#teaching tips for home tutors

[tuteehub-blog]

Top 7 Tips to Find the Best English Tutor Home for Your Child’s Success

Discover how to select the perfect English tutor for your child with our top 7 tips! From understanding teaching styles to checking qualifications, these insights will guide you to make the best choice for your child's educational needs. 🎓💡

Pin this for later and ensure your child’s pathway to success! 📌

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#Education #ParentingTips #EnglishTutor #LearningSuccess #ChildDevelopment

[luvcaleb]

GOOD GIRL.

nsfw (18+). includes pseudocest/incest, corruption kink, some dubious consent, dirty talk, fingering, cunnilingulus, blowjob, protected sex and unprotected sex, porn ahh plot, caleb is part-time yearner full-time freak i fear, mc might not be a brotherfucker but caleb is definitely a sisterfucker thus this fic was born lmao, i am almost ashamed of the filth i created. fic is set in their student days. likes and reblogs will be very appreciated !!

perverted big brother!caleb who's probably more touchy with you than what is considered appropriate between “family.” his arm that's perpetually wrapped around your waist; his fingers sliding up your bare thigh when he tells you, “don't you think your skirt is too short? go change.”; his hand just an inch shy of squeezing your chest during nights you cuddle to sleep because you're too scared to sleep alone.

perverted big brother!caleb who you catch watching porn, his door cracked open just enough for you to hear his deep grunts and the slick noises his fleshlight makes when he pulls it down his huge cock. the girl on his laptop is loud and whiny, wailing as she's nailed to the mattress — “gege, gege, no more, i can't” — and when caleb cums, you swear he says your name.

perverted big brother!caleb who comes home earlier than he told you he would and sees you at the living room rubbing frustrated circles on your clit, struggling to fit a finger inside your cunt because you're not wet enough. so he pulls you into his lap, tunes out your exclaims of surprise, and says he'll teach you something good.

ten minutes later, you're gushing all over his pants, stuffed with three big fingers, clawing at his biceps and telling him “no more, i can't cum anymore, gege please.” yet caleb simply shushes you, chin tucked over your shoulder to admire how you squirt on his hand. “shh, you can do it. gege's gonna make you cum again.”

perverted big brother!caleb who teaches you other things that feel good as a reward when you answer the workbooks he gives you correctly. at one tutoring session, he played with your tits, licking and sucking at a bud and flicking the other. the last time, he rubbed you all over as he fucked his cock between your thighs, wet and sloppy with lube.

today, he pulls your legs apart, grabs the back of your knees, and puts his mouth to work. he makes out with your clit, licking under the hood, lightly grazes your skin with his teeth; you cream around his tongue when he shoves it inside your cunt. he sounds absolutely depraved, moaning as he drinks up the nectar from your sweet pussy, grinding his hard cock to the sheets.

it's then that he learns he loves eating you out. the next day, he makes you sit on his face, his nose bumping against your clit as his tongue laps away at your slick, fucking up his dick into his fist.

perverted big brother!caleb who teaches you how to suck cock under your silly pretense of “practicing for your future boyfriend.” he guides his dick into your mouth, gentle in spite of his thinly veiled anger and jealousy, and he teases you for having difficulty swallowing him in because your mouth is too small when in reality he's the one who's too damn big. he gives you filthy praise when you do something right, caressing your cheek as he groans his approval. “shit, it feels good when you suck the tip, mn... you better not have learned that from anyone else, pipsqueak.”

perverted big brother!caleb who takes away your virginity before anyone else can. he doesn't bring it up first — he makes you want it. sure, he stuffs your cunt with his fingers, licks all the sensitive spots on your body. he rubs his cock over your pussy and lets you give him a blowjob. but he never puts it in. so when you beg him — “gege, just the tip, please” — he doesn't make an effort to resist your request.

he lays you down on his bed, just like he's dreamed for so many years, and tears open a condom he prepared in advance. he pushes the head inside, and the tight heat of your pussy almost makes him cum on the spot. it's better than he ever imagined; so much better than his cold, pathetic fleshlight that he imagines was you. he thrusts in a slow, careful pace, watching you squirm over a single inch of his cock, and he bites back a grin as he fucks a few more centimeters every other thrust.

eventually, it reaches a point you feel utterly full, far more cored open than the first moment he slid inside you. “g-ge, that's more than just the tip...” you whine, pressing down on the slight bulge peeking out of your stomach. he merely smiles playfully before slamming home, the entire length of his cock fucking into your pussy in one, smooth thrust. “yeah. feels good, doesn't it?”

perverted big brother!caleb who takes every opportunity gran isn't home to have sex with his cute sister. not that he doesn't fuck you when she's home; it just means that neither of you has to sneak into the other's bedroom late at night, and you don't have to hide your voice anymore. now, he has you laid over the edge of the dining table, pulling your hips back onto his cock. he's always thought this table was the perfect height for him to fuck your pussy while he's standing. “you like this, pips?” he pants, enjoying the garbled moans that spill from your lips. “you like being your gege's fleshlight?”

at that, something clear sprays out of your cunt, soaking his abs wet. he chuckles darkly, thumb swiping over your clit to make you squirt more, making a bigger mess that pools at the floor beneath you. “you like being my fleshlight that much, huh? then i'll use your pussy as much as i want.”

perverted big brother!caleb who has lots of friends but he always declines their offers to hang out because he'd rather be with you. you know this because he seemingly always gets a call whenever you're in the middle of things. of course, the fucker answers the call in speaker, and you have to take extra care not letting your voice out because he's still pounding away at your pussy. “hm? gideon? sorry, i'm kind of busy. my sister needed help with something. want to say hi?”

you glare at him, but he only sets his phone beside your head, smirking in mischief. “h-hey, gideon, it's been a while. what? no, i'm totally f— ah— fine! just feeling a bit unwell, haha... hn... y-yeah, gege is taking care of me— ah...!”

once you let a moan slip, he immediately ends the call, smothering your lips with a kiss. “c'mon, princess, you couldn't hold it in? i'm the only who can hear you like this... mmph... stick out your tongue more...”

perverted big brother!caleb who gets jealous easily. when a boy gets too flirty with you, he gives them a withering glare. sometimes, you play along with the flirting just to see him get angry. later that day, the trip home would be silent, but the moment you're inside your house, he has you pinned on the door, his lips latching on your neck to suck a dark red hickey marking his territory. you don't get to move away from that spot for a long, long time — first, he wraps your legs around his waist as he thrusts inside you, then he fucks you from behind, your face pressing against the door and his hand around your mouth so you don't get too noisy. the sound of his hips slamming against your ass is almost deafening, and he takes a mental note to clean up the mess you squirted on the floor when you're done.

once he used up all the condoms he has on him, he doesn't bother bringing you to his room to get more. he fucks you raw, and now you feel every angry vein on his bare cock, sliding against your sweet spots. “should've done this from the start, fuck... your sweet pussy feels so much better... you like this better too, right? i bet you pulled that shit earlier because you wanted me to be rough with you.” he manages to pull out when he feels his release approaching, his cum spraying all over your torso as he kisses you, but you almost wish he hadn't.

perverted big brother!caleb who realizes late he's turned you into a cockslut. you visit his room more often, and even started taking birth control so he could cum inside. it's not like he'll ever turn you away, but tonight, he's feeling especially playful. “hm... i'm tired today, so i'm not feeling up to it right now. but it's fine if you're the one moving this time.”

this results in him leisurely laying on his bed, arms behind his head. he takes great pleasure in seeing you grind your bare pussy on his hardening cock, slathering your juices to make it wet. once you found it sufficiently lubed, you raised your hips, gripping the base of his dick to slowly drop on it. you've made it this far, but you're still quite shy — you take a long time pushing half of it inside you, so he decides to give you a little help and thrusts his hips upward. you gasp when all of it is slammed into you, leaning back and resting your hands on his thighs, your body in an enticing arch that presents your bouncing tits. “ah, gege, wait, that's too sudden—”

he rubs your engorged clit as you roll your hips on top of him, dropping your hips and getting back up to reach that deep spot inside. you're drooling, eyes almost rolled back, and it takes all his patience not to push you down and fuck you stupid. “what a great view. tell me, when did you become such a whore, pips? where did you learn how to do this?” he massages your tits, pulling at the nubs. “you said you liked being my fleshlight, but at this point, you're just using me to masturbate. do you like that? do you like using gege's cock as your personal dildo?”

“hng— ah— no...!”

“there's no need to be shy. c'mon, say it. you love gege's cock.”

“i... ahh...” you lose strength in your arms, collapsing in a heap over his chest. he immediately wraps his arms around you, patting your head soothingly. “gege... i love gege... i love you so much, gege... mn, haa...!”

the world comes to a stop. his brain takes a while to process your words, but you don't let him stay too long in his thoughts. you're still humping against him, whining desperately for him to move because you've gotten tired. for a moment, he even considers the possibility he was just hearing things. but there's no hiding the quick, racing heartbeat he feels pressed against his chest, matching his very own.

you love gege.

he moves his hand to cup your cheek, meeting your dazed eyes. they gain clarity when he softly kisses your forehead, an innocent peck that starkly contrasts everything you've been doing. “gege loves you too,” he utters gently, making sure you hear it loud and clear. “gege loves you the most in the world.”

[wri0thesley]

let me see - arlecchino x fem!reader (3.8k)

you work as a tutor at the house of the hearth; but the father of the children you teach seems to haunt your thoughts.

cw: not sfw, fem reader. employer-employed dynamics, reader calls arlecchino 'sir', chubby reader, reader is inexperienced. arlecchino calls reader 'good girl' and 'darling'. guided masturbation.

You see your employer only rarely, but that does not mean that you do not think about her often. 

It’s in the way that the children - your students, the ones you have been engaged to teach basic arithmetic and reading and as much history as you can squeeze in - speak of their ‘Father’. The look of wonder and devotion and just a touch of intimidation that comes over them, even as they chatter to you about the next time she is coming home and what they plan to do to welcome her. It’s in your salaries; perfectly paid, on time, with extra money left in an envelope and a note in beautiful, sharp handwriting mentioning your students by name and how well they’re progressing.

And, of course, it is in the times you see her - for you do not think anybody could see Arlecchino and not think about her regularly for the rest of their life. 

She makes you nervous. There is something about her commanding presence; her lovely marble face, the strangely striking appearance of her eyes, the self-assured way that she stands. You think her beautiful, of course - but you have always had trouble around beautiful people, and so you find yourself stumbling over your words, your cheeks burning hot, coming far too close to making a fool out of yourself whilst she keeps a small, polite smile on her face as she watches you falter. 

You worry, sometimes, she knows that you find her at once intimidating and irresistible - that something about the way you hold yourself will give away that you have wondered what her nails would feel like, digging into the soft skin of your throat as she tipped your chin upwards - or that you have wondered what it would feel like to have her corner you like a trapped rabbit and have her way with you--

But they are just daydreams. The truth is that you are as green as they come; you had gone to Sumeru’s Akademiya, a child who could not stop devouring books, who was obsessed with learning - and you had returned back to your native Fontaine to teach, and had no time in between that to pursue romantic relationships. The sum total of your romantic experience is a hurried kiss with another student, another beautiful older woman, who had pulled back and laughed at you, touching your cheek gently. 

