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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year

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Gojo going berserk after his wife got injured

Pairing: husband!Gojo x reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Warnings: slight injury, language, Gojo being really mad lol

Notes: My dearest @hitori979, this one is dedicated to you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for supporting me since day 0, always liking and commenting my brainrot. I hope you enjoy this fanfic as a little thank you from me 🤍 How other JJK men react when (y/n) gets hurt here Choso with injured (y/n) who has blood phobia here

„Do you really have to go, babe?“, Satoru’s oh so sweet voice mumbles against your neck.

You know exactly what he’s up to. Satoru always acts this way when you’re about to leave for a mission. How much he hates to see you walk through the door. While he’s fully aware of the fact that you’re a damn strong jujutsu sorcerer, he just dislikes the thought of you getting injured on some stupid mission. If he had it his way, you would stay at home, maybe teach here and there at Jujutsu High, but that’s it.

You are way too precious to risk your life on a mission.

“You know I have to. This is my job, remember? And I have to let you go every day, knowing that you’re not even paying attention. May I remind you that I haven’t been injured for over a year?”, you softly reply.

“That’s not true, I am paying attention!”

You raise your eyebrow demandingly by the way he ignored your last question.

“At least sometimes…Come on babe, this is not fair! Just because you haven’t been injured for some time doesn’t mean you won’t get injured today! Also, I wanted to spend the day with you!”, he complains, arms wrapped around your frame so tightly that it’s getting hard to breathe.

“You always want to spend the day with me. As much as I’d love to stay here, I have to go. Megumi will assist me.”

“I should assist you…”, he mumbles.

“They wouldn’t even send me, then”, you chuckle.

“Promise that you’ll text me, I already threatened Megumi to take care of you.”

“I will, darling. Now let me go or I’ll be late.”

With one last grumble and kiss, he finally lets go of you while you smile to yourself. God, how much you adore your husband. Even though it can be quite challenging from time to time, you admire the way he cares about you.

“I love you”, you shout before you close the door behind you.

“Love you too!”

-later-

“Don’t worry, one or two hours and we’ll be done with this”, you reassure Megumi who stands beside you.

“This doesn’t look good”, he comments.

Unfortunately, he’s right. You don’t know why there are so many curses around, but an uneasy feeling spreads in your guts. This isn’t the right place for a grade 2 sorcerer, let alone a first class student. Well, maybe even you…

“Try to stay behind me. This will get ugly”, you instruct Megumi when another wave of curses appears.

“Gojo-sensei will kill me if you get injured because of me.”

You wink at him while as you unsheathe your sword.

“Who said I will?”

Without wasting another precious minute you sprint forwards, eyes darting around the area. There are so many, way too fucking many, curses around here. This isn’t normal, something is very wrong here. But you don’t have time to think about it any further – Megumi’s and your life depend on your abilities.

You fight off more than 40 curses with ease, slashing your sword over and over. Fuck, this has no end. As soon as you exorcise one curse, two more appear on your sides and try to attack you. With every passing minute it becomes clearer and clearer to you that you won’t be able to complete this mission unscathed with Megumi alone.

“Here are many curses around, I can’t explain why though. It wouldn’t hurt to send some help”, you instruct into your headphone, fully aware of the fact that your husband is able to hear your decent cry for help as well and might freak out.

Where do all of these curses come from? This is a public place, it shouldn’t be possible for them to develop here this well. Expect this aren’t traditional curses…

“I won’t lie to you: Something’s off here. I’m not entirely sure if these are normal curses. Just stand your ground, I already informed the higher ups about this”, you inform Megumi with firm voice, fighting off a curse just before it is able to scratch your face open.

They come from all directions, almost absorbing you. Desperately you fight back with all your abilities, holding onto your sword so tight that your knuckles stand out white. You have to get through all of these curses, you have to find out why they’re here and why on earth so numerous.

But you can’t. Your thoughts wander to Satoru and his words this morning. He’ll definitely go insane when he hears about this. And for a moment, a wave of relief washes over you by that thought. Because this means he’ll come here and end this madness without Megumi getting hurt.

Megumi.

You almost miss the way a curse lunges from behind towards him while he’s busy fighting off three other ones at the same time. Instinctively you sprint forwards as fast as your feet carry you, breath going sharp and fast. No way in hell this thing will hurt Megumi. Not when you’re in charge.

“Bend over!”, you scream on top of your lungs, blade already on its way to cut through that curse.

But just before you hit it, its claws find their way into your face, scratching your forehead slightly before it falls to the ground lifelessly.

You hiss, a stinging pain crawling up your skin. But when you gently scan the spot with your fingertips, only a minor stain of blood shows itself. You let out your breath, relief flooding your body. This is nothing serious, nothing to worry about.

But before you sprint back in action, a reflex holds you back.

“Don’t move an inch, Megumi”, you warn the boy next to you.

In the split of a second, a wave of hollow purple rushes past your orbs, killing every curse on its way. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, heartbeat picking up in an instant. It’s him. It has to be him.

“(y/n)!”, he cries out, large frame suddenly by your side.

“What is this?”, he hisses.

Frantically, his eyes scan your forehead, widen in blank horror.

“Oh, this? Just a minor wound, nothing to worry ab-“

“Nothing to worry about!? You promised to be careful, you promised not to get hurt!”, he literally scolds you while his fingertips inspect your wound.

“Stop that”, you warn him, slapping his hand away.

“I did the best I could but they were just too many. And there are always more to come, look.”

Not even a minute later, dozens of new curses begin to flood the streets.

“We need to get back to work!”

“No”, he interrupts you roughly.

“Not you, you’ll stay here.”

You can’t believe your ears, mouth too stunned to speak for a second. He can’t be serious, right? This is your mission. You won’t give up because a small wound on your forehead that isn’t even bleeding severely.

“This is my mission, Satoru. I will help you exorcising these curses”, you state in all seriousness.

“Oh yeah? Watch me, then.”

You aren’t able to react any further. With breathtaking speed, Satoru lunges from curse to curse, ripping their heads off in the most violent way you have ever seen while all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. Of course you always knew that your husband is not to be trifled with when it comes to his precious wife, but you’ve never thought that his concern would reach as far as him going berserk because of you.

Because of a minor laceration on your forehead.

It doesn’t even take him 30 seconds to kill all the curses entirely, leaving you completely speechless and a little dizzy. When he walks towards you, a maniac smile is plastered on his blood-covered face.

“No one is hurting my wife and gets away with it. Especially not some random curse”, he announces under his breath, gaze still stone cold.

“How are you feeling, love? Is your head doing okay? Did you get injured somewhere else?”

As soon as his eyes meet yours, they are filled with nothing but concern and love, making your heart skip a beat.

“N-No…I’m fine…”, you stutter while getting lost in his bright blue orbs all over again.

His hands roam around your body gently, gaze scanning every inch of you with that worried expression plastered on his face. Moments like these show you with all urgency how much you really mean to your husband.

“I will kill every single curse walking on this earth to save you, (y/n)”, he speaks out with low voice, lips hungrily brushing over yours so strongly expressed that you feel like fainting.

“I’m sorry you were worried”, you mumble against his mouth.

“You’ll never get hurt by a curse again. I’ll make sure of that.”

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st4rrth0ughts · 7 months

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Ok I know I said I’m taking a break but I’m going to just dump this idea and expand on it soon, warnings below

Reader is aven’s bodyguard, mentions of dead body, death, a bit of a word vomit, and a sfw brainrot (I know, shocking, Im writing on the train anyways) probably ooc aven? Prodding at the hsr 2.1 leaks (if ykyk), I’m not in my computer so no more yellow text T-T

Aventurine peeking into your dreams through that phone in the Penacony dreamscape, only to see you, his precious bodyguard, always so stoic and unemotional, breathing hard, in the ‘real’ dreamscape, desperately yelling his name.

but the feelings of happiness, the feeling that he was important to someone, goes away the moment he sees you mortified, staring at his dead body. He wants to just jump into the dream, hold you and tell you it’s alright, seeing the look of panic, desperation and pure agony in your eyes makes his heart shatter. He would never make you cry, and he certainly wouldn’t want to in your own dream, where it’s supposed to be relaxing.

nothing much he can do about it when he stares at the dream playing out in shock, when your begging, begging for him to wake up, praying to the Amber Lord himself that this dammed nightmare would end soon, and that you would see him alive and well again.

Aventurine has never known how to receive from anyone. All his life, it was him giving, since childhood to his current age as Senior Manager of the IPC. The fact you, on a daily basis, already sacrifice so much for him, your time, freedom, even your own safety, bearing cuts, wounds while Aventurine remains perfectly unharmed was a foreign concept he still struggles to comprehend.

the fact that in a dream state, where your supposed to be happy, thinking about something else, no, even in your dream, it revolves around him. As much as he wanted to be smug and shit and be proud he was the main priority in your life, seeing you quietly sob as you hold the dead body of his doesn’t sit right with him. Never in 700 years. (See what I did there)

the dream ends, and the caller cuts off the call before he can even say anything. He walks aimlessly through Penacony, the dream replaying in his mind.

You crying. You holding him close. Of course, close contact wasn’t exactly unheard of between you two, you always did keep a eye on him, mostly during gambling sessions because of jealous competittors, he can’t count the number of times you pounced on someone for trying to attack him, but to be still cannot wrap his head around the fact that he was so important to you that he was quite literally on your mind even unconscious.

He hears footsteps, and your just right behind him. He always questions and teases you about how fast you can clear up your appearance after it gets disheveled, but he doesn’t say anything as he stares at your slightly trembling hands.

“Apologies for being late, sir. I was caught up in the dreamscape.”

Stop apologising, he wants to yell. You just had one of the most horrific nightmares in your life and your apologising for being late?! He grabs you and pulls you close. Sometimes he wishes he was taller so he could bury you in his chest and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, but feeling your chest in his face isn’t that bad either.

“I’m staying here. I won’t leave you, never did and never will.”

You run your hands through his hair. It’s not just the nightmare, it was the fact you were trying to find him, and overheard his plan to be a sacrifice to reveal The Family’s secrets to the universe. But you can’t tell him that for now, he’ll be sure to make changes so that you can’t interfere and be a self sacrificing idiot (as he puts it).

So you simply nod, thank the Amber Lord that you have those sunglasses that hide your bloodshot eyes as you let yourself be consumed by his lie of forever.

“Likewise, sir.”

