentle. Tell me if it hurts." He presses in and moves in circles only to stop when you tet out a hiss in pain. "Too much?" You mumble to him. "Ok, I won't do that again. You're just way too sore there, baby."

You sit up and move to the side of the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Taking these pants off. The waistband is putting pressure on my abdomen. I also gotta take off this bra."

"Thought you were leaving for a second."

"Not after that massage you gave me."

He pouts with a hand over his heart. "Is that all I am to you!?"

Shucking off your pants, you scoot closer to him. With a hand on his jaw, you place your forehead against his. When you lock eyes with him, you smile. "I love you, Dante." His eyes widen, mouth agape.

"You-you love me?"

"Yes, honey, I love you."

He lets out a breathy chuckle of disbelief as he processes the revelation. His cocky facade cracking as overwhelming emotions burst forth. Tears glint in his eyes as he gives you the happiest smile you've ever seen on him, holding your face in his hands.

"I-I love you too! You're the best thing that's ever happened to me!" Tears of your own drip down your cheeks as you pepper his face with kisses. You lock lips again in a kiss full of emotion and genuine love for each other.

When you pull away to breathe, he hugs you tight, and you slip your arms around him in turn. He lets go sliding one hand down your arm to hold yours while the other wipes away his tears. You both sniffle, and you can't help the yawn that overtakes you.

"Getting sleepy again?" You nod and turn your attention back to the bra you need to remove. Dante watches as you pull it from your shirt like a magic trick. "You gotta show me how you do that trick with your bra sometime."

You roll your eyes. Always so romantic. A chuckle tumbles from your mouth. He grins and lays down on the bed. "Here lay down on me, I'll massage you some more."

"I don't want to leak on you, though. Or the sheets."

"In my line of work, I get blood on stuff all the time. Trust me, it's not that big a deal if it does happen. Im practically an expert at cleaning bloodtains at this point." His reassurance soothes your worries, and you straddle him again, laying against him with your hands on his bare chest and your ear over his heart.

You notice right away that it's beating a bit fast, he's nervous. His hands land on your back, and he pulls up your shirt to reach your skin. The firm circle motion of his fingers, making your muscles relax against him. Sleep begins to weigh your eyelids down as the soothing and strong beating of his heart lulls you to sleep.

Within minutes, your breathing slows, and you're completely relaxed against him. He pulls the blanket over the both of you as he begins to feel sleepy himself. "I'm the luckiest man on Earth to have a woman like you."

With his arms wrapped protectively around you, his eyes slip closed, and for the first time in a while, he has a great night's sleep.

[logansdoll]

Heyyy. Ok really cheesy but I’d like to request a Logan x reader friends to lovers where it’s like an accidental confession. Maybe someone makes fun of the reader and Logan without thinking about it just starts yelling and defending why the reader is great and everything he loves about her? Ik it’s a little OOC but maybe he gets so mad (as Wolverine does) that he gets all mushy without realizing lol. Thanks ❤️❤️

lotus

while on library duty, Logan overhears two girls talking shit about you... and corrects it quickly.

CW: sorry i went in a little different direction, suggestive, profanity, takes place during the timeline of the og X-Men, these girls are bitches, etc.

"I just don't get what's the big deal about her," Maya scoffed, resting her cheek in her palm as she thoughtlessly flipped through her biology textbook.

Talia nodded, glancing up from her notes with an excitement that screamed nothing to do.

"No, seriously," she agreed. "Like we get it... you can grow shit. Big deal."

That piqued Logan's interest.

With Jean and Scott off on a date, the professor away, and you and Ororo teaching a joint class, he was slapped with library duty—watching the kids during their scheduled study period.

Now, originally, he planned on simply plopping himself down in a corner and puffing his cigar, hoping to fall asleep and just ride out his sentence.

And he was halfway there, too.

But just as he was about to catch some Zs, his hearing picked up on a conversation between two older girls who seemed to be trash talking his girlfriend.

"Word," Maya turned the next page, a grimace settling on her face when she noticed the image of a flower.

One you were very vocal about liking.

"She won't shut up about these stupid lotus flowers either... Hey! Did you guys know that the lotus is considered sacred in many Eastern cultures? And it often symbolizes purity, beauty, and rebirth!"

Talia let out an obnoxious snicker, the impression not nearly as funny as what she was making it to be.

But maybe she just hated you that much...

"You sound just like her," she commended, very much amused. "Only she's always smiling. Like I've never seen her frown before... it's almost creepy."

"Seriously creepy. But Peter can't get enough of it... you know he has a crush on her, right?"

"Seriously?!"

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, tickled by the news.

He'd caught the boy staring at you during a few Danger Room sessions, but didn't think much of it, assuming he'd just caught him while he happened to be looking in your direction.

Oh, how wrong he was...

He couldn't wait to tell you later tonight.

"Mhmm. Half the boys at school nearly fall over themselves to make sure they're not late to her class... It's almost funny."

"Funny, my ass. Why'd it have to be Peter?" Talia huffed, tossing her pencil at the textbook in frustration. "She's not even that pretty. I've had dogs that look better than her."

Maya attempted to muffle a snicker, but Logan heard it loud and clear, his brows furrowing at the horrible comment.

"I'm serious. She puts up this whole nice and innocent act, but I bet she's a raging bitch behind closed doors."

That was it.

All the stuff before was just normal, teenage jealousy; something he'd—albeit reluctantly—let slide.

But calling you out of your name?

Insulting your character?

Comparing you to a dog?

A line had to be drawn.

"Tali, you can't say that," Maya chuckled, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

"Like I care," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I'd tell it to her face if I ever got the chance. Just walk right up to her and say—"

"Say what?"

The girls nearly jumped out their skin, whipping around, only to be met by Logan's arched brow, the man leaning up against a bookshelf as he puffed on his cigar.

They were at a loss for words, unable to say anything under his imposing presence.

"Don't get shy now," he goaded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on. Tell me what you're gonna say to Dr. (l/n)."

The two were practically frozen, frantically glancing at each other for assistance, Logan's eyes flicking between the two expectantly.

"Nothing?" he hummed. "That's funny... 'cause you both seemed to have plenty of shit to say earlier."

Both their faces fell almost instantly, the color practically draining from Talia.

"You heard that?" Maya squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Every word," Logan nodded. "And what I managed to gather from it was that you both just can't stand her because she's kind, passionate, pretty, and beloved."

He listed each trait off on his fingers, glancing at the two for confirmation.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

They remained silent, hanging their heads in embarrassment as Logan's confrontation had garnered the attention of the whole library.

