#Professor reader

[pandapetals]

Period Cramps

You find Rogue, Jean and Storm complaining that men don't understand period cramps.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor

a/n: Hehehe i saw a art (from@pequena_padawan on tiktok) of scott being projected with period cramps so i wrote this.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

“I swear, men just don’t get it,” Rogue complained, stretching out on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

You walked into the living room with a raised brow, catching the exasperated look on her face. “Men don’t get what?” you asked, setting your mug down and joining them.

Jean glanced up from where she sat, an amused smirk playing on her lips. “Period cramps,” she replied. “Rogue was just telling us how Remy thought a heating pad would magically make everything better—like that’s all it takes.”

Ororo shook her head with a chuckle. “Oh, that’s nothing. I once had Kurt ask me if periods actually hurt, or if women just liked to be dramatic about it.” She raised an eyebrow, and all of you groaned.

“Tell me about it,” you muttered, flopping down on the couch beside Rogue. “One time, Logan had the audacity to say, ‘It can’t be that bad, right?’ I’ve never seen a man regret his words so fast.”

Rogue laughed, nudging you. “Logan? Mr. Tough Guy said that?” She grinned, shaking her head. “I thought he’d be more careful with that mouth of his around you.”

“Trust me, even Logan has his clueless moments,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Sometimes I think men are just wired to be oblivious about this stuff.”

Right on cue, Logan and Scott walked into the room, their arms full of bags from a grocery run. They exchanged glances, clearly sensing the united front of irritation in the room, but Logan couldn’t help himself.

“What’s with the looks?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, just discussing period cramps and how none of you guys get it,” Jean replied sweetly, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Scott scoffed, setting the bags on the counter. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. It’s just a little cramp, right?” he said, shooting a clueless grin at Logan, who smirked in agreement.

Jean and Ororo exchanged a glance, and before you knew it, Jean was subtly pressing her fingers to her temple, her eyes narrowing with a mischievous focus.

Suddenly, Logan and Scott’s faces twisted in unison. Logan's smirk vanished as his brows knitted together in confusion, then pain. Scott doubled over slightly, clutching his stomach as his face went pale.

“What the hell—?” Logan growled, his voice strained. His hand went to his lower abdomen, his eyes widening in bewilderment. “What… what is this?”

Jean crossed her arms, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “That, gentlemen, is what a ‘little cramp’ feels like,” she said, barely holding back her laughter.

Scott’s eyes shot up to her, panicked. “Are… are you doing this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jean replied, giving a little shrug. “Thought you two could use a little empathy lesson.”

Just then, Xavier wheeled in, his eyebrow raised as he took in the scene. “What’s all this commotion?” he asked, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he surveyed Logan and Scott, both clutching their stomachs and grimacing.

“Oh, Professor,” Ororo said with a grin. “The boys were just getting a taste of period cramps. Jean thought they needed some perspective.”

Xavier’s lips quirked up into a subtle smile. “Well, it does seem they could use a little… enlightenment,” he mused, pressing his fingers to his temple as well. You felt a slight ripple in the air, and then, judging by the way Logan practically doubled over, the cramps intensified.

“God— damn , Charles!” Logan barked out, his face twisted in agony as he shot Xavier a betrayed look. “Are you both in on this?”

Xavier raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. “Perhaps next time, you’ll think twice before dismissing someone else’s pain.” His tone was mild, but his amusement was unmistakable.

Scott looked like he was about to cry, clutching his side as he turned to Jean. “Alright, alright—I get it! I get it! Just… please, make it stop.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Logan threw you an almost pleading look, his tough-guy façade thoroughly shattered. He was sweating, his hand clutching his abdomen like he was in a wrestling match with his own body.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad, right?” you teased, grinning up at him.

Logan’s glare softened just a bit, though he let out a strangled grunt. “I’m… I’m sorry, okay?” he managed to grit out. “I’ll never say another word about period cramps again. Just—tell them to stop.”

You exchanged a look with Jean, who finally lifted her finger from her temple releasing her telepathic grip. Logan and Scott straightened up slowly, breathing hard as the ghost of the cramps faded.

Logan glared at you, though there was a hint of reluctant admiration in his gaze. “You’re ruthless, you know that?” he muttered, reaching out to steady himself against the couch.

You leaned up, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Now you understand. And next time, maybe you’ll keep your commentary to yourself.”

Logan shook his head, rubbing his abdomen. “Remind me never to cross you and Jean,” he muttered, glancing over at Scott, who looked equally traumatized.

Ororo let out a laugh, clapping her hands. “Lesson learned, then. Welcome to our world, boys.”

Logan shot you one last look, half-grumbling, half-amused. “I still think you’re all insane,” he mumbled, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You leaned against his arm, smirking. “Just remember that next time you think about underestimating us.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Teacher Darling is never able to look their students in the eyes after finding the private Twitter accounts dedicated to thirsting over how fine their teacher is and how they'll cut anyone who steals their teacher from them but that's completely irrelevant

-

Yan Student: morning teach~ Can you tell me where you got your tie?

[Teacher Darling has war flash backs to a zoomed up picture of their tie and how the student would like it shoved down their throat]

Teacher Darling: It was a gift.

[ms-snape]

Tender Moments(severus snape x professor!reader)

request: so that person asked for professor!reader x snape jsut being super cute and omestic and tender, I couldn't find the request anymore sorry but if the person that asked about it read this please tell me u did in comment

Word count: 1115

Masterlist

---

The sun dipped low over the turrets of Hogwarts, casting long shadows across the grounds. Inside the stone walls, the flickering fire in the staff room offered a warm glow against the encroaching evening chill. Y/N, a professor of Herbology, had just finished grading a stack of papers that now lay scattered across her desk like fallen leaves. She stretched, letting out a breathy sigh, and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly time for dinner, but more importantly, it was nearly time to see Severus.

“Just a few more minutes,” she murmured to herself, running her fingers through her hair. The thought of Severus always made her smile. Their relationship had blossomed in the most unexpected way—two souls drawn together in the shadows of the castle, finding light in each other.

The heavy oak door creaked open, and in walked Severus Snape, his robes billowing slightly as he entered. The moment their eyes met, a spark ignited in the air between them, and Y/N felt her heart race.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “you’re still here?”

“Of course I am,” she replied, trying to suppress the grin that tugged at her lips. “I was waiting for you.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Waiting for me, or waiting for dinner?”

“Both, I suppose,” she laughed softly, letting the warmth of his presence envelop her like a favorite blanket.

He stepped closer, and she could smell the faint, familiar scent of potions and herbs on him, mixed with a hint of something uniquely Severus. “You should know that waiting for you is always worth it,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Her breath caught in her throat. “You say the sweetest things,” she replied, tilting her head slightly to meet his gaze.

With a gentle sweep of his hand, he brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “It’s the truth.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up as she leaned into his touch, feeling safe and cherished in this small moment. The fire crackled, snapping gently in the background, creating a cozy rhythm that matched the quickening beats of her heart.

“Shall we join the others for dinner?” Severus asked, his tone shifting slightly as he stepped back, breaking the momentary bubble they had created.

“Not just yet.” Y/N took a step closer, her fingers brushing against his. “I want a moment with you first.”

Severus hesitated, then nodded, a rare softness in his expression. “Very well.”

She led him to a nearby armchair, inviting him to sit. He settled down with a slight sigh, and she nestled beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. The warmth of his body radiated against her, and she closed her eyes, savoring the comfort of his presence.

“Tell me about your day,” he prompted, his voice rumbling gently.

“Well, I had an amusing encounter with a particularly stubborn Venomous Tentacula,” she began, recalling the chaotic scene earlier that afternoon. “It wouldn’t stop wriggling. I swear it was trying to escape my lesson plan.”

Severus chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “It seems you have your hands full,” he teased lightly.

“More than you know.” She laughed, the sound mingling with his, creating a warm harmony. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Teaching here is a dream.”

“And what about your dreams outside of teaching?” he asked, turning serious.

Y/N paused, glancing up at him. “You mean, like… our dreams?” she asked, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

“Yes,” he said, searching her eyes. “What do you want?”

She hesitated, feeling the weight of the question. “I want… I want to create a life that feels warm and alive. I want to share it with someone who understands me.”