#dom male reader #dom reader #dom gn reader #sub character #sub honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #star rail aventurine #sub aventurine #hsr leaks #hsr spoilers #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader

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hyunnie04 · 10 months

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summary: changbin loves to spoil you, but you won’t let him.

pairing: changbin x gn! reader

word count: 1117 words

warning: small mention of financial insecurities

genre: fluff

a/n: hi! this is my first drabble/short fic on this blog, i know its a little rough around the edges but i hope you guys like it anyways! any feed back is welcomed ^^

a more recent a/n; i edited this a bit at the end just to make it more coherent!

im having binnie brainrot atm excuse me

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changbin has always been an observant person. when you and changbin first started dating, he began to notice something you did often.

when you two would go out to run some errands together, or just simply go out on a date- it would be almost a routine that you two would just walk around, looking at clothes and or just looking at necessities for your shared apartment. changbin trails behind you, glancing and observing some of the random paraphernalia on the shelf.

you smile at the white knit sweater that you have been eyeing since earlier this year, feeling it’s nice and soft material between your fingers. oh how you wish you could bring it home, but you knew better. your wallet and your conscience was practically yelling at you to not spend a single dime on stuff you probably don't need. you suddenly feel changbin’s gaze on your figure.

“you like that sweater?” he tilts his head towards the article of clothing, adjusting his thick black frame resting on his nose bridge.

you knew that look, his eyebrows raising in question. he wants to buy it for you. putting the piece of fabric back in it's place, you turn to him and smile. “i-no, it’s alright.” he stares at you again, making you tilt your head at him. “but you’ve been eyeing that sweater every time we pass this place.”

“you should get it.” he continues and smiles at you. “i’ll get it some other time. I don't… have the money right now.” you lie, voice much smaller. shaking your head and waving him off, you continue to browse the isles. he strides after you, confused. “i can get it for you, you know.”

“bin, it's okay, really.” you smile and insist. you hope that he wouldn’t press on the topic anymore. his keen eyes notice once again when you hold up a ceramic cup with a silly design that he knows you love, but after staring at it for a good minute, you quickly put it back down. changbin sighs and makes a mental note of the things you were eyeing. he’d just have to make an impromptu trip back to this shop once he has some free time.

now back at home, you sigh and plop down on the plush couch. your feet are just aching from the miles and miles you two have walked the entire day. changbin presses a kiss onto your forehead and beelines it to the bathroom. grumbling about how he has to pee. you laugh.

after a while, the rumbling in your stomach signals you to finally get up and make dinner for the both of you. shuffling to the kitchen, you start with opening the stove and chopping up some veggies. a strong pair of arms suddenly engulf you from behind, startling you.

“bin! i am holding a knife, don’t startle me like that.” you laugh as he starts to trail kisses on the column of your neck. he chuckles and rests his head on your shoulder for a moment. it takes a while before he starts swaying you side to side without saying anything. you've known him for so long to know when he has something on his mind.

"what's on your mind, honey?" you hum, putting the greens into the pan. "i should be asking you that." confused, you tilt your head at his answer.

"why won't you let me buy you stuff?" you glance at him, he leans on the counter and continues, "i mean- it's just that you've been holding off buying stuff for yourself for so long. you deserve a little splurging y'know."

mouth gaping like a fish out of water, you shut your mouth and continue to stir the pan.

“now, tell me why my baby doesn’t want me to spoil them?” you deflate at his words, knowing this conversation was about to happen sooner or later.

aside from wanting to save some money on things you probably don't need part, you grew up with this feeling- having to be ashamed of people spending their money on you, you were determined not to make changbin an exception. accepting help from others growing up meant that there we're feelings of being a bother- feelings of being a waste of time.

years and years of conditioning yourself has lead you into believing whatever mental gymnastics you did inside your head was the absolute truth, no matter how absurd it sounded. maybe your strict upbringing also had a hand in it. that's the way it's always been.

so you explain to him. in all your vulnerability, all the while stirring your hot pan of stir fry.

“but i like doing this for you.” he stresses. changbin moves to rub your shoulder affectionately in an attempt to further reassure you.

biting your lip, “i just feel guilty.” you probably say for the umpteenth time. looking at him, you open your mouth to speak but is immediately cut off, “baby, please." he sighs, and turns off the stove from behind.

"why don't we come up with a compromise?" your buff boyfriend smiles at you. "like what?"

"tell you what, if you let me buy you something you want," he leans incredibly close to you, his breath fanning your face. "you'll get a kiss from me." you blush at his proximity and furrow your eyebrows at him, his grin widening by the minute.

"how is that a compromise?" you say after mulling it over.

"well," he starts, hands trailing and drawing simple shapes on your forearms. "you would get kisses and... and...." you look at him with your eyebrows raised, now very interested in his defense.

"and?"

"ah whatever!" he groans and burrows his reddening face into your neck. you chuckle and run your hands through his black hair, comforting your poor whining binnie.

"please just please let me spoil you!" he throws his hands up in defeat. changbin gives up his argument and grabs both of your hands, making his best pleading face. you can't help but laugh at your boyfriend's ridiculous sudden 180 turn. binnie continues to do his over the top aegyo at you, hoping you would crack.

"o-okay. alright! you win." you reluctantly agree with his constant pleading, his puppy eyes certainly winning you over. you turn to plate the poor neglected stir fry on the pan as he lets go of your hands and hug you from behind.

"but seriously- i'm really, really not bothered. and again, i like doing this for you- correction, i love doing this for you. so please let me?"

"...alright." you grin, already feeling lighter about the whole thing.

"thank you for putting up with me."

"anytime, honey."

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #seo changbin x reader #changbin fluff #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x you #skz scenarios

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sixlane · 6 months

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@croptopjames submission | 1.5k words | NSFW - dom/sub, praise, degradation, spanking, gagging

Dedicating this to euge @ecstarry for brainrotting with me and lune @sommerregenjuniluft because we talked about dancer james once. Love you guys <3

Regulus walks the length of the studio assessing the attire of his dancers. He has a strict policy of professionalism that he makes no exceptions for, and James has been pushing his luck recently.

He had hired James as an apprentice only a few months ago, but he was already regretting the decision. Not because of James’ abilities, but because of his utter lack of respect.

James is a brilliant dancer, don’t get him wrong. He came from the most prestigious modern dance conservatory in the country, and Regulus had managed to sign him right out of school.

He’s inclined to say James wasn’t worth the work, but that wouldn’t be completely true. He may make Regulus’ life a living hell, but he’s fucking gorgeous on stage, all lean muscles and strong lines. It’s captivating to watch, even more so when he gets to see it up close.

As Regulus makes his way across the room, he catches sight of James in the back sporting gray joggers and— he has to take a minute to register what he’s seeing. Is that a fucking crop top?

James just flashes a knowing smirk, staring Regulus down. He’s been called out for wardrobe infractions at least three times this month, and it’s starting to get old.

“Sirius,” Regulus calls out to his brother, but more importantly, his rehearsal director. “Can you start the warm up? I need to have a word with Potter.”

A few snickers sound throughout the studio because his employees can be fucking children sometimes, and Sirius nods, getting up from his spot on the floor.

Regulus turns toward the door, knowing James will follow him, and makes his way to his office down the hall.

He only has to stand behind his desk for a minute, arms crossed, before James waltzes in, closing the door behind him.

“This is grossly unprofessional, you do realize that,” Regulus deadpans.

“I do realize that,” James responds innocently, batting his lashes.

Regulus runs his eyes over the man standing in front of him, something he didn’t want to do in front of everyone in the studio.

The top hits a few inches above his navel and exposes the soft lines of his abs and a stripe of dark hair that trails beneath his joggers.

“Eyes up here,” James says, bringing Regulus’ attention back to the matter at hand.

He gives James a stern look and leans forward on his desk.

“How many times do I have to tell you this won’t be tolerated in my company?” he asks.

James’ eyes darken and he leans forward to mirror Regulus. “Not sure. Will you tell me again?”

The audacity of this man… Well, Regulus thinks, maybe it’ll stick this time.

He reaches across the table casually, stroking a hand across James’ face. The dancer leans into it, fluttering his eyes shut for a moment, before Regulus reaches around his head to grab a fistful of his hair.

James opens his eyes and a slanted smile pulls at his mouth.

“Keep your hands on the table,” Regulus says before pushing James’ head down onto his desk. “Don’t move.”

James goes willingly, bending in half over the desk like a dream.

Regulus walks around to stand behind him, admires the curve of his ass and the ridges of his spine where they’re exposed under his shirt. He runs his fingers over them, eliciting a small shiver from James.

Regulus dips his hands into the waistband of James’ joggers, sinking his nails into the soft skin, before roughly pushing his pants down around his ankles.

James’ breathing picks up, his anticipation getting the better of him. Regulus would love to draw this out, but he’s afraid he hasn’t got the time today.

He smacks James’ ass once, causing the other man to jolt and let out a soft whine.

“Stay quiet,” Regulus commands.

James nods in confirmation. A lie, most likely.

Regulus lets a finger wander through the cleft of James’ ass, circling his rim in slow and deliberate movements. He keeps his eyes on James’ face where it’s pressed against his desk. His eyes are shut, mouth open.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Regulus says. “When you’re not talking back to me.”

James makes a needy noise pressing his hips back onto Regulus’ finger, searching for a fullness he knows is coming.

Regulus smacks him again across the same spot as before. “Don’t get greedy. You know how this works.”

James nods again looking at Regulus now. His pupils are absolutely blown and it’s all Regulus can think about. The desperate want in his eyes.

“Tell me,” Regulus instructs.

James rolls his eyes back as he starts to lightly circle his rim again.

“Words, James.”

“You’re in charge,” James breathes.

“And I can do whatever I want with you,” Regulus adds.

“Whatever you want.”

“Good boy.” Regulus pulls his hand away again, but James doesn’t get a chance to protest before it’s being pushed into his mouth. “Now suck.”

James moans around his fingers, hollowing his cheeks and making a show out of it. He knows this undoes Regulus every time, watching as he listens so well, follows every command. It’s a high he’ll be riding for the rest of rehearsal.

“That’s right baby, get them nice and wet for me,” Regulus praises, bringing his other hand up to grab at James’ hip, keep him from moving too much.

When spit starts to drip down his chin, Regulus pulls his fingers away, and the noise James makes is fucking filthy. A keen he’s sure the whole company just heard, and that just won’t fly.

Regulus moves his hand from James’ hip up into his hair, yanking him back until he’s hovering above the desk.

“James, what did I fucking say,” Regulus hisses. “Do you need something in your mouth? Hm? Such a slut for it you can’t follow simple directions?”

James moans loudly, a please falling from his lips somewhere in there.

Regulus releases him and he falls back onto the desk with a whine.

Going back around his desk, Regulus fishes through his bottom drawer with his clean hand, finding what he’s looking for. A dress code appropriate t-shirt he keeps for times like these, when James just can’t help himself. He shoves it in James’ mouth harshly then pats him on the cheek.

“There you go baby. Now you can tell me just how much you like it.”

And James does without a second thought, immediately filling the room with muffled noises.

Regulus resumes his position behind the dancer, running his spit-slick fingers against James’ hole.

“Ready?” He asks.