"Well, then, how's this..." he pulled the cigar out his mouth. "I'll let you both off this time with a warning... but if I catch either of you trash talkin' anybody again, teacher or student, you're grounded."

"'Til when?" Talia asked, nervously.

"'Til I tell you you're not."

The end of day bell punctuated his statement, a flourish of shutting books and closing pencil cases muffling the girls' sighs of relief.

"Now get outta here."

He had never seen two students pack up so fast.

They were gone in T-minus ten, and once the library was cleared out, Logan allowed himself to sit down, letting out his own sigh.

He could've tore into them infinitely worse—and he honestly wanted to for that dog comment—but he figured that was the right, and legal, amount for a teacher.

But even still...

'I dunno how a girl who can only float two inches off the ground is talkin' about (n/n) havin' a shitty power...'

[sceletaflores]

couldn't help it, i had to kiss the teacher!

pair: professor!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, age gap (reader is mid twenties...logan is...his age), gratuitous nickname usage, public sex (classroom), oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), an impromptu clitoral anatomy lesson, scent kink, hair pulling, light traces of a foot fetish (i'm literally not even sorry), nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, nat trying to sound smart, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

a/n: based off of me going to my a&p lab today and getting super bored which somehow led to thoughts about professor logan who teaches a&p…that then spiraled into this very quickly. p.s this is like a t.a!reader not a student lol

professor logan has a special way of helping you retain information...

You've been huffing and puffing for the last twenty minutes.

Logan has been blatantly ignoring you for the last twenty minutes, because that's the only way a man with enhanced hearing can ignore someone.

Blatantly.

He's been at the chalkboard since you came in a little after his last class ended, busy mapping out his lesson plan for tomorrow.

The chalk squeaks rhythmically as he writes, you tap your foot in time with it.

You're perched on top of his desk, different stacks of papers messily scattered all around you like a tornado of ungraded essays and homework assignments tore across the glossy cherry wood of it.

You glare at Logan's back harder, forcing yourself to ignore the way his muscles glide and flex beneath the thin fabric of his flannel with every move. You've got your chin resting on the palm of your hand that's propped against your knee, the other holding a red pen down by your shoe.

You sigh, long and overdramatic, for what feels like the millionth time.

Logan doesn't turn around, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move at all. His hand hardly even slows, jotting down different tissue structures with infuriating disinterest.

You shift on his desk with a huff, dragging your eyes back to the paper in front of you. You scan over the messy handwriting and tiny diagrams littered over the page as you tap the pen in your hand against the toe of your shoe absentmindedly.

"Knock it off," Logan mutters from across the room, not looking at you as he does. It's the first thing he's said to you since you showed up.

You instantly perk up at the attention, flicking your eyes back to him.

“Knock what off?” you ask innocently, tapping the pen on your shoe harder than before. The tiny 'clack' sound it makes is sharp in the quiet of the room.

Logan finally turns, fixing you with a look that’s equal parts annoyance and amusement. “The sighin’, the tappin’, the huffin’ like you’re a broken radiator. You’ve been makin’ noise since you sat down.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unrepentant. "I’m bored."

He lets out a dry chuckle, turning back towards to board with a amused shake of his head. “Not my problem, sweetheart.”

You frown, dropping the pen and sitting up straighter, as if you’ve just been handed a challenge. "You could try and help me," you suggest, gesturing to the scattered pile with a wave of your hand. "You know? Like a good professor would."

"I don't grade papers, kid. That's what you're here for." Logan shoots over his shoulder, seamlessly picking up where he left off. “Besides, I’m good with the chalkboard for now. Better company.”

“Chalk doesn’t talk back,” you grumble under your breath.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, so now you can hear me?"

Logan doesn’t bother replying, but you can see the barely there smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.

You scoot forward on his desk, pushing papers out of the way so your legs can dangle over the edge. You swing your feet back and forth, just enough to disturb another pile of papers sitting nearby, watching them slide closer to the edge.

One more swing and the corner of a stack teeters precariously. You bite your lip, considering whether or not to send it tumbling just to see if that would get him to turn around again.

Logan, of course, somehow knows exactly what you’re thinking without even glancing towards you. “Don’t,” he grumbles lowly, a warning.

You freeze mid-swing, but the urge to push his buttons is too tempting. "What?" you say, all wide-eyed innocence, nudging the pile ever so slightly with your knee.

Logan lets out a deep sigh, giving you a sideways glance over his shoulder. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth sometimes, you know that? I doubt Hank's help nags him half as much.”

You grin, taking that as a small victory.

"I was recommended," you remind him, tone overly cheery and saccharine.

"Must've been desperate," he mutters, finally stepping away from the board and dusting chalk from his hands. Logan turns, crossing his arms as he leans back against the chalkboard, giving you a look that says he’s just on the edge of being amused

You raise an eyebrow, fixing him with a blank stare. "I’ll be sure to pass that along to Professor Xavier."

Logan shakes his head, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “Yeah? Be my guest. Make sure you tell him you’re spendin’ your time testin' my patience instead of your job.”

You slump back on the desk with a groan, head tilted towards the ceiling. "It's been forever since I've taken this class," you whine, rolling your head to the left lazily. "I hardly remember any of this, how am I supposed to grade it?"

"Barely remember any of this?" he repeats back to you, brow raised in disapproval. He pushes off the chalkboard and starts to make his way towards you. His steps are slow, deliberate, like he’s sizing you up—though you know it’s mostly for show. 

Mostly.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, still splayed back on your palms and kicking your feet languidly. There’s chalk dust littered over his chest and the front of his thighs, coating them in a thin layer white. Your gaze trails the path of his steps, a slow smile tugging at your lips the closer he gets.

Logan stops in front of you, his towering frame almost filling your view entirely. You’re able to look him in the eyes perched on his desk like this, the green of them is darker than normal.

He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes glint with a teasing challenge as he tilts his head slightly, like he’s daring you to keep going.

“You got cotton in your ears when I’m up there talking or what?” he asks, voice dipping lower than before.

Your smile widens, and you shrug, trying to keep your cool under his heavy gaze. “You know I can’t listen to you when you wear jeans that tight.”

His eyes lock onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something more dangerous, something that sends a thrill down your spine. "Maybe if you paid a little more attention," he says, voice a low rumble, "you wouldn’t need to whine so much."