His gaze softened further, and he leaned in, brushing his lips against her forehead. “You have that with me, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

The tenderness in his words made her heart swell. “I do, Severus,” she replied, her voice a mere whisper. “I just sometimes worry about what tomorrow may bring.”

“Tomorrow is not our concern right now,” he said firmly, yet gently, pulling back to look at her. “Let’s focus on today.”

“Agreed,” she smiled, feeling lighter. “What do you want to do then?”

“I want to enjoy this moment,” he said, leaning closer again. “And maybe…”

Before she could respond, he captured her lips with his, a sweet, lingering kiss that sent butterflies dancing through her stomach. The world around them faded, and all that existed was the warmth of his mouth on hers, the taste of warmth and familiarity.

When they finally pulled apart, she was breathless. “That was—”

“Perfect,” he finished, a smirk playing on the corners of his mouth.

Just then, the door swung open again, and in walked Minerva McGonagall, her expression shifting from surprise to amusement as she caught sight of the pair.

“Goodness,” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of mock horror and genuine delight. “Am I interrupting something?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed as she pulled back from Severus, who merely raised an eyebrow at his colleague. “Not at all, Minerva,” he said dryly, the corner of his mouth betraying a hint of a smile.

“Just having a… moment,” Y/N added, her embarrassment turning into laughter. “Nothing scandalous, I promise.”

“I’m sure,” Minerva replied, a twinkle in her eye. “But I must say, it’s lovely to see the two of you together. Hogwarts could use a bit of warmth now and then.”

“Indeed,” Severus said, his tone surprisingly accommodating. “And what brings you here, Minerva?”

“I came to fetch you both for dinner,” she said, stepping further into the room. “Albus has prepared quite a feast, and he’s rather insistent we all join him.”

“Lead the way,” Y/N said, standing up and offering her hand to Severus, who took it with a slight nod.

As they walked together, fingers intertwined, Minerva couldn’t help but glance back at them. “You two are positively glowing,” she remarked, her expression softening. “It’s good for you, Severus.”

“Don’t make such a fuss, Minerva,” he replied, though the slight flush on his cheeks gave him away.

“Just stating the truth,” she said lightly, guiding them down the stone corridors lined with portraits that watched them with interest. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve transformed, Severus. Love does wonders for a person.”

Y/N squeezed his hand tighter, feeling a rush of warmth surge through her. “I think you’re right,” she said, looking up at Severus, who seemed to ponder her words.

“I suppose it does,” he conceded, a hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

[penvisions]

zest {chapter two}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (formally known as Bartender! Reader)

Summary: Encounters with people from the past, a breakdown, a physical altercation, and an end of the semester getaway all bring you closer to Joel.

Word Count: 4k:

Warnings: canon typical violence (fleeting), canon typical language, canon typical angst, generational trauma, religious trauma, feelings of isolation and loneliness, reader goes briefly catatonic, reader has a breakdown, reader has a lot of emotions, blood, minor injuries, falling apart on the bathroom floor (i know i've been there), rude people, offensive behavior, body shaming, fat shaming, reader gets shoved one (1) time, feral joel, joel beats the crap out of someone, joel goes into protective mode, threatening words, um i think those are all the major ones pls let me know if i need to add more!

REMINDER: this is a sequel series, the previous series can be found here {garnish}

A/N: uh, so the opening scene of this is very reflective of how i've been feeling lately. generational trauma + close quarters living situation with a mother who i have a complicated relationship with + trying to pick myself back up after what seems like an entire year of intense events and emotions + the recent drama i faced on here + preparing to move across the country in three weeks' time= a very very emotional dev. apologies for that, sincerely. hopefully the rest of the chapter makes y'all excited to read about them again.

ao3 link || series masterlist || joel miller masterlist || ko-fi

The trip gets marked down on the calendar at the restaurant as well as the one in the kitchen of your home. Ellie had been rifling through the pantry when she noticed it and she immediately whipped her phone out and snapped a photo before letting out a suspicious cackling laugh.

“Hey, what are you doing?” She jumps, completely blindsided by you walking in from the backyard, the sliding door hushing shut behind you. You had decided to get some sun while you worked on the last few finals that needed to be graded. The laptop you need to desperately replace closed and held to your side as you cross the space to set it atop the dining table. When you turn to look back at her, Ellie’s phone is mysteriously gone and she’s coolly watching you.

“Just lookin’ for something to eat, I’m staaaaarving!”

“Joel’s getting stuff for dinner, if you want to stay. But I was gonna sneak that last piece of pie if you wanna share it with me?”

“I’ll get it, just sit and take it easy.”

“I swear, all you Millers are the same. I’m fine, Ellie, only two months along.”

“Just lemme be nice, will ya?”

“Being nice to me won’t change your grade.”

“So it needs to be….better, right? When you say changed? As in an A plus plus?”

“All I can disclose is that you passed.”

“The course or the final?”

“Both.”

“Fuck yeah!”

The funky song for Joel’s ringtone goes off and you reach for it from the pocket of your sweatpants. It had been a bare minimum effort day for you, stealing one of the man’s shirts and donning a pair of baggy bottoms despite the heat, a chill having settled in your bones out of nowhere.

“Your daughter is cussing at me.” She’s waving her arms across the kitchen, signaling for you to stop and you wonder if she hadn’t told him if she needed help with groceries this month.

“Well, the fuck are you doin’ to her?” Is his cheeky response, you can hear the grin in his voice, and it makes you smile as you look down at the pile of stuff that needs your attention.

“Being nice.”

“Uh-huh, you two are- oh excuse me, didn’t see ya there. Oh. Uh, darlin’, I’ll call you back.” You faintly hear her name as the line drops and your heart goes with it.

Valerie.

Ellie settles across form you with the pan that holds the pie, whip cream added all around it and some chocolate syrup. But you don’t even smell the assault of sugar as a feeling of dread overwhelms you makes your stomach tighten. You’re unable to hear her concerned calls of your name, of her claims to have just been joking and she didn’t mean to upset you. They don’t register as you leave everything behind at the table and tread up the stairs and close yourself in the master bathroom.

“Sabrosa?” Joel’s voice is low on the other side of the door, but you can’t muster up a response. The rosary your grandmother had made you wear every Sunday and Wednesday to services tight in your grip as you sit on the fluffy rug you had convinced Joel you needed to cover the tiles in the bathroom. You feel it ingrained into your skin, if you were to get up, indentations of the texture would begin to itch from how long you had been settled atop it.

“Darlin’? You in here?” The handle to the door jiggles a little, signalling his attempt at coming in. He calls your name, worry lacing his gravely voice and making your insides clench that you were pulling such a reaction from him. He’s knocking on the door, but you can’t bring yourself to answer, consumed by the thought of being completely and utterly alone. Tommy’s questions about family circling in your head, the realization that Joel had voiced about the guests for the eventual wedding that you weren’t sure was even going to happen because he hadn’t asked you yet.

You had no family, none that would show up even if you did send out invitations. But Joel…Joel had family. A mother, a brother, two daughters, a sister in law, a nephew…the mother of his first born child.

Tears well up again, hot as they race down your cheeks, tender from the way you had been pressing your palms to them, your nose is raw from rubbing tissues against it to wipe away snot and the ugliness of your emotions. Your lips were swollen from the way you worried them with your teeth, unable to help the actions as you broke into pieces on the bathroom floor of the man whose child you carried in your belly.

The knocking turns into thudding, his shoulder colliding with the wood of the door now but still you can’t get your voice to work. The thought of him running into someone he knows on an intimate level, who he still carried some form of love for hurting deep in your chest. It’s all so much, the edges of the cross dig into your palm as you clench around the blessed glass. You hear it crunch faintly, feel the sting of it as it slices your skin open, the blood dripping down your arm as you hang it from your propped up knees.

Splitting wood sounds and it’s so loud it should jostle you from your catatonic state, but it doesn’t. Not even the door thudding into the inside wall of the bathroom as Joel’s form shoves it out of his way rouses you, the lock now broken, and the knob barely connected to the door as it hangs from where he must’ve kicked it in.

You can’t see him through your tightly clenched eyes as he falls to his knees in front of you, his arms coming around you as he sees you huddled into yourself on the floor. He’s murmuring something, but you can’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. Hurtful words and judgments in the voice of your stepmother echoing and bouncing off of each other. He’s burring his nose into your hair, pulling you into him as he settles down in front of you, tugging your limp body into his lap and cradling you close.