“Aren’t you adorable?” She’d asked you, in a low, sleepy voice with her eyes half-lidded. “Maybe a bit too adorable for just right now. Come find me again if you’re ever in Mondstadt.”

So . . . your fantasies about Arlecchino are just that. Simple fantasies. You have other things to attend to, after all! You care about the children whose education has been entrusted to you - even those who have now grown too old to need your guidance, who you watch flower and blossom and strike out from the House of the Hearth. Even if they stray beyond the nation you live in, though . . . they always seem to come back, to pay their respects to Father. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that sometimes she looks at you, when your paths crossed, with her head tilted just slightly to one side, and you feel like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. She always makes you feel strangely exposed; you keep up with fashion, because you enjoy it, but something about the fripperies of your gowns and skirts and blouses and the ribbons and the carefully chosen accessories in front of Arlecchino make you feel as though she is stripping you down in her mind, so perfectly poised and tailored. So you drop books in front of her. Your sentences get tangled together. You go hot all over and look at the floor--

But still she employs you, and still you hurry home at night and try to ignore the pounding in your chest and the way your breath goes short at the sight of her. Your paths cross only occasionally, you tell yourself. Next time you will be prepared. 

But you are not prepared, the day that Arlecchino meets you in the hallway (your arms full of books and the work of the children that you intend to look over that night), running late with your hair ribbons askew and your dress crooked and she looks at you and says, in a voice that brokers no argument;

“Won’t you stay a little longer and have afternoon tea with me?” 

“Do I make you nervous?” The red crosses in her eyes bore into you as she pours you a steaming cup of tea into a delicate teacup. You sit primly, your hands folded in your lap, your feet together, feeling entirely too exposed alone in this room with her. “You shake like a leaf whenever I speak to you.” 

You wet your lips awkwardly, your throat dry, as you reach out for the teacup. You notice your hands are shaking and try to stop them, but she leans forward herself and places one of her hands over yours, steadying you. You stare up at her, eyes wide, whilst she looks down at you with something calculating and predatory in her gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice very soft. You can feel your cheeks going hot against your will, and you wonder what you must look like to her - because you feel like a rabbit who is about to be pounced on by a wolf. Arlecchino slowly and purposely guides your hand back down, to put the teacup back on the saucer, and you begin to get the strangest impression that her invitation for ‘afternoon tea’ was actually an invitation for something entirely different. Her hand comes back up, and one of your idle questions is given an answer as you feel her sharp nails dig into the soft skin under your chin, tipping it up as she leans in closer. Close enough that she could kiss you, if she wanted - close enough you can smell the scent of Rainbow Roses and smoke that lingers on her clothes. 

“Oh,” says Arlecchino, and she smiles at you and something about the smile makes you go hot and cold all over all at once. “Don’t be. It’s terribly cute.”

You don’t know how you end up sprawled out over her lap, your thighs hooked over the arms of her chair, as she takes control of you - but before you know it, that is the position you have found yourself in. Her hands roam slowly all over you, savouring the feel of your skin - soft and warm, generously curved - beneath her long, elegant fingers. 

“These ribbons drove me to distraction today,” she murmurs against your ear, as you melt helplessly against her and she tugs at a brightly coloured red ribbon that trims your blouse. “I kept thinking about tying it around your pretty wrists instead.” 

“M-Miss Arlecchino--”

She clicks her tongue at you in admonishment, running her thumb over the seam of your lips. 

“Call me ‘Sir’, darling.” You practically fall over yourself to rectify your mistake, your tongue messy and heavy in your mouth, and you win a little chuckle from the woman who has you at her mercy. “You’re just so eager to please, aren’t you? What a good, obedient little thing.” 

“Please--” You whisper breathlessly, as she tugs at the ribbon completely and the throat of your blouse falls open. Her nails scratch a slow line over your neck, almost like a threat, and you shiver again helplessly under the touch. 

“Please what?” She murmurs against the shell of your ear. “You know, I did employ you as a tutor . . . for an academic, you’re rather inarticulate.” One button of your blouse, torturously slowly. The next, and she smiles against your bare skin to see the way your chest is rabbiting. “One would think you’d never been touched like this before.”

She knows.

There’s an edge to the way she says that, a note that’s teasing and suggestive, and it tears from your throat a little whimper of embarrassment that, in turn, makes her let out a sigh of satisfaction. 

“My, my,” Arlecchino says to you - two more buttons, and your blouse is barely fastened. You’re inordinately glad you wore pretty underwear today, though you suppose it must look rather fussy to Arlecchino. “Have you not, sweetheart?”

“Sir,” you whine out, feeling tears spring to your eyes at the humiliation of the whole thing. Despite the humiliation, though, heat spirals out from between your thighs - your matching fancy underwear, you know, is soaked through. “Please-- it’s embarrassing--”

The final button, and Arlecchino’s fingers are running over bare skin now. The pudge of your stomach, the curve of your chest through the ruched cups of your brassiere. 

“Say it,” she says to you, her voice sharp in the command. She circles a finger over your nipple through the lace and chiffon and you squirm in her lap at the sensation of the bud puckering and hardening. “If you want me to touch you, you understand, you have to at least have the confidence to tell me the truth. Or I’ll just send you home without your blouse and with your poor little aching cunt untouched, hmm?”

“Sir--!”

She grabs your cheeks between thumb and forefinger, squeezing the roundness of them roughly. The Father of the House of the Hearth, after all, is not one to be intimidated by whining or begging. She has plenty of experience dealing with brats. Her fingers still as she waits for you to do as she asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut and hiccup out a sob of longing. 

“I--I’ve never . . . had anyone else touch me . . . l-like this--”

She lets out a pleased purr in the back of her throat.

“There,” she soothes. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” She drops a kiss on the side of your forehead like a reward, her hands sliding over your body to find the catch of your brassiere. There’s a brief tussle of movement as she ensures you are shed of both your blouse and your underwear, and then you’re once more on her lap, your entire top half bared, only your skirts and stockings and underwear still on. “And if I’m honest . . .” She moves back to your ear, pressing a kiss on your jawline beneath the earlobe. “I rather like getting my claws in someone before they can learn any bad habits. I, too, am an excellent teacher.”

She takes a firm hold of you, pulling you even closer to her so that her hands can each take a palmful of your breasts. You feel exposed before her; the rolls of your stomach, the way that your chest sags into her grip, but Arlecchino does not seem to care about these things - instead she just sighs like you’re a fine wine she’s sampling, palming and squeezing the heavy weight of them. 

“You’re such a pretty thing beneath the flounces,” she says to you, plucking idly at your nipples between thumb and forefinger - the movement sends hot lightning flashes of pleasure right down to the space between your legs. “If I were in charge, I think I’d leave you naked in my bed. Much more practical like that, don’t you agree?” 

“I--” 

“What about kisses?” She asks you, not letting you say anything. Your head is spinning pleasantly, and you cannot say that you are annoyed she’s stopping you from making a fool of yourself. “Are you as unversed in those, too?”

“I--I’ve kissed . . . someone--”

“Just one?” She laughs, a not unkind noise. “Oh, just the one kiss, I see. Poor thing, your cheeks are like Pyro slimes. Come here. Let me show you how to kiss someone properly, hmm?” 

Arlecchino pulls you into a kiss that is so unlike the one you once had that to call them both by the same name seems a great disservice. There is no other way to describe it; she claims you, her mouth like a conquering king, your own the battlefield. Her teeth tug at your lower lip and you are helpless to do anything but open your mouth, let her tongue sweep over yours. She tastes like fire and tea, some of the little cakes she had offered to you - and you whine helplessly, clutching at her slacks because there’s nothing else you can reach in the position she has you in. 

She lets go of your face with a satisfied sigh, and your head lolls back against her shoulder as she delicately wipes a smudge of her lipstick from the corner of your mouth. 

“Let’s get this off you,” she says, tugging at the frills of your skirt. “Let me see you, darling.” 

You’re only too eager to assist, embarrassed but needy, wanting but nervous. The fastenings at your waistband are unhooked, and then she is carelessly sliding it off of you until you are back before her in nothing but your underwear and your stockings, digging into the fullness of your thighs. For a moment, you are embarrassed again of your softness - but Arlecchino grabs your hips, pulling you back bodily onto her, and you realise from the possessiveness of her movements that she does not see it for a moment as something to be ashamed of. 

Arlecchino’s hands are hungry as she squeezes at the softness of your thighs, as her palms sear hot across your stomach, as her fingers drift towards the gusset of your underwear. Her touch is feather-light, there, but you keen even so - terribly aware of every movement, even the smallest brush of her fingers. Arlecchino clicks her tongue against your ear again. 

“So sensitive,” she whispers. “I’m afraid I might hurt you, and I’m afraid I’d very much like it. Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself?”

Your breath gets caught in your chest. Her suggestions so far have been, perhaps, embarrassing - have put you at a disadvantage due to your lack of experience. But nothing so far has been quite so brazen. You burn with the unease of it, but Arlecchino is already grabbing your hand, placing it over your soaked underwear. 

“Don’t worry about making a mess,” she murmurs into your ear. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. My pants are soaking.”

She seems to enjoy watching you squirm as you whimper again, face hot. But her hand does not move, keeping your own anchored against your underwear until you do as she asks and shyly, nervously, rub at yourself through the sodden fabric just a little. 

“Oh, darling,” she breathes, condescension dripping off every syllable. “You’ll never get anywhere like that.” You are inarticulate with your touches, still trembling and shaking at the strangeness of all of this - and you have done this, of course, but never with an audience! Never spread out over someone’s lap as they critique your technique!

“Sir, please--”

“You’re supposed to be a teacher,” she admonishes you. “You’re supposed to know everything, are you not? Have I really got to help you with something so simple as touching yourself?” She’s enjoying it; the sight of you, normally so prim and shy, utterly undone by her every word and action. Her hand moves over yours, holding it, guiding you to press two of your fingers together and circle over your swollen clit through the underwear. 

It’s different, with her guiding you. You turn your head to try and bury it against her collar as she continues to mercilessly guide you into circles, sniffling pathetically - but she just coos, just nudges you back so you watch the visual of her hand over yours between your thighs. 

“Shall we get your underwear off too?” She phrases it as a question, but it’s not one - she is already peeling off the frilly cotton, inching it down your generous thighs. She laughs a little meanly when she sees just how large the damp, darker patch is, and you think you will cry. Every feeling you have ever had is magnified a thousand fold here, in this incredibly vulnerable position spread over the lap of your employer. 

(There are whispers that Arlecchino is even more than that; that there is a secret purpose behind the orphanage you have been employed by. But you do not put much stock in rumours, even when the children look at each other strangely and whisper when they think you cannot hear them. The thought of who you might really be letting touch you . . . You wish it did not stoke a fire in you even hotter and brighter than before). 

“There we are,” she murmurs. “Good girl. Look at you. Look how pretty you are.” She deals your sex a short, soft slap - her palm comes away sticky, the noise indecent in the little room she had brought you to for afternoon tea. “I wonder how much prettier you’ll look with three of your fingers stuffed inside of you?”

