#<I totally didn’t forget to tag him…

[aroacespacerock]

S4 doom patrol is somehow gayer than it’s predecessors

[eggs-can-draw]

I started watching Dr3 the other day I love all the scenes with baby Shuichi that are definitely real and 100% canon

[justmwahstruly]

he’s so fwine fr bro

au created by @bloodrediscream go follow her

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[screampied]

NO NUT NOVEMBER ☆ JJK MEN

gojo, nanami, toji, getō, choso, jujutsu kaisen men & how long can they last during nnn

2.7k+ ☆ total wc ☆

☆ tags ☆ afab!reader. overstim , edging , dry humping , unprotected sex , oral [f] , orgasm-denial , semi-public sex , dirty talk , choking , dumbification kink, brat taming.

FAILED NOV. 1 ☆ GOJO SATORU

poor gojo fails on the first day immediately. he's so cocky once you suggest you two should try it—see which one breaks first and it's obviously gojo. you walking around in a sundress was just about enough for him to forget about the entire challenge.

“you really don’t think i’ll last for the entire month?” gojo says, and he’s just following you around. it’s november first and he’s already losing it. the pretty sundress that hung down you, practically and barely reaching your ass made him ten times hornier. “pft. please. i can last the whole month without—” and then he stops mid-sentence at the realization, and his lip quivers a bit whilst he’s rubbing himself against you from behind. “…can't i at least.. touch you, baby?”

“no,” you spoke, letting off a gasp once he bends you straight over the kitchen counter. all it took was for gojo to pull up your sundress a few inches towards your waist, and he nearly lets off a needy moan once he sees you’re wearing no panties. “you can last a month satoru. it's not that long.”

“hey ‘s not fuckin' fair,” he groans, and he’s so close propped up against you. his bulge hardens against you, he’s only wearing simple grey sweats and he slides his hands against your waist. “planned this all out, d-didn’t you,” and he lets off a low breathy sigh. “there's no rule sayin' i can’t bend ya over like this,” he speaks, his voice sounding whiner by the second—you gasp once he squeezes your ass, feeling his thumb brush against your slit. “is there, baby?”

gojo couldn't help himself. once he had you bent over, you now found yourself in mating press with him being pumped full over and over again. a day hasn’t even passed and he already lost—to be fair, in his defense it was your fault for walking around in a pretty short sundress that nearly showed the bottom parts of your ass.

“s-so nice ‘n warm f’me.” he’d pant again and again, having you in quite the position to where you’re laid flat on your back, his own cum is so much it’s oozing out of your pussy. your grip onto his wrist tightens as he dips his hips in and out, you’re moaning from his thrusts—already forgetting about the stupid dumb challenge you suggested for you and your boyfriend to participate in.

to think of going one month without being intimate with gojo.

“s-satoru,” you moaned, and his base just smacks just smacks and smacks against you. you're so dizzy, craving more of his sticky load by the second, desperately wanting to be even more full. it was such a mess between your legs. he’s panting and staring at you with that same hungry feral gaze, swiping a tongue across his sheeny lips—gojo leans in to kiss you hard, yet more so passionate. he’s moaning and whining into your mouth while preparing to cum again and he’s so sensitive. he can barely think straight. “m-mhm.”

your body is basically being fucked dumb into the fats of the silkened mattress. gojo’s weight hovers against yours as his cock thrusts in and out, giving you whiplash so good to where it has you digging your pretty nails into the pale roots of his arm.

“not finished with you,” he pants, his eye-lids were low, and he was still panting up a storm once he pulls out for a brief moment. gojo stares down at the mess he create—licking his lips once more before leaning down to briefly lick a little of his own cum from your thighs before letting off a sigh. “we… can try again next year, y-yeah?”

FAILED NOV. 3 ☆ CHOSO KAMO

choso would have honestly failed on the first day too, but he has a bit more self control which is surprising. he's a very needy man not to mention quite clingy too. three days felt so long for the poor guy though. three days without cumming inside—he'd go mad. so he had to improvise.

“just a taste princess, just a…taste,” he’d pant, staring at you with such intent. you’re just lying down on the bed, glancing back up at him while rubbing a hand over your tummy before smiling. “don’t look at me like that.”

“choso it’s only been three days,” you giggle, reaching for his hand and he was so warm—he lets off a soft moan just from your touch alone, so touch starved and it hasn’t even been that long.

a big baby.

but eventually, he was so cute and you gave in. choso didn’t even want to fuck you. all he wanted to do was please you, more than please himself. but he does end up pleasing himself just a tad bit. you getting off gets him off if that makes sense. the raven-haired man was propped securely between your legs, his tongue latched onto your sweet cunt, lapping it up continuously while his moans fanned against you—making you create out tiny whines and moans yourself.

“s-so good, so hungry,” he whines, and choso can’t help but reach into his black and white boxers, stroking himself. he couldn’t help it, just hearing your sweet noises was enough to make him cum right through his sweatpants. “drivin’ me s-so insane.”

“fuck choso,” you whimper, some long strands of his hair tickles and brushes against your thighs, he’s so sloppy too. making sure to spit on your pussy only to clean it up. choso wasn’t never fond of his pretty baby to be messy. he’s so into it, his lashes remained closed as he ate you out, continuing to stroke his dick—moaning right into your folds, eventually your slick drips down his chin and he’s craving more and more. “don’t stop, your tongue feels so g-good, baby.”

“praise me more,” he whines, giving you a brief stare, his eyes opens for a second and his eyebrows raise down and furrow. a cute saddened expression of how wanting and needy he was. “want you to tell me how good ‘m makin’ you feel, gorgeous.”

you’re panting heavily from his tongue and how deep it reaches, each suck and slurp he creates before you dig your fingers through his hair to make him maintain eye contact. “you’re so good, choso. you’re making me feel so good.”

“….oh, s’ all i want, pretty,” he sighs, giving the front part of your pussy a sweet kiss before dragging a single orgasm out of you.

FAILED NOV. 9 ☆ FUSHIGURO TOJI

you make toji fail because you’re just…horny. toji believe it or not, toji could last a few days of nnn despite being an actual walking sex-machine. it was your idea, but now you regret it. it makes his ego boost tremendously seeing how you couldn’t take it anymore, such a cock hungry girl.

“toji!” you’d pout, desperate for him to at least touch you at least—but no, he was busy occupying himself by working out. raising the hefty bench pressed up and down, he looked so good. and he was just ignoring you. a smirk lightly pressed against his lips as he lifts the gym equipment up and down, counting his sets in his head and you bit your lip.

you had to do something, you couldn’t wait. it’s been nine days, you were sitting on toji’s lap. specifically, his hard bulge that was poking through his grey gym shorts. “yes baby,” he speaks, acting as if you weren’t squirming on his lap, so desperate to get him off.

“i need you,” was the only pathetic words leaving your lips, and he watches as you slide your hands up his white tank tee, brushing your fingertips against his abdomen—his rock hard abs just flexing, a bit sweaty and you nearly moaned. “so bad. sosobad. fuck me please. ‘s was a stupid idea.”

“tch. ‘bout damn time. and ya said i’d break first,” he chuckles, setting the black dumbbells aside to their original position. “mm. at least y’er aware. now now, be a good girl ‘n take those filthy panties off f’me.”

you whined, thankful you wore a skirt so all you had to was really slip your panties off—you stare down at toji as you’re riding him and he’s still laid flat on his back on the gym bench. at least it wasn’t many people around but they’d still probably see you. but from anyone’s perspective, it’d look like a silly girl on her boyfriend’s lap for whatever reason.

“s-shit,” you moaned, feeling his cock expand deep just from his girth alone. it was so good, it nearly had you drooling. toji’s fat dick was something you could never get enough of. it stretched you out so good—it was indescribable to say how great it made you feel, your pussy yearned for more each time, your mouth grows dry as you grind your hips against him. and he’s just staring at you with his toned arms are just smugly pinned behind his back, watching you have the time of your life. “s’big toji. fuck.”

“ya know how to take it every time though, doll,” he grunts, bringing a hand towards your waist to somewhat guide your movements. you whimper once he brings a hard smack to your ass once he feels you start to slow down, he’s so big, his tip kisses against deep inside of your pussy and you’re so dizzy, you can’t even speak words. “fuckin’ whore-” he groans, and you end up making toji cum quicker than he thought he would—it shoots right inside you, his head goes back for about two seconds and it’s sexy, you can see his adams apple just briefly.

“better savor that shit,” he grumbles, watching you catch your breath yourself, and he brings two fingers and dips them inside your pussy before letting off a grunt. “should make ya lick my fingers clean. bet you’d like that, little slutty girl,” and he gives you a brief head pat while you’re pushed into his chest, panting over and over. “yeah ya fuckin’ would.”

FAILED NOV. 18 ☆ SUGURU GETŌ

geto could last long, but everything changed once you decided to tease him a bit too much. sending him videos of you touching yourself while he’s out at work or busy. he comes home to you—and he just can’t take it anymore.

geto’s breath shakes once he holds his phone in one hand, seeing you on the screen—only in your bra and panties, sliding a hand up and down your body. his eyes trail and observe every inch, his mouth dry a bit, wishing you were with him right now. “suguru baby, you miss me?” you’d say in the video recording, dragging your fingertips further and further down until you eventually stopped at the very hem of your panties. “it’s been eighteen days since you last touched me.”

“yeah…” he pants, knowing you obviously can’t hear him, but he wished you could. so bad. “miss you so bad, princess. miss your pussy.”

“remember, you can’t touch yourself to me either. or cum until the month ends, okay? love you.” and the video clip ends. of course, he watches it at least seven more times—nearly cumming his pants just at the sound of your voice alone.

geto groans, feeling the bulge in his pants strain staggeringly get bigger and bigger. once he finally gets home, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

you were already waiting for him on the bed, with a sly smile—geto's quick to pick you up and kiss you all over, staring with your lips and your neck. “the tip, just the tip. swear. jus’ gotta feel you baby. feel your warmth.”

“fine,” you smile, already making your way onto him. geto tells you at least ten shaky thank you’s once you’re hovering over his cock—geto looks so pretty underneath you, his hair covers his face and he starts whining once you’re doing as promised, just the tip. “what’s wrong, do you want more than that?”

“yeah but baby, you’re gonna make me c-cum.” he moans, feeling you start to sink down lower until your hips rocks against him and he lets off a soft whimper by accident. “damn, just like that. ride me baby. make me cummm,” and his voice is so smooth but shaky, his dark pretty eyes nearly rolls back and it’s so sexy, he’s so sensitive he keeps swallowing and bracing himself before within seconds—geto ends up shooting white ropes inside, you feel his dick twitch as he’s still spasming, it’s been so long and his load is so much.

“shit.” he whines, leaning in to kiss you and he ends up moaning in your mouth once you return the kiss. “saved- saved s’much for you, baby,” he moans, grabbing ahold of your hips, making you continue to rock against him—only before he grips your waist, and starts to make you slam onto him and you whined, completely taken aback. “gotta remind this pussy who it really belongs to though.”

FAILED NOV. 30 ☆ NANAMI KENTO

nanami's the only one of the few who can actually go an entire month, although he just about barely makes it. he comes home from a long day at work and he’s just so pent up and stressed. all he can think about is using you as his personal cum dump.

“you don’t know how hard it was to not—” and he pauses, having you lied flat on your back, using a single hand to pry your pretty legs open. you shiver from feeling the cold band of his watch brush against your thighs. “woman, you torture me, you know that?”

you whimper from feeling him slowly sink himself inside—he’s staring down at you and his weight presses against your ass, he groans once he goes in and out, he’s teasing you. his cock was so thick, it stretches you out in every shape or form. your pussy hugs and grips him tightly, and he just can’t help himself. “kento, cum in me p-please,”

“thought you said i couldn’t cum until december first, sweetheart,” he says in a low voice, it’s almost seductive by the sounds of his pronunciation. nanami’s just sliding his tip in and out, it’s leaking with some of his own pre-cum, and he lets off a chuckle once he hears your cute whine of frustration. “this is your little game, i’m just playing by the rules.”

“didn’t mean it,” you cry out, so needy for him to fuck you. he was so warm, so so warm, your eyebrows parted together in annoyance and you bit your lip at him sinking a few inches inside your tight needy cunt before pulling out again. “kento please. fuck me, cum-cum in me, i need it.”