He's shouting now, though there’s no anger in his tone, no heat to his words as he begs with you to come back to him, to say something, anything. You can’t see anything when you do open your eyes, his arms so tight around you, your face held into his chest by the back of your head. One large hand tangled into your hair. You hear a small voice from the doorway, asking if someone needs to be called because there’s blood.

Something is dripping onto you, and it confuses you as you begin to descend back into your body. Tears are dripping from Joel’s chin, raining down onto your forehead and the feeling reminds you of being blessed with holy water, but you’ve never felt less deserving of such an act. The christening of his tears doesn’t bring anything but shame as you try to pull your face away from the fabric of his shirt that smells so much like everything you’ve ever wanted. He’s looking down at you as you manage to tilt your head up and meet his glistening eyes. Your mouth feels dry, tongue made of cotton as you try to soothe him, soothe the hurt you’ve caused. But all that manages to sprout from your chest is a whimper, your hand suddenly on fire as you feel the damage done by the rosary.

He's gently prying your hand from where both are curled into your chest, causing your breath to huff out as his thick fingers shakily unfold your own to reveal the glass imbedded into your skin. Blood smearing across his skin as he touches your own.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I think we need to take you to the emergency room for this.” His eyes meet yours and you feel monumentally worse for the fear and concern you see swirling in them. They’re rimmed red from his tears, his face flushed from his efforts to get to you through the door, his breathing a labored staccato as you realize his heart is beating harshly in his heaving chest. He’s trying to be calm, he’s trying to focus on the one thing he can do something about in that moment: to get the blood to stop dripping down your arm.

He’s reaching for the hand towel on the counter but Ellie’s stepping into the room to hand it to him so he doesn’t jostle you too much. She’s quiet, her earlier mood completely gone and it’s all because of you. A hiss passes through your lips as Joel carefully extracts the unbroken part of the cross from your palm, the beaded chain dragging across your forearm as he hands it to Ellie, she has a washcloth ready to wrap it up in, to try and keep the remainder of it safe. She’s frowning, face so serious as she watches her father hold you on the floor.

“I-I’m so-sorry.” You hiccup as you feel more tears well up, but Joel is gently shushing you as he presses his lips to your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. The towel is being pressed to your hand, light pressure hurting even though you know he’s doing his best to be as careful as possible.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, got a little overwhelmed is all. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I-I don’t know what happened, I just- you- I…” Words don’t make sense, nothing could explain the wave of intense emotion that had slammed into you. All over the uttering of a name.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to or can’t.” Joel’s gently tying the towel into a knot to keep it secure. “We gotta get you up, get you into the truck. Can you feel your legs or would you rather me carry you, it don’t matter to me. Don’t want to push your body anymore, okay?”

“I…I think I can stand up.” But when he tries to help you do so, the fuzzy feeling in your legs doesn’t allow for you to. He’s already got an arm around your waist, the other holding your non-injured hand, ready to catch you when it happens. He’s warm, so warm when he quietly murmurs to you as he bends his knees and lifts you up into his arms. Securing yourself with one arm over his shoulder, the other rests in the curve of your lap as he descends the stairs and loads you up into the truck.

“Gonna set you down and run back downstairs for somethin’, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.” Joel’s voice is so soft, so close as he brushes the end of his nose over yours as he lays you down on the freshly made bed. He’s careful as he pulls back the covers on your side, exposing the soft micro plush blanket between the comforter and the fitted sheet. He angles the pillows exactly how you prefer before he scoops you back up in his arms and lays you in the spot. The blankets are laid over you, body pliant and willing under his touch as the medicine from the hospital works its way through your system. A mild sedative, fluids, and a shot of pain killers had all been administered in an IV.

He's smoothing your hair from your face with a brush of his hand before he kisses the corner of your mouth and disappears through the doorway. Your eyes follow him and then glide to the door of the bathroom. But the splintered wood and broken knob are gone, a new door in its place. You feel your lower lip tremble and you tuck your face into the pillow as you roll slightly to your side and face his part of the bed.

Your favorite candle is burning, the rich honey and cotton blossom scent filling the room in a soothing caress. Ellie had followed in her car, a bag of clothes you typically lounged in warm from a spin in the dryer. An oversized Miller contracting short, faded black and dulled yellow wording. A pair of sweats that didn’t have blood stains all over it. A pair of your thick hiking socks to keep the chill of the hospital away as you lay there for hours while the nurses poked and prodded at you, ensuring the health of you and your baby was okay.

Neither her nor Joel mentioned the exact details of the state they had found you in, knowing the state’s penchant for tossing mentally ill patients into the building just down the road, the inpatient behavioral health center. It was known for its mandatory seventy-two hour holds on people dumped or transferred there, lack of communication and lack of funding making it a nightmare to emerge before a week is up and your entire life is upended. It had a bad reputation, to say the least, and no one wanted to have to fight for your release should the doctor sign you over.

The smell of fresh coffee wafts up the stairs before Joel appears back in the doorway with two mugs, decaf. He had agreed that it would be better for your niggling headaches and nausea to compromise on this version of your preferred drink versus the jarring switch to tea for ever morning and evening. It was more than a way to get your caffeine, it was comfort in a cup and Joel carefully hands the one he doesn’t set aside to you. His large hands are cupped around yours as he helps you to bring the rim up and take a sip from it.

“Figured the real thing would be better right now. But just the one cup, okay baby?” His voice is raspy from his yelling, you realize, and you flick your eyes over the mug to find them already trained on you.

“Th-thank you.”

“Anythin’ for you, you know that.” He’s pulling the mug from you and places it beside his on your bedside table. He’s caught off guard when you fling your body toward him, settling in his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck. His little ‘oof!’ of surprise loud in the silent room.

“It’s okay,” He whispers as he presses his face into your hair. The stitches beneath gauze and bandages sting a little as you pull back to press your palms to his chest.

“I…I got overwhelmed…” You can’t meet his eyes, gaze focused on his bottom lip. Trying to ground yourself in the moment, the pink of it from him worrying the skin as he held your non-injured hand throughout the entire visit, the way it forms part of the face you love, how it tastes against your own, how it feels against your skin. All of it was helping you to stay in the moment, the medications beginning to make you a bit dizzy now that you’re safely in your shared space with him once again.

“Nothin’ wrong with that, I promise.” He’s still whispering, afraid of being too loud, of startling you or spooking you. “We’re here for you, no matter what.”

“My head feels funny…” You sway in his grip, his large hands holding your back through the motion.

“Let’s get you to bed, you’re probably a little stoned, mama.”

You only hum in response as he lays you down against the pillows, his nose brushing over yours as he lays over you, hovering to not put any of his weight on you as he balances on his elbows and knees. A long blink and you’re looking into his eyes, seeing the concern and worry swirling in them. Adoration and love in them as he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your chapped lips.

“I love you so much, please- please don’t ever forget that, darlin’.”

“Won’t.”

His lips are trailing down your chin, pressing underneath your jaw, down the side of your neck, one of his hands sneaking below the fabric of your loose shirt to rest over your heart. The warmth of his skin and the feeling of him pressed close as he settles down between your legs now feels like home. He’s still moving lover, his lips ghosting over your collarbones over the shirt, the slight swell of your stomach.

“Love you both so much.” He’s looking up as he uses his other hand to expose the bump that is your baby, a silent question. At your small nod and fluttering eyelashes, his lips pepper kisses all over the skin of your stomach, your ribs, before he finally shifts a little to rest his cheek against the bump and breathes in deep. You’re asleep before he even exhales.

The city of Austin on either side of the highway is a blur as Joel guides the truck at a fast pace away from the hustle and bustle of where you share your lives. A week away, to Dallas, as promised that one morning when he had been trying to sooth your worries. A prominent theme that you try not to feel ashamed of, something he said he would do every day t0 assert the love he has for you. Would always have for you.

He’s got a hand on your thigh, the fabric of your sundress rucked up slightly but he’s not teasing or playing games. You’re sipping the last of your clear soda from a fast-food lunch a few hours back when you had just gotten loaded up and on the road.