You roll your eyes, even as the heat between you starts to curl in your chest. "Or maybe," you counter, leaning back a touch more and tilting your head up to meet his gaze better, "you could actually help me instead of being a complete pain in the—"

Before you can finish, Logan’s hands slam down on either side of you, caging you in. His face is inches from yours now, that barely-there smirk playing on his lips again.

You can feel the warmth radiating off him, the sharp edge of his stare cutting through your casual defiance.

“—ass,” you finally finish, voice slightly more breathless than before.

Logan just stares at you, the intense and unwavering attention you were itching for earlier makes you want to squirm in place now. His gaze is almost predatory, as if he’s taking in every flutter of your eyelashes and the quickening pace of your breath. 

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t back down.

You lean forward a little, tilting your head. "So, what’s it gonna take to get you to grade just one of these?" You pick up a paper from the pile and wave it in front of him teasingly. “I really need your help, professor.” 

The word drips from your lips like a challenge, a taunt.

Logan’s eyes flicker with something dangerous, a flash of heat that tells you he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be. His fingers brush against the desk right beside your thigh, close enough to feel the warmth of him but it’s still too far.

He leans down slightly, inches away from your lips. His breath mingles with yours, warm and inviting, as the tension in the air thickens.

The scent of him—woodsy and masculine—invades your senses, and you can’t help but feel exhilarated. Your pulse starts to race, a mix of excitement and a hint of challenge flashing between you. 

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut as you lean forward almost involuntarily.

Just as you’re about to close the gap, he pulls back, straightening up with a smug grin.

“Tell you what,” he starts, voice gone casual like he isn’t testing the very limits of your sanity. “I’ll help you.”

You open your mouth, cocky victory speech on the tip of your tongue, but Logan cuts you off.

“Not with grading,” he clarifies with a shake of his head. “It’s more like a," he takes a slow pause, like he's trying to find the right words, "personalized lesson.”

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse thunders in your ears. "What kind of lesson are we talking about?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady but it still comes out breathless.

His hands move from the desk, gliding up your legs until they rest just above your knees, the warmth of his touch igniting every nerve ending in your body. 

“Logan—”

Anything you were going to say dissolves into a breathy gasp when he drops to his knees in front of you.

Your thighs clench together, arousal pooling in your panties sticky and wet. Logan's nose twitches, eyes darkening as he scents the headiness of your essence in the air.

His mouth twitches into a slow, deliberate grin as he catches the shift in your scent, the change in your body language betraying your desire. 

His hands, firm yet careful, slide higher along your thighs, fingers brushing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. The fabric rucks up ever so slightly under his touch, exposing just a little more of you to the cool air of the room and the heat of his gaze.

"Real quiet now," he teases darkly, voice husky and thick with tension, his thumbs tracing small, maddening circles against your skin. "Not so mouthy anymore, huh?"

Your breath hitches, a low heat sparking in the pit of your stomach and spreading outward.

Logan's grip tightens slightly, as though he’s testing the weight of your response, the way your thighs tense beneath his hands. He looks up at you, eyes dark and gleaming with an intensity that makes it impossible to think straight.

“You talk a lot of game, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice sending a thrill down your spine, “but I think it’s time to show me you can learn something."

You tilt your head back, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. Your body’s betraying you, hips shifting slightly forward, your legs spreading just so, inviting more of his touch—inviting him to make good on that unspoken promise that hangs between you.

Logan’s smirk deepens, dangerously close to devouring the last of your composure. "All you gotta do," he drawls, his breath hot against the inside of your thigh, "is ask for it."

His hands slide up a little more, his fingers catching on the edge of your panties. You can't help the sharp inhale that escapes you.

His challenge hangs in the air, thick and heavy, but you're past the point of hesitation. The words leave your lips before you even realize it.

"Teach me."

Logan’s grin spreads like wildfire, the kind that sparks and sets everything in its path ablaze. His eyes never leave yours, holding you captive as he flips your skirt up.

Something low and gritty tears its way from his chest at the sight of your panties, soaked fabric melded against the shape of your aching pussy. The sound echoes in the quiet room, low and primal, stirring a deep thrum of excitement in the pit of your stomach.

He shoves his way between your thighs, spreading them even further to make enough room for the width of his shoulders.

"You're a smart girl," Logan says easily, leaning down to trail kisses along the skin of your inner thigh, just inches from where you really need his mouth. "You should be able to tell me what tissue this is made of."

He dips his head, trailing his nose along the soaked fabric of your cotton panties until it nudges against your clit.

"Logan, I– ah!”

A sharp slap to your thigh cuts you off, pinpricks of pleasure making you cry out as they bloom red across your skin.

“Is that what you call me?”

It takes a second to click in the haze of your mind, what he’s asking for. When it finally does, you're whole body shivers, a broken moan falling from your lips as you take in the expectant look in Logan's eyes.

Your mind whirls, but the answer tumbles from your lips like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

"Professor," you gasp, voice soft and laced with need.

Logan's grin is devilish, hands gripping your hips tight enough that you can feel the strength behind them.

"Good girl," he growls, voice thick with approval, the heat in his gaze burning you from the inside out. 

You let out a soft whimper, hips instinctively tilting toward him, silently begging for more. But he doesn’t move. Instead, his grip on your thighs tightens, holding you firmly in place.

“Uh-uh," he rumbles, his mouth inches from you, but not close enough to touch. "You know how this works. You haven’t answered my question."

You can’t respond, silent as you stare down at Logan, wide-eyed as your mind races for anything to say that’ll get him to keep going.

"Come on, baby," he urges, thumbs rubbing slow circles over your skin. "Just tell me somethin' smart, I'll give you what you want."

You try to focus, try to remember something—anything—about what he taught in class. But all you can think about is the way his hands feel on your thighs, the heat of his breath, the maddening nearness of his mouth.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing the edge of your panties, just shy of where you need him most, and you can't help the frustrated groan that escapes you.

“What's sweet thing made of?" He nudges the soaked fabric against your clit again, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"Fuck...erectile tissue," you manage to breathe out, mind fogged as you claw for the right answer. "But it's—it's surface is covered in epithelial tissue."

Extra credit.

Logan hums, the sound low and approving. 

"Very good," he murmurs, his hands slipping beneath your panties, pushing the fabric aside. The first touch of his fingers against your bare skin sends a shiver of pure pleasure through you, your body arching off the desk in response.

His fingers tease along your slit, and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper threatening to spill out. Logan watches you closely, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he spreads you open with his fingers, exposing the slick heat between your legs.

Your back arches off the desk with a loud moan, hands gripping the edge hard enough that your knuckles turn white with it. 