Another strangled noise from your throat at the easy way she says the filthy things, and Arlecchino merely makes a soft huff of laughter. 

“Carry on touching yourself for me,” she says to you. “Let me see.”

It’s an order, and you know that orders from Arlecchino are to be obeyed. Shyly and hesitantly again, you bring your fingers back to your sex. She rests her head against your shoulder, and moves her own hand; uses two of her fingers to make a ‘v’ shape and places them on your sex, using them to spread the plump outer lips aside so that you have better access to your clit and your entrance, still soaking and leaking slick out onto Arlecchino’s lap. 

You’re hot and awkward as you touch your clit; as you try and mimic the circles that she had drawn on you earlier - but you are not brave enough to keep at it, and before long you have returned to your own faithful back-and-forth motion on your clit, your hips moving in little thrusts to try and prolong the sensation. You can hear yourself in the charged air; the hot little pants, the whimpers of frustration that none of it feels as good as it did when she was in charge. Arlecchino, though, merely watches you struggle. 

You cannot see her face, but you can imagine the look upon it; the barest quirk of the lip, the single raised eyebrow. You carry on as best you can, trying to think of all the things you would usually think of - but it all spirals back to where you are, what is happening, and the fact no fantasy can truly compare. 

Her voice is a little thick when she speaks next, and you realise with a strange jolt of pleasure that your inarticulate touching is still having an effect on her. It’s almost unnoticeable - but Arlecchino’s normal tone is so very poised, even the smallest change feels like a blaring siren to you. 

“Put two of your fingers inside of you,” she says. And then, as you inexpertly slide two of your fingers inside your channel, she lets out a shuddering breath. You’re wet and tight around yourself, aware that you must look a mess - but Arlecchino’s fingers are sliding between your sex, moving to touch the space on your clit you just vacated, and your entire mind goes blank. “Don’t stop. Let me see you move them.”

You do your best, but Arlecchino’s own movements are just too much. The sensation of her dragging the pads of her fingers over your swollen clit; the way she circles and flourishes and swirls . . . you try, desperately, to keep your fingers in some kind of rhythm as they slide in and out of you, but before you know it you’re using your other hand to clutch at her arm and whimpering as you hump upwards into her touch. 

“I ought to stop you,” she tells you, but she doesn’t for a moment stop her ceaseless assault on your clit; the wet, sticky clicking noise of your slick between her fingers. “You’re being a brat.”

“Please, Sir,” you whisper, babbling, “I’m . . . it feels so good--”

“Flatterer,” she murmurs, in that low, hungry voice. “You’re lucky that you look so very pretty like this, and that I am perhaps more soft-hearted than I appear . . .” Tears are running down your cheeks, sniffling, whimpering, helplessly moving your hips in time with her touches. Nothing seems to exist but the feel of Arlecchino’s fingers on your clit and the firm, certain way she touches you. “Be a good girl and come for me.” 

The order tips you over the edge. The knot of heat in your belly comes undone and you whine helplessly as you buck into her touch, and you feel a gush of your own slick wet the fingers that are still stuffed inside of you. Your thighs try to clamp shut around the sensation, but the position that Arlecchino has you in with your thighs over the arms of her chair stop you from doing it - and so does she, still working her fingers over your clit through every trembling moment of your orgasm. 

You come back down, panting, aware of the wetness between your legs and your nakedness, the stiff points of your nipples and Arlecchino’s fingers on you and the fact that Arlecchino is still dressed exactly as she was when she caught you in the hallway. 

She moves her hand, and to your surprise she presses her fingers against your lips, forcing your mouth open. 

“Taste yourself,” she tells you, and you are still so in awe of her that you can do nothing but obey - the slightly tangy taste of you lingering on your lips. You’re even more surprised when she uses her other hand to pluck your hand from between your thighs and guides the two fingers that had been inside of you to her own mouth, her tongue hungrily drinking in the wet webs of your slick. “Well. Aren’t you sweet?”

The unprofessionalism of what you’ve just done begins to creep up on you, shame drenching your back. All of those talks about ethics that you’d had at the Akademiya - but Arlecchino takes your head and turns it and gives you another firm kiss, another bite to your lower lip, another conquering that makes you feel weak at the knees. Your own taste lingers in your mouth, but, too, it lingers on her lips, and she seems supremely satisfied as she pulls back. 

“I’ll be away on business for the next week,” she tells you. “In Snezhnaya. I’ll bring you something back.”

“Sir--”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she continues. “That little apartment you live in - well, it seems a shame, when we have so many empty rooms, and a live-in tutor would be far more beneficial - don’t you think? The children do adore you, and it seems so very practical.”

It’s a bizarre time to be having a business meeting, with your slick staining her clothes, with your own clothes a crumpled pile, with your position so terribly open and exposed - but all you can do is blink at her, and she smiles at you like a cat who has gotten the cream. She pats your cheek. 

“Besides,” she says. “It will give us far more time together. And I do have so much more I’d like to teach you.”

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Finding out their s/o can't read or write their countries local script/language.

Neuvillette

A little surprised at first but understands as he's seen many people from all walks of life that not everyone knows how to read and write especially Fontaine's language.

If they want he'll teach them himself during their little meetings. Thinks it best for them to have a tutor outside of their meetings if they're really set on learning his language so if they want one he'll find one but if they don't that's fine as well.

Gently corrects his s/o when they make a mistake while studying and tries to find a good way for them to retain what they've learned.

Wriothesley

Not surprised as many in Teyvat around the world don't know how to read or write period or only know the common teyvat script used basically everywhere.

Wouldn't mind teaching them though it'd only be a few short lessons as he's pretty busy. He encourages self study whenever they're apart and he'll "grade" their work and give them tips and pointers to better their writing.

As for reading if they have time he'll have them read the newspaper with him and they can practice with him helping them pronounce words here and there.

Alhaitham

Saw this a mile away since he noticed his s/o's confusion while reading the signs around Sumeru, how they only read things that were in the teyvats common script and or had difficulty with any books that were only written in the country's script.

Will help his s/o if they ask though he's not the most encouraging teacher he is patient and let's them know they're smarter than they think they are if they feel discouraged while learning.

Reading with his s/o is a must he'll have them read some simple books to practice with minor help from him as he wants them to gain confidence in their pronunciation.

Wanderer

Thinks nothing of it because it's not like they need to know the Inazuman script to survive anyway, especially if he's with them. He'll only teach them if they give him a good reason to or if he notices them studying and can't stand their writing errors when they try to surprise him with a note.

Will help his s/o learn how to read and write his home countries script, feeling a bit nostalgic as he remembers trying to teach what he learned on Tatarasuna to that child. He's not the nicest teacher but he is patient and any difficulties they do have he figures out ways to make it easier to remember.

Has his s/o read and interpret what they've read to him so they can learn to understand it better.

[midnightshindig]

Ahhhhhhhh why are you so good at embodying the characters when you write??! (Teach me👀)

This has been on my mind for awhile, but Mark x platonic ride or die bestie headcanons. I just feel bad for him yknow? Home boy/girl/babe is ready to rock the next enemy’s ****shit**** if they make things a smidge stressful for him or his loved ones. But is also simultaneously very considerate/sweet in their own dumpster-fire way. No matter what dimension, what decision, what future, they’re there because they care. Oh imagine them being like an older sibling figure to Oliver or later on Uncle/Aunt figure for Tara!

Thank you for your time - hope you’re doing well 🫡✨

Mark & Bestie!Reader

Okay so here's where I tell you all my shameful secret:

I had one of those etsy accounts where you pay to get a letter from a fictional character in middle school...

I made like over a thousand dollars with it before deactivating it for school reasons. and that's how I'm so well versed in getting into character. Is I used to get paid to do it.

My one tip is to-- obviously-- understand the character. But not from their perspective, from YOUR perspective. You have to get it and find a way to be them that is still you or else it's too unnatural and you feel cringe

ALSO IDK WHAT THE FUCK A TARA IS BUT I WILL SMITE YOU. Please no comic spoilers <3 (/nm)

anyways hcs under the cut!

Mark was a pretty feeble dude in high school pre-powers

and William-- as a scrawny gay kid-- can only protect him from so much

Which is why when you-- tall ass feisty ass chomping-at-the-bit Y/n-- came into his life, you clicked instantly

It was a classic case of Muscle and brain

except you were both Mark's protector AND his geography tutor

sooo.... idk what Mark really brings to the table

I'm kidding I'm kidding!

you and Mark are absolute homies and you're so happy to have met him

....

especially when he GETS SUPERPOWERS???

All those years of you beating down cruel jocks and trash talking snobby snoots have finally paid off

because now this 18-year-old dweeb owes you like basically a lifetime of free flights to wherever

ohhhh and you abuse this power SO much it's not even funny

"Mark, I feel like Pizza-"

"Oh no..."

"In Italy!"

"This is the fourth time this month!"

"Chop chop, super boy."

Not to say you're using him, though

you're still the same gung ho supportive riot you've always been

When Cecil is getting in Mark's space and business, you're the first person up from your chair to bark at him to

"SHUT THE FUCK UP"

Like "Mark dude I really don't like you taking orders from some politician snob. He's bad news."

and he'd come to an "I told you so moment" with you in a few years.

But you never hold it against him.

Mostly.

You're also one of the only people who Mark listens to when he's wrong

"I'm not leaving Eve!"

and you fucking kick in the door like

"Mark- your eight year old brother is out there ALONE and DEFENSLESS against MURDEROUS YOUS. Debbie is who knows where and if you don't take the fight to them, they're going to bring the fight to you with my head on a stick." You jostle him and shove him by the shoulders

Mark, frazzled and annoyed "no! I'm not leaving her-"

"Shut the FUCK UP." You stop, holding him sternly "Eve is going to HATE YOU for this. Get the fuck out there and let me handle things here." your face softens "I'll make sure these pigs don't touch her."

Powerless though you are, this brings him enough comfort to agree to go back to fighting

Eve can't thank you enough for this when she wakes up weeks later

Mark has a lot of power imbalance issues

it's good that he has someone so staunchly opposed to him who loves him so much

but you're not here to corral Mark into what YOU want him to do

for example

"Y/n, I don't know what to do, Cecil won't stop using D.A Sinclair and Darkwing- but they're murderers! How can he expect me to just work with them?!"

You took a long sip of your sweet tea, perched comfortably on your gaming chair

"I mean, I don't know, Mark. They seem under a tight leash, and doesn't everyone deserve a chance to make up for what they did?"

"Ugh- not murderers. Not guys like that." Mark is conflicted, folding his arms

You spin in your chair casually "I think you're dead wrong, but if you want to storm the capital and fuck up Sinclair yourself, I'll back you."

Mark nods in appreciation, his soles hitting the ground when he didn't even realize he was floating

"Thanks, Y/n.... I appreciate that."

"You know it, man. I'll overthrow a government for you any day. Your powers, my smarts-"

"Yyyyyou have a C in physics-"

"Ah ah aH! HONORS Physics. For second years. In college. and I'm what?" Mark opened his mouth to answer before you cut him off "I'm a first year! So blah blah blah YOUR superpowers and MY smarts." You took another drink of sweet tea "We got this."