There’s a small notebook in your lap with a list of things you wanted to check out. Some Joel had spent evenings looking into with a pair of thick rimmed glasses on the edge of his nose as you slept soundly beside him. He marked the free ones and then the ones with exhibits you had fawned over. He always admired the way you talked about things that interested you, even if he didn’t understand the first thing about any of it. The way your eyes light up as you paused movies to talk about certain historical facts or the fun facts you had to share with him in those moments. He wouldn’t trade them for anything, relishing in the way you weren’t nervous or afraid to voice the thoughts that sprung up. He was looking forward to seeing it happen as you guided him through exhibits and to see the excitement and happiness he hoped this trip would bring you both.

His hands are on the steering wheel now, the sight of you slightly slumped back and just watching the world pass by through your sunglasses making him glance down at where yours are lax beside the notebook.

The bandage is still there on your hand, from that terrifying moment he had found you crumpled and shut down on the bathroom floor. His heart had been in his throat, the blood loud in his ears and his mind screaming at him to do something, anything to make the moment pass and for you to come back to him. The time spent in the hospital that night had worried him they would see the incident as a reason to screen your mental state, with how despondent you had been the entire time. The worry of them asking to speak with you alone while he answers a few questions of his own in the hallway.

He knew they had been doing their jobs, covering all of their bases, ensuring you were truly okay and not there of something done to you. The tests detailing your pregnancy alerting them in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Just the thought of deliberately hurting you made his stomach uneasy and his heart ache, he wanted nothing but the best for you. The proof of such in letting you go when you had asked, hopeful you would return to him. And you had. But he was glad they had been thorough, should his own daughters show up in a similar situation he would want them to do the same.

“Feelin’ okay with the driving?”

“Hmm?” You’re rolling your head toward him, reminding him of the way you had done so when you were drunk and munching on French fries the first night you had kissed.

“Asked if you were feelin’ okay?” He’s reaching for your again, tangling his fingers with the ones on your left hand. “No nausea or dizziness?”

“Nah, I’m okay.” Lifting his hand up, his heart thumps in his chest as he’s all too aware of the item he’s got hidden in the depths of his bag behind his seat, he feels your lips on his skin. He wants to for the rest of his days and he only hopes you want that too.

“Darlin’,” He’s breathing into the back of your neck, walking up behind you standing on the balcony of the room to wrap his arms around you, palms resting over your middle. Your heart is beating wildly, the scent of him and the memories you share with him all consuming you in that moment. You’re gasping as you feel a flutter in your stomach and you both freeze.

“Joel, did-“

“Our baby just kicked for the first time, mama.”

Turning to face him, you don’t bother to hide the tears of happiness wetting your eyes. His own are shining in the setting sunlight, every sound from the street below of the bustling city fading as you meet them. Your hands are resting alongside his, feeling the flutter again. A nervous giggle falls from your lips and he’s smiling so wide as he huffs out an incredulous laugh.

“Oh my god, this-this is really happening.”

“It really is,” Confusion furrows your brow as he’s shifting down to his knees. He’s nosing along your middle, one hand slipping away as he groans at the feeling of the ground below him. “You make me the happiest man, make me feel like I’m getting the chance to catch my breath.”

“What-“

“I didn’t know it when you first came to work that you would end up being one of the most important people in my life. But I’m so grateful that you did, because I have so much love for you. For the life we created right here,” Pulling back a little, he’s looking up at you with eyes so earnest and deep you feel your breath catch and the fluttering kicks up again in your stomach. “I want to do right by you and give you everything you feel like you missed out on, that you deserve.”

He’s holding his other hand up, the one still touching you breaking away as he opens up the small brown velvet box he’s cradling. The tears are now trickling down your cheeks, the ring catching the golden light shining down on your both. It’s as beautiful as he is, all polished gold and sparkling diamonds. It’s simple but it makes you feel seen in a way you never had before.

“Darlin’, will you do me the honor of letting me be your husband?” His nerves are obvious as he tracks the way your eyes rove over the ring, the box, your hands still over your middle, his face as he looks up at you. The shaky nod of your head and the warbled ‘yes’ of your answer gifts you the biggest, gummy smile that does nothing to quell the fast beating of your heart.

He’s surging up, kissing the tears from your cheeks as he laughs, stealing the same sound from your mouth as he slots his lips against yours. Again and again until the sun dips below the horizon.

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taglist: @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute @sarap-77 @koshkaj-blog @corazondebeskar-reads @ozarkthedog @littlemisspascal @endlessthxxghts @its-nebuleuse @janaispunk @sawymredfox @cumberpegg @grandanchorkitten @noisynightmarepoetry

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[happy74827]

The Devil's Tango

{!!SPOILERS!! SEASON 4 EPISODES 1-6}

[Rhys Montrose x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: A certain professor is not very supportive of your relationship with the mayor-in-running.

WC: 2,741

Warnings: It's You... the show is warning enough.

The amount of people I see begging for an x reader of this man, and that no one had done it yet is actually hilarious. You would think after the first reveal, the whole fandom would jump at the sight of this man.

Though, realistically speaking, it's probably because he's one of those characters that are so hard to get right. Plus the fact that Part 2 didn't help in his favor at all.

I do plan to write more of him, so this is just a little tease if you will.

『••✎••』

“Hello, you.”

You jumped out of instinct, snapping your head towards the hoarse voice behind you. The chalk that you were currently using flew right out of your hand, soaring to hit the shadow that was now in front of you. Before it could hit your mystery stalker in the head, however, swift hands caught it just before impact.

“I… think you dropped this.” The sarcastic tone of an expired New Yorker made your fears fly away as your piece of chalk had. As you turned to meet the familiar brown eyes, you couldn’t help but give a slight smile.

“Oh, Jonathan,” You raised a hand to your chest, letting out chuckles in relief. “You scared me there, I wasn’t expecting anyone to visit at this hour.”

He stood in front of you blankly for a moment, as if someone had hit him with a “time freeze” superpower. You paid no mind to this of course, as it was a typical Jonathan Moore quirk. He clearly was very into his mind.

It almost reminded you of a certain… someone.

Jonathan snapped back to the present in no time with a soft, closed smile forming on his face. Within doing so, he handed you back your murderous chalk, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“Oh, no… no it’s totally my fault.” He apologized profusely, nudging his elbow towards the door. “The whole “not knocking” thing seems to be a nasty habit that only I can’t seem to get rid of.”

You nodded along to his apologies, despite already forgiving him the second you saw the familiar curls that fell down his forehead. It was pretty hard to hate the man that shared the same passion for poetry and was one of the professors that was teaching the same subject as you had.

“So, Jonathan,” you started, moving to lean your back against your desk. Your daily planner was down by your hips, along with the chalk. “What brings you to my classroom? Are you looking for some new recommendations?”

His face slightly faltered to the point where no normal, unobservant eye could witness it. The lip quiver, the slight wobbling of his left leg… they were all telltale signs of compressed emotions that an average joe wouldn’t think twice about — specifically, those who only knew the person on a surface level.

That wasn’t you, of course. You were observant to the point where it annoyed you. The constant paranoia that followed everyone’s movements practically ate you alive.

After a heap of silence, Jonathan sighed with his head facing downwards, his dark chocolate eyes refusing to look at you.

“It’s about Rhys Montrose.”

Your eyebrow raised in confusion at his words, your hands subconsciously resting on the desk, with your planner and chalk beside you. It was now you who had that blank daze.

“I…” You were absolutely speechless to the point where you could feel your jaw drop slightly. Jonathan knew Rhys? You’ve of course mentioned your relationship with Rhys to Jonathan himself, but you had no idea they had actually met. Honestly, you were still having a hard time believing that the nerd had met Lady Phoebe.

You straightened yourself, using your arms as leverage, as you looked at him with furrowed brows. “With how busy he constantly is now, I wasn’t even aware-“

“He’s not what you think he is.” Jonathan cut you off, his eyes shooting you to meet with yours. They were full of… worry?

“Jonathan, what are you—?“

His hands reached out to your shoulders, his body encasing you between himself and your desk. With every step he took closer to you, the more your eyes widened with confusion.

“You don’t know him, not like you think you do,” Jonathan whispered, “He’s a danger to society.”

You pulled his arms off of you, completely shocked by his tone. His phone buzzed as you looked at him bewildered, but he ignored his new text message. All he was focused on was you, just you.