“Fuck, look at that,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, sliding his index finger through the wetness gathering at your entrance. “This is all for me? This pretty pussy all wet for your professor?

He presses a finger against your entrance, teasingly pushing just the tip inside before pulling back, relishing the way your body instinctively arches toward him.

You shake your head, peering down at him with glassy eyes. “You were never my professor,” you shoot back breathlessly, unable to keep from pushing against him even now.

Logan hums absentmindedly, eyes glued to the space between your legs. “Lucky you,” he drawls, sinking two fingers inside you without warning.

Your head falls back with a cry, thighs tightening around his shoulders as sparks go off at the base of your spine. 

“Now, tell me how you feel,” Logan prompts, his voice gravelly and filled with that dark, teasing edge. His fingers glide up, slick as they draw tantalizing circles over your clit that set your nerves ablaze.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, embarrassment mixing with arousal as you wrestle with the overwhelming sensations. “I—uh,” you stammer, trying to organize your thoughts, but they slip away like sand through your fingers. “I feel–ah!…good.”

Logan lets out a chuckle. “Good, huh? Just good? You can do better than that. Don't get shy now, baby.”

His hand speeds up, the lewd noise of your slick pussy fills the room with each thrust. “What’s it feel like when I’ve got my fingers in you, hm?”

The dam breaks inside of you, all the embarrassment leaving your body as your hips start rocking down against him lightly.

“Feels so good,” you slur, head lolling to the side to watch him through half-lidded eyes. “Your fingers feel so good in me, professor.”

You’re playing with fire and you know it, but when your eyes slip down his body to find the hard imprint of his cock more than visible through his jeans, you can’t help yourself.

You slide your foot up his toned thigh until the chunky sole brushes against the tented denim.

Logan’s eyes flutter shut for just a second, his grin turning almost feral as he feels the pressure of your foot against him. His hips rock forward slightly, just enough to acknowledge your touch.

“You’re pushin’ your luck, kid,” he bites out, voice rough as gravel, but there's a thread of amusement running through it—like he’s enjoying this game just as much as you are.

You give him a slow, languid smile. "Maybe I like pushing," you breathe, dragging your foot up and down the length of him slowly.

Logan groans darkly, sliding his fingers out of you in one slick motion that makes you whine in protest. His hand moves to grip your ankle, firm but not painful, keeping you pressed against his cock. 

“God, you smell so fuckin’ good,” he says quietly, the words passing through his lips like he couldn’t hold them in anymore. He brings his soaked fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a groan. 

"Taste even better." His voice is rough, filled with desire that matches your own. You can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips, your hips bucking involuntarily, begging for more.

His grin widens, and finally, after what feels like an eternity of teasing, he gives in. Logan lowers his head, his mouth pressing against your clit in a slow, deliberate kiss that has your back arching off the desk, a strangled cry ripping from your throat.

Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as you guide him closer, urging him on. His tongue flicks against your clit expertly, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin with every drag of his head.

Your body feels like it’s been set on fire. The heat builds in your core, faster than you can control, a coil winding tighter and tighter until you feel like you’re about to snap. 

“I—I think I’m going to—” you stammer, overwhelmed by the pleasure as he picks up the pace, fingers moving faster.

“Tell me,” he growls, the rumble of it vibrating against your clit as he holds your gaze, plunging his fingers back inside of you. “I want to hear you say it.”

“God, Professor! Fuck, Logan, I’m gonna—” you cry out, your body trembling, ready to explode. Your pussy weeps around the stretch of his thick fingers, soaking his hand and his wrist with your wetness.

"Atta' girl," he growls, pressing his thumb over your clit to send a jolt of ecstasy through your core. "Makin' a fuckin’ mess all over my desk, just like that.”

He leans in, wrapping his mouth around your clit and sucking while his fingers keep up their relentless pace. With barely any pressure, he drags the harsh edge of his teeth over your clit and sends you tumbling over the edge, your body arching into his mouth as you come. 

The sheer force of it has your whole body tensing, your foot pressing on the clothed length of his cock harder than before. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes screwing shut as his hips buck up against the heel of your shoe. 

As you ride the waves of ecstasy, Logan’s eyes stay locked on yours, watching. Greedy eyes taking in every detail of your face, every moan and whimper that falls from your slick lips, every tremor of your body.

He doesn’t relent, his fingers working you through the aftershocks, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you until you’re left breathless, heart racing, and utterly spent. 

As you come down from the high, you glance at him, chest heaving with exertion. 

Logan’s already looking at you, his gaze has a little more softness mixed in with the heat still simmering. He drops one last kiss to the slick skin of your thigh before pushing your foot off his lap and standing. His lips and chin glistening with your release, that cocky smirk still firmly in place as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Your eyes fall to where he’s still hard and tenting the denim of his jeans, pre-come leaking from the tip to stain the fabric darker.

“Ready for another one,” he whispers, leaning in close. His lips brush over yours, hips slotting between your thighs to grind the hard length of his cock along your sensitive pussy.

You can’t help the smug smile that takes over your face, your arms raising up to circle around his neck. Your eyes trail along the boards forgotten lesson plan over his shoulder, to the papers that were sitting on his desk scattered on the hardwood. 

Your legs circle his waist, dragging him closer. "I think so."

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Breakfast VIII

Ellie Carpenter x Daniëlle van de Donk x Child!Reader

Summary: You look after Ellie

"Yeah, I mean, obviously Daan and I have a kid so our holidays are a little different. We have to cater more to y/n and her needs rather than our own. But, yeah, we make sure our daughter has a lot of fun when we go on trips."

It's such a throwaway comment that Daan can't believe it's become this big thing. No one had ever seemed to care when Beth said a similar thing about you during the days the two of you were at Arsenal.

It's strange that people suddenly have an issue with it when Ellie says it.

But, for some reason, people do have an issue. As if Ellie coming into your life later meant that you and her weren't mother and daughter, as if Daan would plan to marry someone that couldn't bring herself to fill a maternal role in your life.

She shakes her head dismissively as she looks up from Ellie's phone and the doom scrolling her partner had gone through last night.

"They're stupid," Daan says," And strangers saying crap on the internet has no baring on how we're raising our daughter. Okay? No matter what they say, you feeling like y/n's mother isn't wrong and it isn't weird. You're her mother and she's your daughter, alright?"

It's strange to see Ellie so insecure about something. It's not a feeling that Daan likes at all.

"I think so. You think so. Y/n thinks so."

"Does she?" Ellie says back," I just...I don't know, Daan. Does she really?"