“oh, i know,” he breaths, and you gasp once you feel him spank your ass before rubbing it softly. nanami groans—swiping his fat reddened tip against your throbbing hole, spitting on his hand before rubbing it against your entrance to make you whimper, then spanks your pussy. “to think i haven’t touched this pretty body for a damn near month. you only ended up torturing yourself, sweetheart. can’t last a day without me filling this sloppy cunt up,” and as he’s talking, you’re growing more and more dizzy. you’re practically drooling from how needy you were.

and he dumbs his words down just a tad bit for you, his voice grows low once he leans up close to you purposely, wrapping a hand around your throat as his weight pressed against your ass. “tell me,” he whispers. “say the words and i’ll overflow your pussy with everything i have, pretty girl.”

“please kento, need your cum. need it so bad. fill me up please. breed me.”

“anything for my girl.” he kisses the top of your head, stroking a thumb against the middle part of your neck before stuffing two fingers of his into your mouth—he didn’t expect you to suck on them, but you did, whining and whining over and over again once he starts to thrust inside of you. he’s slow but his strokes are deep, and it’s so romantic. “that’s it, jus’ relax for me. let me claim these walls, then i’ll claim your heart next.”

[weirdmageddon]

i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. ​she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

[voguesriot]

NOBODY’S BUSINESS ✹ luke castellan

part one

( summary ) social media au where luke’s sudden spike in confidence turns a few heads, including the head of your ex who just loves to jump in other people’s business

( pairing ) luke castellan x fem aphrodite counsellor!reader , mentions of ex bf! hephaestus camper x reader

( notes ) this feels a bit rushed bcs i’m sick rn but i hope you guys enjoy anyway!!

♫ American Teenager by Ethel Cain

♡ liked by maxwalsh , silenabeauregard , and others

yourusername proof that percy doesn’t actually hate luke

seaweedbrain hey girlie!!! can you take this down like immediately?? not to sound to mean or anything but i can and will find you 😇

yourusername you’re such a cutie perce

seaweedbrain kys

sarahdawson totally wasn’t held at gunpoint for that last pic guys no need to worry

connorstroll we weren’t worrying but thanks anyway ig

sarahdawson sleep with one eye open.

lukecastellan 2/10 post

yourusername sorry for messing with your tough guy image 😔

lukecastellan actually it only loses points bcs there’s no pics of you

chrisrodriguez WOAHHHHHHH

sarahdawson HIS BALLS FINALLY DROPPED

clarisselarue bit sad to know they weren’t completely crushed after the red team kicked their ass icl

yourusername oh trust they were all whining about it the second i put away the camera

clarisselarue good.

GROUPCHAT — chb’s finest

clarisselarue: y/n what is max doing in your likes…

sarahdawson: HES WHAT

sarahdawson: oh he’s brave

yourusername: IDK HE JUST APPEARED

yourusername: like a bug

seaweedbrain: or a rat

yourusername: that too

lukecastellan: he’s on his way for training with me rn so i’ll go extra hard on him

silenabeauregard: homoerotic subtext goes crazy

yourusername: thanks luke but really you don’t need to do that

yourusername: like i’m over him now and i just want to forget about him altogether

lukecastellan: he deserves a hard time for what he did to you anyway

lukecastellan: you deserve way better than that

lukecastellan: i mean anyone would

seaweedbrain: great save bro

lukecastellan removed seaweedbrain.

sarahdawson: oh you took that one personally

DIRECT MESSAGES

clarisselarue: ok when did you get game

lukecastellan: idk what you’re talking about

clarisselarue: oh please spare me i’ve had to watch you make googoo eyes for the past two years you can’t lie you’re way out of this one

lukecastellan: seriously idk what you’re talking about clarisse

clairsselarue: ok fine whatever but HYPOTHETICALLY if you were to try anything with my girl i want you to know that i approve but trust if you go a toe out of line then you will be dealt with

read.

♫ My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski

♡ liked by drewtanaka, hazellevesque , and others

[ tagged: sarahdawson ]

yourusername you’re the only thing i’ll ever thank a man for

yourusername thanks max

this comment was deleted.

sarahdawson I SAW THAT COMMENT GIRL THAT WAS BRAVE

drewtanaka surprised sar isn’t screaming for photo creds for the second slide

sarahdawson bcs i didn’t take it……..

silenabeauregard WOAH WHAT

pipermclean yourusername hey sis can we have a chat please

yourusername nope i’m doing cabin checks rn #counsellorissues

wisegirll i’m doing cabin checks rn though???

silenabeauregard the plot thickens

lukecastellan glad to see you listened to my advice

yourusername felt bad keeping my beauty from everyone

lukecastellan it was a rough time without it

groverunderwood chrisrodriguez now THESE are moves

chrisrodriguez LOOK AT MY BOY GO gods is this what normal parents feel when their kids go to college

maxwalsh nice earrings

this comment was deleted.

seaweedbrain we all saw that comment right…

clarisselarue yes.

DIRECT MESSAGES

maxwalsh: hey can we please talk

yourusername: no

maxwalsh: please babe cmon you didn’t even hear me out

yourusername: because you tried to kiss sarah you fucking asshole

maxwalsh: no it wasn’t like that you don’t get it

maxwalsh: look can you just meet me by our old spot and i can explain everything

yourusername: no

maxwalsh: babe you’re not acting like yourself

yourusername: bcs it’s not her, she’s asleep rn and she’s not your “babe”

maxwalsh: who tf is this???

yourusername: doesn’t matter

yourusername blocked maxwalsh.

lukecastellan posted to their story!

SARAHDAWSON replied to your story

sarahdawson: WOAHWOAHWOAHWOAH SLOW YOUR ROLL WHAT

CLAIRSSELARUE replied to your story

clairsselarue: “idk what you’re talking abt clarisse” oh i hate you so bad

SILENABEAUREGARD replied to your story

silenabeauregard: i’d know that silhouette anywhere…

CHRISRODRIGUEZ replied to your story

chrisrodriguez: i’m a bit hurt i wasn’t told in depth about this before but i’m too proud to pay attention to it GOOD FOR YOU MAN

MAXWALSH replied to your story

maxwalsh: so it was you who had her phone the other day

maxwalsh: wtf man

lukecastellan: womp womp

lukecastellan: you snooze you lose and you lost big time

♫ Nobody’s Business by Rihanna, Chris Brown

♡ liked by jasongrace , racheledare , and others

[ tagged: yourusername ]

lukecastellan and it ain’t what??

yourusername AND IT AIN’T NOBODY’S BUSINESS

clarisselarue ok edward cullen why are you eating her neck like that

silenabeauregard everyone i took the hammock pic thank me please 🙏😇

yourusername thank you beautiful angel

seaweedbrain cute i guess…….

chrisrodriguez I ALWAYS HAD FAITH IN YOU BRO EVEN WHEN EVERYONE ELSE THOUGHT YOU WERE A LOSER WITH NO GAME, I STAYED ROOTING FOR YOU

lukecastellan appreciate you bro

lukecastellan wait people said that about me???

wisegirll my favs 😭🫶

yourusername AWE ILY ANNIE

seaweedbrain oh i’m just dirt to you then? chill.

wisegirll you’re so dramatic percy

seaweedbrain oh so mental health matters until I’M the one hurt? cool.

lukecastellan and y’all were saying i had no game

seaweedbrain okay luke see that’s just not funny because your dad literally dances on a revolving stage for a living

lukecastellan had to bring out the dad jokes because you know i’m right?

seaweedbrain why is your old age pension ass beefing with me instead of talking to ur girlfriend… weird behaviour

sarahdawson too cute i fear

sarahdawson but you i must remind you mr castellan, i made it onto her feed first. you will ALWAYS be second to me. always.

drewtanaka anyone else hear weeping from the hephaestus cabin…

leovaldez it’s really depressing

leovaldez i think he just punched a hole in the wall

cbeckendorf he did

pipermclean LMAO WHAT A FUCKING LOSER 😭😭☠️☠️

( taglist ) @perseus-jackass @harrysnovia

[ravengards-rogue]

WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.

rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.

ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.

✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+

✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)

✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover

sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.

sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ; 

It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur. 

Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun. 

Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him. 

He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate. 

So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy. 

You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures. 

(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )

When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember. 

 Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him. 

So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain. 

In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down. 

He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something. 

Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while. 

Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately. 

Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you. 

(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)

Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish. 

Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting. 

He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit. 

Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs. 

“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,” 

“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,” 

“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,” 

You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.

“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.” 

You giggle back at him 

“What kinda trouble is that now?” 

Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice. 

“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.” 

“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.” 

Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;

John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly. 

Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn. 

Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted. 

On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it. 

John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily. 

Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.

 Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show. 

So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp. 

Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms. 

You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine. 

(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that. 

You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.) 

You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did. 

Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it.  It was just all too easy again, to be with you. 

You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family. 

But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see.  Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.

 It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street. 

Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy.  John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you. 

But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you. 

There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision. 

You might turn him into a literate man yet. 

John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life. 

Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself. 

Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.

It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck. 

“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?” 

You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you. 

“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,” 

John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.

His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat. 

“John,”  

What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.” 

“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,” 

“A foolish one,” 

John laughs. 

“I sure do love you for it,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;

Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving. 

It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get.  He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently. 

Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.

(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.) 

His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters. 

Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living. 

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is)  loyal to Dutch. To the gang. 

He hadn’t thought much about what comes after. 

And it didn’t matter until he met you

He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long. 

But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time.  He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about. 

You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around. 

You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen.  If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing. 

(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.) 

When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit. 

From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would. 

When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d  never find again. 

That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves. 

Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too. 

For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.

You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way  they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you. 

Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him. 

“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him.  You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,” 

He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease.  All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides.  You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space. 

He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words. 

“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.” 

Darling as you always are, you nod softly. 

“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ; 

Wandering. 

He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on. 

There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly. 

There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains. 

He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few. 

The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it. 

Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list. 

Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.

 You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are. 

The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him. 

It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some. 

It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you.  And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything. 

But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not. 

He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss. 

For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars. 

Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze. 

You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks. 

“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?” 

“Well, I’m not fine with it.” 

You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?” 

“Please, what?” 

You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.” 

Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life.  “Yeah, that’s good to hear.” 

You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto. 

You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head. 

“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,” 

His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires. 

When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.

But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you. 

Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed. 

“Kiss?” 

Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”

Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[rapunzelbro]

Imagine Angel Dust and reader being handcuffed as a “trust bonding” exercise or something that Charlie came up with but the key gets lost somewhere and Angel and reader end up being stuck handcuffed together all day? Reader is not amused and embarrassed cause Angel is a flirty little shit and will not stop messing with them?😂❤️

Imagine Being Handcuffed to Angel Dust

Okay so to the person who requested this. I am so sorry for the long ass wait. I have been on major writers block for this idea ngl. But hey enjoy if you’re still around haha.

Masterlist Taglist

When Charlie was figuring out ideas to bring the hotel together you didn’t expect the fucking situation you ended up in

For context. You were never quite fond of Angels personality, his jokes and comments would 100% make you flustered and borderline uncomfortable

Everyone knew that you two definitely had issues that needed to be solved because you two were polar opposites

“And then I put it in his ass and the camera got~”

“Nope Nope Nope Nope Nope bye”

Yeah that often happened

“Guys! We are having a trust bonding exercise that you can’t say no to”

The fuck does Charlie even mean?

Yeah it didn’t take long to figure that out when Angel runs his ass over and closes the other half of the handcuff to your hand wrapping himself around you instantly

“Hiya bitch~”

“What. The. Fuck. CHARLIE WHAT THE FUCK”

I think that’s the first time they have ever heard you swear

Her laughing awkwardly rambling why it would be a good idea while trying desperately to find the key because of how pissed you were

Yeah she lost it

Alastor is amused as hell about the entire thing watching as you’re fuming he totally was the one to hide that key

“Oh don’t get your panties in a twist we are going to have so much fun together!”

Oh no you’re not

He is a very touchy feely person and you’re 100% not

He forgets your handcuffed and will zoom somewhere and you have to catch up with his ass.

Will beg to do your makeup and you legit give up after him asking nonstop

Legit nonstop he would ask every 10 minutes

It honestly takes a while to get used to him

When you do you start realizing the person he really is behind the jokes

Especially when he got a call from Valentino and you couldn’t exactly leave you room

You just listening in silence the whole time as he is being screamed at

“Val.. no no I promise I’ll… I’ll.. Yes Valentino”

The way he gave up so quickly instantly just broke you

“Angel, are you okay?”