You're the only person Mark really trusts to babysit Oliver

Since you're the only person Oliver is too scared to disobey

like not that you beat the kid or anything

you're just intimidating

He sees how you boss around his older brother- his whole WORLD- and he's like... damn gotta get in my pjs and brush my teeth before 8 ig

But you're pretty lax with him

"Hey Oliver, wanna go to the skatepark tonight?"

He's like bouncing on his toes all excited "yeah!!"

"Okayyyy but you gotta eat your peas and fly me there"

so he eats his peas and you get the hilarious visual of an eight year old holding your hands as you dangle helplessly in the air

he's literally too little to hold you any other way lmao

Mark never knowssss

Oliver is in bed by the time anyone gets home

and you're on the couch flipping through and prank calling every telepalm reader in their yellow pages

"Oh hey, you're home!" with a big, mischievous ass grin

and then Mark joins you on the couch and prank calls hella telepalm readers with you

You help him not lose his teenage boy-ness

and he needs that

so

so desperately

[indepthpokemonheadcanons]

10 Tips for Starting Pokémon Training as an Adult

It's never too late to become a pokémon trainer. That's what people say. But if you're anything like I was, you probably think that's a load of rubbish.

When I took up the hobby, aged 31 and working 9-to-5, I didn't see how I could ever fit in with - or catch up to - the people who'd been training pokémon since they were kids. It's not easy! But it would've been much easier with the right advice.

So whether you're trying to get back into an old hobby, or you're a total fletchling, here are the ten tips I wish I'd known before getting into pokémon training as an adult.

Look to shelters for the perfect partner pokémon. People make a big deal about growing up alongside a pokémon, but raising one from young takes time, money, and energy that you may not have. Most kid trainers can only manage it because mum and dad take care of the boring stuff (like buying feed, taking them for check-ups, and hosing them down when they run headlong into a bog). Shelters are heaving with rescue pokémon, many of which will have been previously owned by trainers, so they'll be a lot easier for a beginner to work with. On top of that, you'll be giving a pokémon a new home, which is vitally important.

Trainer cards are for you, too! This can seem like an obvious one, but I've met so many adult trainers who never even thought to get a card. Even if you're not planning to take on the League, trainer cards still get you great discounts on goods, Gym entry fees, and (weirdly) some restaurants and tourist attractions. You won't get your card for free the way that most kids can, but the cost is very reasonable.

Make use of night classes. Most Gyms, both official and unofficial offer discounted training sessions from 8pm onwards to capture the older market. They're a great pick if you work full-time and they're generally much quieter than the day sessions. The one downside is that the Gym Leader rarely attends, but the other tutors are usually pretty good - and they'll be less busy than the Leader, so more able to offer personalised advice.

You can take on the Gym Challenge without travelling. If you're busy studying, working, or raising children (or all three, god forbid!), you probably won't have the spare time to trek around the region battling Gym Leaders. However, with a bit of planning, you don't need to. Most Gyms take match bookings up to 6 months in advance, which means you can plan trips well in advance for when you have the time to travel out. Pop-up Gyms are also becoming increasingly common, where Gym Leaders will visit other cities for a few days at a time, run some workshops, and reach out to challengers in the local area. These can be busy and oversubscribed, but they're a potential option if you can't travel far.

Unless you've practiced it, don't throw your pokéballs into battle! Yes, it's what the professionals do, and they look effortlessly cool doing it. But it's not as easy as it appears. If you try it, you will end up hurling your pokéball out of the ring, and you'll have to awkwardly shuffle after it to get it back. There's nothing like that to kill your confidence before a match. Gym tutors can teach you how to throw pokéballs like a pro, but until you've mastered it, stick to just clicking the eject button.

Keep it simple, keep it Silph. If you're new to training, or you've returned to the hobby after a long time away, you'll be dumbfounded by the range of pokéballs on sale in general stores. Take deep breaths and try not to panic. Some of the differences are purely cosmetic, some only matter if you plan to be out catching pokémon, and others are just ways to get money out of you (I promise, you don't need Bluetooth-enabled pokéballs, or ones that claim to measure your pokémon's heart rate and stress levels). When in doubt, stick with Silph's classic long-life pokéballs. They cost a pretty penny, but trust me - their quality, longevity, and ease of use is unmatched.

Spend quality time with your pokémon. If you're completely new to raising pokémon, it's easy to dedicate most of your hours together to training. Remember to take breaks, for both your sakes. Spending time on fun, non-competitive activities will deepen your bond with your pokémon and bring you more in sync with each other. Brush their fur, take them for walks, let them watch you cook. It's okay to keep your pokémon in pokéballs, especially if you've got limited space at home, but experts recommend that they spend no more than 8 hours confined at a time.

If you're a returning trainer, remember that your partner pokémon might not be as keen to resume the hobby as you are. After a few years away, some pokémon lose their zeal for competition entirely. It can be tough to imagine battling alongside other pokémon, especially if you and your buddies go way back, but try to see it as a positive. It's a chance to forge new partnerships and try out new battle styles.

Learn from your fellow trainers, no matter their age. If you're an adult beginner, you'll definitely feel out of place next to all the young'uns taking on the Gym Challenge. Swallow your discomfort and ask them to battle! Kids are always up for a match, and they've got a wild, unselfconscious way of battling that you can learn a lot from. Just be prepared to lose a lot. And try not to gloat too much when you finally win against that annoying kid who wears all his Gym badges on his coat. (There's always one).

Know that you're not alone. It's definitely easier to get into pokémon training as a child, but that doesn't mean it's not worth doing later in life. Lots of successful trainers didn't start their careers until adulthood; Wulfric, from the Kalosian League, only got into battling when his young daughter did. Hassel, of the Paldean Elite Four, has written extensively about the difficulties of returning to dragon taming after spending over a decade in another career. Take inspiration from those who have come before you, and remember that you have as much right to this hobby as anyone.

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 2.4 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

five

sunday, january 26th you felt a little like a secret agent, watching rafe chew on his pen as he mulled over exercises. not because you were secretly staring at him—no, quite the opposite, actually. you had strategically angled your laptop screen away as you typed "how to get rid of a crush" into google. the first tip that popped up? give it time.

you glanced at him again. oversized hoodie, messy hair, that now-familiar scent that clung to your sheets after every tutoring session. the things that had unsettled you about him three weeks ago now felt… comforting. rafe frowned at his notebook, licking his lips briefly, and your breath caught. god, that stirred something in you. you turned back to your screen, scolding yourself.

you reformulated your search: how to get rid of a crush fast

you scrolled through endless advice. some suggestions were sensible—don’t stalk them on socials, sad playlists, write your feelings out in a journal. others seemed extreme—therapy, fuck someone else, dye your hair blue.

the ideas were unendless but the main idea was ever-present: distance yourself completely.

that was easier said than done. rafe was sitting right in front of you, and he’d be here twice a week for the next four months. thirty-two hours of his laugh replaying in your mind. 1,920 minutes of his scent lingering after he lounged on your bed. 115,200 seconds of him.

you could always distance yourself emotionally? not let yourself feel anything. you weren't sure you knew how to compartmentalize that well but maybe it was worth the try.

your thoughts are interrupted by a quiet groan rafe is letting out and you peep up from your laptop screen to look at him. he's texting on his phone for a moment before he tosses it onto his desk. you notice some tenseness in his shoulders, only because you're always staring at his shoulders.

actually, you take that back. you're just always staring at him; at his shoulders, his arms, his eyes, his hands. it was becoming a problem.

"hey," he said suddenly, glancing up, "you’re going to the retirement home after this, right?"

you press your lips together, hiding your face behind your laptop screen again. "yes." you were silently hoping he'd offer to drive you again because your dad wasn't home and no one could stay with your siblings if your mom were to drop you off. you were going to bike but if he offered? it was a ride and a couple more minutes with him which was a total win-win.

"can i come?"

"can you come?"

"yeah, can i come with you."

"you want to come with me?"

he didn’t answer right away—too busy crossing the room and closing your laptop. "yeah, that’s what i just said. twice," he teased, leaning in a little too close. you have this terrible need to just dig your head in his chest so you roll to the other side of the bed and place your laptop on your nightstand. "i didn't know you had any interest in volunteer work."

he flopped onto your bed like he belonged there, arms spread wide and you stand up, dead set on not getting too close. you had to compartmentalize these feelings.

"someone told me it’s good to have… diverse interests." you know it doesn't mean anything that he remembers that. he's watching you pretend to tidy up your room and you feel exposed. you always feel so naked when he's looking at you. something is doing backflips in your stomach and you wonder if you're falling ill.

his phone is still buzzing every couple of minutes, "sounds like you've got some people who really want to hang out with you." you look back at him and he's still staring at you, not even glacncing at his phone once.

"yea." he nods, "but i don't wanna hang out with them. i wanna hang out with you."

and what were you meant to do with that? how were you supposed to compartmentalize your feelings when he said things like that? things that made you want to shove your head in a pillow and squeal like all those girls in romantic movies.

"why don't you want to hang out with them?" you sat on the edge of your bed, about as far as you could sit from him.

he shrugged, eyes drifting to your ceiling, "i love my friends, but..i think sometimes i feel like i got something to prove around them. i have to act a certain way, be a certain way, not completely different but just a little tweaked." he says and it's the most honest thing you'd heard someone say in a while.

"i don't know. shit's just getting repetititve too. pre-game, houseparty, afterparty, another houseparty, another party, a beach party, a bonfire, a boat party, and it just keeps going, every weekend. it's not that i never wanna party again..i just wanna do something else."

"well then i don't think you should come." you say and he looks at you, this genuine, adorable face torn between hurt and confusion. your heart swells and you feel bad for messing with him.

a smile tugs at your lips. "because the elderly? they party hard."

you grin when he laughs because it sounds music to your ears.

"do they?" he asks, grinning now and you feign absolute shock, hand on your chest. "oh, yeah. there's this older lady, denise. she's freaking wild. last year she snuck out of the retirement home for her 85th birthday and they found her.." you paused for dramatic effect, "in a bar, crashing a bachelor party."

rafe’s laughter turned into full-blown cackling, his head thrown back as he shook it in disbelief. "okay, that might actually be my dream bachelor party. an 85-year-old woman just going wild with us."

"she’ll love you," you said, motioning for him to follow. "c’mon."

the drive to the retirement home was too short for your liking. since rafe was easy to like, easy to admire and easy to crush on, naturally, he had to be easy to talk too as well. he couldn't even try to be a little less perfect.

he leaned back in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio until he found a station he liked. "so, why the retirement home? or 'the oldies' as y/s/n says." rafe chuckled lightly and you rolled your eyes at how you always had to correct her and tell her 'elderly' was the more approriate word. she never listened.

you glanced at him, his profile sharp against the golden light of the setting sun. “why not? someone has to show up for them.”

he raised a brow, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. “you could’ve done a million other things. animal shelters, tutoring kids, beach cleanups…”

“are you suggesting i made the wrong choice?” you teased, your lips quirking up.

he smirked. “no, i'm suggesting it’s an interesting choice."

you got what he meant. older people didn't always have the best repution because on one side you had the adorable grandpa's that wore cute hats and grandma's that always gave you cookies but on the other you have old people who despise anyone younger than them and are violently against change in any capacity.

the retirement home had some "bad apples" but these people genuinely just wanted company and most importantly, someone that would stay. these people walked through the doors of the retirement home knowing they'd be leaving in a body bag. that was a scary thought.