"You know she does," Daan insists," Ellie, that girl adores you even if she tries to hide it. She loves you. Who else will try to convince me to get her a gerbil?"

"Pets are good for kids! She's old enough now to understand responsibility."

Daan laughs. "There you go. Having a conversation with me that my parents had when I was younger. You're a good mum, Ellie. No matter what strangers on the internet say."

"I know," Ellie says, putting on a bright smile that Daan can see through easily," I'm just being a bit silly. I know. I promise."

Daan chooses not to push it, dropping a soft kiss to Ellie's lips before heading off towards your bedroom.

You're sitting on the bed, playing with some of the action figures you got for Christmas.

"Hey," Daan says," I'm heading out soon. You promise you'll be good for your Mum?"

You rolls your eyes, huffing and puffing like Daan's interrupted you in the middle of a test instead of just a casual game with your toys.

"I'll be good for Ellie."

"You promise?"

"Yeah."

"Hey..." Daan crouches next to you, hand reaching out to touch your cheek. "Your Mum needs you to be extra good tonight, alright? She...She's feeling a little down right now so, please, just...be good."

Your brow furrows in confusion at how serious Daan sounds and you find yourself nodding.

"I'll be good for Ellie. I promise."

Daan smiles. "Good girl. I should be back later but you'll already be in bed. I love you."

"Love you too."

Ellie hadn't really expected for you to emerge from your room until dinner, too engrossed in making your Autobots fight the Decepticons but here you are, standing in front of her.

"You okay, pipsqueak?"

The thunder crashes before you can speak and you nearly jumped into Ellie's arms.

"Do you think Mumma is okay?" You say," Out in the storm? She gets scared, you know."

"Daan gets scared or you get scared?"

You purse your lips, trying to give an air of indifference that isn't nearly as convincing as you think it is. "I'm a big girl. I'm not scared of anything."

Another crash of thunder has you flinching and Ellie takes pity on you.

"I think Daan is just fine. She'll come home if she's scared."

"Good." You nod. "That's...That's good. She should do that."

Ellie shrugs. "And, you know, when I'm scared of storms, I usually build a fort. That usually helps."

"Right..." You eye the rain soaked windows warily. "You should...You should tell Mumma..."

"Or," Ellie suggests," We can build a fort here...now, for her when she comes back? Would you like that?"

"For Mumma," You make sure to say," Of course."

Ellie bites down her laugh. "For Daan, yes. Because Daan's the one scared of storms."

"Yes. I'll..." You grit your teeth as thunder crashes again and lightning flashes outside. "I'll grab some blankets."

It doesn't take long at all for the fort to be finished, even if it falls multiple times because of the sudden bouts of thunder that make you jump even if you deny it.

"I...I'm not scared," You say, teeth chattering anxiously as you lay on Ellie's chest in the fort," I'm...I'm just doing this so you don't get scared like Mumma does."

"You're doing a good job," Ellie tells you, gentle hands carding through your hair softly," You're making sure I'm not scared at all."

"Mumma said you were feeling down but it's okay," You continue," I...I won't let the storm get you."

"I...Daan said that about me?"

"I don't know how Mumma already knew about the storm but it's okay. I've got you."

Ellie smiles down at you. "I...Thanks, y/n."

"Of course, Mum," You say," I'll protect you."

[littlelovelunette]

super random but vi x reader and reader decided to wear high heels on their date together even after video told her her feet were gonna hurt. reader starts complaining and limping on the way home, vi just hauls her over her shoulder, pricks her up princess style, carries her home and then punishes her for not listening (in a nice way)

Pretty Princess

Contains smut, spanking, strap, hickeys

"Don't wear that." Vi said as she tied the laces of her shoes. You both were going to an amusement park date after ages of pestering her to take you to one.

"But they're pretty, look!" You gave a little twirl, your dress flying a little too high as you did giving Vi a clear view of your strawberry printed white panties. Your pink heels went perfectly with the dress, Vi had to admit but nevertheless you were sure to either sprain your ankle or simply have a foot ache by the time you both were done with the park. Vi just knew it.

"Pretty, yeah. But dangerous too. You could fall." She got up from the single-seater sofa and crossed her muscular arms which bulged through her red jacket.

"You could catch me." You said and wriggled your eyebrows playfully before you opened the exit door. "Besides, it's the only pink shoes I have and I'm matching it with my outfit."

"And why does that matter?" Vi asked with a little smirk, she knew how much fashion meant to you.

And she would only ask you all these obvious questions for the hell of it. She leant against her doorway, watching you with her arms crossed like a mother watching her child throw a temper tantrum over a toy.

"It makes me look good!" You said indignantly and huffed before walking out of the apartment.

Vi closed the door, licking it and pocketing the key. "Okay, then, don't say I didn't warn you." Vi said with a roll of her eyes and you huffed again. "I'll be fine."

The amusement was was amusing to say the least, you had strained a nerve atleast two times when you tried to catch up with Vi's pace and needed fifteen minute breaks after every ride. Not to mention, the way you were sweating in effort to not slip and fall on your own heels was anything but pretty and of course Vi's taunts only added to it.

"Maybe you should've skipped a few inches off the heel." Vi said as she bought ice-cream for the both of you. Well, atleast something cheered you up.

"You're mean."

Sun was about set and you both had finished your ice-creams and we're walking home when Vi noticed you were limping.

"Must've gotten a sore toe." Vi thought but didn't offer to carry you yet.

She wanted to see you beg. "Baby." You whined out not longer after, "My feet hurt I cant walk anymore. Help..."

You sounded so desperate with your bottom lip puffed out and cheeks flushed from the effort. Vi couldn't help feel genuinely sorry for you.

Despite a part of her wanting to see you beg for it she knew you were in no condition to put up with another banter, so with a sigh Vi rolled up her jacket sleeves a little before she picked you up bridal style with ease.

"You're such a mess." Vi grunted before she started walking home with you in her arms.

You were thankful the woman worked out or else... With the amount of food you had eaten today, it would've been a challenge even for someone has fit as Vi.

Every now and then Vi would mumble about how you didn't listen to her in any of the times she warns you about certain things.

But you knew she was genuinely just worried for you so you leaned your head on her chest with a small sigh. "I love you." You said suddenly catching Vi off guard midway in her rant.

"I love you too but when we get home you're in for a punishment." Vi said with a little smile.

Uh oh, this couldn't be any good. After you both reached home, Vi opened the door with one hand twisting the key and kicked the wooden door ajar so she could put you on the couch. She pushed the door to close before kneeling down and sighing as she gently unstrapped the heel from your feet.