James is a mess, barely there at this point even though Regulus hasn’t even done anything, but he nods anyway, and Regulus pushes a finger in slowly.

“Always so tight for me baby.”

“Mmph,” James moans around the shirt. He tries to fuck his hips forward into nothing, desperate for some friction against his neglected cock, but Regulus holds him still. He should know by now that he’ll stay untouched until Regulus allows it.

Once he feels James is ready, he adds another finger, leaning down to spit into the place where they slide into James. He increases the speed, crooking them to brush the spot that reduces James to a moaning mess.

He sees James’ eyes roll back again as he makes a muffled sound, so debauched and fucked out already.

For the first time, Regulus notices his own wetness pooling in his briefs, but he ignores it. This isn’t about him.

“Can you be a good boy and take another,” Regulus asks, and James nods enthusiastically. If he wasn't gagged, Regulus knows he’d be begging, has heard it enough times to memorize the sound.

Regulus pulls out completely, watching James’ hole flutter briefly around nothing, before pushing three fingers back in.

James balls his fists against the desk, barely moving his hips, trying so hard to be good. Regulus decides to cut him some slack.

“Fuck yourself on them baby, it’s okay.”

James obeys immediately, pushing his hips back wildly and making ungodly sounds that he wishes he could hear unobstructed.

Caught up in the image of James losing control, Regulus reaches around to touch his neglected cock where it’s been leaking onto the floor. He collects the precome beading at the tip to soften the slide, and pumps James slowly in time with the movement of his hips.

“You close? Gonna come for me?” Regulus asks, sugar sweet.

James barely responds, but the crease between his eyebrows gives him away. Regulus knows it means he’s heading toward the edge of the cliff.

Quickly, before it’s too late, Regulus pulls his hand away, pulls his fingers out, leaving James empty and neglected once again.

He smacks James’s ass roughly, then digs his fingers into the flesh, punishing.

Leaning forward, he puts his mouth right up against James’ ear, “Only good boys get to come, James. I expect you back in rehearsal in five minutes wearing that shirt in your mouth.”

James sobs into the fabric, ruined and undoubtedly aching, and Regulus leaves him there to clean himself up.

Maybe this time he’ll finally learn his lesson.

#croptopjamesfest #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #regulus x james #james x regulus #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders au #marauders fanfic #jegulus microfic #sub james potter #dom regulus black #lane writes #microfic tag #dancer au

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magneticecstasy · 2 months

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clandestine ✤ joel miller part i — new horizons

series masterlist & foreword | ao3

moodboard is not an illustration of how reader should look, just for the ~vibes~

fic summary: it’s september 2016, you're in your final year of sixth form college and joel miller joins the teaching staff as your new history teacher. over the course of the academic year, boundaries are blurred, crossed and ruined when joel begins to reciprocate your insatiable crush on him; what should be so wrong just feels so right.

rating: E | pairing/AU: teacher!joel x student!fem!reader

chapter warnings/tags: (6.5k) this is an 18+ fic so mdni! dubcon (due to student/teacher relationship, both parties are consenting otherwise), age gap (reader is 18, Joel is in his early 30s), power imbalance, inappropriate relationships (teacher!Joel is not a good teacher), fetishization of new-adulthood (if you squint), some pervy!Joel, inexperienced!fem!reader is hornee™, pet names (Joel calls reader darlin’, sweetheart etc.), minimal description of fem!reader where possible, reader has hair and is generally able-bodied, otherwise undescribed where possible.

a/n: ahhhh the first chapter of my first fic finally out!! i won't lie i am so nervous to post this but reading other lovely fics from the pedro pascal cinematic universe™ written by some amazing people has inspired me to write and post my own. any feedback is greatly appreciated, especially as a new writer. i hope you all enjoy the teacher!joel brainrot as much as i do.💞

account tags (let me know if you'd like to be added): @sugadolly can't wait for you to read this! hope you enjoy!💓

Tuesday 4th September

8:44am

The calm corridor echoes with the sound of your shoes hitting the ground hard as you run to your registration period before halting suddenly.

“I’m here, Mrs Marvelley,” you holler at your form tutor as you tumble into her classroom in a rush and fluster. “I’m here before quarter to,” you pant, heavy rucksack in tow, having just bolted up two flights. You arrive just as she calls your name on the attendance register, narrowly avoiding a late mark that you were keen to avoid on your last first day of school.

She rolls her eyes, and mumbles something along the lines of “You’re lucky.”

Usually punctual to form registration and lessons, you were delayed countless times this morning by classmates wishing you a belated ‘happy birthday’ for last Sunday, your 18th. Born at the start of September, you're among the oldest in your year, one of the first in your cohort to reach adulthood. Many of these conversations with friends animatedly recapped the events of your party the previous Saturday. The gathering was a typical teenage house party: no parental supervision, loud music, junk food, with a few bottles of booze and packs of cigarettes acquired on the sly through nefarious means, with way more people that you’d initially invited. Luckily, your close friends helped with the cleanup operation the next day, and your parents' trust in you remained intact and you stayed in their good books for the time being.

Realising the time, you part ways with your friends, each heading to your respective form classes, a wave of contentment washing over you. Unfortunately, someone had to go and ruin it.

Taunts of ‘look at her, MILF in the making’ , and ‘best time to start an OnlyFans is now, babe’ from a crew of boys you’ve never liked echo down the corridor. Their cruel laughter at their own remarks colour your anger a violent crimson.

“Oh, get fucked ,” you seethe through clenched teeth, flipping a middle finger in their direction, all the while praying you won’t get caught for the foul language. Turning on your heel you swiftly retreat, eager to escape the confrontation.

A few metres down the corridor, you overhear the boys’ guffaws being cut off by a chastation from a voice that’s foreign to you. Rounding the corridors’ corner, you decide to hang about and eavesdrop on the hecklers’ punishment.

“Now boys, I know y’all don’t know me yet but I don’t think this is a great introduction for my first day here.” The voice is deep, gravelly, laced with an American accent that you guess as Southern—maybe Texan if you had to be precise. Must be someone new, maybe a teacher? A member of Senior Leadership? You’re sure you’ll find out during registration if you were to ask around.

“I-I-It was only a joke, sir,” one of the crew pleaded to him. Not so big and bad now, eh?

“Oh sure , sure.” The voice drawls, laced in sarcasm. “Funny ‘cause it was lookin’ like you were botherin’ a young lady.”

“Oh sir, don’t be like that, it was just banter,” another boy pipes up.

The unknown voice lets out a deep huff. “Do you need your heads checked? Y’all were spoutin’ some real sexist things, and that ain’t a joke, boys — it’s not ‘banter’ ,” the gruff voice now raised, seething. “Seein’ as your ‘jokes’ have now landed yourselves in after school detention tonight, I think ya’ll need to come with me to get your detention slips signed.”

The group of boys groan in unison and you hear one swear under their breath. Oh shit, they’re in for it, now.

“Hey!” The pitch of his speech deepens, harsh and guttural, a threatening aura now looming in the air. “Let’s not make it two after school detentions in a row for insubordination.” The boys are now deathly silent. “I recommend y’all shut your traps and follow me. I’ll email your tutors and let them know why you’ll be late for registration. What a disappointin’ start to the year, boys…” The husky voice trails in the opposite direction, still berating and scolding the group.

You’re itching to text your friends about the clash that just went down, but just as you’re about to hit send, the bell rings for morning registration. Shit. You tuck your phone away and hustle towards your form classroom, hoping to avoid a late mark.

9:03am

Your form group was small, fewer than 15. A few of them were familiar faces from your early years in primary school, while most were friends you had made during your time at the local high school. There were also a few new acquaintances from other schools in the area, including Chelsea, notably absent from your registration period this morning.

Despite only meeting her last year when you joined the college, she’d quickly become one of your closest friends. She was in your History and English Lit/Lang classes so you often spent time together, as well as studying and revising at each others’ houses, and over time your friendship blossomed. The first year of your A-Level courses were a journey for you both: you laughed together, cried together, comforted each other through the meltdowns triggered by the towering workload and disheartening feedback on essays you’d slaved over.

This morning’s registration period is extended by 20 minutes, seeing as it’s the first day back and there’s a lot to catch up on; new schedules to coordinate and potentially revise in the case of any timetable clashes. This was to be followed by a ‘Welcome Back’ assembly held in the main hall of the sixth form college, that you don’t doubt will be boring as hell.

Your head is buried in your new school planner, setting it up for the upcoming year, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you are greeted by the beaming face of Chelsea.

“Chelsea! Hey!” you say, surprised but happy to see her. “Dude, you are so late.” You stand to pull her into a tight squeeze of a hug.

“Babe, I know —my car was being a bitch this morning, took forever to start,” she exhales, exasperated. She breaks the embrace, drops her backpack on the floor and sits at the desk next to you.

“Shows you for driving an absolute shitbox,” you tease, attempting to lean back into the rigid plastic seat.

“Hey, don’t talk about Gizmo like that, it’ll hurt his feelings.” Chelsea throws a mock frown at you. “Not like your hunk o’ junk is much better.”

“Guilty as charged,” you banter, arms up in mock surrender.

“ Anyway …Happy belated birthday!” she exclaims, pulling out a small, colourful badge from her bag. “I know I couldn't make it on Saturday, so I wanted to give you this now. You gotta wear it all day.”

You look at the badge; it is vibrant and cheerful decorated with hearts and stars, with a playful ‘Birthday Girl!’ written in glittery bubble letters. A mix of emotions washes over you. You are so pleased by the thoughtfulness of her gesture—Chelsea was always a giver—but a little embarrassed by the idea of wearing a badge in front of everyone on the first day back.

“Awh, Chelsea, you didn't have to…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“I know, I know, but I wanted to. You deserve a little extra celebration!” she grins, pinning the badge to your blazer proudly.

You feel a warmth spread through you. It is touching to know she had thought of you and made the effort despite missing the actual day. You glance around, noticing a few curious glances from your classmates. Embarrassment mingles with gratitude, and you smile at her warmly.

“Thanks, Chels," you say sincerely. “This means a lot.”

Chelsea flashes a wink. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

With that, you begin recalling the details of the altercation you overheard between the boys and the new staff member. You provide a concise rundown, explaining how the boys suddenly started harassing you, describing how this new, mysterious person defended you after you had presumably left. Chelsea is as astonished as you are to hear the entire story.

“Wait, you have no idea who it was? And he was American ?” Chelsea raises an eyebrow, then narrows her eyes, probing you further for details.

“Southern? I dunno. And, nope, sorry, no idea, hon,” you shrug, “I didn’t think to get a look at him. Didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping, y’know.”

Chelsea ponders, drawing out her words. “Hmm, interesting...”

“Do you know of any new teachers taking over this year?”

“Not a Scooby-Doo clue, mate,” her shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. She pauses a moment, lightly tapping the desk with her fingertips and pursing her lips. “ So … Did he sound hot?”