“A danger to society? Jonathan, he’s just running for mayor.” You scoffed, turning back your attention to the chalkboard from before the librarian arrived. “You know, I didn’t take you for a man that’s into politics.”

“It’s not about fucking politics!” His hands slammed down on your desk. It caused you to jump, turning back towards the man only to find him mere inches from your face.

You tried to back away, but he pulled you right back in. “Jonathan—“

“You’re not listening!” His hands grabbed at your arms, his eyes darkened underneath the light you both stood under. “Rhys is a danger to society, he’s a danger to you.”

Jonathan continued to shake you and yell words into your ears, but everything around you went mute. The slightly muffled conversations from students down the hallways were silenced. You saw Jonathan’s lips moving, frantically, but you couldn’t hear. You didn’t want to hear.

“Jonathan, I think you need to leave.” You muttered to him coldly. It was a tone that would get anyone to stop and think, and he did just that. He paused, and it was then you gathered your strength and shoved him off of you for the final time. He stopped abruptly, his eyes questioning you.

He begged and pleaded with you to hear him out, but you refused. You refused to even glance in his direction. You were rarely an angry person, you usually kept it bottled up to come out in soft rants, but you were afraid if you said another word to Jonathan, you might just go ballistic to the point where you’d risk losing your valuable job, something you couldn’t afford to lose.

So, you told him to get out of your classroom once again and eventually he was forced to listen. He left when your familiar, upbeat students came pouring in one by one.

Despite the almost psychotic break dearest Jonathan had beforehand, class had gone rather smoothly for you. The students actually engaged with one another and focused completely on the short story at hand.

Not once had they gone off-topic. Then, of course, the devil shows up with a knock at your door, disrupting everything. It was one of the things you’ve hated the most, as you found it terribly rude, but your forgiving nature came into play when you realized it wasn’t the man you believed it to be. When you turned your head, it was Rhys who stood there with his hands crossed against his chest. He wore his signature suit and tie, which both complemented his figure and his eyes.

You gave him a slight smile in return, but the look he gave - the blue eyes devouring yours - had you following him outside the classroom rather immediately. You trusted your students enough to behave themselves.

Once outside the view of your students, Rhys gingerly wrapped his hand around your arm, guiding you to a secluded spot in the hallway that was sure not to draw attention. With Montrose's face being blasted everywhere as the mayor-in-running, it was hard finding privacy in public.

You were about to ask what it was that had him so upset to the point where he chased you down at work, but he beat you to it.

"Hello, darling," Rhys's voice sounded almost strained, tired even. It had been a while since you last saw him, not to mention that his friend Gemma had just recently become another victim of that so-called "Eat-The-Rich Killer," though Rhys had "admitted" that she wasn't his friend. If you recalled, he used the words, "Oh, piss off, you manky hypocrite" when he had last spoken with her. Still, the bags under his eyes suggested that he hadn't slept much the night before.

"Ah, nice to see you haven't changed your habits." Rhys covered his tiredness with a knowing smile as he gently leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "Maybe a psychology degree would be a better fit for you."

"Sorry," you apologized, looking slightly down. "It's just... not that I'm not glad to see that you're back, I really am, but are you okay? You look like you haven't slept for days, and you usually don't drop by the university unless there's a problem."

Rhys licked his lips, letting out a breathy laugh as he raised his hands to his hips. The tiredness in his eyes went away for a moment, resulting in him staring at you amusingly. A look that only took you a few seconds to realize you'd analyzed him once again.

You couldn't help but internally groan at yourself, but he only shot you another charming smile. It was one so enchanting that it made you swoon at the sight.

However, he eventually dropped that smile and sighed, caving into your concerns.

"I've had a long week," he confessed to you. "Oddly enough, I couldn't work my usual charm to get through to some... certain people, but I'm optimistic. Nothing a little persuasion won't fix."

"Me too, it's been a crazy morning." You agreed with a sigh. The incident with Jonathan within the previous hour was still fresh in your mind, haunting you to your core.

You never felt threatened by Jonathan, but as you recollected the scene, his body towering over yours with the desk blocking you from escaping. His arms held you, keeping you captive as he screamed about the man - the man who you loved with all your heart - wasn't the man you knew. That he was a façade, dishonest... an apparent danger to you.

Of course, you didn't believe Jonathan. You trusted Rhys with your life, but nothing about what Jonathan said sat right with you. He couldn't have known Rhys for more than six months, so why did he act as if he knew him better than you...

Rhys whispered your name, calling you back to face him. He was closer to you than he was before, with eyes that held his growing concern. As his hands gingerly reached out to caress your shoulders, you wanted to tease him about how he was now the observer, but you stayed quiet.

He didn't like that.

"Darling, what is it?" he pushed softly, his accent adding gentleness to his tone, "What happened?"

"It was… really odd," you muttered, your mind flicking back to your classroom, the way Jonathan's hands slammed down on the desk with sudden rage, how badly it made your heart skip a beat. "My coworker, Jonathan, he—"

Rhys cut you off. "You said, Jonathan?"

"Yes," you nodded.

"As in… Jonathan Moore?”

Huh, it seemed Jonathan wasn't lying to you about it after all. They really do know each other. The more you thought about it, however, made you wonder why Rhys never told you about him. He must have known you both worked in the same building.

You nodded to his question once again, lowering your eyes down toward the glassy floor beneath you. You didn't have to look at Rhys to know he was listening intently.

"Usually, Jonathan comes in to give or receive book recommendations, but today he was acting… really off," you glanced back up at him, as you began to quiver. "He was stating things about you, and shouting at me, and I… I don't know. It really threw me in for a loop."

Rhys' head snapped up at you like a lightning strike. His eyes no longer contained the concern he had held before. They darkened, as well as his voice.

"What did he say to you?"

"Something about how you were a danger to society, and apparently a danger to me," you shivered at the memory. "He shouted a lot of things really, but I canceled out the majority of them and threw him out, metaphorically of course."

Rhys mumbled under his breath. Unfortunately, it was something you couldn't quite pick up on. The only thing you could do was watch as he sucked on his tongue, making a face as though he was eating sour candy, before glancing up to meet your eyes again.

You stayed quiet, observing his newfound attitude. His jaw was clenched, with arms shifting towards the wall to encase you within them before letting his head fall and lean into you. He practically did what Jonathan did but with the wall instead of your desk, and despite the similarities, you weren't scared of Rhys. His eyes fluttered closed with his — now loosened tie — dangling out in front of you. His lips were only inches away from the base of your neck, and you couldn't help but take in his signature scent of grounded coffee grinds.

"Rhys," you whispered softly towards him, ruffling up his short hair slightly. He let out another sigh that unclenched his jaw and pushed himself closer to you. You couldn't help but notice how relieved he now seemed, letting out gentle, smooth huffs of air to take in the moment.

Unfortunately, as much as you'd like to stay like this — being you haven't had him for a week — you still had a class to teach. Regrettably, you forced yourself to peel away from his arms, whispering short apologies and promises to see him later.

You didn't look back as you retreated back to your classroom. Upon returning to your desk, you turned to see that every single one of your students either gave you a smirk or a knowing nod, and you couldn't help but threaten them with a pop quiz that you were positive they weren't prepared for. As expected, it shut them right the hell up.

Ah, the power of being a professor.

———

When Jonathan arrived home that night with his now empty red takeout bag, he couldn’t help but sense the feeling that he was being watched. His feeling turned out to be correct when he went to unlock the door of his apartment, only to find it already unlocked.

The professor froze momentarily, hesitating whether he should enter unarmed or retrieve a nearby weapon. But being in sight of absolutely nothing, he had no choice but to grudgingly step inside.

As expected, when closing the door behind him, the lights of his living room flickered on and within the light revealed the man he most desperately wanted to kill.

The unwelcome man sat on his chair like he owned the place. A martini resided in his hand as he gave a sarcastic smile. The yellow light mixed in with the fiery flames of the fireplace reflected the same unnerving expression.

“Hello, Professor Moore,” the man spoke with amusement as he turned to face the bearded killer. His accent had the falsified name rolled off in a tease.

The owner rolled his eyes as he dropped the bag he held down at his feet. His keys were put safely back into his pocket. He should’ve known this would happen.