Your little toe was swollen on both feet making you wince at the sight. Vi let out a sigh, "You should've really listened to me this time."

You let out a pained whine and Vi picked you up taking you to the bedroom. Vi iced your feet and made sure you were comfortable all night.

Next morning when you woke up, you realised you were naked. "Baby...?" You groggily looked around and a bit later Vi walked out of the body, her pierced nipples perky and the ornaments shining.

"Mhm?" She hummed in response. She had on a huge strap, it was slick with lube and made your mouth water suddenly all sleepiness from your brain had been diminished replaced with an insatiable arousal.

Vi walked up closer to you with a devilish grin playing on her scarred lips as she inched closer and closer. "A punishment is in order for the bratty princess."

Without warning, Vi bent you over her lap. "V-Vi, n-n-no." You managed to let out a small whine followed by a yelp as Vi's firm palm made contact with your ass cheeks.

"Count." Vi said as she hit your ass again making your body jolt, tears streaming down your cheeks already, "O-one."

Vi slapped your ass again, "Ever gonna disobey me again?"

"Two, please, I'm sorry, please..." You howled and sobbed but Vi didn't listen. One would call you a crybaby because of how much you're crying due to two slaps on your ass but my goodness, from those hands of Vi's? Those were some well trained hands and slaps from those hands were for sure hard on your sensitive soft skin.

She slapped again, red handprints on your skin getting darker with each hit. "I'm sorry!" You whimpered, burying your face in the sheets as you sobbed. Vi, being the softie she is, couldn't stay pissed at you for a while and even while she was punishing you, when you started crying it was like her stomach did back flips and she didn't like being the cause of your tears even if it was purely sexual.

"There, there, my love..." Vi said as she pulled you to sit down on her lap, wincing as the pain of your spank marks sent a small jolt of pain up your spine, "You're okay, you took it like a good girl." Vi picked you up by your thighs easily heaving your body up and let it sink down on top of the thick strap, watching the inches disappear in your sopping wet cunt. "Such a good girl for me."

Your tears were soon just tears of pleasure as you grinded your hips and tried to ride the huge toy, "Mmm... M-more, oh gosh," you moaned in Vi's hair making the hairs at the back of her head stand and that was it for Vi.

She threw you against the mattress, muscles flexing as she placed one hand over your head holding both of your wrists in a tight grip and the other hand holding your hips as she pounded your pussy, your juices flew around and coated the toy as well as the sheets as you cried out in pleasure. "Vi, more! Fuck! That hits the spot!" You let a loud moan escaped your throat and gasped as Vi bit down on your neck and drew out cute small hickeys all over your collarbone and neck.

Vi's breath hitched as the end of the dildo hit her clit making a small but subtle moan escaped her mouth. She continued thrusting, her thrusts getting harder so she could feel that again. "I'm gonna ruin this pussy," she panted out next to your ear making your toes curl. Your legs shook and wrapped around her waist only making it harder for her to thrust but didn't make her stop completely.

Your hands escaped from her grasp, hugging her close as you both came undone. Breathing heavily Vi pushed herself off of your body and rolled onto your side. "Fuck, that was something." Vi said as she let the strap off her body, getting up after a while to help you into a shower. "That was quite a good morning." You giggled making Vi roll her eyes.

"What's for breakfast?" You murmured as Vi led you inside the shower room, turning the shower tap on and letting it hit both of your bodies. "Hmmm... Waffles?" Vi suggested

"Waffles and tea? Oh yes." You grinned at her.

"Never mentioned the tea, but alright, princess."

[zorosangell]

hii i just viewed ur intro and omg we have the same favs !! they’re both so silly i love them smm. this idea has been in my mind for like the past month, what would zoro be like with reader who’s the exact opposite of him? she’s super sweet, gentle, patient, etc,..

i can imagine reader speaking for zoro because of how rude he can get, or zoro getting frustrated bc of how kind she is to others but ofc u don’t have to do this, and always take ur time!

⛥ﾟ・。 sweetheart

synopsis: after winning a candlelit dinner for two, zoro tries his best to ask you out... though you don't seem to catch the hint.

cw: i think i got a cavity writing this, fluffy fluff, lovey zoro, in-love zoro, tender zoro, lovesick zoro, sprinkle of jealous zoro, reader's a bit dense (not bimbo territory but close enough), reader is adorable.

a/n: i genuinely believe he would be sooo awkward in a romantic setting. i love suave zoro down bad but awkward zoro holds a special place in my heart

"Zoro, don't let me go!" you squealed, eyes screwing shut as your body went stiff as a board.

"I have to let you go," he chuckled, an amused smirk rising to his lips at your panic. "How else are you gonna learn?"

"No! No, no, no, no! I'm not ready!"

"You can always just stand up if you sink. Ready?"

"No!"

"3... 2... 1—"

"No, I can't do it!"

"Wait, don't—!"

Another shriek of terror ripped from your lips as your hand shot up to grab the swordsman by the arm, yanking him into the water with a large splash as your body began to sink.

Swiftly, Zoro rose to his feet, shaking the salt water out of his eyes as he quickly yoked you out of the shallows by your ankle, raising you up with one arm.

"Did ya have to take me with you this time?" he huffed, brows flattened.

The moment you came up, you took in a large gasp of air, letting out a few harsh coughs as you frantically attempted to catch your breath.

The action banished all playfulness from the man, and instead sent a sharp pang of fear through his chest.

"Hey, hey, hey," he softened, shifting his grip to hold you bridal style, lightly patting your back. "Easy. Did you open your mouth again?"

You nodded, wheezing as you swiped a few soaking strands of hair from your face.

'Nice going, (y/n)...'

The swordsman was supposed to be teaching you how to swim, but now, not only did you embarrass yourself once again—for the fourteenth time, to be exact—but you looked like a drowned rat doing it.

"Oh, gosh, Zoro, I'm so sorry!" you apologized, finally able to speak. "I just got so nervous and before I knew it I was falling and—!"

"Hey, it's alright. That's what practice is for," he assured, carefully lowering you to your feet.

With a sigh, you hopped down, wringing out your hair with an annoyed huff.

It brought a smile to the swordsman's face.

You were so adorable.

Your puffed cheeks.

Your soaked hair.

Your furrowed brows.

You looked like a wet kitten; one he wanted to squeeze and pinch the cheeks of.

"You wanna try again?" he suggested.

"I don't think I can," you sighed, glancing at the setting sun. "It's getting dark and I promised Nami I'd help her out with her hair."