“Chels! You can’t say that!” You gasp, shocked at her question, hitting her arm playfully.

“Oh come on, I just wanna know the deets!”, she defends whilst punching you back in jest. “Did he sound old, young—you gotta give me something to work with?!”

“I dunno how to describe it, umm… he was…” you trail off, replaying the snippets of what you overheard like a movie.

The voice was a rich, gravelly drawl that sent shivers down your spine. His tone had a weathered maturity, a deep, husky resonance that carried the weight of experience. There was a touch of warmth, even when he was angry, like a low rumble of thunder on a hot summer night, both comforting and electrifying. It was the kind of voice that could soothe a troubled mind or set hearts racing with a whisper. The kind of voice that you were desperate to hear again, that sparked your curiosity.

“It was, like, deeper, husky— I don’t fucking know , Chels!”, you attempt to surmise before breaking out into a giggle and your cheeks warming into a blush.

“A-ha! So, he was hot! You jammy bitch.”

“We don’t even know what he looks like, so we can’t say for definite if he is or isn’t hot yet.”

“Well if he sounds fit, he probably will be.” There’s a proverb in there, somewhere, if you look hard enough.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”, you jest. Chelsea laughs and it’s infectious, both of you giggling at your wild hypotheses.

Your conversation is cut short when Mrs Marvelley calls for the class’ attention. She begins handing out your new timetables for the year, and you grab yours from her eagerly, hoping that it’s not terrible.

“These are your timetables for this year. I’ll give you a few minutes to check them over. If there’s no issues, head up to the main hall for assembly. If there are issues, you need to go down to the admin office and speak to Mr Jones. I repeat, you need to see Mr Jones.” She spots a hand raised amongst the group. “And, no , Dan, he won’t change it so you get Fridays off, no matter how much you beg and bribe him.” A few quiet snickers ripple across the class.

Looking at the timetable, your eyes are drawn to a different set of initials where you expect to find AW, for Mr Walker, one of your lecturers who seemed as ancient as history itself.

HIST/A2

Rm. 93

A few of your other peers also spot the change too and break out into a slew of overlapping speculative discussions.

Is he dead? Wouldn’t surprise me—My sister heard he had to get a hip replacement, second one musta gave out finally—I guess Mr Walker ain’t walking anymore, hahaha, what? C’mon, it’s just a joke, Miss, be chill—Who’s JM? You reckon it’s a guy or a girl? I hope they’re nice, not like Mr Hall. He’s a dick—Can’t believe they haven’t sacked him yet.

“You good? Everything okay?” Chelsea asks, standing to collect her belongings.

“Yeah, no issues here.” You follow suit, packing your bag to leave. “‘Cept Mr Hall is still teaching History.”

“ Ugh , tell me about it. Let’s hope this fresh meat isn’t as much of a twat as he is.”

“That’s wishful thinking, Chels, but I got my fingers crossed. Anyway, time for us to be bored out of our minds for an hour. Let’s go.”

10:28am

As you’d predicted, the Welcome Back assembly dragged on for what seemed like millennia. You’d been sitting there that long that your ass had gone numb. Led by the assistant headteacher Mr Faulkner, it was the usual presentation, welcoming everyone back after the summer, a few announcement of extra-curricular activities commencing this week, with some interesting musical performances from the Music students and a refresh of the colleges’ rules, expectations and consequences:

Try your best.

You are a representative of the College, in and out. Conduct yourselves in a manner that does not put the institution into disrepute.

You are in your last year now, make it count.

Surely, this all could have been in an email . It was basically the same trifle they spouted last year.

Before you feel yourself fall asleep out of boredom, the last announcement catches your attention, and urges you and Chelsea to sit up in your seats.

“Before we end our assembly today and let you go to break, I have one last announcement—an introduction, actually,” Mr Faulkner announces, wrinkled hands clasped tightly together. Microphone feedback echoes awkwardly through the speakers.

Shallow murmurs ripple across the hall. In sync, you and Chelsea flash each other a knowing look. This could be the end to the mystery that plagued you both all morning.

“As you may be aware, we had to bid farewell to our longest serving member of teaching staff, Mr Walker. Over summer, he underwent some surgery and he felt that it was in his best interest to retire after an illustrious 45 year career in teaching. He sends his best wishes for your year ahead and apologises for not being able to do so in person. We thank him for his many years at this College and wish him a speedy recovery.”

Chelsea leans to you. “ Jesus Christ, he doesn’t half go on, does he? Just get to the fucking point, man, ” she whispers before Mrs Marvelley quietly shushes her and raises a hand in a silent apology. You chuckle under your breath, silently agreeing with your friend. A shiver of excitement races down your spine, making your fingers tingle, a slow and steady anticipation building within you.

“I’d like to formally introduce you all to our newest member of staff to join our College. He is a former lecturer from across the pond and we are so grateful to have him join our department of Humanities and Social Studies. So please give a warm welcome to the stage, Mr Joel Miller.” A lulled applause breaks out across the hall. Mr Faulkner takes a step back from the mic and your eyes scan towards the front, looking for this ambiguous Mr Miller to join the stage.

And that’s when you spot him. Probably one of the most attractive people you’ve ever laid eyes on. The kind of person that makes your breath hitch, cheeks hot and heart skip a beat. You’re silently praying to a higher power he has an American accent as he climbs the few steps up to the stage.

Time feels like molasses as your eyes drink him in. His hair is a rich brown and pairs deliciously with his eyes, falling across his head in tousled waves. The boyish curls, a little dishevelled, frame his face perfectly and suggest a softness that beckons you to touch them. Though sparse in places along his strong jawline, the uneven growth of his facial hair adds an irresistibly raw, untamed allure, hinting at a blend of tenderness and roughness that you find insatiable. A textured beige blazer drapes over his broad shoulders, accentuating and hugging his physique with each movement. Underneath, you could see a burnt orange button-up shirt, which complements the warmth of his skin. An undone top button reveals a slight glimpse of his chest, firing your desire to see more .

Lost in him, your mind wanders as you envisage how his salt-and-pepper scruff would feel against the soft skin of your cheeks, peppering wet, sweet kisses trailing down your neck and body, and before arriving at the delicate creases of your thighs. Sweat drips down your back as your tummy flutters and tightens, and you cross your legs to seek any sort of purchase to relieve the building pressure in your core, a wetness beginning to pool in your underwear, cheeks blushing at the sight of him. Almost immediately you decide that you want him to absolutely ruin you.

A familiar voice drawls across the hall’s speakers, snapping you back to reality. You glance around to see if anyone noticed your reaction. Thankfully everyone is facing the front, focusing on the assembly.

“Uh, hi folks, thanks for having me,” Mr Miller utters into the microphone, a soft nervous smile blooming across his face. Bingo. Mystery solved at last.

You whack Chelsea in the side in an effort to get her attention and she whips her head round. It's him, you mouth silently, that’s the guy.

“No, shit. I told you he was gonna be fit.”

Saying he was fit felt like an understatement. He was immaculate, a commanding masculine energy radiating from him. To you, he's a masterpiece that's rough around the edges, sultry perfection with a touch of brooding reality.

“I ain’t one for public speaking so I appreciate y’all being so kind in welcoming me here today. And thank you to Mr Faulkner for that, uh, introduction,” he says, a soft chortle escaping his mouth. “I’m honoured to be joining such a prestigious department and hopefully live up to Mr Walker’s legacy. No pressure, amirite?”

He chuckles again, joined by a comforting wave of murmured chuckles from students around you. You’re transfixed, hanging onto every word he says.

“In all seriousness, ‘m looking forward to settling in, getting to teach history, doing what I love — thank you,” he finishes, punctuating the sentence with a slight nod. Taking a step back from the mic to allow Mr Faulkner to finally wrap up the assembly, you choose to ignore the assistant head and pour your focus entirely into Mr Miller.

Head tilting like a curious puppy, you pay close attention as he slides his glasses up his aquiline nose with his middle finger and runs his large hand through his hair, touseling his curls. You begin to fiddle with your delicate chain necklace, fingertips barely grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as a warm giddiness prevails over you causing your cheeks to burn harder. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s perfect.

“What? ” Chelsea whispers, poking her finger into your side. “ What did you say? ”

“Huh?” you murmur. Confused at first before awareness sets in, your eyes widen like a deer in headlights, realising what you’d whispered aloud. You’re about to respond and promise to tell her at break, when Mrs Marvelley's sharp whisper cuts through the air, causing you and Chelsea to freeze in your seats like statues.

“Girls ! That’s enough.” Arms crossed tightly across her body, she leans in to avoid drawing attention to herself as she delivers a quiet but harsh scolding. “Stay here at the end of assembly. You have detention for constant whispering. Now, be quiet . So incredibly rude,” she hisses.

Avoiding Mrs Marvelley’s scathing eye contact, both you and Chelsea offer mumbled apologies, a mix of sorry Miss and won’t do it again . For fuck’s sake. Detention was the last thing you needed on your first day back.You’re kicking yourself for sitting at the end of the row instead of the middle, where you would have quietly gossiped without getting caught usually. At least it was only technically 50% your fault with Chelsea involved, when you thought about it. You pray she didn’t overhear you gushing over the new teacher—the thought itself makes you feel nauseous.

The assembly rolls to a close at long last, and students and staff begin to file out of the main hall. In the hustle and bustle, you lose sight of Mr Miller and a feeling of longing waves over you as if you miss him already like a pathetic puppy. Meanwhile, you and Chelsea remain seated, bracing yourselves a stern lecture from your form tutor. You exchange glances every now and again, struggling to stifle your laughter despite your present situation. It’s always funny how being forbidden to speak makes everything seem so much more amusing.

11:07am

Mrs Marvelley escorts you back to her classroom at breaktime and delivers a scorned lecture as she logs the detention on her prehistoric computer, almost punching the keys of the keyboard. The computer was probably as old as you, if not older.

“Girls, I cannot believe that you were being so rude, whispering constantly like that. Every single time I looked over, you were just talking . You’re meant to be the good girls in my form class — really let me down today. Imagine what impression that makes on Mr Faulkner or even Mr Miller who’s new to this college, the pair of you gossiping like that.”

Neither you or Chelsea interrupt her, knowing better to just accept the scolding than to argue back. Admittedly, she’s laying it on a bit thick, it wasn’t like you’d committed any serious infractions or catcalled and harrassed another pupil like some people you know. It was just gossiping. All the same, you feel a pang of embarrassment in the pit of your stomach.

Mrs Marvelley twists her thin wrist to check the time on her watch.

“Alright ladies, you’ve got 10 minutes left of your detention but I need to pop out to speak to someone next door. It'll be a few minutes. Can I trust you both to stay here until I get back?”

You and Chelsea nod without saying anything. Mrs Marvelley leaves without a word and you’re both left to your own devices.