Angel wouldn’t respond to you for a while, just sitting on his bed as you interlock your handcuffed hands together, you two don’t talk but it’s known that he appreciates the gesture considering he didn’t try to yank his way out

After a while he would come clean and tell you what happened, what he goes through

And my god did you mistake him so badly. You apologize nonstop and he just says to not worry about it

You two end up watching a movie or something before Charlie comes with the key that ‘Mysteriously’ disappeared

She’s happy you two got along

Even if she doesn’t know what happened

Angel Dust tag list: @vendetta-ari @brithedemonspawn @satansmanager @storydays @saturnhas82moons @zamadness @fizziepopangel @saitisfied @the--rebel--fae @juskonutoh @screechingxiaosimp @mcueveryday @rainbowbunny15

[jacevelaryonswife]

You Really Got Me | Professor!Michael Gavey x student!fem reader

summary: With a perfect CV, Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity has never seemed so inherent to you before. The new Professor of Number Theory awakened inappropriate feelings that could become risky if they were reciprocal.

a/n: well, it was quite difficult to write this because I’m not familiar with the Oxford environment and I hope that my research has made this story as credible as possible.

tags: slight slow burn, smut, p in v sex, power imbalance, swearing.

word count: 5.7k

ewanverse masterlist | next part

Michael Gavey was... many things.

A lot of things, definitely.

Michael, or rather, Professor Gavey now, aroused conflicting feelings in you.

Admiration, fear, fascination and another whirlwind was felt when it was the new and brilliant Professor of Numbers Theory. He took over the discipline of a dear veteran and great name of mathematics in Oxford, his advisor in the master’s and PhD. Obviously great expectation formed around it, around him, wondering if he would be able to overcome the grandeur of his predecessor.

And apparently he was causing a certain commotion with his above-average intelligence and his eccentric personality.

Obviously you started a search for the CV of your next professor and the finding was surprisingly extraordinary. Speaker of the 2010 class, several projects carried out, postgraduate (also in Oxford), articles published in journals with high impact factor and experience at McKinsey & Company for 2 years.

Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity had never seemed so inherent to you before.

Saying that you were intimidated by the first contact with him was an understatement- you were fucking terrified. The rumors of an alleged above-average intelligence proved to be untrue. Above average? No shit, he was far beyond everything you experienced. Your eyes didn’t dare to move away from him and the painting during the following hours, too fascinated by what was happening in your fucking front. You felt a current of pure mathematics run through your body and camp in your brain, illuminating all the neurons.

What the fuck had just happened?

You learned that every class he taught was a learning experience rarely experienced before. The passion he conveyed when teaching overflowed in all his expressions so intensely that it made you orbit around him slowly.

And that was the beginning of a problem.

A big problem.

But you hadn’t noticed yet.

“If I ever thought I was smart, forget it! Michael Gavey is the epitome of everything I want to be,” your good friend Miranda said before taking a sip of her latte.

“I know right? Every class I feel that my brain will explode,” you said while leaning your head against the table, “but I can understand what it teaches, at least a good part of things. I know I already have an advisor and our work is almost published, but I think I’m thinking of getting out of Algebra and trying something with Gavey,” you looked at her.

“Woah, are you fucking sure? I mean- if that’s what you really want, that’s fine, but I think it’s too mind blowing for me,” she said.

“For me too, but it’s fucking interesting, I really want to do at least one research in this area.”

“... hmm,” Miranda smirked, humming.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she superficially drank her coffee, “hmm.”

“Cut the bullshit,” you complained as you looked at her impatiently.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that from a certain angle he’s quite cute,” she said in a thin voice.

“Who? Gavey?”

“Yeah. He’s... different from the guys you usually date or are interested in but he’s not bad looking,” she explained.

“Come on, do you really think I’m interested in him? He's our professor and a big nerd to boot!” The last thing wasn’t totally the end of the world.

“And? It’s not like students and professors have never fucked before, although I don’t think he’d risk that much, he seems to be quite methodical,” she said calmly, “and most importantly, he’s clever as fuck and that automatically makes him sexy, if he’s not an idiot.”

That was absurd, you weren’t interested in Michael Gavey!

... right?

You thought about it for the rest of the day.

Was Michael Gavey, in addition to his bestial intellect, physically attractive?

Suddenly, you began to notice how his lips were perfectly drawn and pink as he explained the most beautiful things you had ever heard in those years at Oxford. Damn it. It was Miranda’s fault, obviously. You tried to convince yourself of that while elaborating a way to approach you about the possibility of a research project without embarrassing yourself. Obviously you tried to impress him before that, answering questions whenever possible and redoing all the examples and notes he passed around. When your own mind couldn’t assimilate some details, you looked for him to ask questions and oh Lord, he was more than attentive.

The proximity also made you realize how blue his eyes were under the glasses, and how his hands were- no, wait, what were those veins? Those long and thin fingers? You know what they say about guys with big hands... And his fluffy dirty blonde hair and those soft and ugly sweaters, his height, his waist-

DAMN IT MIRANDA!

That afternoon you gathered the courage to introduce the subject after your classmates left, using your best words to make a good impression.

“I have some interesting ideas that would yield good research, but before recruiting someone, I evaluate performance throughout the term; grades, posture, commitment, everything is observed.”

“Oh... sure, professor.”

“You’re doing well so far, you have good chances, keep it up.”

You wanted to scream. You’ve been recognized.

If your previous efforts were continuous to make a good impression, they would now be compulsive to stand out from the others. You needed to have him as an advisor. And all the eagerness to please him, all the competitive desire to excel, all that fervor triggered a fire that consumed every stretch of your body silently.

And that was a problem.

It shouldn’t be, but it became without you noticing.

“Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything to sit on these chairs? Walking through these corridors? Breathe this air? All of you have an obligation to achieve more than perfection, especially if you are here because of mommy and daddy’s money.”

You knew that very well. Gavey was very demanding about the quality of his students, always reinforcing the privilege of being in this environment, which in itself would make his discipline one of the most important of that term, but your current disposition made you demand almost all attention for him, for the test that was coming, for what you aspired to in the future.

And the result couldn’t be better.

You had a 100% performance in the first test. Excellent, handwritten next to the note. “Good work, keep it up,” he said with a subtle smile.

“Thank you, professor.”

So that’s what the butterflies in your stomach were from.

You smiled, satisfied as you reaped the fruit of weeks of hard work, too numb in your own pride to feel a close eye to follow your steps to the exit, although you had not gone unnoticed by Miranda.

“I think someone caught Gavey’s attention,” she hummed low, approaching on your side to lightly nudge your body with her hip.

“I know right? I need this opportunity,” you celebrated, oblivious to the implicit tone of her voice.

“I didn’t mean that way, babe. It's just he’s keeping an eye on you constantly, literally checking you every- I don’t know, three minutes?” She said it as if it were obvious.

“What? No, I don’t think it’s in this sense, he uses everything as a parameter of choice, he’s just observing my posture.” What? To believe that Gavey had ulterior motives? Too unreal.

“No, sweetheart, he was staring at you when no one paid attention, or almost no one, and he spent most of his time looking at you,” she insisted.

“You don't really thi-“

“I totally think so!”

Oh fuck.

“I’m not saying he’s in love with you, but he's interested, hell yeah,” she explained as you slowly processed her words.

“Fuck,” you said, “do you really, really think so? I mean- he doesn’t look like the type who stays with students.”

Definitely not, he seemed too methodical for that, methodical enough to separate the spectra of his life into compartments.

But what if there was the possibility? You couldn’t reproduce that question audibly, but in the comfort of your bed, you allowed yourself to daydream.

If there was some possibility?

Well, there were pros and cons that needed to be analyzed meticulously, of course.

In the event that Michael was a systematic monster, there wouldn’t be problems in a relationship since he wouldn’t mix romance with studies, theoretically. On the other hand, if he didn’t know how to differentiate the staff from the professional... well, you’d be fucked up if something went wrong. And that was the main point: the mistake.

The consequences would be drastic if something bad happened, especially to you, whose life was still under construction and a scholarship in Oxford could not be negotiated. The cost was too high.

However, over the weeks, you could only think about how attractive your professor was.

And now you know it’s a problem.

And with that, the end of year 2 was near when you received an email from Michael Gavey requesting to send your notes and certificates of everything you had done and participated in so far. Jesus, that man wasn’t kidding.

Neither were you.

That same morning you attached the documents to the e-mail and forwarded a response, as a result, your presence was requested at his office as soon as possible. I’m available in the afternoon, you send to him.

It was complicated to make your legs stop shaking along the way, practically jumping through the corridors while trying to stay calm. It was your chance, one where nothing could go wrong. You wore your best clothes, put on accessories that you used to wear daily and a subtle makeup to make a good impression, nothing that drew too much attention.

Stopping in front of his door, you took a deep breath and announced your presence with a light knock against the old wood, receiving immediate permission to enter the space. You would've liked the time and the absence of an observer to analyze all the details, but instead your eyes locked with his as he walked back to his chair.

“Good afternoon,” he said, a polite smile illuminating his beautiful face as he pointed to the chair in front of you, “have a seat. Please.”

“Good afternoon, professor, thank you,” you greeted him back, shaking your hands anxiously as you sat down.

With no time to allow your eyes to wander through the objects on the table, Michael cut straight to the point. "So, what aroused your interest in Number Theory?" You, to begin with.

"Well, I chose Maths at the age of 17, but things were difficult when I started the course. I was disenchanted considerably, but I always remained active. When your classes started I felt the same thing that motivated me to join here, it was as if everything had made sense again and I really fell in love with it."

“I see,” he said, crossing his hands over the table with a soft smile and a slight pink to his cheeks. Did you make him blush? No way. "I’m happy to have contributed positively to your training. I really appreciated your performance during classes and the analysis of your CV. The activities you have developed are also good but they can improve, I believe you also aspire to it. I seek a high level of quality in my students, after all we are in one of the best universities in the world and excellence is the least expected, I believe we agree on that. Have you already decided where you would like to specialise within Number Theory?"

"To be honest, no, but I would like to find out in-"

"I have some ideas that I’d like to be executed, I can show you now, if you don't have something in mind," he interrupted you with enthusiasm.

"... yes, I’d love to," you said, "but first, thank you for the opportunity you’re giving me, I admire you so much from the first classes and I feel really happy to receive this chance, I know there are many successful veteran professors, but I believe that a current view of a person as impressive as you can bring interesting results."

And if he had blushed with your previous statement, now he was red as a tomato and all disconcerted as he looked down with a shyness never witnessed before by you. It was deadly cute.

Gosh, you were really fucked.

═════════════════════

Working with Michael was exciting.

Terrifying too.

You felt constantly intimidated by his intellect, which caused a mix of sensations that varied according to the day. There was the pride of collaborating with him, the fear of failing, the paranoia of not being good enough and the satisfaction of achieving good results. It was a real roller coaster.

The passing of the months dissipated the initial strangeness and made living more comfortable. On the other hand, the proximity made you watch him for longer. It was pathetic.

Michael spent most of his time in front of his computer, correcting things, creating things and participating in events. You weren’t the only one under his guidance, there was Paul, a recent entry in Maths who was too inert in his own world to notice any non-standard deviation. Paul was a reminder and a barrier for nothing to come out of your daydreams, although he didn't seem very interested in what you were doing.

Still, you couldn't feed those thoughts, your relationship should be strictly professional.

It didn't matter how discreetly he approached you to help, or how close he leaned towards you- more than what was considered respectful. Or how good he smelled and looked so comfortable with his cheesy sweaters and old shoes. Or when you looked at him closely while he explained something.

How it was happening at that very moment.

“You're wasting time trying to demonstrate this equation, it's not so important for the project,” he said when analysing your latest advances.

"I know, but I'd like to understand better and I'm not getting it, it seems too abstract," you said with a frustrated pout, bothered by being stuck in something so simple.

"You've already solved more difficult things," he stressed, looking at you consciously, "can I?" he asked, referring to your notebook and the pen next to your laptop.

“Sure.”

Your attention focused on the numbers and symbols scribbled on the paper, trying to keep up with the speed of his thought. Watching it has always been fascinating.

“Some things are more difficult when we make them like this,” he said as he sketched on the paper.

"It's easy to say that being you," you replied, lamenting the failed attempt to absorb some of his knowledge.

"But it's true."

Unconsciously, you leaned your shoulder against his arm. "Some things are naturally difficult, not everyone can visualise like you."

"I know, it's a natural advantage," he smirked, looking at you over his shoulder, face closer than usual. "But you have a good brain, you shouldn't make it harder than it is."