“Despite how much I would love to carve out your marvelous attractive eyes,” the man stood up, swirling the drink in his hand as he approached the professor. “I have to admit, Joe, I underestimated your intelligence. I knew you were smart, since the very beginning mind you, but this was just… impressive.”

Joe ground his teeth. “What do you want with me, Rhys? Why are you even here?”

“Two things, really,” Rhys smacked his lips together, nodding his head as he looked down for dramatic effect. When he glanced back up at the professor, his amusing smile was gone. His hand stopped swirling the martini, keeping it eerily still, and his eyes darkened almost instantly.

“Remember what we talked about, Joe, with the replacement. I want it done within twenty-four hours. If not, as I said earlier, you’ll be going down for everything.”

Joe’s breath hitched as Rhys stalked closer to his body. The piercing blue eyes caused the professor to freeze in his thoughts, forcing him to watch for Rhys’ unpredictability.

“And if you ever come near my girl again,” his voice was ghostly, sending chills throughout Joe’s entire body. “I’ll be the one who throws your ass in the cage.”

As if he were a light switch, Rhys pulled his lips into a grin within seconds. In a calm manner, he forced his half-sipped martini into the professor’s hands before seeking himself out.

For the first time in a long time, Joe Goldberg felt uneasy.

*Rhys x reader being nonexistent on Tumblr*

Me:

[i-cannot-spell-chaos]

Yandere College students trying to get in all professors darlings classes. Extra points if one is a Spanish learning class.

Professor darling: Hola estudiantes!

Yandere students:Maté a un hombre por ti hoy

Professor darling: muy buena?

Translation: hello students , I killed a man today for you , very good?

[late-to-the-party-81]

congrats on your milestone 🎉

a drabble request for you -

soft dark!sugar relationship with Bucky Barnes. who is giving sugar is up to you 😌

Nudges

AN: Well, apparently I can’t drabble! And Amber, please forgive me the ending - you’ll know when you read it. Kisses!

Beta’d by @lunarbuck, dividers by @firefly-graphics, moodboard and banner by me.

Main Master list | Challenge Master list

Summary: You want Bucky as your sugar-baby. You've just got to find the right way to get him to agree to it.

Relationship: College Bucky x Soft!Dark! Professor Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

CW: Sugar Baby relationship, Manipulation, Dub-Con (Reader gets Bucky drunk on top of the manipulation) Age gap (Bucky early 20’s, Reader in 40’s), Power Imbalance, Explicit Sexual Content (Oral sex, Pussy Job/Grinding, Unprotected P in V sex, Mommy Kink, thoughts about future BDSM relationship, collaring and impact play)

The entrees hadn’t even been placed on the table when your date started to squirm in his seat. You stifled your sigh but still raised an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong, James? You’re wriggling like a toddler.”

He looked at you, sea blue eyes wide and a delightful flush working its way up his neck. His pink tongue snuck out and swiped over his lips, and you had to squeeze your thighs together just thinking about what that tongue would hopefully be doing soon.

“I…um… the thing is that… I….” He stopped, took a deep breath in, then let it out in a rush. “Idon’tthinkIcandothis.”

Before he could bolt, you reached across the tablecloth and took hold of his hand, rubbing your thumb back and forward over his wrist and shooting him your sweetest smile.

“Just breathe, James. Okay? We’re just two friends having dinner together. And if that’s all it is, that’s all it is. Let’s enjoy ourselves and then discuss… other things… later.”

He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and gave you a small nod, settling back in his seat. Just in time, actually, as the waiter arrived with your orders.

As the young, attractive man opposite you started to eat, you observed him over the rim of your wine glass. You’d first noticed Bucky when you were changing lecture halls between classes. You weren’t one of his professors, but your departments were situated in the same building. Not being his professor made what you wanted easier - you weren’t in a position of power to affect his grades. Okay, it was still a bit morally grey, but you could live with that. And what you wanted was him.

Men your age bored you. They thought the world owed them, they were completely self-absorbed, and none had the stamina to keep up with you. When you’d seen Bucky, you’d known he was the one. Being that bit younger, that bit more naive and innocent, you’d be able to mould him into the perfect lover, the perfect partner.

Last week you’d found him, distraught, out the back of the college coffee shop where he worked in order to afford his tuition. You’d overheard him talking to a coworker and fellow student a few days earlier about how there was an issue with his credit score and how he was going to have to pick up extra shifts to make ends meet. But that day, when he’d been at his lowest ebb, he’d allowed you to hug him as he told you that the till system was showing irregularities during some shifts, and the only common denominator was him, so he’d been let go.

You’d let him get it all out, held him in your embrace, there between the dumpsters, on the back steps. You made a promise to yourself then - the next time he cried in front of you, it would be from the pleasure you were giving him.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Prof. I could try to get another job, but they’re not likely to work my shifts around my classes or pay as well… and it’s not like I have many other skills either.”

You’d stroked your hand down his cheek, feeling the scratch of his stubble on your palm.

“Oh, James - can I call you James? You’ve got plenty of other skills you can use.”

You’d leant forward, getting closer to him.

“And people would pay for those skills. I would pay for those skills. And for exclusivity. You wouldn’t need to worry again about your tuition fees.”

His lips had parted as he took in what you said, and you couldn’t resist taking a kiss from him. He’d made a little whimper, and you’d drunk it in.

“Meet me for dinner on Saturday night, 8pm, at the little Italian just off campus. We can have a nice couple of hours getting to know each other and then talk about how we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement, alright?”

He’d nodded at you, still somewhat in shock about the whole turn of events, and you gave him another kiss, on the cheek this time, before sashaying away.

Now, here you were, and despite what Bucky had just blurted out, the fact that he’d turned up said more than he thought it did. His feet may be a little cold, but it was obvious he wasn’t disgusted or completely morally against your proposal; he just needed a little… persuasion. It’s a good job that you’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.

You put your all into your campaign. You asked him about himself, how his course was going, watching as he got more and more animated as he relaxed into a topic he was comfortable with. Then you started flirting, a double entendre here, a suggestive look there. He jumped when your foot rubbed up against his leg under the table but soon settled again, especially when you topped up his wine. The poor thing was used to cheap beer, not an expensive Beaujolais, and soon you knew the flush on his cheeks was from the alcohol and not his nerves.

Before dessert came, while he was in the bathroom, you rearranged your chair so it was now next to his, as opposed to across. He did a brief double-take upon his return but said nothing. Nor did the waiter when he delivered your sweets. 

You offered Bucky a taste of yours, feeding him a portion off of your fork. You watched his eyes close in sugar-induced bliss and once again had to ignore the pooling of heat in your core. When he returned the favour, feeding you a piece of his cheesecake off his fork, you leant towards him and rested your hand on his upper thigh. You had to stifle a little smirk at the squeak he let out. When you sat back up, you didn’t remove it, continuing to eat your dessert one-handed and, every so often, giving the firm muscle under his slacks a brief massage.

He was tipsy when it came time to leave, and it didn’t take a lot of persuading on your part to convince him to come up to your apartment ‘for a coffee’. You sat close to him on your sofa, drawing invisible designs on his thigh with your finger while he watched, somewhat stupefied. Hormones and alcohol - such a potent mix, especially for the young.

“Would it be so bad, James? To have me take care of you? We’re two consenting adults, after all.”

You leaned in, purring in his ear, your fingers working higher and higher up his leg. 

“Do you find me attractive, James? Just think, as an older woman, I’m more adventurous. And I know how to satisfy a man. I know just how to touch…” Your fingers walked over the bulge at his crotch, and he shuddered but didn’t pull away. “... and how to kiss…” You teased him with your lips, just brushing them across his, enticing him into returning the intimacy and then ducking away, leaving him wanting.

“You just have to say yes, James. One little word. Three letters. Say yes, and not only won’t you have to worry about money anymore, but you also get to enjoy yourself. My appetites are voracious, but an active young man such as yourself should have no trouble keeping up.”

You kissed him properly then, opening your mouth to him, drawing him closer with your free hand. You massaged his erection through his pants and knew you’d won when he cupped your face with one hand and groped at your breasts with the other. 

“I need the word, baby. Just say it, and you can have what you want. I’ll take care of you.”

“I do! I want it. I want you. Yes. Yes!”His voice was breathy and slightly rough, giving you a thrill of anticipation.