"at first i wanted to do an animal shelter but..i saw no one signed up for the retirement home so i just did and yes, at first, they were a little rigid but it's only because they expected me to complete x amount of hours and then never come back. these people are often lonely and forgotten by the very children they raised.. i just show them that i never forget them."

he nods slowly like that side of it hadn't completely dawned on him until now. "i should call my grandma today." he says and you crack a smile and nod. "you should call your grandma today."

when you pulled into the parking lot, rafe hopped out before you could even unbuckle. he waited for you at the hood of the car, hands in his pockets, looking unfairly good in the soft evening light. “lead the way,” he said with a grin.

inside, the nurses greeted you warmly, their faces lighting up as soon as they saw you. “oh, there she is!” one of them, linda, said, pulling you into a quick hug. “and who’s this handsome young man?”

“this is rafe,” you said, a little embarrassed. “he wanted to come help out.”

rafe extended a hand, all charm. "nice to meet you."

linda shook his hand, her smile widening. "well, aren't you sweet? and so polite. don't let the residents steal him from you," she joked, winking at you.

“i'll do my best,” you said dryly, shooting rafe a look when he chuckled under his breath.

you sign your name on the sign up sheet before passing him the clipboard, "just my name?" he asks, pen already in hand and you nod.

the dining room was bustling as usual. tables were being set, and the residents were chatting amongst themselves. when you walked in, a chorus of greetings met you.

"there's my favorite girl!” mr. jensen called, waving you over.

“who’s the tall drink of water?” mrs. harris asked, her sharp eyes narrowing on rafe with interest.

you laughed, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "this is rafe. he's here to help out.”

"handsome and helpful,” mrs. harris said, patting the seat next to her. "sit down, honey. let me tell you about the time i met elvis.”

"i'd love to hear it,” rafe said, sliding into the chair with ease.

you watched him entertain mrs.harris and the women sitting around her with a smile before being caught staring by mr. jensen. "now, i know that look." he teased and you rolled your eyes shaking your head. you looped your arm around his and started walking him to his seat for dinner. "i don't know what look you're talking about." you turn your nose up and avoid his gaze. "you still think you can fool an 89 year old man, darling. that's why you keep losing every card game we play." he says and your eyes go wide, grin on your face. "hey! i totally let you win."

once you'd sat mr. jensen down, the nurses asked you and rafe to start distributing the food. "you've got quite the fanclub." you tease rafe whilst you're both putting on plastic gloves. mrs. harris and the other ladies are still watching rafe, grinning like little school girls at him.

he laughed, "i already understand why you come here. they are hilarious." he looks at you then, "you know doris tried to flirt with me and set me up with her granddaughter in the same breath?"

"i.." you're laughing, at a complete loss for words. "i have to say, i appreciate her hustle. if she can't have you, why not her granddaughter, you know?"

he hands you a tray with raised brows and a smile that makes your insides twist in a way that they really shouldn't.

you watched him as you helped set up plates and silverware. he was good with them—better than you’d expected. he listened to their stories, laughed at their jokes, and even let mrs. harris feed him a butterscotch candy. it was adorable, and it made your chest ache.

"you've got a keeper there,” one of the nurses whispered to you as you passed by.

"he’s not—” you started, but she just smiled knowingly and walked away.

as dinner started, you and rafe worked together to serve the food. the residents' curiosity about him didn't wane. they threw all sorts of questions at him—where he was from, what he did, if he was single.

"very single,” rafe said at one point, glancing at you with a smirk. your heart stopped for a beat, and you busied yourself adjusting a napkin to avoid his gaze.

mrs. cooper let out a delighted laugh, patting his arm affectionately. "not for long, i'm sure," she said. "a boy like you? charming, good-looking, and funny? they'll be lining up for you."

mrs. harris chimed in, wagging a finger at him. "but only if they're good enough! you deserve the best, dear."

"oh, you’re too kind," rafe replied, his grin widening. "but i think I’ve already found her. she’s sitting right next to me." he gestured dramatically to mrs. harris, whose laughter rang out, joined by her friends’ delighted giggles.

"oh, stop it, rafe!" mrs. harris said, playfully swatting at his arm. "you came about 65 years too late, my dear."

"lisa, you're breaking my heart," he said, clutching his chest theatrically, which only made the ladies laugh harder.

watching him interact with them was almost too much. the way he laughed at their jokes, let them tease him, even flirted back in a way that was sweet rather than condescending—it was all too much. he was charming and kind and so devastatingly attractive that you started to wonder if maybe, you weren’t imagining the way he looked at you.

when the chaos of dinner died down, you found yourself sitting next to rafe, curled up on those cozy recliners watching as the residents trickled back to their rooms. he leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a lazy grin. “this was fun."

"you made it fun. i can tell they really enjoyed you being here." you smiled small, "someone in particular." you added teasingly.

he chuckled, stretching his arms over the back of his chair. “tease me all you want. lisa and i have a bond. you're just jealous of my relationship with her."

"mm.." you nodded, bringing your knees to your chin with a smile on your face. "you're absolutely right, i am so jealous and i just want lisa all to myself." you play along.

he leaned in slightly, his voice softer now. “or maybe you just want me all to yourself."

your heart was racing again, and you cursed yourself for how easily he affected you. “you wish,” you said, trying to make it sound convincing.

"what? i'm not good enough for my future president?" he asked and you tilted your head, humming like you were actually thinking about it, like the answer could be anything else but of course you are.

"get a seven for algebra and then we can talk." you tell him and he chuckles, throwing his head back against the couch. "got yourself a deal, teach."

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

[celestiamour]

hi again i rlly liked ur headcanons for choi su-bong x shy fem reader and i was wondering if u could pls write headcanons of him x foreigner fem reader? ty and have a good day 🫶

ft. choi su-bong x f! reader ��� squid game

╰₊✧foreign! reader┊0.5k words

contains: headcanons!! reader’s native country is unspecified but she speaks her native language and english while studying korean! 

➤ author's note: alright, this is the last for the short specific reader headcanons, the next thanos fic will be an actual one-shot <3 

╰₊✧ notices you immediately both because you’re a cute girl and because you stand out in a crowd like he does. korea has a very homogeneous population, so people tend to take notice of you quickly. he probably greets you with a casual “what’s up” and decides right then and there that you’re going to be friends or maybe something more, you don’t really have a choice in the matter because people who stick out like you should stick together! he doesn’t mind if you’re shy because of your broken korean, he’s a master of language and wordplay and will gladly help you out!

╰₊✧ because he’s teaching you stuff he already knows and isn’t learning anything, he’s actually a lot of fun to study with. he always finds a way to make it fun and easy to remember with high-fives each time you get a question right. i feel like he was an awful student who went through a lot of tutors (only during exam season when he needed to get his grades up to pass the class though), so he knows all the best tips and tricks that worked on him when he was younger. 

╰₊✧ is probably one of those guys who asks what the swear words are and what cultural insults there are. he wants to use them other people so that he can get away with saying shit to their faces without getting caught, something that he already does in english but would like to know more

╰₊✧ even if you may not fit traditional korean beauty standards, he thinks you’re so hot. might use the term “exotic” because he doesn’t know better, but he won’t use it again once you tell him that it’s objectifying. 

╰₊✧ once you two start dating, he will seriously want to learn your native language. i can see him as someone who appreciates linguistics and admires multilingual people, loving to listen to music of all genres around the world and having a pretty diverse set of favorite artists. he might pout and bitch that it’s too difficult at first, but he’s surprisingly smart when he wants to be and will be conversationally fluent in about a year (it would be shorter if he was more consistent in his studies but alas).

╰₊✧ really looks forward to visiting your home country! he’ll try his best to be as respectful as his obnoxious ass can be, although i see him being accidentally offensive a few times because he can be a bit ignorant. loves to meet fans there and would probably go out of his way to make at least one appearance there if he ever had a worldwide concert tour no matter how off-course it may be. 

╰₊✧ when it comes to meeting your family, he puts all of his knowledge to the test to win their approval (god knows he needs all the help he can get when he looks the way he does, especially if you have a conservative family). however, he doesn’t really care if they don’t approve of him as he finds it to be more of a bonus than a requirement. 

╰₊✧ 100% wants to come back during your honeymoon, maybe even have a second wedding to adhere to your traditions if you so desire it. don’t worry about finances, he’s got it all covered!

[bettymylove]

tease

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

content: you try flirting with a man, and mattheo tells you what happens when you do such things. 18+ mdni

a/n: This was requested, but it was in messages, so I can't post.

Mattheo was seizing, the veins in his neck looked like they were about to pop, while you smiled at his reaction finally gaining his attention. You paid no mind to the boy in front of you but leaned in a bit closer, tried tp touch his arm occasionally until you were pulled away.

"You're a fucking brat, you know." His hands were around your throat in an instant. He pulled you closer and began kissing you harshly.

His fingers delved beneath your panties to find what he was looking for, though he suddenly pulled away. "What's wrong?" You were confused as to why he suddenly stopped.

He took out a strange looking object from the drawer and once again pulled you closer. "I think you deserve punishment for what you just did."

He pushed the object beneath your panties and then you understood what it was. He clicked a remote and it buzzed inside of you and you flinched.

"Dinner will be interesting." He left you there, whining for more and you did not know how you wiuld survive dinner.

Mattheo was sitting right in front of you, smirking, that bastard. How could he just sit there, while you felt like you would die if you didn't come right away.

He increased the pressure once again and you let out a gasp, your hand grabbed the table harshly, hands going pale and he just grinned at you.

"Can you tutor me?" Theo sat down right beside you. You didn't listen to what he said, and he could not wait, shaking you slightly he repeated the question.

"Come on, answer him, darling, he's asking you a question." Mattheo could not stop smiling. "Yes, Theo I will." You offered him a tight lip smile.

Going back to the dorms, a hand pulled you towards him and into a broom closet. "Aren't you a good girl, sitting there like that, letting out your pretty little gasps."

He kissed you almost immediately, and your hands found themselves at home in his curls. He pushed you towards the wall and kneeled in front of you.

"Hopefully, this teaches you not to flirt with other men." He took off your panties, along with the plug, and pinched your puffy clit.

You moaned and relished in the feeling of finally being able to let out a noise after a tortuous evening. His lips found your clit and he kissed all the way up to your clit.

Your hands pulled his hair causing him to grunt and the vibrations had you moaning his name. His fingers teased your slit, entering just the tip and then retracting.

"Come for me, pretty girl." You kissed him tasting yourself while being on a euphoric high. His hard on pressed into you, humping you while still having his pants on. "Ready for my cock baby?"