So close.

"And how should I make it easier?" You held your breath, not daring to look beyond his beautiful blue irises.

"Find in the problem points that are favourable to you, try to demystify them, make them palpable," he replied slowly, taking a deep breath.

Really close.

"And if there's nothing to be explored?"

"You can always call me."

"… I know."

So close.

═════════════════════

After that, you don't know what or why, but something has changed in your relationship with Michael.

His looks became more persistent, his presence seemed closer, almost palpable. Maybe it was a daydream of your own mind, but it looked different, inexplicably different. The air seemed heavier when there was proximity. He seemed comfortable when he touched your shoulder while you read your results. It was nothing, you thought.

There was something not said and that was enough to bring out fears and expectations.

Why not? You thought repeatedly, knowing the reasons very well.

But, maybe...

Maybe you needed to get him out of your head for a few hours, meet some nice guys, drink a little, it was a good idea.

That's why that Friday night you decided to go to one of the nearby pubs with Miranda. It was a good plan, you would leave the lab at 5 PM and get ready to meet her at 7 PM. It was in fact a good plan... until the data analysis program decided to crash in the middle of your work and a malaise affected your friend, in addition to a grotesque rain that started to fall recently. Well, at least you tried.

After collecting the material from the bench, you stretched your arms above your head to ward off the hours of agonizing stress and got up from the chair. It was already late and your view was tired, more than your own body when Michael showed up with his keys in his hand after closing his own office. He spent the afternoon by your side trying to solve the damn problem in addition to his chores as a teacher.

"Everything worked out?" He asked.

"Yeah, at least that," you grumbled, picking up your backpack, "thank you for the help," you looked at him before going to the switches to turn off the equipment.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, in a softer tone than usual. Thunder echoed when you turned off the lights and made you retreat briefly in fright, making himhim laugh softly. "So, what does your generation do to have fun Friday night?" He asked casually after leaving the laboratory.

"Considering that these pubs are older than you and me, I think the same thing your generation did," you replied humorously, looking at him with a small smile, "Unfortunately not with this rain."

"Did you have plans?" He asked.

"Yes, my friend and I’d go to MacLaren's pub, but she's sick and the world decided to fall suddenly and I didn't bring my umbrella," you said faster than you intended, a brief irritation about how your night was totally destroyed. “And you?”

“No plans,” he said, adjusting his sweater. His car was close, but the rain prevented him from advancing a lot. "Are you walking?" He asked.

"Yes- I mean as soon as the rain passes," you crossed your arms and hugged yourself.

"I can take you," he said, his words beginning to make your heart beat faster.

It's no big deal, it's just a polite gesture.

"Oh no, you don't have to, honestly. I can wait," you said, although the twinge in your heart meant the opposite. Why the fuck did I deny it? Damn it.

"It's no big deal, besides we don't know when it will pass," he said, "we can wait in my car, I'm fucking freezing here."

"Sure." You tried not to freak out at the idea of being in such a restricted and warm environment with him, but Michael didn't seem to share the concern, since he basically ran in the middle of the fine rain to reach his car. Okay then. You went right behind, putting the backpack above your head to protect yourself from the water and closing the door harder than you intended. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting that,” you said with a light laugh.

"I just needed this heater," he said with a small smile on his lips, messing with things on the panel, "I also didn't bring an umbrella."

Avoiding making him uncomfortable when analyzing his every movement, you took your cell phone to try to distract yourself, relaxing when the hot air became present. It was almost 6:45 when You Really Got Me filled your ears and made you look at him.

"Do you like The Kinks?" You asked.

"I'm a fan, what about you?"

"My friend is a big fan."

“And you?”

"I like some songs."

"My grandfather was a great vinyl collector, he left everything to my father but he was never into rock in general," he said as he adjusted his glasses, looking at you with soft eyes.

You looked at him with interest. "I started listening to rock to get the attention of a guy I liked. It didn't work but I really liked the songs, although I don't listen to the same bands as I did when I was younger."

Michael laughed. The sound was carefree, almost relaxed even, a facet you didn't see often. He looked soft, cozy, in that burnt orange sweater he wore. "And what do you listen to?"

“I listen to a lot of Oasis, but that's not really 60's stuff. But I also like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Strokes...”

“Big fan of Oasis,” he said.

“Really?”

"I have all the vinyls and I went to a concert in Manchester before the separation." He paused, "Would you like to see them?"

There was an intensity in his look that made your breathing fail, making the air heavy. The casualness of the situation did not seem so natural all of a sudden. He meant-

“In my home.”

Shit shit shit shit

You couldn't, you shouldn't.

“Yes.”

═════════════════════

And so, contrary to all the possibilities of the night, you were in Michael fucking Gavey's house.

A veiled restlessness endured in the air and in the way your heart beat as you were taken by the unknown path. You couldn't believe you had agreed to that, but here you were, looking at every detail of his flat with curiosity. It was large, clean and almost minimalist in design, some thematic objects of mathematics scattered around on the shelves, walls and table. Nerd.

A short silence was maintained while your eyes eagerly explored his place. "Do you want to drink something?"

"Water would be great," you tried to keep the modesty, while watching him go to the kitchen and approach with your request with his gaze locked on yours.

You couldn't be imagining things, there was something there, a different glow, an unspoken truth that caused chills to run through your body.

"You can sit down, I'll get the vinyls."

Your heart was almost exploding since the invitation. You couldn't believe he brought you here, much less that you agreed to come. What the fuck should you do? Let him show you the records and then go? That was stupid.

You forced a conscious smile when he appeared with the records in his hand, watching with a certain curiosity.

“Here,” he said with what you assumed to be a nervous smile, “This is definitely my favourite, although What's the Story? Morning Glory introduced me to the band-“

Your brain wandered when he started digging non-stop about the albums, not giving a damn about Noel and Liam Gallagher's drama, all that mattered was that you were next to Michael Gavey, on his couch, at his house. Michael, the man who took away your sleep and made you constantly daydream. The man who fascinated and intimidated you to the same extent, who made your body warm up when it was close and imagined what it would be like if he got closer.

With his beautiful eyes, nose and lips, big hands and long fingers, soft and beautiful dirty blond hair.

You've wanted it for a long time.

You wanted him.

Wanted to fuck him.

You wanted to fuck your own professor.

And you're tired of denying it.

"I know I shouldn't do that, but it's all I've been thinking about for months."

You interrupted him, touching his cheek as you slowly leaned against him. He froze in place, not preventing your advances as your faces grew closer and closer. Your lips gently brushed against his before pressing harder, starting a fearful and shy, almost chaste kiss.

He didn't reciprocate.

Your heart sank, panic blooming in your stomach.

What did I do?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

His lips silenced any doubts that dared to emerge, holding the back of your head while kissing you experimentally. You didn't waste time in moving your lips at the pace he set, holding the back of his neck and smoothing his beautiful face, tasting the taste of his lips.

You couldn't believe it, you couldn't! He was kissing you!

Michael Gavey was kissing you!

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't-" he said as he walked away abruptly, but you didn't care.

You attacked his hungry lips and made him move the discs away when he leaned against his body, climbing on his lap and holding both sides of his neck. His hand went down your back and held your ass firmly while the other grasped on the back of your neck, pulling your body closer and asking for access to your mouth with his tongue. You kissed, sucked, and bit his pink lips, taking advantage of everything you could before moving away to look into his eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

“Me too,” you said.

And then you were kissing him again, and again, and again until your lips were red, wet and swollen. Your body warmed up when a bulge emerged below your thighs, instinctively grinding against it.

“Fuck- I can't, we can't do that, I'm your fucking professor,” he said out of breath, holding your arms and briefly pushing your body away. "This can ruin everything- fuck up our relationship-"

He was red, dilated pupils and heavy breathing, a fucking vision.

“I know, I know. But... just this time, we can forget just this time... what do you think?"

He held firmly one side of your face and looked into your eyes. “Are you fucking sure about this?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

Just this time.

"... just this time."

He leaned over to kiss you quickly, moving his hands under your blouse to take it over his head, groping the exposed skin of your arms, waist and belly with his big hands while drinking from your body with lascivious eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered.

His lips traveled to spice up moist kisses on your neck, sucking the conjuncture with his shoulder, licking your throat, making you melt and close your eyes when he found your sweet spot. Who knew he had that fire? He nibbled and sucked the sensitive skin, holding your waist firmly when he raised you and put you on the floor, leaving you stunned as he guided you by the hand to the room.

Michael didn't have time for your reasoning to come back when he gently pushed you against the door with both hands next to your head. “You're fucking gorgeous.”

“And you're handsome,” you removed his orange sweater, touching the skin of his torso.

"... you don't have to reciprocate the compliment."

Your chest hurt when you heard that, which made you touch his cheek instinctively. "I'm not saying out of courtesy, Michael, you're fucking attractive," you traced his lips with your thumb, looking at him firmly. “Fucking handsome.”

A slight blush took over his cheeks and he captured your lips with passion, holding your waist while kissing life outside of you. Your head was spinning and your stomach warmed up by intimacy, straightening his soft hair. You were in the damn clouds.

His hands moved to unbutton your pants and lower them, kneeling before you to remove your shoes and jeans, kissing the stomach trail to the top of your panties and shamelessly touching your drenched pussy.

"Mmm," you shuddered and closed your eyes when he started rubbing your clitoris, increasing the moisture between your thighs. Fuck. Your goddamn professor was kneeling in front of you. If you weren't wet before, now a river has accumulated in your center.

"Is that good?" He asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, holding onto him for better support, watching him continue to massage your clit now directly into the skin while leaving kisses on your belly. You leaned dramatically against the door when he stuck a finger in your entrance, pumping slowly, feeling you, teasing. “Fuck.”

Michael removed his finger and stood up, unbuttoning his belt quickly and taking off his pants and shoes, leaving you warm and needy and following him like a puppy when he went to the headboard near the bed and opened the upper drawer to take off a condom. Damn it, he was so fine. Before his hands were on your body, you slowly pushed him on the bed and took control, removing the bra and discarding the panties. You couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Your body trembled when he pulled you by the waist and clapped your breasts as you sat on his covered cock and ground over it.

"Fuck," he grunted, sucking one nipple.

"Michael," you moaned, panting. 'Professor,' that's what you wanted to shout, pulling the hair from the back of his neck. He moaned when you kept grinding against his erection and hoisted your hips to lay you on the sheets.

Your mouth opened when he discarded his underwear - not even in the wettest dreams did you imagine that size. He was fucking fine. Tall, thin, defined and with a beautiful cock. Fuck-

Michael Gavey was really a box full of surprises. He barely had time to adjust his glasses and put on the condom before he was pulled by you to take over the top, caged by your legs.

He captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaning on his elbow as he adjusted between your thighs. The next thing you felt was the welcome intrusion into your folds, stretching you open deliciously. The initial stretch was a little painful, it's been a while since you've been with someone, but he was slow and careful when sinking into your core, making your toes curl up and a relieved moan come out of your throat when he was totally inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked with his face above yours.

"Yes," you held his back, "just wait a minute, please."

“Okay,” he said with a red face, hoarse voice and almost breathless.

Your walls were pulsating when you finally received it, relaxing when the slight discomfort passed. “Move.”

His thrusts were soft, but firm, looking at you closely. You couldn't believe that, yes, Michael was fucking you. Finally.

You leaned up to kiss him while holding your back, groping his wrinkles around your eyes. He was fucking handsome. His hips went further and faster when your body was totally receptive, the moisture and heat surrounding him and making him slip without hindrance. He leaned his forehead against yours and held your hips when you dug your feet on the bed, hitting deeper than before, making you moan loudly and your pussy squeeze instinctively.

A hoarse moan was his response, almost a whining that was swallowed by your lips.

You were in the fucking clouds with the intimacy of the moment, tracing patterns on his back and pulling the blonde strands from the back of the neck when the thrusts became more intense, deliberately repeating his name. Michael attacked the conjuncture of your neck and lifted your thigh even more to go deeper, deliciously hitting your core.

"Michael- fuck-" You could only think of how good he felt, how big his cock was and how his bulbous head brushed your sweet spot whenever he moved. You needed it too much. Holding his shoulders and pushing him away a little, you looked at him panting, making his eyes widen.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked with a tense body.

"No, no, It's just-" and then you moved to take control, resting your hands on his chest, "this." You wanted to ride him since the time you called me in your office. You rubbed your hips against his groin in an addictive rhythm, loving the friction against your clitoris and the feeling of being totally filled.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing your ass, groping your hip, holding your breasts, covering every piece of skin available.