Things progressed quickly thereafter. You stripped him down and pushed him onto your bed as you took your own clothes off in a strip tease. He watched, entranced, propped up on his elbows.

His cock, long and thick and utterly delicious looking, was so hard it was standing away from his abs. You approached the bed, standing between his thighs. You took hold of him with one hand, then lent down and swiped your tongue up his entire length. Bucky moaned, his eyes rolling back and arms collapsing under him. You teased him for a few more minutes, learning the feel and taste of him, weighing his balls in your hand, listening to his moans and whimpers. You wanted the main prize, however, and drew away so you could crawl up his body and straddle his hips. 

He reached for you immediately, eyes wide with lust, and you bent over to meet his kiss. Your bodies rubbed against each other, his impressive cock nestled between your folds, sliding through your slick. He whined into your mouth, desperate and needy, before breaking the kiss so he could suckle on your breasts. You cupped the back of his head with your hand, holding him in place as you ground against him. You cried out as you came, soaking him with your arousal.

One orgasm was not enough for you; you hadn’t been lying when you told him your appetite was voracious. You lifted your hips, took hold of him and then slowly sank down. He slid easily into your sopping pussy, your muscles relaxed from your recent high, and it was little work to take him to the hilt. Settled, you gripped him hard and watched him shudder.

“Ohhh, fuck!”

“You like that, baby? You like me taking control of you, using you? Told you you’d enjoy it.”

You rolled your hips and started to ride him, gripping his firm pectorals for balance. You let out your own moan as you felt his cock rubbing against your insides. It felt so very good. Using your thighs, you began fucking yourself on him, bouncing up and down, your tits back in his face. He groped and kissed them, and you revelled in the feelings washing over you.

“That’s a good boy. Fuck. You have the most perfect cock. Making me so happy. You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

He nodded against your breasts, sucking an engorged nipple back into his mouth. Your fingers twisted in his hair and he sucked harder, his hips starting to move on their own, pistoning up into your fluttering cunt.

“I’ll look after you, James, take away all the pesky decision-making, all the stress, all the worry, and you can get this, any time you want. You’ll be my angel boy, my baby.”

You wanted, needed one last thing from him, and you had hopes that with the state he was in; vulnerable, horny, and slightly drunk, it would work.

“And if you’re my baby, what does that make me?”

You stopped moving and pulled his head back so that he let go of your breast and looked up at you. His face was slack, some drool at the corner of his mouth, cheeks pink, and eyes wide and dark. You pulsed your cunt around his cock.

“What. Do. You. Call. Me?”

“Mommy?” His voice was small, somewhat hesitant.

You started to gently rock your hips again and stroked his hair.

“Yes, James. I’m Mommy. Now, if you keep fucking me with that dick of yours and make me cum again, then you can cum, okay? You wanna keep playing with Mommy’s tits?”

He answered by immediately nuzzling back in, licking and sucking and biting, and you went back to riding him, knowing that it wouldn’t be long until you came. Everything had come together as you envisaged. Bucky had just needed a couple of little nudges, and now he was yours. You couldn’t wait to start training him properly to be your good boy. The thought of him wearing the collar you had stashed away in your draw brought you closer to the edge. The follow-up thought of him bent over the footstool, ass all pink from a spanking, his cock hard and dribbling, pushed you over it.

“Fuck, James. God! Yes. You can cum now, baby. Cum for Mommy!” Your hips jerked as your muscles spasmed, pleasure lancing through your body. Bucky let out a series of moans and cries as he succumbed to his own pleasure, his cock pulsing inside you and filling you with his cum.

Bucky collapsed on the bed, and you lay yourself over him, your bodies heaving and sweaty. With gentle fingers, you pushed a lock of his hair off his forehead as he lay panting, eyes closed. He really was the most beautiful young man. You were thankful for the day you bumped into him.

Your eyes were drawn across the room, where your staff pass lay on your desk. Head of Cyber Studies. You’d worked for years in your field, practical as well as theoretical. Sometimes to stop a hacker, you have to act like one, so you’d gained various skills during your career. Skills that had now proved useful. You’d fix the changes you’d made to his credit score and the discrepancies in the coffee shop computer system in a few weeks. They wouldn’t impact his life long-term, but as you’d mused only a few minutes ago, he’d just needed a couple of nudges.

Now he was your baby, and you weren’t going to let anything take him away from you.

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @poppunksnowwhite

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Ursula x Croix Masterlist

Happy Birthday

-when Ursula walks into her class, she finds reader sulking at her desk.

(established relationship.)

[crsssie]

husband - professor!simon riley x professor!reader

Every now and then, Simon gets a student who doesn’t seem to get it past their skull that he’s happily married and not looking for a side chick or mistress.

He can usually tell in the first handful of classes, brow raised as they ask him to visit office hours, shirt peeking a little too low, smile a little too uncanny for his taste. He finds that typically as long as he plays uninterested and talk more about his wife, most of them learn to back down.

Now, occasionally, he gets a student who just doesn’t back down.

In those cases, he entertains the office hours, forcing you to stay back and lounge on the couch when they visit, extra affectionate with you when they walk in, ring on his finger extra polished and your matching one visible when you work.

You find it hilarious when you reach for his tea, lips around his straw as you continue to work on your research, drinking up the way his student’s eye twitches at his blatant displays of affection. You’re his “beloved” when the student walks in, and his “one and only” when they’re almost out of hearing range. You get a kiss when you walk him to class, and you peek into his class so much more to drop off drinks as long as the student doesn’t back down.

He refuses to hold an office hour with the student if you’re not available to hang around. He’d much rather be called a shitty professor than a shitty husband.

He can find another job. Not another you.

[linsidious11]

I thought I lost this post before but I've finally found it again! Thank you for writing this!

Worth the wait

Severus Snape x fem! professor! reader

[Requested – see request here]

Summary: Y/n has been friends with Severus since they were 11, much like him she suffered from a one-sided love but will that change that they are now professors?

Warnings: swearing, kissing, mentions of sex and suggestive themes

A/n: 4.2k words, this is set bit before Harry comes to Hogwarts, non voldy au and the reader is an ex Slytherin. Tamara and Caleb are made up characters. It’s my first time writing for Snape so I hope you like it and let me know how I did x

Tamara’s writing – italics

Caleb’s writing – bold italics

Navigation

You picked up one of the shards of chalk from the pot and began writing the plan for your first lesson whist casually taking bites of the muffin you had quickly swiped from the kitchens earlier. As you wrote you failed to see the body that was standing just inside the door, so when they spoke it startled you, making you break the chalk against the bored

“You misspelled Animagus”

You swivel around eyeing your old friend before turning back to see you indeed spelt it wrong and not only that you also wrote the incantation around the wrong way as well “Bugger” you curse making him let out a small huff of a laugh at you

You pick up the duster and clear the whole board deciding to redo the whole thing but with a spell instead, giggling after you mutter the incantation “There goes trying to add a personal touch” you shrug turning back to him

“You were always a better talker than writer” he notes

“I had to be, have you heard yourself talk? I love you, but your voice is dreadfully boring” you tease crunching up your nose at the end

He rolls his eyes “I was coming to ask if you got breakfast but I see you already stole some” he shakes his head “As per usual”

“It’s technically not stealing anymore, I’m a professor now” you give him a triumphant look as you take a bite

“Hiya Miss” one of the boys from your class strolls in casually but tenses seeing his other professor “Sir” he shakily nods walking quietly over to his desk

Merlin Sev, you’re like their boogieman, you lower your usual ward to let him hear your thoughts to which he gives you a look, almost like he’s proud of how scared the kids are of him before heading to leave “Goodbye Professor Y/l/n” he says formally

“Bye Professor…” Sevy “…Snape” you smile to yourself, you don’t even need to see his face to feel the eye roll “Morning” you turn to greet the boy who seems more like his usual self now Snape has left

Keep reading

[pandapetals]

Love Poem

You dig around in Logan's desk to find a history textbook but end up finding a poem he wrote yet never showed you.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

"I’ll just be a minute," you called over your shoulder, your voice echoing in the hallway as your students shuffled papers and murmured amongst themselves. 