A proud grin found its way onto your lips, Zoro's heart adding an extra beat to its rhythm at the sight.

"She's got a hot date tonight, so me an' Robin are gonna help her pull out all the stops," you released your hair, allowing it to swish past your shoulders. "But you can walk back to the ship with me if you want."

That reminds him...

'Shit.'

"Uh... yeah," he nodded, awkwardly glancing around.

As you continued to fiddle with your strands, he discreetly tugged a flyer and two tickets out his swim trunks, looking over the sopping wet papers for about the hundredth time.

ONE TIME OFFER ONLY: CANDLELIT DINNER UNDER THE STARS

Want to have a special night with a special someone? Want to make magical memories that'll last a lifetime? Enter our island's annual Tournament of Strength!

Whoever can lift the most wins an all-expenses-paid dinner on the beach under the stars!

(Formal attire required. Officials are not responsible for any injuries retained during the competition)

Zoro had competed in the tournament earlier that day, and to say he won by a landslide was an understatement.

He won by a hospital building.

Literally.

He uprooted and bench-pressed the local hospital.

The swordsman knew no one on the little, out-of-the-way island was beating that, and he needed those tickets.

But now that he had them in his hand, a new sensation he'd never known before suddenly introduced itself to his stomach.

Nerves.

Roronoa Zoro... the notorious pirate hunter... the man with a bounty over a billion... the man known throughout the seas for his ruthlessness... was scared to ask out a girl.

It was almost laughable, were he not so frustrated with himself.

'C'mon! It's just (y/n)! Man up and do it!'

With a sigh, he glanced at you, noticing you were still distracted by your swimsuit.

Perfect.

Whistling, he dropped the flyer in the ocean, allowing the waves to slowly carry it toward you.

"Huh?" you raised a brow, feeling something brush against your leg. "A piece of paper?"

Bending down, you picked it up, being mindful of its wetness as you didn't want it to tear.

"Huh? Oh, man. People really need to learn how to pick up after themselves," Zoro nodded, trying and failing to feign ignorance.

'Idiot!'

"Yeah, I can't stand it when people litter," you agreed, completely oblivious.

"Yeah, totally. It's the worst," he rested his hands on his hips. "But... what's the paper? Something important?"

"Nah. It's just an event flyer."

"An event flyer?"

"Yeah, I'm surprised someone dropped it. All the girls in town were gushing about it earlier today."

"Yeah... what do you think about it?"

"I think someone probably got excited and dropped the flyer."

"Not that. What do you think about the flyer?"

"The flyer? Um... I think it's nice. I like the little star designs on the corners."

"No, not that. The—"

"Hey, sweetness," a random man appeared out of nowhere, eyeing you up. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

Turning around, you raised a brow, pointing to yourself.

"Me?"

"Who the hell are you?" Zoro asked, not bothering to extinguish the annoyance in his voice.

"I'm just a guy who'd like to talk to the lady for a moment," he glanced to you, flashing a sleazy smile. "If that's alright?"

"Oh, sure, I guess," you shrugged, turning back to the swordsman. "Be back in a sec, Zoro."

"(y/n), I—"

But the two of you had already walked off, forcing the swordsman to let out a groan of frustration.

None of this would be happening if you just manned up...

'Shut it.'

Not wasting a second, Zoro trailed after you both, hanging back a good distance so you didn't notice him.

You walking off with another man left a bad taste in his mouth, especially given your innately trusting nature.

It wasn't that he believed you couldn't handle yourself, or were weak in any way, he just preferred to be safe rather than sorry.

Besides, he didn't mind acting as your bodyguard.

Enjoyed it, actually.

Other than Luffy, Zoro didn't trust anyone to protect you to the fullest and farthest extent that he did.

And that wasn't even a dig to his crew.

Many just thoroughly misunderstood the lengths this man was willing to go to... the pain he was willing to put himself through, for you.

Except for his captain.

When you and the man finally came to a stop, Zoro stopped as well, watching intently as the two of you talked.

"A date?!" you exclaimed, shocked.

"Yeah, sweetness," the rando nodded, grinning widely. "I've been watchin' you all day, and have been meaning to ask."

"First of all, I would prefer if you'd stop calling me that. My name is (y/n). And second, I don't know you that well...?"

"Mark," he filled in for you.

"Mark... we've just met. And I'm sorry but I just don't really feel comfortable going on a date with you."

"I know that, sweetness, but we could always get to kn—"

As the man's eyes flicked past your head, his blood ran cold, gaze suddenly locked with the first mate of the Strawhat crew.

Zoro was furious, sizing him up with a glare reserved only for those guilty of unforgivable crimes in his eyes.

This crime in particular making the poor bastard deserving of capital punishment.

"Ugh, it's (y/n)," you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest at his failure to listen, completely oblivious to the war going on behind you. "Jeez..."

"Sorry, sweetness!" he blurted, quickly turning around and speed walking away.

"You don't have to apologize for asking, but at least get my name right!" you called after him.

With perfect timing, Zoro walked up to stand beside you, returning your smile to your face.

"Hey! Sorry about that. That guy was super weird," you sighed, turning to him and allowing your shoulders to sink. "I've really gotta get going now. Nami's gonna kill me if I don't help her."

You moved to step around him, about to break into a half-jog/half-sprint.

It was now or never...

"Wait, (y/n)," Zoro stopped you, quickly grabbing your wrist.

You halted, raising a brow and glancing at him with a confused expression.

"Hm? What's up?"

Inhaling through his nose, the swordsman took a deep breath, calming his racing heart.

"That flyer... the one I was asking you about earlier... it was mine," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "I was holding onto it because I wanted to ask you about it."

Intrigued, you completely turned to face him, tilting your head.

"Ask me about it?"

He nodded, a faint tinge of red rising from his neck to his cheeks.

"Why?"

"Well... I won the contest... and got the tickets to the fancy dinner..."

Your eyes widened slightly, becoming starry.

"And I wanted to know if you wanted to... possibly go with me... tonight?"

Tensing his muscles, he braced himself for anything.

A punch.

A scoff.

A harsh no.

But to his surprise, you did none of those things, instead letting out a giddy squeal as you nearly jumped on top of him, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Of course!" you cheesed, utterly over the moon. "Zoro, I'd love to! Oh, my gosh, are you kidding?!"

He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, a wide grin stretching across his lips as his shoulders sank with relief.

Thank God...

"I have the perfect dress in mind! That blue one I bought in town today! No, wait! The green one! It'll match your hair!"

Suddenly, you gasped, remembering something deathly important.