You started moving on his cock, touching his chest gently. You felt it all over your core and that burned your whole body, especially when your spongy spot was being brushed rhythmically. Michael pulled you to a scorching kiss full of tongue and teeth, leaving your movements sloppy, but constant, almost frantic, your moans and whining became higher and higher, your velvety walls squeezing his thick axis more and more.

"So fucking good," he moaned against your mouth and leaned his feet on the bed, holding your buttocks and hitting his hips against yours.

“Fuck-“ you almost screamed, resting your head against his chest when he started pushing quickly into your hot pussy, creating lascivious sounds that echoed all over the room.

“You're squeezing me so fucking hard - you're close, aren't you?” He asked, almost breathless.

“Y-yes,” your eyes closed when the family tingling intensified and your juices lubricated it even more.

"Come for me baby," he grunted when your folds pulsed around him, "cum in my fucking cock."

Shit.

Your orgasm hit you hard; hot and sudden as lightning, making your body tremble and a flash blind your vision as the air disappeared from your lungs and your mind went blank.

"Fuck," you heard him moan far away, feeling his cock pulsate and the squeeze on your ass increase when his erratic movements stopped, leaving only a few slow pushes on your sensitive pussy.

You melted completely when the orgasmic euphoria spared, coming out of it unwillingly so as not to deprive you of the air and stabilize your own breathing. Your mind was tired although very aware of the fact that you had just fucked your professor.

You can't fucking believe it.

Fucking finally.

"Are you okay?" He asked, all red and sweaty as he looked at you with crooked glasses.

“Absofuckinglutely,” you looked at him tired, panting, attracted by how cozy he looked. “And you?”

He smiled softly, pushing away some strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, fingering your face with his thumb. “I'm fucking great.”

Michael pulled you to rest on his chest when a comfortable mist hovered between you as you recovered. None of you said anything for the next few minutes, just enjoying the calm silence before reality starts to come back. You fucked your professor.

You fucked your professor.

What did you have in your head?

You tried to convince yourself that nothing would change after that, that your relationship would not be affected, but you were not sure of that

Just this time.

═════════════════════

taglist: @venmondiese @re-per @anukulee @slytherincursebreaker @tulips2715 @rhaenyslay @angelinap09 @cupidelocke @aegonswife @fan-goddess @thenightmistress @deliaseastar @scarletbedlam @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk

my lovely beta reader: @moris-auri 💙💙

[foodiegoogie]

sweet night

james potter x gn!reader ✮ 1.5k summary: you teach james how to play guitar, but he learns something else entirely. cw/tags: no use of y/n, just fluff rly <3 also veeerryy lightly proofread + edited so rip. title is taken from the song, 'sweet night' by v of bts <3 (just the vibes, the oneshot's not rly based on it)

note: was cleaning up my drafts, and found this all dusty and worn :P i wrote this longggg long ago so plz excuse the cheesiness hahaha,, also this was totally NOT self-indulgent (what i wouldnt give to woo james with a guitar... sighs)

( ♡ )

Guitar, the stars, and James Potter.

Two things you cherished the most, and one person you cherished, and more. 

Sitting on the rooftop of your house, under the star-filled sky, you were currently teaching James how to play a certain song on guitar. He’d enlisted you to teach him under the impression that he was gonna use it to impress Lily Evans, and if he was feeling particularly brave – maybe even serenade her into finally becoming his girlfriend. 

It was a hard pill to swallow for you, of course, what with the feelings you’ve acquired for him over the years you’ve been friends with James. He was easy to love, and everybody knew that despite his tendency to cause trouble more often than not. Most especially, you—for loving James felt just as natural and innate as how breathing works for us, human beings; it comes with ease, and with no use for great effort to do so. 

But alas, you’re committed to being his best friend first, above all else. Unrequited feelings be damned. 

"No, James- it's C." You remarked with your face buried in your hands, making your voice sound muffled beneath them.

James groans, and throws his head back in theatrical fashion. "Why can't I get it right?" He complains, irritation laced in his voice. His eyebrows knit in frustration as he attempted to try and get the chord right again for another time. 

"Now, now, James,” You clap your hands a few times to grab his attention. “Let’s turn that frown upside down, yeah?" You try to comfort him with a smile of your own, tilting your head slightly as you regard him.

James continues to frown despite your efforts, but there’s a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, along with something else you can’t quite place. He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to say something (or do something) else about his petulant behavior. 

You sigh in exasperation, shaking your head, “Here, let me help you with that.” 

You reach over with your hands to literally pull his cheeks upward, forcing him to smile. Instead, the boy whines and tries to swat your hands away from his face, then he erupts into a fit of laughter.

James makes a strangled sort of noise, “Okay! Stop, stop!" He struggled to speak as you still had your hands on his face and he couldn't stop laughing. You were laughing along with him too, and it was music to his ears. 

(Music, the stars, and you.)

(Two things James was interested in, and someone he was more than interested in.) 

You finally pull away from his cheeks, watching them go red where you'd pinched them a little too hard. You continue to laugh as James did himself, although he was making failed attempts at making himself stop laughing, trying to school his expression into a neutral one. 

"Okay, okay, I think I'm done," James heaves as he tries to catch his breath, clutching his chest with his hand. "Let's get this over with, please."

You stifle a chuckle, afraid that you would both start another riot of uncontrollable laughter together, forgetting your supposed guitar lesson for him entirely (which didn’t really seem like a bad idea, if you thought about it). Mentally, you curse him for his infectious laughter for your own. 

Snapping out of your thoughts and bringing yourself back into the present, you signal him to start right from the beginning, watching him get serious and play the song perfectly.

You were nodding your head along to the song with your eyes closed, a soft smile on your face as a cool breeze brushes against your skin. Meanwhile, James continued to strum the strings of the guitar with a newfound sense of ease and grace, knowing the song by heart at this point in time. 

But as focused as James was on playing the guitar, he wasn't looking at it. 

He was looking at you.

In the soft glow of the moonlight, James couldn’t help but think that you looked absolutely breathtaking. Even more so as you lost yourself in the moment as you listened to him play the guitar. 

You looked so peaceful and angelic, James wished this moment would last forever.

But his train of thought was interrupted when you spoke up again. "Wow, you're getting good!" You commented, the corners of your lips curling upwards into a smile.

James suddenly remembered what he was doing and purposely slipped a finger, the tune sounding very off-key when he strummed again. You opened your eyes as your brows furrowed in confusion. You were greeted with the sight of your best friend scratching almost sheepishly behind his ear.

“…And now you're not." You continued, eyeing him suspiciously. You could have sworn you heard him get all the chords right, and play the instrument efficiently just to get it wrong with a string. You sighed and grabbed the guitar from him, earning a pout from James who was obviously acting. Though you were too busy to notice, trying to be a good teacher for him. 

You played the song for James, up until the part where he got it wrong. He looked at you with guilty eyes, starting to regret his little purposeful mistake since it was never a good sight to see you frustrated with him. It weighed heavy on James’ heart, and yet, he could never understand why. 

You looked down at the guitar, seeing your fingers formed in the shape of a chord that he’d manage to botch earlier. As James listened to you correcting his mistake, he couldn’t help but gaze at you in admiration and gratitude. You had always been so amazingly patient with him, and it made him feel weird (but in a good way, he thought). 

James takes the guitar back from you when you finish with a sigh of resignation. He resists the urge to chuckle in amusement.

"Well, maybe if you put my fingers where they're supposed to be, I'd get it right." He suggests, and you catch onto the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. 

You rub your chin in thought. "Well… I suppose it's not a bad idea." You mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes as you scoot closer to him. 

James could feel his heart skip a beat as soon as you held his hand ever so gently, guiding his fingers to which strings they should be pressed against, and to where they were supposed to be placed on the fretboard. His eyes kept darting between your hands holding his and your face, a fond smile stretched across his lips.

You look up to glance at James momentarily — your eyes never did seem to stray away from him for longer than a second — only to meet his eyes as soon as you did. You look away just as quickly as you had looked up at him. Simultaneously, you could feel the blood rush to your ears as your cheeks came alive with warmth.

"You know, staring is rude," You grumbled under your breath, still trying to place his fingers where they were supposed to be without getting confused as it was difficult to do so from your perspective.

"I'm not staring," James defended. 

You quirk an eyebrow at his tone. "Then what are you doing?"

It takes a moment of silence for him to ponder over his response. You think about risking another glance as the silence began to grow alongside your curiosity for it, until –

"I'm admiring," He answered quietly. 

You halt with your movements, looking up and meeting James’ eyes once more. The corners of his lips pull upwards into a fond smile, and you think it’s blinding even as you’re under the dark expanse of the night sky. 

James catches onto the dazed expression on your face as you continue to stare at him, wide eyes glimmering with surprise. 

“Hey,” He begins with an unmistakable hint of mischief in his tone, “Now you’re the one who’s staring,” He finishes, and you hear the familiar, teasing lilt in his voice. 

“Oh, shut up,” You command him, trying to school your expression into a neutral demeanor as you fought against the smile that threatened to come alive on your face. All the while, James is happy to oblige you, beaming at you with hearts for eyes. 

As the night wore on, and you continued to teach him guitar, James couldn't help but feel like he’s learned a lot more from you than just playing an instrument to impress a girl. 

And just like that, in the quiet of the night surrounded by you, James realizes that not only has he learned how to play the guitar, but also how he wasn’t just admiring you anymore at this point.

He was enamored.

( ♡ )

[moneyndior]

୧ ׅ𖥔you’ll never find nobody better than me.⋄ 𓍯

…IN WHICH; i have loser!luke x reader thoughts

tags/warnings: fem!reader, tooth rotting fluff, reader says something slightly suggestive twice at the end, small creepy comments mention, teasing!reader, whipped!luke, hints at aphrodite!reader, hints at reader being popular, separate blurbs/headcanons, LONG‼️

ೃauthor notes⁀➷: do not expect this to be coherent lmfao i just woke up from a 4 hour nap and had ideas. also shout out to artemis for telling me to write this ily oomf

—

—loser!Luke absolutely looks over to you before answering a question for your reassurance.

“can you help me, luke?” a younger hepaestus kid asked. you and luke finally had alone time—away from your friends and away from his siblings. a huff left your lips as you crossed your arms, a sassy expression sure, but that comes naturally to you.

luke opened his mouth, ready to agree. it was his calling, to keep up the golden child reputation he had at camp. but for some reason, he hesitated. luke’s eyes shifted toward yours, back to the kid, then back to you. like he was asking you if he could go—like all his free will was thrown out the window.

as much as you’d like to preach that you didn’t like it—that you’d much rather luke be his own person—you couldn’t. a snicker left your throat as you nodded. luke’s eyes shinned with appreciation, a small smile on his face as he turned his attention to the kid.

“yeah, sure. c’mon.” luke mumbled before kissing you on the cheek, following the kid as the 12 year old frantically explained the situation.

—loser!Luke who gets weak in the knees whenever you noticed him. even if you two just made eye contact.

“it’s getting to be painful to watch you looking at her, dude.” chris said from beside luke. they both watched as your sisters braided your hair. one put a flower in your hair, making luke’s heart race a little faster. the flower on your ear made you look even prettier. it’s no surprise every other guy at camp is fawning over you.

“will you shut up?” luke asked, his face scrunched up as he diverted his attention away from you for only a split second to look over to his friend. “it’s not that bad.”

all luke got in response was silence. he shifted his weight left to right, rolling his shoulders with his arms crossed. he waited very impatiently for chris to answer.

“did you come to your senses yet? is the realization hitting now?” his friend asked, eyebrows raised. he spoke with a chuckle and a mischievous look in his eyes. luke clenched his jaw as he blinked, looking away from him.

“look, she isn’t busy. she probably thinks you’re a creepy stalker.” chris added, rubbing salt onto the wound. maybe now realization would hit luke. and it did. hard.

he could be ruining his chances with you because he’s too much of a loser to muster up the courage to even say hi! goddamnit—what kind of demi-god is he?

chris nudged the curly haired boy before quickly pointing in your direction. luke followed his finger before your eyes locked with his.

he felt his knees slightly buckle, being the first out of the two of you to break eye contact. ‘shit,’ was the only think echoing in his mind. ‘way to go, luke. go on you for looking like the biggest loser in front of y/n. awesome.’ he thought, rubbing the back of his neck as he quickly fled the scene.