You fidget with a loose piece of thread on the hem of your skirt, running it through and round your fingers before pulling at it to snap it off. Readjusting in your seat, you let out a lengthy sigh. The previous arousal in your underwear feels a little uncomfortable now, both literally and figuratively. It’s not even lesson 3 yet and it’s been a helluva day , you muse.

“Mr Miller got you all worked up, eh?” Chelsea teases, nudging her leg into yours. It was like she read you like an open book.

“Don’t you start,” you warn, rolling your eyes, your slight irritation palpable in the sideways look. But she was right. You’d barely laid eyes on him all of 5 minutes and he was already driving you crazy. “Was it obvious?”, you ask quietly, bracing yourself for the worst possible answer that your new crush on Mr Miller was clear as day.

Chelsea’s familiar hearty laugh echoes through the room. “Only because I know you so well by now. Oh, and the fact you admitted that he was, what was it? ‘So fucking perfect’ ?” She teases, her fingers waggle in the air, forming imaginary quotation marks as she quotes you.

You groan with embarrassment. “I can’t believe I said that, I’m such a dick .” You groan again, louder this time, flopping into a pathetic lump on the desk, head buried into your arms. If the ground beneath you could split open and swallow you whole, you’d welcome it with open arms. You would prefer it actually than being stuck in college for the rest of the day.

Chelsea rubs your back, her hands radiating a warm heat as she circles your upper back, maintaining a consistent pressure. Usually when she rubs your back like this, you’re throwing up into a toilet the morning after a heavy night of binge drinking in a random field somewhere—the session hidden from your parents obviously—but it’s still comforting all the same.

“You’re alright, mate, honestly.” She insists, hands moving down to give attention to your lower back. “Nobody heard ‘cept for me. Hell, I barely heard you, but I got the message.”

Peeking out of the lump, revealing your flushed face, your eyes meet Chelsea’s. You pout at your pitiful demeanour.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

There is one last thing you need to do to feel fully assured of yourself. You offer Chelsea your little finger. “Pinky swear?”

She locks her petite finger with yours and offers a tender smile, gently nodding. “Pinky swear.”

2:04pm

The rest of the day passed without any further mishaps. You had double Spanish followed by independent study and lunch before your last period - History with the enigmatic Mr Miller. Lining up in the corridor, it feels stuffy even when you remove your thick blazer and loosen your tie. The rhythmic tapping of your fingers against your thigh does little to settle the butterflies in your tummy. You’d made a tactical judgement by standing towards the end of the line; you were waiting for Chelsea and you didn’t want to seem too keen. The shrill ring of the bell pierced through the rustle and bustle of the corridor, both clouding your mind so much you barely take notice when the rest of the line heads into the class. Mr Miller is standing at the door welcoming your class in.

His eyes lock with yours and your heart does a flip. As you make your way into class his lips curve into a soft smile, inviting and warm, and you feel like the air’s been punched out of your gut. Shit. You return with a weak smile and enter the room before you pass out.

Usually decorated with replicas of historical artefacts, boxes of old dusty textbooks and old wall displays of work from students who’d long left the college, the classroom was bare, empty like a blank canvas. The desks had been rearranged from rows of tables into groups, allowing for four people to sit. You decide to take a seat towards the front, near to where you sat last year with Chelsea. She trails in not long after you and smiles with a ‘hiya’ under her breath.

“Well, this is different.” She says scanning the classroom, unpacking her bag before sitting in the seat adjacent to you. “Least it’s not as dusty with Walker’s junk everywhere.”

“His stuff wasn’t that bad. It was just too much of it.” You follow Chelsea’s lead and get your equipment out for the lesson. As you’re getting your notebook out, your elbow nudges your pencil case and its contents spill on the floor.

“Fuck’s sake ,” you whisper under breath. Flustered, you’re about to get out of your chair when you feel a shadow over you.

“S’alright, I got it.”

Mr Miller looms over you before getting down to grab the contents of your pencil case from the floor in one swift motion. Since this morning he’s removed his blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The sight of his forearms, tanned, strong and just so masculine , makes your heart flutter, a quiet thrill running through you at the thought of those arms wrapped around you, entangled together.

“There you go, darlin’.” He says, holding them out to you, a soft laugh reveals his smile lines. “Saved you gettin’ up.” Taking the handful of pens out of his hand, you swear you feel electricity in the split second his hand gazes against yours.

“Thanks, sir,” you manage to say without squeaking too much.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” His velvety words dance across his tongue and you almost want to believe that he’s being this hot on purpose to torture you personally.

Returning to his teacher desk he settles in the leather office chair and begins logging in and setting up his teaching resources. He completes the attendance register with no hitches; apart from the way he says your name has your head spinning. Satisfied that he can start the lesson, he rises from the table and stands near the board, ready to present, clicker in hand.

“Alrigh’ folks, welcome to final year History, you’ve made it this far.” He leans casually against the wall in the space between his desk and the board before continuing.

“I’ll be level with you. It's period five on your first day back. It’s my first day. Your lil’ brains are probably information overloaded right now bouncing ‘round your heads.” He pauses and run his hand through his curly hair which is a lot more dishevelled compared to this morning. “I’ve had to meet almost too many people to meet within a day.”

He sounds gruff, like he’s worn his voice out from lecturing all day.

“Bet some of y’all are wondering how you’re still upright after the day you’ve had. Hell, I'm wondering how I’m still standing.” He chuckles, a rich, deep sound that seems to vibrate through you. A few from your class join in with a soft laugh. His irreverent humour puts your mind at ease and you appreciate his honesty.

“‘Won’t overload you with too many of the scary details of what’s going to happen this year but we’ll do an overview. That sounds good to y’all?” The class and you let out a mumble of agreement. “Let’s jump in then; this is your intro’ to The American Dream: reality and illusion, from 1945 to 2003.”

For the next half an hour, he shares an outline of what this year’s course will entail in terms of assessment: formative essays every few weeks to check your progress with course content, a historical enquiry assignment due in April, followed by your final exams in June. He goes on to describe some of the key events you'll study this year with confidence: the Cold War, the Civil Rights movement, the rise of popular culture and media, Watergate, the war on drugs, 9/11, and the U.S. invasion of Iraq. It’s quietly ironic that the college has asked him to teach on this module, and you wonder what Mr Miller’s perspective could offer when teaching some of the topics that he’s probably lived through himself.

The broad scope of subjects felt overwhelming looking at them in one go, yet it was the challenge you craved. History as a subject was one of your passions, even when it pushed your limits. A poor grade on a painstakingly crafted essay would upset you, but it didn't dissuade you either; it ignited a fierce resolve to prove yourself. Your old teacher Mr Walker was always so supportive of your interest in his subject, keen to hear your opinions and debate with you. His feedback on your essays was always fair, highlighting both the strengths and drawbacks in your analyses and opinions:

I like the way you’ve considered this, it enriches your main, overall argument. However, in paragraph 7, it feels a little weak and undersupported. Next time, you should consider looking at these sources I’ve suggested and how they may alter your argument. Good work on the whole — Grade: 20/25.

It was a shame that your work wasn’t appreciated by your other History teacher. Mr Hall's biassed grading, favouring certain students with A’s while giving you C’s and D’s, felt unjust. And it wasn’t because you thought your work was better; you’d heard through the grapevine that this particular group would pay seedy websites to produce their essays in all their subjects, slap their own names on the work and submit them. Others complained to Mr Walker about it but it fell on deaf ears, and lacked concrete evidence to prove the plagiarism so the issue never went further, despite it appearing to be an open secret. However on results day, your quiet determination paid off. You revelled in the sweet victory of an A, while the boys, once so favoured, faced the sting of D’s, E’s and U’s. You wondered if you’d be believed now if you brought the issue up again.

Throughout the lesson you earnestly take notes whilst you listen to his lecture, to jot down the important information and to show him that you’re listening intently, aching for a crumb of approval from the new teacher. The way he speaks commands the room, drawing the attention of the whole class, oozing a confidence that only comes with experience. Each word rolled out with a noticeable Texan accent, dripping with a natural, unforced charm.

The introductory lecture draws to a close, to your disappointment. You could listen to him talk for hours.

“I hope I ain’t completely frazzled your heads, anyone got any questions?” Mr Miller offers a slight smile as he scans the room, his brown eyes meeting yours. For a second you feel his gaze on you, praying he doesn’t see your cheeks starting to warm for what feels like the hundredth time, your uniform feeling unbearable against your skin. As luck would have it, the bell rings, saving you and the class begins to pack up their belongings.

“Oh—before you go, I have this handout you need.” He turns to collect the stack of papers from his desk. In the meanwhile, you put your blazer on and start to clear away your things at an unhurried pace, waiting for everyone else to clear the room before you ask Mr Miller about what happened this morning with the boys. Chelsea’s ready to go, looking at you expectantly.

“Chels, I’ll meet you outside. I wanna ask him something.” She nods in understanding and offers a knowing wink as she leaves.

The almost vacant classroom suddenly feels stuffy as if it will swallow you whole. Mr Miller has his back to you, shuffling and organising his already messy desk as you approach him.

“Umm, hi, Mr Miller…” you start, nibbling on your lip so hard you almost draw blood. You hear your blood pumping in your ears, heart pounding like a relentless drum.

“Oh, sorry darlin’ I didn’t realise you had a question,” he turns and sits, leaning back in his office chair, relaxed. “How can I help?” A dangerous question for your little wound up mind. I don’t know, maybe bend me over on that desk right there and fuck me so hard I forget my name?

“Uh, no, actually. It’s about something that happened this morning.” You say instead, taking a seat on the edge of the desk closest to his. Mr Miller’s expression changes, a mixture of concern and confusion, unsure of what you’re referring to. Thumbing the sleeve of your blazer, you begin to explain. “I think it was you I overheard dealing with a group of lads being a bit gross this morning…” you trail awkwardly, dropping his eye contact, hoping he catches on.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. What about it?”

“I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me, I—err—appreciate it.”

“ Oh… ” Realisation washes over him and he sits up in his chair. “Those boys were bothering you , huh? I’m sorry they were being like that. Ain’t right to talk to a lady like that,” he murmurs, his finger grazing against his bottom lip. The way he says it, dripping with charm, makes your heart swoon.

“You don’t need to apologise for them, they’re dickheads, anyway.” You offer a soft chuckle, feeling a little awkward about the situation.

“Dickheads they might be darlin’, but they needed to learn a lesson on how t’be respectful. Guess they don’t teach that over here.” He shrugs nonchalantly and a slim smile appears briefly on his lips.

Leaning forward in his chair he perches elbows on his knees, his large hands interlaced, he catches your eye and looks at you intently. “They bother you again, you tell me, alrigh’? I will deal with them.” He murmurs, voice deepening, eye contact unwavering. “I’m serious. Any word or comment, you come to me .”