"Crap! Nami's hair! I forgot!"

Quickly, the swordsman put you down, allowing you to give him a big peck on the cheek before you broke into a sprint.

"I'll see you later tonight, Zo! I can't wait!" you waved, your smile blinding as you began to weave through umbrellas and other beach-goers.

And, if one were to look closely, you could see hearts in the swordsman's eyes.

Zoro had it baaad, no doubt about it.

And he'd gotten to the point where he honestly didn't even care anymore.

He'd allow you to gush all over him and chat to your heart's content if it meant he could see that smile again, and see you so unabashedly happy.

You were a sweetheart, and deserved the world.

And he'd be damned if he didn't try his hardest to give it you.

[d-emeter]

Breakfast, lunch and dinner (or: cod characters and how they eat you out) — plus-size!fem!reader x cod characters

Includes: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, König, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria

Note: take this as my formal apology for being inactive for so long :') exam week had me hanging on by a thread and i'm also suddenly moving so. yay. expect some more action after like... this week i hope

John Price

Listen. Getting eaten out by Captain Price is not, in any way, meant for your pleasure. No, this is him disciplining you. It hardly even matters what for. Maybe you have been teasing him, sliding your hand up his thigh under the table, rubbing your ass against him while passing by him. Maybe you've been a brat all day, complaining and huffing and puffing about everything, barely listening to any of John's requests and/or demands. Either way, sit on his desk and spread your fucking legs, doll. He'll be edging you for what feels like hours, tongue moving so torturously slow that all coherent thought has seeped from your brain aside from how badly you want to cum. Too bad, bad girls don't deserve to finish this easily.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

With Simon, it's always a surprise what position you'll end up in. The only certainty you have is that it's definitely not what you'd expect, and sometimes you wish that for once he'd just lay you down and get busy. But alas, he'll have you kneeling with your face in the pillows, or bent over the back of the couch. Maybe he'll have you hanging off the edge of the bed so all the blood flows to your already overheating brain. You're clinging onto whatever you can get a hold on, mostly in pleasure, and sometimes in fear of falling when he has you up on his shoulders and leaned against the wall. Well, he doesn't exactly hear your complaining over your moans and whimpers, he argues, and he wouldn't dream of dropping you.

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

As with Price, this has little to do with your pleasure: it's all for his own benefit. Please, lass, he loves your cunt, and she loves him, doesn't she? Come on, let him have a taste. He could give two shits about where you are or how convenient it is— if he wants to lick your pussy, he's going to. He's down on his knees while you're desperately clinging onto the kitchen counter, or the shower wall, or the shelves of your pantry. Hell, you'd have to hope and pray a sales associate won't come by your changing room in fear of them hearing all of his moans. Oh, and you quickly find out you cannot wear a skirt around him, because it won't come down from your hips if he has any say in it.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

He's devastatingly methodical. He knows your body better than you do at this point, and he's not afraid to use this to his advantage. He can work you just right, but the worst part is that he will refuse to. Unless you kindly ask him for it, that is. Tsk, pretty girl, use your words. Let him know where you need him, what you need him to do. He's hovering close enough that you can feel his breath on your neglected clit, your cunt clenching around nothing in desperate search for friction of any kind, but he won't do anything until you tell him in excruciating detail what you want. And be aware, any time you stop talking, he's pulling away in a second.

König

Oh, König... Sweet, wet-rag-of-a-man loser that he is, will completely lose his mind any time you allow him near your pussy. He can practically feel his brain melting while he's drowning himself in your slick, and he looks like it too. His eyes have rolled back, face flushed and his eyebrows scrunched in pure, unadulterated pleasure. His body has turned to complete mush, his cock leaking against the sheets and hands clawing onto any part of your body he can reach (which, with his arms, is basically everywhere). Unintelligible mumbles made into your cunt, teetering the edge between praise and begging. He is a little inexperienced, Schatz, so you'll have to show him how you like it. Shove his face between your folds and ride his nose, and you'll have him moaning like a bitch in heat. When he finally comes back up for air you can tell you're not the only one that reached heaven just now.

Philip Graves

I'm going to speak my truth here, he does not strike me as the kind of man to give you oral all that much. I am SORRY, but it's true. He usually prefers to get you nice and ready for him with his fingers, or by having you ride his thigh, or simply from the absolute filth he spews into your ear while dry-humping. However, on the odd occasion that Phil does get down and dirty, he aims to make it special. It's strangely sentimental, actually. It'd be outside on a picnic blanket after his homecoming, or in your shared bed after your anniversary dinner. Anything that reminds him how much he loves you, and how much you mean to him, and he's going to show you with his tongue. There's reverence in every suck, praise in every lick and prayer in every word he murmers into your core. You're his goddess and he's just here to worship you, baby.

Alejandro Vargas

For Ale, it'd be a form of gratuity much in the same way it is for Graves, though the difference is that he'll use that as an excuse even for the most menial things. His belly nice and full after your homecooked dinner, grin on his face and asking when his dessert is being served. You've been so good to him, amor, welcoming him home with a smile and a kiss and a plate waiting for him, now let him thank you properly. You fixed the button on his shirt that had fallen off? Well, put it on and lay yourself down, time to lap at your cunt in thanks. It's gotten to a point where you're convinced he just decided his goal in life is to pull as many orgasms from you as possible. Not that you're complaining, of course.

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parras

Eating you out is, in many ways, a means to an end for Rudy. He wants to make sure you're properly prepped and ready to take his cock, so it's almost instinctual for him to bury his face between your soft thighs for a while before inching himself into you. It's part of the routine, the way he thought sex was supposed to go. It's not until you explain to him that it can actually be the main event, and that you'd thoroughly enjoy it if he maybe put in a little more effort, that it dawns on him just how much he can actually do down there and how much time he's wasted not doing it. Now, tesoro, you may have shot yourself in the foot with that one, because he now can keep you pinned down for hours, just suckling away at your clit and fucking you on his tongue, dumb grin on his face after your fifth orgasm renders you basically comatose.

Valeria Garza

The only way Valeria will actually relax for once is with your pussy in her face. Seriously, you've tried everything else: lavender baths, deep tissue massages, even trying to get her to meditate. But no, the only time you actually see her shoulders lose all their tension is when she's between your folds. She's had such a long day, vida, come sit on her face. She's not even groping you the way she usually does during sex, hands instead playing idly with the fat of your thighs and ass while all her worries melt away. There are no thoughts running through her mind aside from how good you taste, how pretty you sound and how nice you feel under her hands.