“he’s cute.” “who? luke? y’know—he’s like, totally in love with you, y/n.” “i know.”

—loser!Luke who takes the title of ‘y/n’s boyfriend.’ like seriously….he takes real pride in it.

“you’re y/n’s boyfriend, right?” damn fuckin’ right he is. forget luke castellan—that’s boring. y/n’s boyfriend has a much better ring to it. he’s yours before he’s human.

he felt a weird sense of pride wash over him whenever another camper asked him that. it doesn’t matter if he’s asked it once, twice, or even a thousand times. luke’ll always get a grin on his face as he nods.

getting a question like that just meant he gets to brag about how he’s dating the prettiest girl at camp—the prettiest girl to ever walk this planet.

“yeah. y’know it’s actually our anniversary soon and i was wondering-“ and there he goes, on another tangent about his plans to surprise you. because he only wants the best for you. blah, blah, blah. luke’s just so whipped it makes everyone sick.

percy literally fake gags anytime luke finishes a rant about how pretty you looked last night at the campfire and how gorgeous your eyes were then.

—loser!Luke who took one week and three days to finally talk to you.

he felt his sibling shove him in your direction when his back was turned, causing him to stumble toward you. luke’s head snapped back toward them, watching them laugh with a few other hermes kids.

“you alright?” your voice sounded sweet like honey to him. it wasn’t rough, it was possibly the smoothest, nicest voice he’d ever heard. and luke has spoken to a lot of people.

he tripped over his feet as he tried to straighten his back, rolling his shoulders before crossing his arms. luke cleared his throat, nodding. “yeah. ‘m alright.”

a giggle left your throat at his reaction. out of all the guys that you’ve flirted with—luke stuck out for some reason. maybe it was because he was genuinely flustered at the sight of you. that’s different than the usual corny pickup lines or the way-too-intimate complimenting.

“luke, right? it’s nice to finally put a face on a name.” you said, a chuckle in your voice as you smiled. your smile was so much brighter up close. luke was about to answer, until his words finally processed in his head.

you knew his name. you know who he was before this. did you hear good things about him? bad things? did you hear that he was the best swordsman here? did that impress you?

“uh, yeah. it’s nice to meet you too.” he managed to get out, his voice coming out a little quieter than he’d like.

“i love your hair, by the way.” you complimented him like it was nothing—like he wasn’t about to make it his whole personality. did you even know the hold you have on him?

“oh, thank you.” “you’re welcome.”

luke was ready to say something about your eyes, until your sibling cut him off.

“i have got to steal y/n. i am so sorry, luke!” “oh. that’s alright.”

it wasn’t alright, though. he wanted to keep talking to you—having your full attention on him was better than anything. luke just sighed before speaking to you once more, hoping to leave an impression.

“i’ll see you later, hopefully.”

“yeah, definitely.”

definitely. luke cannot wait for the time definitely comes around.

—loser!Luke who does anything and everything you ask of him.

“can you help me take off my shoes? my feet hurt!”

you whined, throwing yourself onto a log. luke furrowed his brows, more confused above all else. he snickered quietly as he seen you pout, sitting with a leg extended out toward him.

“can’t you do that yourself?” “can’t you do it f’me?”

luke shrugged, sarcastically rolling his eyes at your words. he kneeled down in front of you, beginning to untie the converse you had on.

“you look pretty like this, luke.”

he paused for a moment, his hands still gripping your shoe lace. luke’s lips tightened, his eyebrows twitching. he really didn’t know what to feel other than embarrassment.

“thank you.” he muttered before frantically trying to finish untying the shoe. luke quickly slipped it off, hearing you giggle at his expense.

“why’re you actin’ so shy? can i not compliment my boyfriend?” you teased further as he, once again, frantically tried to untie the other.

“stop it. ‘m tryna help you and this is how you reward me?” “i’ll reward you in a different way if you hurry.”

and goddamnit—hurry he did. even when you asked for him to carry you, he still did. luke is just some guy who’s madly in love with his girlfriend. even when he’s holding her shoes and carrying her bridal style to his cabin.

[itneverendshere]

guilty conscience (+18)

chapter iii

pairing: rafe cameron x female!reader

summary: when ward cameron, a renowned business man and millionaire specifically requested your services through an escort agency, you assumed it would be just another job—brief and straightforward. however, your entire world shifted when ward disclosed his true intentions and rafe cameron stumbled into your life. there were rules, and rules were meant to be followed.

was money worth breaking someone’s heart?

taglist: lmk if you want to be added (comment down below! if you've already asked me to be here and I didn't tag you LET ME KNOW AGAIN CAUSE IM VERY FORGETFUL) : @tiaamberxx @haruvalentine4321 @maybankslover

Your phone buzzed in your nightstand, startling you out of your reverie. 

With a sigh, you fished it out, glancing at the screen to see Ward's name flashing in bold letters. You’d just texted him an hour earlier but spared any details for your sake.

Taking a deep breath, you answered the call, plastering on your most professional tone. 

"Hey, Ward. How's it going?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by Ward's booming voice, filled with impatience. 

"Well? Did you find him? How's it going over there?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to tell him you royally fucked up. The truth was things hadn't exactly gone according to plan. Rafe had slipped through your fingers not once, but twice, leaving you feeling more defeated than ever.

But you couldn't let Ward know that. Not yet, at least.

"It's... going." you replied vaguely, trying to keep your tone upbeat.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could practically hear Ward's mind whirring with impatience.

 "Make it faster," he snapped, his tone sharp and demanding. "He’ll be at the golf course tomorrow, 9 sharp.”

The golf course?!

You had never golfed a day in your life, let alone attempted to blend in with a bunch of rich snobs on the green. For fuck’s sake. This was going to be a disaster.

On the other hand, you were nothing if not resourceful. You didn’t know the first thing about golf, but you were a quick learner. And if there was one thing you were good at, it was improvising on the fly. 

“Sofia works there. Get his attention off her.”

Easier said than done. 

“Ward, your son looks at her like she hung the moon and the stars."

"I don't pay you to play matchmaker, sweetheart," he retorted sharply, his tone laced with irritation. "I pay you to get the job done. Now, I don't want any excuses tomorrow. Make sure you're at that golf course bright and early, and don't screw this up."

With that, he hung up the phone.

Fucking assshole.

You slammed your phone down on the nightstand, cursing under your breath.

Ward might have been your current employer, but that didn't mean you had to like him. Dealing with his crap was like dealing with a spoiled toddler throwing a tantrum. Except, you know, this toddler had a lot more money and power, which somehow made it even worse.

You were not some puppet he could just yank around whenever he felt like it, constantly ordering you around like some sort of lackey.

But you were not about to let Ward's ridiculous demands get the best of you. If he wanted you to be a professional golfer, you would give him just that.

The evening turned into a crash course on all things golf. Who knew there was so much to learn about golf etiquette? You spent hours glued to your laptop, absorbing every last detail you could find. And those YouTube tutorials? Let's just say you had never clicked on a video so fast in your life.

Then came the real fun—practicing your swing.

Spoiler alert: it was a hot mess. You must've looked like a total dweeb flailing around with that golf club in your hotel room. 

And let's not forget about perfecting your fake smile. You must've spent a solid hour in front of the mirror, trying out different variations until you found the one that said, "I'm totally a golf pro, trust me."

By the time morning rolled around, you were as ready as you'd ever be. 

You found yourself standing outside the gates of the local Country Club, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. You glanced down at your outfit, a bunch of preppy pieces that you hoped screamed "I belong here" rather than "I have no idea what I'm doing." 

And hey, bonus points for the fact that it made your ass and legs look great. Confidence boost, check.

With a mental pep talk and a final adjustment to your collar, you stepped through the gates, steeling yourself for what lay ahead. The crisp scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, mingling with the distant sound of clubs striking balls and polite laughter. You felt like a fish out of water in this sea of polo shirts and khaki shorts, but you refused to let it show. 

Taking a deep breath, you approached the pro shop, hoping they had something available for a last-minute rental. Inside, it was bustling with old men browsing through rows of shiny clubs and chatting with the staff.

You stepped up to the counter, plastering on your best smile as you tried to appear confident. 

“Hi there," you greeted the clerk, your voice coming out a little shakier than you would have liked. "I was wondering if you had any clubs available for rent?"

The clerk eyed you curiously, clearly noticing your lack of golf attire. "Sure thing," he replied with a friendly smile. "What kind of clubs are you looking for?"

You paused, realizing you had no idea what kind of clubs you needed. "Um, just something... basic?" you ventured, feeling completely out of your depth.

The clerk nodded understandingly and disappeared into the back room, returning a moment later with a set of clubs. "These should do the trick," he said, handing them over to you. "Just sign here, and you're all set."

You hastily scribbled your signature on the rental form, feeling a rush of relief as you finally held the clubs in your hands. 

The course stretched out before you, lush green fairways bordered by trees and dotted with sand traps and water hazards. It all looked so pristine and posh, like something out of a magazine. You couldn't help but admire the luxury of it all, even though you felt like a total fish out of water.

Glancing around, you realized you were flying solo. No caddy to show you the ropes, no fellow players to offer tips or cheer you on. It was just you, your instincts, and the vast expanse of the course.

And let's not forget, your sheer power of delusion. 

Taking a deep breath, you placed your ball on the tee and tried to remember everything you'd learned from those YouTube tutorials.

Grip firm, eye on the ball, swing smooth. Easy, right?

With trembling hands, you lifted the club and took a practice swing, hoping to shake off some of the jitters. Then, with a quick scan down the fairway, you drew back and swung.

The ball sailed through the air, arcing gracefully before landing with a satisfying thud on the fairway. It wasn't the most impressive shot in the world, but it was a start. You hadn't missed the ball entirely or accidentally hit someone in the head.

Small victories and all.

You grinned, feeling a rush of pride. Maybe this golf thing wasn't so bad after all.

You continued to take swings, each one feeling a little more confident than the last. It was all about finding that rhythm, hearing that satisfying "thwack" when the club met the ball, and watching it soar through the air.

You got lost in the game, forgetting all about the stress of the morning. The sun was climbing, spreading this warm, cozy light over the course, and all around you, there were these little moments of nature - birds chirping, clubs swishing, and the occasional "fore!" from nearby players. 

It was kind of peaceful, in a way. All you cared about was nailing that next shot. Walking down the fairway, you couldn't help but grin to yourself. Sure, you weren’t exactly a golf prodigy, but who cared? 

Just as you were lining up for another swing, a voice startled you from behind. "Hey new face, need a hand?"

“Fuck!” You blurted out, nearly dropping the club at the sound of his voice.

There he was, Rafe Cameron, looking all cool and collected in his golf gear like he'd just stepped out of a magazine. And of course, he caught you in the middle of your amateur hour on the course. You were hoping to find him during a break, probably around the bar, lurking around Sofia.

"Hey.” he said with a smirk, sauntering over to where you stood frozen in embarrassment. "Didn't mean to scare you.”

You tried to muster up a nonchalant response, but all that came out was a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. Just, you know, getting some practice in."

For the first time in my life, you’d like to add. 

Rafe glanced down at the clubs in your hand, a glint in his eyes.

"Practice, huh? Well, you definitely look like you're giving it your all."

You wanted to die.

You forced a smile, hoping he couldn't see the panic swirling beneath the surface. "Yeah, well, gotta start somewhere, right?"

He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Mind if I join you?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. This was not part of the plan, but you welcomed it anyway. You couldn't help but feel nervous at the thought of him witnessing your less-than-stellar golfing skills up close. But then again, you weren’t here to become a professional golfer, you were here to woo him off his feet and get paid.

Ward's words echoed in your mind—get his attention off her. And what better way to do that than by keeping him occupied with small talk on the golf course?

You shrugged, "The more, the merrier, right?"

"Exactly.” He said, falling into step beside you as you headed down the fairway. "So, how long have you been playing?"

You hesitated, not wanting to admit that this was your first time on a golf course. "Oh, you know, just getting into it recently," You replied vaguely, hoping he wouldn't press for details. "How about you?”

Rafe ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Been playing since I was a kid," he admitted. "It's kind of a family thing."

Of course, it is. Rich people. Nothing like a little golf for some family bonding time. But it gave you the opening you needed to make a personal connection. Nothing like sharing personal information to establish contact.

 “That’s cute. My family thing was shoving pizzas down our throat every Friday.”

Rafe chuckled at your comment, the sound genuine. “Pizza Fridays sound pretty great, actually."