Shit. I’ll come for you if you want. You swallow hard and you feel slick arousal begin to dampen your underwear again in response to his command.

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll let you know,” you try your best to sound unaffected by his commanding allure.

“Not a problem, darlin’. Now, get outta here and enjoy the rest of the day.” His smile is like a gentle caress, as warm as his gaze. He rises from his chair to see you out. You hop off the desk, bag slung over your shoulder and walk over to the door.

“One last thing,” he stops just short of the door, his tall frame towering over you. You look up to him; you guess he’s shy of 6 foot. He holds the pink, sparkly ‘Birthday Girl’ badge from Chelsea, still attached to your blazer, like he was inspecting it.

Your mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape in realisation and you sigh softly, attempting to hide your embarrassed face before meeting his gaze. “It was my 18th on Sunday and my friend got me this because she missed it, and made me wear it all-day.” You let out a nervous laugh, realising how silly the situation was to explain aloud to your teacher.

A lingering smile tugs at his lips, his eyes flitting down and up your body. “Well,” he pauses, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his thumb brushing against the colourful badge before his hand grazes down your arm, sending a jolt through your body. “Happy birthday for Sunday, darlin’, I hope you got everything you wanted,” he coos.

You have to swallow hard to stop yourself from letting out a whimper in response, aching for him to touch elsewhere instead.

Your thoughts are spinning like a record of the things you can’t say right now; I want you for my birthday, that would be the best present. I want you to touch me, suck my tits, fuck me, make me cum before you ruin me. Make me feel like no one else has. I wanna make you feel so good, I wanna be good for you. I’ll be so good, I promise.

“T-Thanks,” you stutter, breath hitching. You excuse yourself before you let illicit thoughts pour out of you and make your way to the car park to meet Chelsea. Your head is spinning, replaying the interaction over and over; the sound of his gruff voice, the way he looked at you, his light touch over your blazer, the way he had you like putty in his hands. It drowns yet excites you, teetering on edge between being turned on and utterly overwhelmed, the cruel truth dawning on you.

You have a crush on your teacher and you’re probably—definitely—absolutely fucked.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, I love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!💞

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 8 months

Text

a mix-up of good omens-coded songs (idk how to title this--)

Hellooo my maggots, so there were a number of songs that were just so good omens and ineffable lovers coded that I had to see how they sounded together. But me being me, I don't know how to actually mashup songs, so I just sang it the way I'd have wanted to mashup the songs and made it into one song.

Of course all songs remind us of Good Omens now, that's a different matter of significant concern. But these especially were very Aziraphale and Crowley's religious-trauma-and-being-queer vibey.

The songs I cover here are (in order and excluding repeats) Devil's Backbone by the Civil Wars, Take Me to Church by Hozier, Angel By the Wings by Sia, Falling by Harry Styles, Holy Water by Noah Davis, The Village by Wrabel and Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen.

And, well. Yep. The lyrics in the order that I sing them are below the cut. Thank you maggots for dragging me into this brainrot it is painful and unholy and I love it here so so much. Thank you @falling-raine for yelling at me to post this. Wahoooooooo!

[LYRICS] Oh lord, oh lord, what have I done I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run Oh lord, oh lord, I’m begging you please Don’t take that sinner from me Oh, don’t take, take, take, take Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog At the shrine of your lies, I’ll tell you my sins And you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death, good god, let me give you my life Oh lord, oh lord, what do I do? I’ve fallen for someone who’s nothing like you He’s raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone I just want to take him home Oh, I just want to take, take, take So take an angel by the wings, Beg her now for anything, Beg her now for one more day Just take an angel by the wings Time to tell her everything Ask her for the strength to stay What am I now? What am I now? What if I’m someone you won’t talk about? I’m falling again, I’m falling again I’m falling I’ve walked through hell and back again Cause I’m a man who loves a man No you don’t need to pray for me No I don’t need your Holy water I don’t need your sympathy, sympathy, your— Holy water Just cause you think differently, differently There’s nothing wrong with you It’s true, it’s true There’s something wrong in the village, in the village Oh Coz I’ve been there, sitting in the same chair Whispering that same prayer half a million times It’s a lie though, buried in disciples One page of the Bible isn’t worth a life But I’ve heard there was a secret chord That David played and it pleased the Lord But you don’t really care for music Do ya? And it’s not a cry that you hear at night It’s not somebody who’s seen the light It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah Hallelujah.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee I love them so much.

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years

Note

The Glitchy Red brainrot is real rn not gonna lie. Could we get something where reader somehow obtains Red’s cartridge and tries their hardest to befriend him? Like maybe Red’s very untrusting at first but slowly starts warming up to them.

When you obtained a copy of Pokémon Red, you weren’t expecting the MC to be both self-aware and extremely arrogant.

He refused to move outside his home no matter what you did, the text box telling you things like “no” and “not going out there” and “I’m sick of it”.

You wondered out loud what hurt him (in a joking way like, “damn who hurt you”), surprised to see him actually respond.

“It’s all of you players. You come back for “nostalgia”, thinking it’s funny to break this game even more. But none of you know how much I suffer for it....not that you care or anything...” The text speed is slow, ensuring you saw every word he was speaking.

You immediately feel bad, telling Glitchy you’re not trying to mess with the game or exploit glitches. You just wanted to enjoy the original story.

Still, he doesn’t trust you and tells you to destroy the game itself.

“What? I can’t do that. Won’t it kill you?”

“...it’s better than suffering in this hell.”

“But..it feels wrong,” you frown. “Knowing you’re alive and..all that. I know other people have hurt you before, but I’m sure we can figure out something-”

“Don’t pity me. Don’t give me that “I’m not like the others” crap. To you, all I’ll ever be is a stupid video game character. I’m sick of wasting my time with you, goodbye-”

“Red, I’m not pitying you. I believe you’re real, and destroying the game would..feel like murder. Just let me convince you that I’m on your side.”

“........”

“Please.”

“...fine.” He begrudgingly agrees, but only bc deep in his hateful heart he wants to believe you.

Thus he lets you play the game like normal--or as normally as you could given how corrupt the world is at this point. It’s not the same but still nostalgic nevertheless.

Sometimes he goes on tangents about how he hated being “demoted” and “replaced” (plus the pain of knowing events are scripted...so it feels like nothing he does matters in the end), thinking he’s better off being a forgotten memory.

“I’m merely a prisoner who’s been given the ILLUSION of choice...”

“I don’t think they’re all illusions, Red. You’ve had choices of your own to make.”

“Did I...?”

“Maybe not in-game choices, but you chose to talk to me.” You pointed out. “You could’ve sabotaged the game whenever, but you let me enjoy the story and keep you company throughout it. Those choices came from your heart, and not some ridiculous code. I think those are the ones that matter most..which means you do matter.”

He’s silent for a long time, his sprite staring at you. Had things in the background not been moving as normal, you would’ve thought the game froze.

Maybe he thought your words were too cheesy.

But then....

“......that’s actually comforting to hear. Thanks...”

“=)”

You just smile at the screen.

At least he was finally warming up to you.

#clanask #anonymous #pokepasta x reader #glitchy red #glitchy red x reader #headcanons #platonic

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agathasangel · 2 years

Text

in the middle (jen barkley x claire debella x fem!reader NSFW)

warnings: smut, angst, cheating, sexting/dirty picture sharing, mutual masturbation, semi-public sex acts, threesome, legal age gap (reader is 24-25, jen is late 30s and claire is around 40).

I literally thought of this whole plot last night and somehow wrote 2k words of it in one day. Yay brainrot. also this takes place pre-glass onion while claire is running for governor and fairly soon after jen was bobby newport’s campaign manager.

summary: jen is your girlfriend, and you are trying to repair your relationship after her struggle to stay loyal to you. but when jen’s away and her new candidate, claire debella, sees a photo of you and has to have you, they make a plan to share.

“I’ll be honest, (y/n), I’m not exactly a “committed relationship” kind of gal. But I really like you. I want to keep seeing you, just… don’t expect me to be the perfect girlfriend at first. I don’t know if that’s something I’m capable of.”

That was what Jen said to you at the end of your internship on the campaign she was working on at the time. While her political career required her to lie her ass off on a daily basis, she was brutally honest when it came to her personal life. That was something you appreciated about her.

But she was more right than either of you could have imagined. While you were living in the same city, things were fine. But her work often required her to leave, and Jen had a hard time resisting temptation. Your most recent fight happened after she got back from Indiana from a job and she admitted to you that she had cheated on you- yet again- this time with a man who worked for her opponent.

“But it meant nothing! I have no feelings for Chris, you’re the one I actually care about! He- he was just there.”

Of course, she managed to win you back, like she always did. Despite her flaws, you loved her, and you knew she loved you. She worked so hard, courting you, buying you flowers and gifts, helping you study for grad school, and just making you feel special.

But then, of course, she had to leave again.

“Babe, I got another job offer! Claire Debella is running for governor of Connecticut, and she’s being backed by some tech billionaire. I can’t refuse this, I’m gonna make a killing!”

“Does that mean you’ll have to go to Connecticut?”

“It does but- hey, I promise it won’t be like last time, alright? We’ll talk every day, you can visit-“

“Jen, I have school…”

“You can visit on weekends, or breaks. I can pay for your flights. We’ll make this work, okay?”

You agreed, although you didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. You dropped her off at the airport a week later, and she made you another promise.

“Keep your phone on, babe. When I get to the hotel, I’ll send you something extra special.”

And she did. That night you got a photo message captioned “wish you were here ;)”. You opened the photo and it was her, sprawled on her hotel bed, completely naked. God, she was perfect.

You texted her back “I’ll miss that so much”, to which she immediately replied, “send me something back to enjoy tonight! I’m missing u already”

This was not something you and Jen had ever thought to do before, but you complied. You stripped and found a lingerie set Jen had bought you a while back to change into, and started taking photos for her. This became a nightly ritual between the two of you that you kept sacred. You sent her photos of yourself in the various lingerie pieces she kept ordering for you.

“you look even better in that than I thought you would, baby. Let me see from the back”

You sent her another photo of you from the back, bending over and sticking your ass out slightly.

“that’s it, baby. god i wish i was there so i could take you in that position.”

Sometimes Jen would send you audio clips of her moaning as she touched herself to your photos, and you would replay those at night as you imagined you were together, and that she was fucking you.

Jen thought that this would be enough to keep her from giving into her temptations, and truth be told, it was. At least for a while. But that didn’t mean the temptation wasn’t present. This time it was the woman she was working for, Claire Debella herself. It was rare that Jen actually liked one of her candidates, but Claire was smart, had some great ideas, and was gorgeous to boot. The two women would meet daily for coffee in the morning, or drinks at night, and were starting to become actual friends.

The two of them would always start by talking business, campaign strategy, the usual. But they started to venture into talking about their personal lives.

“You dated an intern? And it actually worked out?”