[oceansblvds]

I SENT THE ASK ABT TEACHER CORYO IM BEGGING YOU TO WRITE TA/PROFESSOR SNOW 😝

OKOKOK IM GONNA WRITE SOME HEADCANONS BUT I MIGHT HONESTLY EXPAND THIS INTO A FULL FIC BC im a whore!

warning(s): nsfw, obsessive behavior, lowkey an abuse of power

coriolanus, almost out of university, was selected to teach a higher level math class on the account of dr. gaul saying he needed a little bit more experience with teaching and leadership if he was to be head gamemaker. so, he was a TA, teaching under a professor but was basically given full rein with the class, as the professor seemed to focus more on research than teaching the class. the second he was in the lecture discussion, he saw you walk in. you were a junior, just a year under him in university and god were you beautiful. almost mouth wateringly so. it made him sick in the head at how pretty you were.

and gods above, you were smart, almost as smart as he was (though he wouldn't ever admit that) and it was clear that you liked him. you always smiled when he complimented your high scores on tests and quizzes, and would read the notes that he put in the margins of your essays with a glimmer in your eyes. he needed to talk to you, needed to be closer to you, and the only way that he could think of was to give you slightly lower marks on your essays and homeworks. never on a test, he would never want to drop your grade low enough for it to be concerning, but he did wait for you to stumble into his office hours. and you did. you asked him how you could do better on the material, and he told you that he'd help you.

he didn't have an office, only a classroom that he was lent during his office hours in the top floor of the math building. it was there that you would meet him, every tuesday and thursday, to go over problems. he liked the way that your lip would be bitten in between your teeth when you were looking at a particularly hard problem, or when you would look at him with your big doe eyes when you asked him for help. and whenever you asked him for help, he would lean closer, and explain it to you.

one day, he finally got the courage to make a move. you asked him for help and he placed his hand on your thigh, as if he was using it to keep himself steady as he leaned over. but instead of watching him explain on the paper, you kept your attention on his face. and then he pushed his hand further up your thigh, under your skirt, and you didn't stop him. your hand came to his and you pushed it up until it was cupping your pussy. he fingered you right then and there, hoping beyond hoping that no one else would walk into his office hours for help. the two of you made out while he fingered you, going as far as to press three fingers into you, with a squelching sound, your moans echoing through the room softly.

that became somewhat of a normal thing. you two always met during his office hours, until you decided to go to his home one day for some extra tutoring. it ended with you in his large bed with your legs spread, while he put his fingers in your mouth as he fucked you with such fervor that you were sure you were going to break.

sometimes when he was grading papers, you would slink under his desk and pull his cock out, spitting on the tip and bobbing your head up and down until he gave you the attention you wanted. he always fantasized about you doing this when he was teaching another class, with you working him with your mouth as he sat on his desk and no one else knew the wiser. he would have to try that with you one day.

lots of words like how dirty you were for sleeping with your teacher. "you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" "show me how good you've gotten" when you were riding him. "you probably fantasize about my cock in class, don't you?" it was all so derogatory. and other times he would praise you. he would tell you how smart and beautiful you were. he would let you cum when you got a problem right while he sat under the desk, eating you out. when you got a problem wrong, he would stop, and no amount of begging would get him to continue unless you continued your work.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 2)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 1, Part 3

summary: Your new roommate has... interesting habits.

warnings: sexually suggestive, nothing explicit.

a/n: i think i've realised miggy in this fic is a combo of his movie and comic counterpart. Miguel O'Hara: part-time whore lmfaooo

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lady death, at the cradle of a babe.

You've decided: if Miguel's the Sun, then you're a black hole. Cold and dark where he was warm, to seemingly everyone else but you. Even then, the metaphor didn't carry, and O'Hara wasn't quite the shining centre of the universe you had first thought him to be.  

In the dim gloom of a little lamp on your bedside table, you’re left squinting at a crisp white document. Blank; save for a thousand tabs open, and the blue links of a half-hearted bibliography. You’ve got the bare bones of an assignment; left too late, as usual. The rest lies at the tip of your tongue; nips at the ends of your fingers like the heat of cigarette butts, and as fleeting as wispy smoke in an ashtray. To get yourself through it, you’ve resorted to romanticising it all, pretending you're a wistful poet dipping the feathered end of a quill into ink. Writing something… revolutionary; as opposed to the mish-mash of articles and studies you’ve crammed within the last hour and a half. There’s a pounding at your skull: the dull beginnings of a migraine, most likely. You squeeze at your temples, eyes shut – and the thrum matches the thud at your thin walls. Rhythmic, obscene, and it creates a cruel staccato; shaking the flimsy plasterboard that separates your room from your roommate’s. 

He’s fucking someone. Loud, like it can’t be heard by half the complex. It's the third girl he’s had over in as many weeks. Not that you were keeping count. For a supposed tutor, you hadn’t seen much studying - despite the bright eyed young women that seemed to be at your doorstep most days. Perhaps you're being dramatic, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the kind of pupils Miguel had had the privilege to “teach”.

You remember the first time the true weight of Jia’s words became clear: whilst banging on the front door after a draining day of lectures. 

You’d forgotten your keys after rushing out the morning of, and arrived to a locked door in the afternoon. You had been starving, insides churning with the thought of takeout you’d saved the night before; a greasy bag nestled in the corner of your shelf in the fridge. So maybe you'd been antsy, irritable at a stretch; fist on the door like a divorce lawyer, hungry in more ways than one. 

Wasn’t Miguel already home? He had to be, you can hear the low tones of his voice leaking from the gaps at the sides of the door. And.. rustling, the shift of fabric tousled and pillows hitting the floor. It’s then that you hear another voice, higher pitched; gentle and soft where his is baritone. If you’re not mistaken; and something at the pit of your stomach hopes you are, for some reason; he’s laughing, speaking in hushed tones, whilst she giggles at something he said. You bang at the door even harder, hoping the sharp rap-rap-rap interrupts him. It feels like you’ve had half of your college’s senior cohort in the city in and out of your apartment - or, at the very least, the pretty ones. For some reason, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back; and your knuckles sting against the lacquered wood. You’ve half a mind to shout into the keyhole, to tell him to hurry the fuck up, or else–

Miguel opens, brow tight, and wiping something from his lips with the back of his hand. It’s suspicious; he looks carefully flushed, lips plump and cheeks slightly ruddy. You notice the way his head flops onto the lip of the open door; slightly out of breath like he’s done a dozen push ups. And with the way his biceps flex and tense under his open button up; paired with some slacks in a pitiful attempt to look less slutty; he might have. The image makes you purse your lips to stop inappropriate laughter: Miguel on the floor, brows kneaded in concentration as the woman in your apartment looks on, entranced. It feels more plausible than the reality; making out on your couch, whilst her hands travel to undo the button at his waistband.

What doesn’t help, is the look he gives you; like you’ve interrupted something important.

“Oh.” He says, clearly deflated. “It’s… you.”

You flash him a sarcastic smile and push past into the front room. You’ve seen her before: the girl on your couch. Sarah, a pretty thing in Miguel’s advanced Math class, you’d learned from the last few weeks. It’s not the first time she’d been over, but she doesn’t usually stay; rather, she’d drop something off at the door and twirl her hair whilst she waited. You’d answer, because of course he was never home at the right times, and she’d crane her head in for a glimpse of him. The first time; you were struck by the effortlessness of her beauty. And on your sofa, she seemed hardly fazed; the gentle curve of her stomach and thighs spilling onto the tattered cushions, donned in a patterned sundress. Her lips are pert, curved into a knowing smile as she giggles at the scene you and Miguel make at the door. 

“Hey, Sarah.” You give her a small wave as you make your way into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. However, you don’t have the energy to dignify Miguel with a response – so you stay silent. He bristles.

“You don’t have a key, or something?” You’re digging through the shelves as he calls out to you, hands on his hips like you’re in the wrong. You can’t help but hiss under your breath. He’s got an attitude, when only one of you had been left outside the door; starved and exhausted. And the other: getting off on your sofa. Poor Miguel, left with a limp dick and full balls.

 "Forgot." Your answer is curt, and you don't even bother to look up. You can hear him scoff, incredulous - as if the mere idea was so offensive. It makes anger bubble up at your gut, head still buried behind the fridge door. 

"That's convenient." You can't hear the words that come out after, but you're sure it's not exactly glowing praise. You lob a hypothetical grenade over the lip of the fridge door: a middle finger, crisp and clear. 

Takeout in hand, and a bag over your shoulder that feels like a concrete block; you drag yourself to your room, without giving Miguel so much as a second glance. When the door slams, you're hit with the full weight of Jia's words; a moment that seems so long ago. Miguel's probably picky about who he tutors for the same reason people swipe left and right on dating apps: he's an unrepentant whore. 

The thought had seemed somewhat premature, at the time. You had had little to no evidence: a string of pretty women in your apartment did not a slut make, after all. It wasn't quite enough, just a knee-jerk reaction after a bad day. The most charitable interpretations tell you that by all means, your roommate is an upstanding guy. A model student; who left his undergrad with honours and a disgustingly high GPA, head of half a dozen clubs and societies, and currently getting his masters sponsored by a prestigious biotech company in the city. He’s a chronic overachiever, more or less.  All things you've learnt from the people he’s tutored, small talk in between sessions (and they’ve all been nice enough). It seems a little more than convenient that the prettiest ones end up in your apartment - in his bed. And yet, you can’t get a straight answer from the man himself. Favours for a couple of friends, he says every time you complain. 

With the noises you hear from the room over, you wonder how he treats the friends he really likes. 

You think he’s doing it on purpose. That’s the only explanation you’re left with as you massage your temples in desperation. A steady pounding, that makes the shared wall shudder. Interspersed with graphic moans, the higher pitched panting of his partner; Yes Miguel and Just like that; seems to blend with his groans. Sleep pulls at your eyes, and you want to scream into the pillows. It’s muffled, but you can make out his voice beyond the wall; low, hushed tones that makes desire pool at the base of your stomach. And you’d rather die than admit it; but you zone out for a moment, a little lost in the haze of a daydream. God, his stamina. It feels like they’ve been going for hours, obscene grunts and groans spilling into your room. The wide span of his shoulders, the way light is cut at his jawline - and you wonder what he’d look like on top, or the sounds he’d make underneath.