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. Maybe this wouldn't be as awkward as you'd feared. "Yeah, they were definitely the highlight of the week," you admitted. "But I have to say, golf seems a lot more... sophisticated."

Rafe raised an eyebrow. "Sophisticated, huh? You must be hanging out with the wrong crowd."

You felt yourself relax a little more with each passing moment. 

"Maybe I just need the right teacher," you said, giving him a sideways glance.

Rafe's smile widened, and he stepped a little closer, "Well, lucky for you, I happen to know a thing or two about golf."

 "Is that so?" you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the sudden flutter in your stomach.

Rafe nodded, his expression turning more serious. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you're interested, I'd be happy to show you."

You could feel every little detail, like how close you were and the intensity in his eyes, like they were trying to unravel some mystery hidden deep inside you. 

No, no, no.

Pull yourself together! You mentally slapped yourself, shaking off the dreamy haze that seemed to cloud your brain whenever he looked at you. You had goals, a mission to nail, and getting all googly-eyed over some suave, wealthy guy was not on the agenda. 

You flashed him this playful grin, trying to play it cool even though your heart was doing somersaults in your chest.

 "Oh, I dunno," you teased, taking a little step back to collect yourself. "Golf lessons? Sounds like it could burn a hole in my wallet. Can't be going broke over a new hobby."

Rafe chuckled, his eyes lingering on you for a second before he backed off, “You think I’d charge you?”

The way he said it, so casually, it sent a thrill through you, but you knew better than to let yourself get carried away. This was part of the game, after all.

“You’re always this nice to strangers?”

His blonde, tousled hair fell just so, framing his angular jawline, while a subtle stubble added a rugged charm to his appearance. And his smile... ugh, it's like he knew how fine he was. Rafe had this smirk that was just... chef's kiss. And his eyes? Sparkling like he was up to no good but in the best way possible. You couldn’t stop staring. 

“Only the pretty ones.” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with flirtation.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, trying to maintain your composure despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach. But damn, if he didn't have a way with words.

"Well, lucky me then," you quipped, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. “But don't think you're getting off that easy. I’m not just some pretty face, you know.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, gaze fixed on your hands as you moved them to fix your ponytail, “Is that so?"

Ah, you have no idea.

"Guess you'll just have to stick around to find out,” you replied with a cheeky wink, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you. “But fair warning, I'm not exactly a pro at this.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Don't worry,” he said, his voice softening. “I'll go easy on you.”

His confident demeanor was infectious, and you couldn't resist playing along.

“Who said I wanted easy?”

He tilted his head slightly, his hair shifted with the movement, “You think you can take me?”

With that, he gestured for you to take the next shot. You could feel his eyes on you as you lined up your shot, the weight of his gaze fueling your focus.

Taking a deep breath, you blocked out all distractions and focused on the ball. Grip firm, eyes locked on the target, you swung the club with all the force you could muster.

The ball sailed through the air, soaring gracefully before landing with a satisfying thud on the fairway. You couldn't help but grin as you watched it roll to a stop, a surge of pride coursing through your veins.

Rafe let out a low whistle, his expression somewhat impressed. "Not bad," he conceded. "Let's see if you can keep it up."

“Sounds like you’re scared…”

His eyebrows practically hit the sky when you threw down the gauntlet, his lips curling up. "Scared?" he shot back, his voice oozing with playful doubt, “Of you?”

Oh boy.

“Of losing.”

“Pretty girl, I don’t lose.”

Yeah, we’ll see about that. 

“And you’d swing a lot harder if you arched your back just a little.”

"How so?” you retorted, your tone teasing.

Rafe stepped up behind you, his presence suddenly much closer than before. His large hands gently adjusted your posture, touch gentle yet firm. 

"Like this," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he guided you through the motion.

The warmth of his palms seeped through the fabric of your shirt, sending a wave of tingles across your skin. His fingers rested lightly against your sides, the pressure just enough to provide guidance without feeling intrusive. You tried to focus on his instructions, on the proper form and technique, but it was so fucking hard with him standing so close.

Every subtle movement, every brush of his body against yours…goddamn. You bit your lip to stifle a gasp, unable to believe how good it felt to have him so close.

"Alright, let's work on that swing.”

 There was a confidence in his tone, a subtle reassurance that made you want to combust on the spot. The way his voice rose and fell with each word…it was difficult to do anything with the sensation of his touch sending your senses into overdrive.

You tilted your head slightly and threw out the question, "Like this?"

Before he could even answer, you couldn't resist the urge to push the boundaries a bit. So, you arched your back ever so subtly, pressing yourself back into him. It was a total spur-of-the-moment move. 

There was a beat of silence that felt like an eternity. And then, oh my god, you felt his hands tighten slightly on your waist.

“Just like that.”

But then he stepped back and you couldn't help but feel disappointment at the loss of his proximity. You gave yourself a mental shake and got back into the swing of things – pun totally intended.

Grabbing the club again, you were all set to take your next shot. With Rafe's tips fresh in your mind, you took a swing, putting everything you had into it. And would you believe it? The ball actually went where you wanted it to, landing way closer to the hole than you expected.

Rafe's reaction was priceless. His eyebrows shot up again, and there was this look in his eyes like, this time he was genuinely impressed.

Score one for you.

But you weren’t about to get cocky just yet. So, you gave him a smirk and threw down the gauntlet. 

“Funnily enough, I never lose either.”

[dqllgarden]

Hi sweetheart! I’d like to request a Ben Hargreeves x Reader shot please. You can change it however you’d like and I’d still thank you for it. Lovely stuff btw I already read what you’ve came up with. Was pretty good if you’d ask me. Whatever, here we go. I want a smut Ben fic with plot. The reader was with Umbrella!Ben first and was a dom! And now she is with Sparrow!Ben and they have a switch dynamic. I want her to be a switch and challenging. Have them fight but not seriously just for the tension ya know. And I want them to be soft afterwards. Prob something like “I loved you before, I love you now and I will love you even after death. As long as there is a Y/N in any universe she is gonna love her Ben every fucking time.” And Ben is just pathetic after hearing her. #WeLovePatheticMan lol. If it’s too much you can just do whatever you like and I will still read it. Please don’t forget to tag me. Baibai 🥰✌🏻

i’ll always choose you

ben hargreeves x reader

my first request!! yay :D i was so so so excited to write this because it’s such a well thought out idea and i hope i did it justice :) thank you @cherryinsalemverse !

side note, this was my first one in third person so i hope it’s okay lol

tags: smut, switch!ben, switch!fem!reader, choking, sparrow ben being a little jealous of y/n’s relationship with umbrella ben, cutesy shit at the end!

—

Being with Ben was always a walk in the park. He was kind, strong willed, and had such a loving heart. And Y/N loved the way he’d show up for her in more ways than one. He was someone she could talk to one rough days and dominate when talking didn’t work. Their sex life was anything but boring despite how sweet her Ben looked. Y/N would wait for Ben to get back from his missions just so she could take control over him and take care of him the way he needed. She’d slowly take off his uniform, rake her nails down his body and tease him until he was on the verge of tears needing more. It didn’t take much for her to cave, being just as needy for him. She’d fuck him until she was too exhausted to keep going or until he couldn’t take any more.

That changed in the new timeline though.

Her new Ben shared some of the same traits as her beloved Ben from the Umbrella Academy, but obviously he was… different. Sure he shared the same loving heart even if it was hidden beneath his asshole facade. Sure they fought, but it was never anything truly serious. It usually ended with them in bed, Ben on top of her, hand wrapped around her throat while she muttered out insults at him.

—

Today was like any other day, Ben coming back from a mission and Y/N sitting on their bed reading a book.

“You’re back quicker than I expected, love.” She sat down her book to look up at him.

“And you’re sad about that?” He rolled his eyes and took off his jacket.

“I mean yeah, I was enjoying my alone time.”

“Well I’m back,” Ben got onto the bed and grabbed her face to pull her into a kiss, “and I missed you, princess.”

Bens hand traveled down to her throat where he squeezed down, Y/N noticing a large cut on his hand cleaned up in a very sloppy manner. She took his hand off and sat up. “What happened to you?”

“It’s just a small cut it’s fi-“

“No. No, you need to be more careful next time,” Y/N said frantically. Something about seeing him hurt makes her go totally soft on him, wanting to make sure he’s okay and taken care of. Ben tried to go back to kissing her but she didn’t reciprocate. “What the fuck?” He asked, “come here babe.”

She only smiled at him before she got up and turned around to face him, only to push him back onto the bed and climb into his lap.

“Can’t you give me this just this once? I miss the way the old Ben let me take care of him after his missions.”

“Alright! Enough about him, okay?” His hands went to the back of his head as his eyes looked her up and down. “I get it, you liked him better.”

“It’s not about who I like better,” she muttered while unzipping his pants and taking hers off, “I just miss him sometimes. That’s all.” She lifted herself up, slowly lowering herself on Ben’s cock, one hand guiding it in and the other resting on his stomach. He tried to push into her faster but she held his hips down so he couldn’t. She wanted to be in control tonight.

“Can you please just- Y/N please I need you to move,” He’d cry when she’d do nothing but cockwarm him, trying to thrust into her. “You’re lucky I don’t flip you over and fuck you the way I want to.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Hargreeves?”

He smirked at her before grabbing her throat and flipping her into the bed with such force the wind was knocked out of her. Her legs wrapped around his waist with no hesitation as he began pounding into her. Y/N moaned around him, eyes rolled back in pleasure at the way he perfectly filled her up and hit every spot just the way she needed. His weight felt so good on top of her, pushing into her with just the right amount of pressure to make her cry in pleasure. Ben’s hand left her throat to feel her body, squeezing her tits and holding onto her waist while he leaned closer to mark up her neck.

“I’m gonna cum in you baby, ‘kay?” Ben whispered in a desperate voice in her ear as he fucked into her harder. His hand went down to play with her clit to help her finish too, milking his orgasm. Ben collapsed next to Y/N not caring that their clothes were messily scattered around the room and pulled the blanket over them. He looked at her and grabbed a strand of her hair, twirling it between his fingers.

“I was thinking about what you said,” Y/N let out a breath, “I don’t mean to compare you to him. You know I love you, right? Hell, I loved you in another timeline. You’re perfect for me and I’ll love you forever, in every universe, in every timeline. As long as I’m me, you will always be mine.”

Ben’s face softened and he pulled her closer to him and kissed her forehead. “You’re so sweet. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I hope to find you in every timeline, my love.” He smiled at her before tangling his hands into her hair and falling asleep together.

[julessworldd]

Hey babes! I finally got an idea that was too good to not waste. @valeskafics gave the inspo for this amazing thing 🫶🏻 love you wifey! Also @foxyanon for the tag

Warnings: cucking, age gap (reader is 19, Robb is 19, Jaime is in his 30s) pussy eating, fingering(F), oral(m and f), squirting, hair pulling, p in v, doggy, mentions of face fucking. Spanking, dubcon at first! , dom!robb 🥵 Mentions of beheading, war/battle, cussing. Theon being early season prev Theon(you’ll see) I probably messed a couple timeline things up. I’m not totally up to speed up to westerlands’ house: I didn’t want a westerling reader so house Swyft

I don’t own characters or rights of Game of Thrones, all credits for G.R.R and HBO. Enjoy besties 🫶🏻🫶🏻

A Lannister bride was today’s Targaryen marriage. The Lannisters were powerful and wealthy people. Even better if it was Lord Tywin’s son, Jaime. Tywin’s power bent the rule of a Kingsguard not taking a wife. Owning lands, fathering children. For that Swyft lord’s daughter Y/n it was a dream come true. She remembers seeing Jaime at a tourney at the rock. He was 17 and she was merely a preteen. But she was dead set on marrying the lion.

Y/n’s wish had came true, she married Jaime Lannister, former Kingsguard, son of the mighty Tywin. She loved life at the rock, gold, nice dresses. Better yet custom dresses that the fabric came from the Narrow Sea. A handsome lord husband, who loved to make her scream until his name was the only thing she knew. Jaime had ruined her for other men, especially since he was well blessed below in the belt. And knew how to pleasure her before his own needs.

After the death of King Robert, the realm had 4 kings who thought they were the true king. One was a Stark, the late Lord Eddard Stark’s son, Robb. He was around Y/n’s age, she was merely 19 after this spring. King Joffrey declared war on all the kings, Robb was moving south. He was apparently near the trident, that was close enough for her husband to pick up and head to battle. After a king screaming match, Y/n was with her husband. She made a promise to stay out of the way and let him ride to battle. Jaime was gone as he went after the Stark army, Y/n stayed like always.