“It did. She was- is- pretty great, and it wasn’t what you’re probably thinking. (Y/n) was the only one there who wasn’t some dumb legacy kid. I had a lot of respect for her, we bonded, one thing led to another and we were sneaking off to the supply closet every day for the rest of the campaign.”

Claire laughed, “I gotta say, Jen, I kinda wish I had a story like that.”

I could give you a story… Jen thought. But she knew better. You were all she wanted, all she needed. She just had to keep reminding herself.

That night you sent her a video of you riding your favorite strap, which Jen of course left at home for your use. For the first time, you weren’t wearing lingerie, you weren’t wearing anything. Jen reveled in the sight of your bare breasts moving up and down. She imagined she was wearing the strap like she usually did, that you were bouncing up and down on her cock, moaning.

“Yes, baby, just like that. You look so pretty riding me baby, just a little more, yes…fuck, good girl… cum for me baby, good girl…”

The next day at work, Jen was conflicted. She couldn’t stop thinking about your video, but she also couldn’t stop thinking about Claire. She wanted you both so much it hurt. She never felt this way before. Jen was used to hooking up no-strings-attached, mostly with men. But you and Claire were different. She walked to her office distracted and in a daze, not having gotten much sleep last night thanks to that video you sent her. Jen felt herself bump into someone, and felt hot coffee spill on her shirt.

Shit. It was Claire. Of course it was Claire.

“I’m so sorry!”

“Are you okay, Jen?”

“Yeah, I just- I didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. “

“Okay. Don’t worry about it, I have an extra shirt in my office, I’ll let you borrow it.” Claire led Jen up to her office and took off her coffee-stained blazer that covered her otherwise clean dress. The dress hugged all her curves beautifully and showed off her strong, lean arms.

“Here you go.” Claire, for whatever reason, helped Jen take her shirt off, her gaze lingering for a bit before their eyes met. Jen felt vulnerable, exposed. And what’s more, she was enjoying it. She put the shirt on and quickly made a beeline to her own office, shut the door and turned the lights off. She then unbuttoned her dress pants and put your video on, trying to get the image of Claire’s eyes and body out of her head. And it worked.

That is, until she realized she forgot to lock the door. She heard a voice behind her.

“Jen? Jen?”

“Claire! Um, how much did you see?”

“Just a couple seconds. I was going to ask about my speech, but first, I have to ask, that girl you were watching. Is she your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“God, you’re lucky.” Her eyes darkened as she reached over Jen’s shoulder and pressed play. “Wow, look at her go…”

“You’re not mad?”

“Please. This is nothing. Besides, I can enjoy it myself. If you’ll let me, of course.” Jen breathed a sigh of relief, excited at the possibility that was just presented to her.

“Pull up a chair. Wait until you see all the pretty photos she’s taken for me.” Claire did so, making sure to lock the door behind her so no one could disturb the two of them as they enjoyed you.

“Stunning,” Said Claire, slipping a hand under her dress. “Imagining the two of you together, it’s getting me fucking soaked. You touching her, your girl riding your pretty face-“

“We can make her our girl, Claire. She’ll be into it.”

“Oh, I bet she will be. Such a little slut for us.”

Jen told Claire the plan she came up with to introduce them. Your spring break was coming up, and Jen would buy you a plane ticket to come and visit. The day came, but not as quickly as either of them would like.

Jen picked you up from the airport, just as you had planned. She looked beautiful and put together as always, and you ran into her arms.

“I missed you! I missed you so much Jen!”

“Oh baby, you have no idea. Let’s get back to the hotel and get you all cleaned up, and then I made a dinner reservation. You, me, and Claire Debella.”

“Claire’s coming? I know you two have gotten close during the campaign and I hate to be the jealous girlfriend but should I be worried?”

“Oh, honey, no. She just wants to meet you, that’s all. I think the two of you will really hit it off.”

So you showed up at the restaurant, by Jen’s side, wearing the impossibly short black dress she picked out for you. Claire was already sitting down, and the host led you right to her.

“She’s even prettier in person, Jen. Hi, you must be the famous (y/n). Jen talks about you all the time. I’m Claire Debella, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

The woman was definitely your type. Powerful, charming, older. And the three of you did hit it off. You talked about the campaign, your classes, and your worried about Claire and Jen were gone. Claire was incredibly friendly to you. A couple cocktails in and you started thinking about how pretty Claire was, about all the things you, her and Jen could do together…

So you cut yourself off. You couldn’t think about that, not when you’ve spent the past few months chastising your own girlfriend, terrified of her cheating on you. You nervously excused yourself to the bathroom, not noticing Jen motioning for Claire to follow you.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone.” Said Claire as you left the bathroom stall.

“I’m sorry?”

Claire grabbed you and turned around, pinning you against the sink, slightly bent over so that your short little dress slid up.

“Look at you. I wish you could see yourself when you’re like this. Ever since Jen showed me you, I knew I had to have you.”

“Claire, what if someone comes in?”

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She teased, pulling your skirt up further.

“What cute panties you have on. And what an even cuter little wet spot right there. Just from me bending you over like this, where just anyone can walk in and see.” She ran her fingers between your clothed folds, and you stopped yourself from moaning. It felt so good, but you couldn’t betray your girlfriend.

“Claire, this isn’t right. Jen is my girlfriend, I can’t do that to her-“

You were interrupted by a stall door opening behind you.

“It’s so sweet how loyal you are to me baby,” you heard Jen’s voice say from behind, “but right now I want you to let Claire fuck you. She’s wanted to from the moment I showed you to her. I told you this trip would be different, and it sure was. Don’t you wanna let us make you feel good?” At that moment, Claire slipped her hand into your panties, brushing your clit and you let out a moan.

“Good girl,” Claire praised as she teased your pussy some more, slipping a finger inside you as Jen watched eagerly. But Claire quickly pulled out when she heard footsteps coming towards the door. As much as the idea of getting caught turned her on, she was running for office and couldn’t risk it. You whined a bit at the loss but stood up and pulled your skirt down, locking eyes with your girlfriend, smiling at you proudly.

“Why don’t we get the check and get out of here?”

#jen barkley #jennifer barkley #Jennifer Barkley x reader #claire debella #claire debella x reader #jen barkley x reader #kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn x reader #kathryn hahn fan fiction #smut #wlw smut #my fics

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sh1-n0bu · 2 years

Note

Ayo heard you want horny brainrots well I (🦝) have been summoned.

I don't know what your preferences are. Men, women, both, neither but personally I would fuck just about anything that is off age and willing so that being said

I absolutely adore Beidou. She is so fucking hot. She's powerful, strong willed, breathtakingly gorgeous and overall just step on me, captain I am actually begging. On top of that, she wields a claymore, the back amd shoulder muscle she must have? On God?? Yes, MA'AM.

Realistically she probably has a bunch of scars and a sun tan and overall I think Beidou might be the hottest woman in all of Genshin. Genshin has many hot women but no one surpasses her. My queen. My goddess. My love. My main since day ONE. (that's a lie but she was in fact the forst character I pulled)

Alright I'm going to take my brain and wring it out like a wet towel to give you some more asks. Cya in the next one

✿ 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 ♡︎

characters: beidou x gn! reader

warnings: fluff, angst, there will be nsfw but it’s not as wild as my other posts, both reader and beidou are switch, cute domestic shits, kazuha being y’alls adopted son (kinda)

notes: 🦝anon, my beloved, i have already made it clear that i’m a raging bisexual so yes, women♥️. women, men, sexy human look alike puppets with god and inferiority complex, idc gimme them all! went with head cannons format with this one i hope you don’t mind. also i’m so sorry my beloved 🦝 anon, i took so long to answer😭😭

aahhh yes beidou

i’m pretty sure everyone took one look at her and went “i’m sat”

and yes 🦝 anon she would have the muscles, sun tan i mean come on she stays out in the sea for as long as she wants, scars and damn did i mention muscles whew it’s getting hot in here

absolutely would spoil tf out of you

jewels, foods, all kinds of trinkets from the places she’s been to before

and if you were to talk it out with her and won’t get seasick easily, she won’t hesitate to ask you to come with her on her ship alongside the crux

after basically adopting kazuha, you two would almost become his pseudo parents in a sense

beidou is the fun carefree mom while you are the parent that frets over him as if he’s a baby

and everytime she sees you scolding kazuha over the smallest of things such as scratching his pretty face she won’t hesitate to tease you in all kinds of ways

general nicknames would be “darling” “your highness”(teasingly) “my treasure”

“[NAME]! MY TREASURE! GUESS WHO CLAPPED THE BIG NOBUSHI GUYS’ ASSES BAREHANDED!”

“OH MY ARCHONS BEIDOU YOU’RE BLEEDING!!!”

if you were to ever kiss her scars or wounds while treating her she would just melt

“ahaha… oh darling, what did i ever do to deserve you?”

due to her past of being hated by the village she was taken in, sometimes beidou would have a very horrific and detailed nightmares or thoughts of you leaving her because she is ‘cursed’

would hate to burden you but will gently stir you awake to ask for cuddles and kisses

“i-i’m sorry, treasure. i-i just… please? hold me?”

please don’t degrade her even as a joke

since you’re someone so dear to her heart, even if she were to laugh it off as a joke on the outside, she would be thinking all sorts of bad thoughts on the inside

i feel like she would give the best hugs and piggyback rides

if you’re both walking around and you’re getting tired or wounded, she won’t hesitate to squat down in front you or carry you bridal style

is so so incredibly gentle with you

she knows she’s strong, she knows she’s powerful i mean she struck down haishan, the leviathan while visionless

and due to that knowledge she’s afraid she might accidentally hurt you in some way, even when she knows you’re not some fragile doll

i can’t really see her being a sub honestly

i feel like she would be either a switch or a soft dom

is into face-sitting and i cannot stress this enough

whether it’s you sitting on her face with your juices gushing and squelching, your legs trembling to hold yourself up she won’t stop until she’s satisfied

“shh it’s okay darlin’ you’re doing sooo good. come on sit on my face, i wouldn’t mind and you know that”

or her sitting on your face as she grinds her slicky pussy into your mouth while moaning and calling you a good girl/boy as she grips your hair

it doesn’t matter which one it is, she’ll take it

will overstimulate you but in the gentlest way you get what i’m saying?