Shaking your head, you try to convince yourself: it's the lack of sleep that makes you think of the way his hands would feel on your waist.

~~~

The honeymoon stage, if there ever was one, was well and truly over. 

In the morning, you’re woken up by the thud of the front door. Laptop cracked open on the covers, you shift to wipe the drool crusted on the side of your mouth. The good news: you remember getting down a couple thousand words before fitful sleep. Not to a great standard, of course, but as your deadline approaches, you’re grateful for whatever you can scrape together. Stretching, your back creaks with the memory of last night: hunched over your laptop, barely able to concentrate. Still in pyjamas from last night, you pad into the front room, looking for water to satisfy your dry mouth. 

The bad news: you’re met with Miguel on the sofa, splayed out on the cushions lazily. There’s a mug of something on a side table, which he’s clearly neglected; eyes closed, and an arm drawn upwards to expose the tan skin of his chest. He’s wearing nothing but loose plaid pants, hair a mess and frustratingly peaceful. For once, he’s not wearing the perpetual frown you’ve been subjected to for the past few weeks, and he looks five years younger as a result. You tilt your head to the side – like a mere 90 degrees would make him look any different – and you can’t believe this was the man who was terrorising you the night before. He looks… cute. Innocent, almost.

The sight makes you scoff. You snatch a glass from the cupboard with a clink-clink, and he stirs. You watch him stretch as you fill it; a mop of brown peeking over the back of the couch. He peers over, groggy and seemingly confused. 

"....When did you get back?" His voice is gravelly, heavy with last night's sleep – or lack thereof. You ignore the feelings it stirs up; pleasant and comfortable and domestic. 

"Good morning to you too, " You say it under your breath but he hears; catches it and holds it at his chest like a songbird. One hand over his heart, he smiles, wide; a lazy, sarcastic grin, but it still makes your face heat up. It's too damn early for this, you think. "I wasn't… for fuck's sake… I came back last night."

"Oh." He frowns, sweeping into the kitchen, and opening up the cupboard. 

"I couldn't sleep." Miguel's not stupid, and you wait for him to take the hint. "There was… too much noise last night."

"So that's why you're up early." He clicks his tongue. "You don't have a lecture to be late for?"

"You don't have another girl to fuck and ignore?" Without missing a beat, you snap at him – too tired and annoyed to entertain it. 

"Ouch." It's blaise, thrown over his shoulder without a second thought. He doesn't even look at you, head buried and eyes scanning the shelves – looking for his morning coffee, no doubt. He finds it, opening the packet and elbowing you in the process, and you give him a glare. Did he have to do that right next to you? 

You catch the ghost of a smile on his face. 

"...Miguel?" You say; quietly, because you can't quite find your next words. 

"Hmm?" He hums, fiddling around with the machine; a ritual you've only caught glimpses of. 

How do you tell your roommate you can hear him have obnoxious sex through thin walls? Well, probably by opening your mouth and saying it, but anything resembling your true feelings dies in your throat. 

He doesn't prompt you to finish the question, choosing to let the silence wash over you both. The clattering of a spoon against ceramic is the only noise in the little kitchen. It's not something you hear too often - never waking up at the same time as Miguel through a combination of coincidence and sheer willpower. Naturally, your routines are asynchronous - a half step, half-hearted jig to crashing music. That is to say: if you and your roommate were partners in a… ballroom, perhaps: you’d be stepped-on-toes and two-left-feet on the dancefloor. Disastrous, to say the least.

And yet, half-asleep, you watch as he pads around the kitchen; poking into cupboards and bringing out the ingredients to a hearty breakfast. Eggs and chorizo and tortillas; your stomach rumbles at the thought of a proper cooked meal. Ever the stereotypical college student, your usual food has mostly been instant noodles and leftovers. Maybe you’re just tired, but he makes the drawers and fridge shelves seem bottomless. It’s clear Miguel eats and he eats well – because of course he does.

“Could you…” You jump a bit when he places a gentle hand at your waist, moving you to the side as he reaches for a chopping board on the counter. “Sorry. Do you mind?”

It’s brief, but the fleeting touch fucks with your head as he cooks. Flashes of the night before run up your spine, electric. You watch his deft fingers fly on the chopping board; slender, a wide palm covering the span of a large pepper. How would they feel on your waist – properly – at the crook of your back, or at your thighs? Sighing, you chew the inside of your cheek and lean your head back against the wall. You feel the whispers of another headache. It's much too early for this.

He puts a pan on the stove. Shirtless, despite the heat of the spitting oil, and he pops a piece of a bell pepper in his mouth with a little smile that makes you roll your eyes. It's smug, somehow, like he knows something you don't – like he knows exactly what he did yesterday (or rather, who) and he’s enjoying your reaction.

Except: you’re exhausted, and he’s giggling like you’ve caught a kid with cookie crumbs on their face, empty jar in hand. 

It’s a quiet he sits with, comfortable; moving around the space with the kind of familiarity that comes with time. It makes you wonder just how long he's been here, which other roommates he’s terrorised over the years. Maybe, Miguel’s got a reputation, and there’s a Yelp review sitting somewhere you’ve neglected to read.

“Did you see her leave?” He still doesn’t look at you. Instead, his eyes are trained at the eggs on the pan, onions and veg making a lopsided smile in the runny yolk. Even his food seems smug.

“Her?” You frown, not quite following. 

“...Katie?” He says it like it’s obvious, as if her name alone should set off half a dozen bells in your head. It’s Katie, this time - not Jia, or Sita, or the slew of other girls he’s been fucking in the past few weeks alone.

Your eye twitches. Involuntarily, of course, but it feels like your body is physically rejecting his bullshit.

“I didn’t know she stayed the night.” A lie, obviously. You heard her well enough through the walls, not even a couple of hours ago.

“S’okay,” He shakes his head, nonchalant. You trace the curve of his shoulders and gentle slope of his plump lips. “I would’ve called her an Uber, or something.”

“You’re a gentleman, Miguel.”

And he laughs, a deep rumble that rings off the tiles. Admittedly, you like the way it sounds, and the way his eyes crinkle up into crows feet. He’s pretty, you think. In an annoying kind of way.

Oh, fuck him. You get closer, and stick a fingertip into the rich red of the pan. Wrapping your lips around it, with the heat of Miguel at your back, and yes, it's fine. Okay, fucking incredible – you know, nothing you haven’t tasted before.

Making eye contact, you watch him blink in surprise. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of himself; not dripping with the arrogance of a few minutes ago. Not wanting to give anything away, you keep your face steady.

"Needs salt, I think."

The spell is broken and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I've seen the crap you shovel into that big mouth of yours… ¿mi mamá no me enseñó a cocinar para que vengas a decirme que sabe mal…?"

[My mom didn't teach me how to cook so you can come here and tell me it tastes bad…?]

It's your turn to smile at the sweet taste of revenge. Not enough to fuel the next couple hours of essay writing, but a small victory nonetheless. You flash him pink tongue, and watch as his gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second. 

"More salt?" He scoffs. "You wouldn't know good food if it bit you on the ass."

It's childish, but he chucks a tea towel at your head; and you narrowly miss it. 

"Asshole." You spit out, frustrated. Your stomach grumbles, loud, and you watch his face crack, amused. 

His lips curve into a shit-eating grin. "Idiot." 

Face tight, you storm out of the kitchen. 

You're holed up in your room for the rest of the day; only leaving for snack and toilet breaks. Luckily, Miguel doesn't disturb you, except for a full plate left outside your doorstep in the morning. It tastes delicious; warm and homely, but you'd rather pull your teeth out than see that stupid fucking grin on his face. Instead, you give him a grudging thanks, shrugging as if to say: it was somewhat edible. 

And when you hit send on your essay, with a whole 11 minutes to spare, you sigh in relief. You got through it, eventually; even though your roommate is trying to kill you, your new apartment is falling apart and you're failing half your classes already. But you're through the day, and approaching the end of the week with minimal emotional damage. Key word: minimal. 

In the warmth under the covers of your bed, it makes you think. It can't get any worse, right? It won't – it can't. 

Something shifts. Like a rip in the space time continuum or a malevolent god, the universe snatches up that thought; ripe and ready to spit you back out onto the fire. 

~~~

You wake up and something feels off, already. For one, light streams in through the blinds, a slight chill from the open window. It’s peaceful, and the first thing you hear is the song of morning birds just beyond the glass, instead of cars and clattering garbage trucks. 

But it’s a Friday, and you’ve got that 9:00am; the one you were insane enough to sign up for at the beginning of the semester. What you should be hearing is the call-for-war of your alarm; the one that slaps you square across the face and wakes you the fuck up. On time, of course, but still the kind of sound that strikes fear into the hearts of grown men. Groggy, you wipe the sleep from your eyes. And then you frown. The lilting chirp of songbirds (well-fed pigeons that shit all over your windowsill, large enough to be classed as biological weapons), instead of your alarm…?

Your hands go cold, and dread creeps in. Reaching for your phone, you click it on and it shuts off just as quickly. You’re met with the red icon of a dead battery. Fuck.

Leaping out of bed, you rush into the hallway. From there, you see Miguel; out of his workout clothes and flitting in and out the kitchen. Except usually, at this time he’s just coming back from his run and banging at the door to hurry you out of the shower. He spots you and furrows his brow in confusion.

“Aren’t you meant to be…?”

You don't let him finish, and call out. “–What’s the time?” 

He looks at his watch. “Uhhh… quarter past 8?”

“Fuck!”  It erupts out of you, and you bite down the rest; opting to dart back into your room.

Miguel gets closer, pops his head towards your door; in the careful kind of way someone might approach a sleeping bear.

“Are you–”

When you open it in a robe and toiletries bag in hand, he’s there; tentative, and slow, and in your way. A beat passes and your eyes widen, incredulous. Like a fucking lump of coal, he’s slow on the uptake.

“...Move.” 

You push past him into the bathroom and he throws his hand up to surrender. You’re the oddest person he’s had the pleasure (?) of sharing an apartment with, he thinks. Mostly harmless, but hard to read.

The shower sputters to life, changing from hot to ice cold in a second. You grit down a scream, powering through it until the suds wash off. Sheer resolve makes you towel off and change in record time. 

You’re grabbing your bag and chucking whatever you can find in the fridge onto bread. Whilst making a crude sandwich, you’re distracted – going through the calculations in your head. You’ve got a train to catch in about 20 minutes, and if you keep a brisk pace you can make the walk in 15. When you switch subway lines to get across town, it’ll be tight, but you can make it up by cutting across the barriers and keeping those elbows sharp on the stairs. God forbid you miss the transfer, because you’ll have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one and–

Miguel watches by the doorway, a little amused. So caught up in your own world, you don’t notice. He takes a sip of a mug of hot coffee, and you look up. Your face, cute and all scrunched up as you concentrate; but he can’t help but enjoy the flash of displeasure on your face.

“Don’t want to hear it.” You’re spreading butter aggressively, if there was ever such a thing.

He shrugs. “...I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear it, Miguel. You’re thinking out loud, and…” Wrapping up your meal in tinfoil, you stuff it into your bag. “...I don’t have the time to tell you to fuck off.”

With a little gasp, he clutches at hypothetical pearls. He gives you a sarcastic grin before you’re off – slamming the front door in your wake.

_

_

_

[qureshimushranabdulrauf]

Being Happy

What’s your #1 priority tomorrow? Just Being Happy . I am happy when I do work given to be better. Thank You! Take Care! Smile Always! Stay Happy and Healthy! Pray!

[astroismypassion]

✨PART OF FORTUNE IN SIGNS AND HOUSES SERIES: 4TH HOUSE✨

Credit goes to astrology blog @astroismypassion

ARIES PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Aries and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via starting your own small business from home or take a leadership role, especially in the kitchen, family matters, children, education, history and geography. You may be an excellent tour guide of your local town. You may also find wealth through becoming a coach, personal trainer or someone who suggest meal plan for a specific sport, for example meal plan for runners.

TAURUS PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Taurus and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via real estate, gardening, landscaping, art and craftsmanship. You can sell handmade items, such as pottery, jewelry or home decor. You may also offer gardening services, sell plants or draw plants and sell your drawings online. You could start a home-based catering service, bakery or sell homemade goods at a local market. You might be able to create financial plans for families since you have a knack for helping others to manage their finances.

GEMINI PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Gemini and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via writing articles, blogs, even e-books from home. Especially on platforms like Medium, Substack or starting your own blog from the comfort of your home. You may also offer tutoring services o reven create online courses in subjects you are passionate about (Udemy, Coursera, VIPKid).