Y/n was reading a book when the tent flap moved and revealed a Stark bannermen. Y/n’s chest tightened as she locked eyes with the bannermen. She tried reaching for the blade Jaime had given her. But she was thrown over the bearded man’s shoulder. Soon enough Y/n was carried to the Stark’s camp, she seen her husband. He was dirty, dirt had hidden his golden hair. He was tied up and had a chain around his neck. Her heart broke for her husband, he was so good at battle how did he get captured? Especially by someone who is three years younger his wife.

“Your Grace, I got Ser Jaime’s wife. What should I do with her?” The bannermen asked as he held her arm

“Leave her in my tent, she’ll forget about her lion after she has me in her cunt” Theon smirked as he checked her out

“Theon, she’s a lady no matter whose house she married in. Set her up a tent near mine” Robb said “Leave her with me”

The bannermen let go of her arm, Jaime was so pissed he didn’t say anything as he was dragged away. He thinking of ways to kill the foul mouthed Greyjoy. How dare he talk to his darling like that.

“What’s a lady doing in her husband’s war camp?” Robb asked

Y/n rolled her eyes “Whats a Stark doing riding south? Don’t you remember what happened to your grandfather, uncle and recently your father. King Joffery surely knows what he’s doing to do to you”

“Mouthy little thing” Robb smirked

“Fuck you” Y/n said, she had to restrain herself from spitting on him.

***************************

It had been a few days since she had seen Jaime, she missed him. Missed his voice, his scent, how his hands felt on her waist. Everytime someone brought her food she begged to see Jaime. They ignored her. Theon asked what’s so good about the lion. She told him his cock and how he stretched her. Theon rolled his eyes and left.

A direwolf walked in her tent, she crawled to the corner of her cot. She had her knees to her chest

“Good wolf. Yeah, you. Go on I don’t have anything” she said trying not to sound scared.

“Greywind” Robb snapped his fingers and made the wolf sit the entrance.

“King in North” Y/n rolled her eyes

“Lady Lannister” Robb smirked

“I want to see my husband, please” Y/n sighed

“I’ll let you see him but on one condition, love” Robb said sitting on the cot by her feet

“What’s that? My family rides for Lannisters not Stark men” Y/n told the auburn haired king

“I want my way with you, but I want him to watch” Robb said rubbing Y/n’s foot

“Him who?” She asked

Rob was surprised she asked who instead of being offended and declaring her cunt for her Jaime only.

“Your husband, of course. I need answers and he hasn’t gave any so far. Seeing you beg for my cock will surely get to him crack” Robb said

“No! I’d rather you kill me than you fuck me” Y/n gasped

“I seen a Swyft flag this morning, a man looked like you. Is that your brother?” Robb asked

“Ryan, he’s my older brother. One of my father’s heir” Y/n said

“If you don’t let me do what I want, I’ll kill him and I’ll have you watch” Robb said

“Fine fine. Have him brought here, I don’t want the other prisoners seeing me like that or your men. Please” Y/n pleaded

“Well we think a lot a like, lady. Theon, bring the kingslayer in” Robb yelled over his shoulder

“Your Grace” Theon said before winking at Y/n before leaving

Y/n seen Jaime and got off the cot. She took in his appearance, he was practically buried in dirt. He had scruff, he looked exhausted. Old worn clothes, his hands chained behind his back. Y/n hugged him, Jaime leaned his head on her shoulder.

“My poor lion” Y/n muttered as she kissed his forehead as she stood on her tip toes

“Just let him do this twisted thing. Once I get out of here, it will be behind us, my sweet girl” Jaime whispered

Y/n looked at him but shook her yes. She led Jaime to a chair by the cot. Robb was still on her cot as he smirked. He patted his thigh, Y/n cringed as she looked over at Jaime. Jaime nodded his head signaling her to do what Robb wanted her to do.

Y/n climbed on Robb’s lap, the wolf wrapped his arms around her as he turned her to face him only. Her back towards Jaime, Robb squeezed her ass. He yanked her down by her hair and kissed her. Y/n had tears down her cheeks as she kissed him back.

Suddenly Robb had her dress off and pushed her on her back. Robb had her naked as he forced his shoulders between her thighs as he dipped his head to her cunt. Y/n whined as she felt Robb’s hot tongue tracing her hole. It had been a week since she had been touched. Jaime fucked her four times or more a week, he fucked her hard the morning he left the Lannister camp. Robb was eating her like a mad man, he rubbed her clit in tight circles with his finger.

She moaned as she grinded her pussy on his face as he licked her clit down to her asshole. Robb moaned, feeling her sweet cunt on him. Her stomach tightened as she came, her thighs wrapped around Robb’s head. Her hands clenched his auburn curls. Jaime was half hard from Y/n’s whines and seeing cum ooze out of her as Robb raised up.

Robb smirked as he turned his head towards Jaime. He gently raised Y/n up to his chest before stripping down. Y/n’s eyes flickered to Jaime, Jaime gave her a reassuring smile. Robb gently grabbed her jaw to kiss her, this time she clutched her fingers in his hair. Robb had snuck his fingers down to her hole, one finger rubbed the outside. He plunged his two fingers into her weeping cunt. Y/n moaned against his lips.

After making her cum again, Robb released his fingers. Licking them off, he flipped Y/n to her stomach. She was facing Jaime as Robb grabbed her hips. Bringing her ass up, he gave her soft cheeks a couple snacks. Y/n wanted to turn around and slap his face. That was one thing Jaime never did even do for teasing. His punishment was usually face fucking her and throat training her despite her whins. Oddly enough Y/n liked it when Robb slapped her ass, she felt herself clenched around nothing.

“I’ll show you why your father should have sent you to Winterfell instead of that ugly rock” Robb teased her clit

Y/n bit her lip to hide how she was enjoying this. Being fucked by another man while her beloved watched. Jaime however was slowly losing his cool. Y/n was his wife, her pussy was his nobody else’s, her body was something for him to cherish and push her boundaries of pleasure.

Robb finally entered Y/n and he was bigger and thicker than Jaime. Y/n moaned it had been a bit too long to not be filled. She missed cockwarming Jaime, but Robb found new areas to touch. Felt like he was going to rip her into two. Robb slammed his hips against her ass repeatedly, her moans were so sweet. Her cunt was tight, warm and kept him snug, Robb loved. He thought it was worth killing Jaime and having Tywin Lannister kill him for it. Your cunt was sweet but maybe not worth his sisters and family being killed.

Y/n moaned as Robb grabbed her by her long hair making her look back at him. Her eyes meeting his Tully blue eyes, a couple whins falling out of her plump lips. Robb stuck two of his fingers in her mouth. The same ones that fucked her cunt in front of her husband moments ago. She could faintly taste herself on his fingers. She swirled her tongue around his dights, Robb smirked.

“Guess Kingslayer did good, training you. The perfect lady wife, gorgeous body with a sweet cunt” Robb rammed into her

She wanted to knock his stupid teeth out for calling Jaime that. She was the only one who knew why Jaime did it. She agreed with him, sometimes betraying someone will help innocent people live another day. But that was soon forgotten as she came around Robb’s cock. Except he didn’t stop his thrusts until she squirted. He let go of her hair and she fell into the cot, she silently moaned as she came down from her hair.

Damn maybe her father should have sent her North cause Jaime never made her do that. Jaime! It hit her, he was there and witnessed the whole thing. She looked up as Jaime was fuming , his fits were clenched as his chest heaved. Robb chuckled as he seen the kingslayer’s reaction

“Theon! Take Ser Jaime back to his cell” Robb called his friend.

Theon walked in, Y/n saw his hard cock in his pants. Theon grabbed Jaime’s arm as he walked out of her tent.

Robb stood up getting dressed

Y/n watched as Theon was across camp

“You never asked him anything”

“I was going to but the gods blessed you with the best cunt the realm has had. Forgive me for being distracted, my lady” Robb smirked as groped her breast.

“He’s never made me do that” Y/n smirked

“That’s a shame, my lady” Robb said

Y/n crawled off the bed as she stopped in front of Robb. Running her hands down his thighs “Can I tell you thank you?”

“At once” Robb snapped his fingers like he did at Greywind

“Not a dog”

“No, but you did let the wolf have his way with you. After all you are a lions wife, maybe” Robb smirked

Y/n looked up at him and cocked her eyebrows. Robb had a point, a very valid one. How could she ever lay with Jaime without feeling guilty about this night. Of course if Robb released Jaime and her.

[2knightt]

Hi please do more ponyboy x reader I’m begging there’s not a lot :(

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ how you get the girl ⋄ 𓍯

…in which, you find a folded piece of paper in pony’s room labeled, “how you get the girl.”

tags/warnings: established relationship/early stages, reader is shorter than pony, pony’s a FUCKING LOSER, teasing on readers end, reader’s a dickhead (lovingly).

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ this is totally based off of a miles fic i read long ago but the idea has been jammed into my head

—

‘how you get the girl.’

…huh?

you just thought it’d be a silly funny idea to snoop around in his room when he went to bathroom.

of course, since you’re you, you found a piece of paper—you just had to open it!

“step 1. be cool. (WARNING: DO NOT ASK DALLAS FOR HELP!) maybe soda could help? he got sandy. he’s pretty cool.”

yeah. maybe asking dallas for help isn’t the best option when trying to get girls.

is this what he wrote to help ask you out?

this paper seemed old, stains and rips were on every corner and centre of the paper.

“step 2. look cool. maybe steal some of paul newmans looks? maybe darry has some old shirts? (SODA SAID LESS HAIR GREASE.)”

soda was right. he did look better with less grease. you never got why he thought soda was the better looking brother, when pony’s fresh out of the shower and he’s sprawled over the couch, he looks like a greek god.

maybe you’re just whipped.

“what’s that?”

you jumped out of your skin, being quick to hide the paper. you nervously chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“i-uhm,”

ponyboy tilted his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of what you’re hiding.

“what’s the paper?”

he looked suspicious of you, his brows were pinched together as he took a few steps toward you.

“just a paper a friend gave me.”

“what’s it say?”

“nothing.”

you unconsciously loosened your grip on the paper, letting it drop to your feet. ponyboy’s eyes followed it, scanning the tears and rips across it before a light bulb flipped in his head.

“where’d you find that? gimmie it!”

“c’mon, pony! lemme finish readin’ it at least!”

“no! it’s embarrassing, y/n! how much have you even read?!”

his face was beet red, and you’re pretty sure he’s never looked more embarrassed in his life until now.

“not that much!”

when ponyboy reached out to grab the paper, you instinctively turned around to cover the paper in hopes that he couldn’t even graze it.

out of desperation, he put an arm around your waist to bring you closer. with you being stunned(shocked because prior to this, he was embarrassed to even hold hands.), pony quickly leaned over your shoulder and grabbed the paper.

“well? where’d ya find it? do you even know how old this is?”

“like, two weeks?”

“i wish.”

ponyboy mumbled under his breath, taking a few steps away from you as he crumbled the paper into a tiny ball. he shoved it into his pocket, presumably to never be seen again.

his blood was cold from the embarrassment, his face being the only thing that was warm. he had a flush across his face to match his body temperature.

pony looked like he wanted to wipe his and your memory to forget about this. however, you’d rather die than ever forget a moment like this.

despite your teasing, you thought it was all sweet. he just wanted to get you—the girl—without looking like a fool.

although, ponyboy being that empty-headed nerd was what made you fall for him. he didn’t know that, though.

the boy seen your expression soften as you had a small smile plastered across your face. before he had time to comment on what just happened or to ask you what’s with the look, you leaned toward him.

a light kiss was pressed against his cheek, giggles filling the room as you pulled away, only to wrap your arms around his neck.

“you’re too cute, y’know.”

you’re lucky ponyboy didn’t short circuit right then and there. sure, he paused for longer than he’d like to admit. but to his credit, he recovered quickly and acted like nothing had happened. like this level of affection was normal in your relationship.

of course, pony had to get used to it. he was gonna be with you the rest of his life if he had anything to do with it.

his arms were around your waist, his chin resting on the crown on your head.

“i would’ve liked you either way, pony. you didn’t have to act cool for that.”

“…seriously?”

“yeah. i think you being a nerd is cute.”

ponyboy was silent for a moment before a snicker escaped his throat. he kissed the top of your head before speaking up.

“i ain’t a nerd.”