“aww there there. come on you can cum again. you can cum again right darlin’? yes you can treasure. come on cum for me. you can do it”

or it’s you absolutely worshipping every inch of her body

“haaangg~ oh yes, that’s it. keep mmggff! keep going. ah yeah, you’re making me feel so good treasure~”

sex with her would generally be very soft, slow and filled with praises

aftercare would be you two cuddling together after cleaning each other up and just talking of small topics like today’s weather, the next destination, which destination to go to next etc etc

just,,,, beidou🥹🫶

#nobu.writes #beidou x reader #beidou x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader angst #beidou smut #genshin smut #switch reader #🦝 anon

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maochira · 1 year

Note

Ughhh cannot stop thinking about big bro barouuuu and his teenage sibling who is lazyyy and hates cleaning their room so their somehow “encouraging” barou to clean their room and he ends up doing it and won’t stop bitching about it later so we bake cookies for him to shut upppppp

I WAS ABOUT TO WRITE ANOTHER REQUEST AND THEN SAW A NOTIFICATION TO THIS ASK I JUST HAD TO WRITE IT IMMEDIATELY. THE BIG BRO BAROU BRAINROT SO STRONG RN I SWEAR

Requests open! - current writing event - masterlist

Tags: gn!younger sibling!reader, a bit of swearing

"Oh my fucking god." Barou says as he enters your room. "What the actual fuck."

"It's not that bad." You roll your eyes at him and lie back down on your bed.

Your big brother groans in annoyance. "It's more than 'that bad'. How can you live like this? It's awful." He points at the pile of clothes on the floor. "Put it in the laundry basket right fucking now." He instructs in a strict voice.

"Huh? Those are clean clothes I haven't put into my closet yet."

"This can't be real." Barou gets more and more frustrated. He grabs your arm to pull you out of bed. "Clean your mess. Right now."

"But that's exhausting..." You whine like a child to tease your brother a little. "How about you help me?" You suggest, trying to hide your grin.

Barou takes another glance at your room. "Without my help, you wouldn't even be able to clean up anything anyways. Your room looks awful."

And that's how you got your brother to help you. From the moment you asked him to help, your intention has been to let him do everything. But you knew he wouldn't do that if you straight up asked him to do it on his own.

Although, you know how to get him to do it. You keep being too slow or doing things in the wrong ways, knowing they will frustrate Barou so he ends up doing those things.

And just when he throws the last piece of trash into the bin, he notices you sitting on your bed with your phone in your hand. And then he realizes he did pretty much all of the work.

In anger, he snatches the phone out of your hand and yells at you. "I can't believe you used me like this! Don't expect me to ever clean your messes again!"

Before you get the chance to answer, Barou throws your phone on your lap and storms out of the room. You call after him, but he ignores you.

That gets you thinking about the entire situation. Sure, your brother is the one who always complains about your messes, but they're your messes, so they're your responsibilities. You start feeling bad for using Barou like that, so you think about ways to apologize.

Apologizing with words doesn't feel enough. He put so much effort into cleaning your room, you feel a strong urge to put effort into something as well.

You don't know what to do, though. You try really hard to come up with something because even a day later the two of you can't be in the same room without him bitching about how you used him like a maid to clean your room.

You've had arguments a handful of times, but he's never been as resentful as he is now. Not only do you feel bad about it, but his complaining also starts getting on your nerves.

Another day later, while Barou is at soccer practice, you decide to bake his favourite cookies as an apology, hoping he will accept that.

He comes home earlier than you expected him to, so he walks in on you cleaning the kitchen from the mess you've made while baking.

"Look who can clean up their own mess,"" Barou says in a condescending tone. "If only you would have done that with your room."

"Listen, I'm sorry." You tell him.

"That doesn't make it better."

"Do cookies make it better?"

That catches Barou a bit off guard. "What?" For the first time since entering the kitchen, he takes a look at the oven.

"I made your favourite cookies. You know... as an apology."

Barou sighs and chuckles a little. "Alright, I forgive you." He ruffles your hair before he continues speaking. "I can't be mad at you for that long anyways. Even if you're an annoying little shit sometimes."

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock #blue lock x you #shouei barou #barou shouei #blue lock barou #bllk barou #shouei barou x reader #shouei barou x you #barou x you #barou x reader

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froggibus · 2 years

Text

Rest and Recovery - poly! Zenyatta & Genji x reader

Pairing: poly! Zenyatta and poly! Genji x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: after getting hurt, Zen and Genji know just how to take care of you

CW: blood, violence, gang violence, fainting, severe injury, knives (switchblades), hurt/comfort, (fluff eventually i swear), poly! relationship (kinda)

here is my Zenji brainrot no one asked for lol. this has been on my mind for like a while but i finally got around to writing it. also have severe leon kennedy brainrot rn so there's a 50/50 chance next time i post it'll be that

————

Genji and Zen had always warned you not to go too close to the villages nearby the monastery. Though most of the locals had learned to live with the colony of omnics on the mountain, there were some who actively rebelled against them.

Gangs pounced on any omnic or omnic sympathiser who got too close to city limits. The lucky ones came back to the monastery sore and missing a few parts, and you never learned what became of the unlucky ones.

That’s what led the pair to constantly warn you about wandering too close. You were precious cargo, they said. They didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

Listening was never your strong suit. That’s how you found yourself being beaten by a few low ranking gang members.

One with dark, spiky hair spat on you. “Had enough yet, freak?”

You narrow your eyes on them. “No,” you lie. The truth is, your sides are burning and your head is spinning, but if you give in now, you’ll never be able to live with yourself.

“That’s too bad,” another one says, his words punctuated by the distinct sound of a switchblade.

Suddenly you’ve had enough.

You scramble to your feet, your heart pumping adrenaline through your veins faster than you can track. The pain in your body fades as you try to run away, only for one to grab your hair and tug you into his chest.

You kick off of him and manage to get away, but not before the switchblade grazes your side. Still, the scrape is nothing compared to the regret flooding through you.

You run, pushing off of the pavement as hard as you can, dragging yourself back to the monastery limits. You’re barely aware of your injuries or the warm blood dripping down your side. Your only solace is that it’s just a scrape, that your injuries aren’t major and you won’t have to tell Zen and Genji about your scuffle.

You wouldn’t be able to bear their disappointment.

As soon as you make it to the main stretch of land, monks stare at you. You ignore their stares, limping to the temple and the rooms that reside around it.

You stumble to your room, but as you get there, you see Genji leaning against the outside wall. “Genji?” You squint.

“Oh my god, y/n…”

He looks horrified, dark eyes narrowed on you in surprise. You look down to where your hand has been squeezing the spot you got scraped, only to realize it wasn’t a scrape at all.

Blood gushes from what you now see is a stab wound, pouring down your side and onto your legs. You look up at Genji, the reality setting in and bringing nothing but pain with it.

“Wha—” you start to say, but your knees give in and the world goes dark.

Genji catches you, your cold body falling against his. He swings your legs up over his arm, and before he even realizes where he’s going, he’s running to find Zenyatta.

He’s frantic, tearing through the monastery in search of his master. You lose more and more blood by the moment. It pours over his clothes and down his body.

He finds him in the gardens, meditating. On a good day, he’d never disturb him while he concentrates. But it wasn’t a good day—it was the worst day of his life.

“Master!” He calls, and the omnic’s head snaps up to see his student holding your unconscious form.

————

You wake up warm and comfortable, almost comfortable enough to forget the horrors of the day. You blink your eyes open slowly, trying to adjust them to the light.

Genji sits at your bedside, head in his hands. Next to him, meditating, is Zenyatta. The sight of your boys brings a smile to your face until you remember how you got injured.

“G-guys?” You murmur, your voice hoarse.

Both heads snap to you at the same time.

“How are you feeling?” Zen asks.

You shrug, “mostly good…just tired.”

“Y/n,” Genji sighs, leaning in to hug you. “What happened? How did you get so injured?”

“I-I left the village limits,” you admit, “I’m sorry, I know you guys said not to but-but I was bored!”

“Y/n—”

“Let’s not focus on the past,” Zen interrupts, shooting Genji a look. “I managed to heal, and you survived. That is what matters.”

His words don’t leave much room for interpretation, both you and Genji quieting afterwards.

Zen rubs a hand across your forehead, smoothing your hair back. “I’ll get us some tea, okay?”

You nod and watch as he floats out of the room before turning your attention to Genji. He has his head in his hands, black hair falling through the cracks of his fingers. You sigh—it wasn’t fair for you to make him worry like this.

“Gen,” you murmur, running your hand across his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

He looks up at you with bloodshot eyes, eyebrows knit together. You run your hand up his shoulder and cup his cheek, the cold metal of his jaw warming under your touch.

“I never want to see you that hurt again, y/n,” his voice is shaking, “please don’t be so reckless with yourself. Please.”

“I promise.”

He sighs in relief, “thank you.”

You nod, reaching your other hand to intertwine with one of his. He offers you a weak smile, squeezing your hand in reassurance. Zen walks back into the room carrying a tray of steaming teacups and sets them down on the nightstand.

You can see him glance at your intertwined hands and hum in appreciation. He hands you a cup and another to Genji, and that’s when you notice the grey ball of fabric tucked under his arm.

“Here,” he notices your gaze and thrusts the fabric out to you, “you need to stay warm to recover.”

You flush slightly but set the tea down and take the sweater from him. You tug it over your head, the sleeves hanging over your hands and the fabric practically engulfing you.

Genji looks at you and almost chokes on his tea, “isn’t that my sweater?”

“Indeed,” Zen says smugly.

“Why didn’t you get one of yours? Not that I mind but,” he gestures to how large it looks on you.

“Mine wouldn’t have looked so cute.”

If you were flushed before, you were practically on fire now. You weren’t used to all this attention from them, and certainly not at the same time. You take a deep breath and sip your tea, hoping it’ll calm your racing heart.

“Your face is so red, y/n,” Zen notes, “is it something I said?”

You want to tell him that he knows damn well it’s something he said, but Genji speaks first. “So cute,” he murmurs, using a thumb to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“G-guys!”

Both boys back off, chuckling slightly at your reaction. You squint at them, “how am I supposed to rest with the two of you teasing me?”

“Aw, y/n,” Genji coos, “we’ll leave you alone and let you rest, okay?”

He sits up from his chair and grabs his tea but you find yourself reaching up and grabbing the fabric of his shirt. “Wait—”

He turns around, Zen hovering just next to him. The sides of Genji’s mouth lift up in amusement.

“Do you…do you guys have to go?”

“Of course not,” Zenyatta says, and suddenly he’s at your bedside and lifting up the corner of the sheets to lay next to you.

You’re so distracted by the sudden contact of warm metal on your skin that you don’t even notice Genji crawling in on the opposite side, essentially sandwiching you between them.

“Are you comfortable enough?” Zen asks.

You nod, curling up between them. Genji throws an arm across your waist and scooches closer to you, his body heat warming you better than any blanket.

“Good,” he says, “but you better actually rest, y/n.”

Your cheeks burn at the implication, but you’re too tired to make any jokes about how being sandwiched between them in bed has been a dream of yours for a while. Instead, you close your eyes and try to sleep.

#overwatch 2 #overwatch #ow2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #ow #overwatch fic #xreader #overwatch headcanons #zenyatta x you #zenyatta x reader #zenyatta #poly Overwatch #genji x you #genji x reader #genji shimada

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