CANCER PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via a home-based business, such as home bakery, daycare or arts and crafts. You could find abundance in life by becoming a life coach, counselor or therapist. You may earn money from a home-cooked meal delivery. You can also each yourself interior design.

LEO PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Leo and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via music, singing, performing from home, tutoring someone in music and teaching them how to play an instrument. You may also post tutorials (for example guitar tutorials) online from the comfort of your home.

VIRGO PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Virgo and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via selling your homemade jams, pies or granola mix. You may also offer healthy student snacks or offer tips on how to make those at home with cheap and easy ingredients. Again, you could feel abundant when starting a podcast or your own local book club or even themed book club.

LIBRA PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Libra and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via designing and selling your own T-shirts, designing logos for other people. You could be good at doing make up for weddings or birthday parties. You have a knack to be an excellent host at your own home. You feel the most abundant when you have balanced family relations and friendships, partnership.

SCORPIO PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Scorpio and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via teaching people how to overcome tough situations in life and helping them find their purpose, hosting a leadership course online or from home. You may also enjoy talking about mental health and psychology.

SAGITTARIUS PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Sagittarius and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via showing tourists your hometown, hosting a culinary course in a foreign language on the local cuisine. You could also find abundance by becoming a local tour guide, even offering virtual tours of your local town.

CAPRICORN PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Capricorn and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via working with your parents, helping other families finding structure and order in the home, organising someone's closet.

AQUARIUS PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Aquarius and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via video gaming from home and streaming. You could also start a home-based business. You feel the wealthiest when you are being progressive, unique and standing out from the community. You may attract wealth by starting a podcast with your close friends, building websites from home or launching your own social media channel, platform.

PISCES PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 4TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Pisces and Cancer Sun people in your life. You could make money via taking photos of families or pregnant women. You may also do videos for someone's wedding, anniversary or birthday. You may host themed parties at home for your friends or poetry nights.

Credit goes to astrology blog @astroismypassion

[yandere-paramour]

How does teenage Noelle handle with a teenage darling? Is it the same Noelle or different?

This isn't surprising in the slightest, but Noelle was an angry and spiteful teenager to anyone except her sisters.

(For reference, the girls in order are Odette, Noelle, Thérèse, Celeste, and Blanche)

Everything has sucked for her since the day she was born. Her and Odette's Dad abandoned them, and the little girl's Dad left too. Her clothes are dirty, the house is dirty, and no one's paid the water bill. The little girls are tired because Mom brought another guy home after work, and all the squeaking, banging, and moaning woke them up. Celeste has a fever and is vomiting, but Odette has an AP Calc test tomorrow so she gets to sleep with the two healthy girls while Noelle is up all night with Les after her shift at the fast food place. She's tired, hungry, and still has her own homework to do before she gets to spend the night nursing a sick second grader.

Noelle doesn't really have friends either. Any available moment is spent either at school, at work, looking after the little girls, or if she's lucky, at the library studying. And why would she want to spend time with vapid, immature assholes that resent Noelle for her grades and pity her for her circumstances? She's better off with her sisters anyway.

Until she meets you.

You're beautiful, and better than that, you're kind. Noelle's laptop didn't charge after she was up late last night studying and watching youtube; one of the girls must have gotten up to pee in the middle of the night and tripped over the cord. But you... you're actually speaking to Noelle, not to mock her or ask her for answers or tell her to move because that's "your seat". Seeing that she's at a disadvantage not having her laptop in AP research, you graciously offer your charger, asking for nothing in return.

You're an angel.

From that day on, Noelle is your steadfast protector and companion (and stalker).

Anything you need help with at school, Noelle is on it. Even if she's not taking that class, she's staying up late at night to study it to be able to teach you

When you come into work, she will give up her staff meal to you

She will introduce you to Odette, and now you have a cool upperclassman friend watching you watching out for you (Odette's an outcast too but you don't need to know that)

She figures out how to track your phone without you knowing so now she always knows where you are

She applies only to the colleges you're applying to

Noelle doesn't have quite the same time/resources to police you as she has as an adult.

She allows you to have friends at first, understanding that you need someone to look after you when she's busy with work or her sisters, but she tries to push you toward the people who feel pity for her rather than outright scorn.

She cultivates an air of being a pitiful girl, one who needs saving.

The little girls are told to be cute and sweet in front of "Noelle's BFF", endearing her further to you. How can someone be so selfless, giving up their youth and freedom to take care of these sweet little girls?

Noelle is clingy and pitiful, but always tries to seem genuine and kind to you. You become her savior, and she becomes your academic tutor and companion

You can't understand why no one likes Noelle, the whole school must be against her. But no matter. You're the only person who gets to have such a kind, lovely, generous girl as your friend.

She has to make sure no one finds out what she's done to people that crossed her. If she has her way, you will always think of her as an innocent girl in an unfortunate situation.

Anytime someone tries to tip you off, their computer breaks, their assignments are sabotaged, and their phones constantly go off with lewd sounds in the middle of class.

You become just as isolated as Noelle, not understanding why.

But don't worry, you'll always have her.

[bookishgalaxies]

Crayon Colored Hearts

summary: you as a teacher of small children with a few genshin boys as partners :)

type: headcannons, not proofread

pairing: albedo x gn!reader, wanderer x gn!reader

warnings: children

a/n: i tutor small kids so this is self indulgent yes-

————————★————————

✧ albedo

Has so much respect for the patience you possess

Sure, he can handle Klee…but the thought of having to teach more than 1 child below the age of 7 is terrifying to him

Is very understanding of when you are exhausted after work on particular days

He can always tell when your class was particularly rambunctious by the tiredness in your voice when you get home

Sometimes you two will go on scenic drives in silence if you both have had particularly long days

His hand resting gently on your’s as you both admire the nature outside of the car windows

On days where it is only you that is worn out, he will make you your favorite meal for dinner

Sitting with you as you both enjoy a homemade dish

He’ll talk if you want to but is also okay with sitting in silence

There was one particular day you had woken up late and had been in a rush, resulting in you forgetting your lunch at home

Albedo notices the brown paper bag sitting on the counter after you had left

He takes it to work with him and decides to use his lunch break to take it to you

His co-workers were quite surprised when he took the break, considering he normally works through lunch

You would hear your stomach grumble right after your kids went outside for break and realize you had forgotten your lunch

You walked outside to your car, hoping to find a granola bar or something you may have left in there

Only to find Albedo standing next to your car holding your lunch out to you

“I believe you may have forgotten something.” He would say with a small smile

“You didn’t have to bring me my lunch.” You would reply, leaning to give him a kiss on the cheek as you take the bag out of his hands

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t go hungry while managing children.” He said, pulling you into a hug

You two would sit in your car as you shared your lunch with him, spending the small bit of time you two had away from work together

✧ wanderer

He genuinely does not understand how you do it everyday

The thought of being around children for more than three minutes makes him want to hit something

You told him one time about how a child wiped their snot into your shirt and instantly you saw him shudder

He would never admit the fact that his heart warmed the time he saw you calm a kid from a meltdown in public

Helping the child find their way back to their parents

“You really didn’t have to help that little shit you know?” He’d comment while you two are walking away from the child and their family

“They weren’t a “little shit”, they were just scared.” You’d reply, a small smile on your face

Oh and the time you two were grocery shopping and a child ran up and tackled you in a hug

“I can’t believe you’re here! What are you doing away from school? Who is that man with you? He looks pretty scary.” The child would babble on and on

You’d hug him back and exchange polite greetings with his parents

Watching them walk away with a warm feeling in your chest that the child had recognized you and cared enough to give you a hug

You’d see a grimace on Wanderer’s face as you both continued looking for groceries

“Is something the matter?” You’d ask, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder

“The little brat said I was “scary”, maybe the kid just needs to grow up.” He’d grumble to himself, pushing the shopping cart

You’d laugh and kiss him lightly on the cheek, watching the tips of his ears turn red

“Well, I think you’re great either way.” You’d reply, watching his cheeks heat up

————————★————————

thank you so much for reading !

have a wonderful day/night !

[solavita]

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru almost out of university, was selected to teach a higher level class on the account of looking good for his first job. so, he was a TA, teaching under a professor but was basically given full rein with the class, as the professor seemed to focus more on research than teaching the class. the second he was in the lecture discussion, he saw you walk in. you were a junior, just a year under him in university and god were you beautiful. almost mouth wateringly so. it made him sick in the head at how pretty you were.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru who practically watched your every move the minute you came into his classroom. and gods above, you were smart, almost as smart as he was (though he wouldn't ever admit that) and it was clear that you liked him. you always smiled when he complimented your high scores on tests and quizzes, and would read the notes that he put in the margins of your essays with a glimmer in your eyes. he needed to talk to you, needed to be closer to you, and the only way he could think of was to give you slightly lower marks on your essays and homeworks. never on a test, he wouldn't ever want to drop your grade enough for it to be concerning, but he did wait for you to stumble into his office hours. and you did. you asked him how you could do better on the material, and he told you that he'd help you.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru didn't have an office, only a classroom that he was lent during his office hours on the top floor of a rather deserted building. it was there that you would meet him, every tuesday and thursday, to go over problems. he liked the way that your lip would be bitten in between your teeth when you were looking at a particularly hard problem, or when you would look at him with your big doe eyes when you asked him for help. and whenever you asked him for help, he would lean closer, and explain it to you.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru finally got the courage to make a move. you asked him for help and he placed his hand on your thigh, as if he was using it to keep himself steady as he leaned over. but instead of watching him explain on the paper, you kept your attention on his face. and then he pushed his hand further up your thigh, under your skirt, and you didn't stop him. your hand came to his and you pushed it up until it was cupping your pussy. he fingered you right then and there, hoping beyond hoping that no one else would walk into his office hours for help. the two of you made out while he fingered you, going as far as to press three fingers into you, with a squelching sound, your moans echoing through the room softly.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru and you always met during his office hours, until you decided to go to his home one day for some extra tutoring. it ended with you in his large bed with your legs spread, while he put his fingers in your mouth as he fucked you with such fervor that you were sure you were going to break.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru would be grading papers, and you would slink under his desk and pull his cock out, spitting on the tip and bobbing your head up and down until he gave you the attention you wanted. he always fantasized about you doing this when he was teaching another class, with you working him with your mouth as he sat on his desk and no one else knew the wiser. he would have to try that with you one day.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru had lots of words like how dirty you were for sleeping with your teacher. "you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" "show me how good you've gotten" when you were riding him. "you probably fantasize about my cock in class, don't you?" it was all so derogatory. and other times he would praise you. he would tell you how smart and beautiful you were. he would let you cum when you got a problem right while he sat under the desk, eating you out. when you got a problem wrong, he would stop, and no amount of begging would get him to continue unless you continued your work.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru who used all his money from his job to buy you different types of leggings and panties to wear under your skirts. all just for him to rip a hole in them and have you walk with that under your skirt for the rest of the day. or he would steal them and think about what he was going to buy for you next. or how you would text him what was under your clothing, teasing him right before class so you could see how noticeably hard he got from it when you walked in.