You slipped into Logan’s classroom, the familiar smell of chalk dust and aged wood welcoming you like an old habit. The space felt odd still without him here, the lingering warmth of his presence yet obvious in the organized chaos that cluttered his desk—a pile of essays half-graded, a forgotten coffee cup with a fading ring on the edge.

Your eyes flicked over the bookshelves, seeking the history textbook you needed to weave a little more context into your next lesson. You couldn’t remember which one Logan used, but you were sure he had mentioned it.

Your class was dissecting the complexities of literature, but you’d thought adding historical context might breathe new life into the lesson.

You moved to Logan’s desk which was, like him, layered—precise, yet spontaneous; structured, but with hidden corners of unpredictability. You tugged open the top drawer, the scent of old paper meeting your nose as you spotted the thick textbook nestled atop a jumble of pens and stray notes. You reached for it, the weight of it solid in your hand, but the sudden thunk as it hit the desk startled you. A crumpled piece of paper fluttered to the floor like an afterthought.

You hesitated, your fingers already reaching for it. Something about the way it had been tucked so carefully away made your pulse quicken, a tiny ripple of curiosity stirring in your chest. You crouched and picked it up, smoothing the edges between your fingers. The paper felt worn as if handled too many times, folded and unfolded in moments of private contemplation.

You weren’t one to snoop, not intentionally, but there was something about this slip of paper that pulled you in before your better judgment could intervene. It wasn’t a random note, not a stray grading rubric, or a scribbled reminder. The handwriting—Logan’s unmistakable looping scrawl—was deliberate, careful. Then you saw it, a phrase that caught the breath in your throat before you even realized what it said.

My love, in the quietest hours, you are the melody I hum, the verse I can never finish, the breath between my thoughts.

Your heart stuttered. This wasn’t a note for work. This was poetry. And it was unmistakably his.

You sank into Logan’s chair, eyes tracing the rest of the lines, each word unfurling like petals of a flower you never knew existed in your marriage. Logan had written you poetry. Intimate, raw, overflowing with emotion he rarely expressed in words, at least not like this. But he’d never shown this to you.

A strange mixture of warmth and hurt settled in your chest. Why hadn’t he? Had it been written in the early days, when love was still new and full of wonder? Or was it more recent, penned during some quiet moment when you were too busy grading papers or attending faculty meetings to notice him scribbling away in his office?

The bell rang in the distance, a sharp reminder that the world outside this room still existed, but you couldn’t move. The paper was still in your hand, a fragile secret that somehow felt heavier than the textbook beside it. You stood slowly, your mind whirling with questions you didn’t even know how to ask yet.

The door creaked open behind you. Logan’s voice, familiar and warm, filled the room. "Did you find what you needed?"

You turned to face him, the poem tucked neatly back into the folds of the paper, your fingers trembling just enough for him to notice. He tilted his head, a hint of concern creasing his brow. "Everything okay?"

For a moment, you considered confronting him right there, holding up the poem like a tangible piece of his heart that he’d unknowingly handed over. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the vulnerability in his eyes or the weight of this new discovery that needed time to settle before you could give it words.

"Yeah," you said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I got what I needed."

Even as you left the room, Logan’s quiet footsteps behind you, the poem whispered in the back of your mind—unfinished, like the love it spoke of, waiting for the right moment to be fully realized.

Later that evening, as the mansion settled into its usual evening quiet, you found yourself in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board echoed in the stillness, but your mind kept drifting back to the poem. The words lingered in your thoughts, hovering over you like a melody you couldn’t shake. 

You stole a glance at Logan, who was sitting on a bar stool at the counter, flipping through a book with an absentminded expression.

He looked so relaxed, his brow smooth, his posture comfortable—the complete opposite of the man who had poured his heart onto that crumpled piece of paper. You wondered how long it had been since he'd last written something like that, or if he'd even thought about showing it to you. The question buzzed at the back of your mind, but you were in no rush to ask. Not yet. You wanted the right moment, one that felt like the softness of the poem itself.

As you stirred the pot on the stove, you caught Logan’s eye from across the room. A small smile tugged at your lips. There it was—the moment.

"So," you started, drawing out the word in a teasing lilt, "I found something interesting today… in your desk."

Logan blinked, lowering the book slightly as his eyebrows furrowed. "In my desk?" His voice had the cautious, playful suspicion of someone who already knew they were in for it but wasn’t quite sure how.

"Mhmm." You turned off the stove, wiping your hands on a dish towel, savoring the small flicker of nervousness in his eyes. You could see the gears turning in his mind, searching for what you might’ve stumbled upon. His face didn’t betray much yet, but the subtle shift in his posture told you he was anticipating something.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing your arms, letting the pause stretch just long enough. "A poem."

Logan froze, the book slipping closed in his lap. His lips parted, but no words came out immediately. The embarrassment washed over his face in slow motion—a soft flush creeping up his neck, his fingers twitching slightly against the fabric of his jeans. He sat up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck as if he could brush away the heat rising in his cheeks. "Ah, that," he muttered, his voice quieter, almost sheepish.

"Yeah, that." You raised an eyebrow, your smile widening as you watched him squirm just a little. "Logan, I didn’t know you had such a way with words. It was… beautiful."

He chuckled, the sound awkward and self-conscious, running a hand through his hair as he looked down at his hands. "I’m not great with words, not really," he said, his voice low but sincere. "I never know how to say things out loud, you know? Writing… I guess it’s easier that way. It’s just—" He paused, struggling to find the right words, his fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest.

You took a few steps closer, softening your tone as you reached for him, placing a hand gently on his knee. "Logan, you don’t have to downplay it. The poem—it was you. Every line. Every word." You tilted your head, catching his gaze, your voice teasing but tender. "How long have you been holding out on me, huh? Keeping all these love poems hidden away?"

Logan’s eyes met yours, a quiet vulnerability there that he rarely showed. He let out a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Honestly? I wrote it ages ago. It just… never felt like the right time to give it to you, I guess."

You nodded, understanding settling between you like a shared secret. "But why not? I mean, it’s… it’s lovely. It’s us."

Logan exhaled slowly, his hand reaching up to cover yours. "I don’t know. I guess part of me thought it wasn’t enough. Like, I can never quite say what I want to say. You deserve more than half-finished poems on crumpled paper."

You squeezed his hand, feeling the tension in his grip, and leaned in just a bit closer, your voice softening to a near whisper. "Logan, I don’t need anything more. That poem—it’s enough. It’s more than enough." You paused, letting your fingers brush gently over the back of his hand. "In fact… I want more."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and something warmer beneath it. "More?"

You nodded, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah. I want more of you—on paper, in words, in poems. Write them for me. Even if they’re unfinished. Even if they’re messy. I don’t care." You leaned in closer, your voice barely more than a murmur now. "I want to see more of what’s in here." You tapped gently against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

Logan’s expression softened, the embarrassment fading away as something else took its place—relief, maybe, or something akin to it. He smiled, the kind of smile that was just for you, full of that quiet, understated affection he had always carried. "I’ll try," he said softly, a hint of mischief creeping into his voice. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you. My poetry gets very cheesy."

You laughed, the sound warm and light, and pulled him into a kiss, the poem forgotten in the best possible way as you sank into the moment with him, the quiet hum of affection settling comfortably between you.

When you finally pulled away, you whispered, "Cheesy’s my favorite."

Logan grinned, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Well then, I better start scribbling some more love notes," he teased, but his eyes were sincere, a new promise between the two of you.

As you turned back to finish dinner, your heart felt lighter and fuller, knowing that somewhere, in a drawer or a notebook or maybe even on the back of a napkin, more of Logan’s words were waiting for you—tangled, imperfect, but always from the heart.

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan students accidentally turn in their 40k long smut fanfics instead of papers worth 30% of their grade and teacher darling sits with the nice bottle of wine one of the rich kids shipped in questioning the life choices which led them to becoming a college professor in the first place

[monstersflashlight]

This post was supposed to be a long story but I got impatient and posted it. Now we have the full story. Hope y’all like it as much as I do. <3

Orc professor

Orc x chubby fem!reader || power dynamics, dom/sub undertones, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cum play, breeding, size kink, age gap, degradation, praise kink

It was your third failed mini-test when you thought enough was enough. Your hot orc professor was too attractive for your sanity. He was so hot with his cardigans and whatever he wore that you were always distracted, unable to take notes. It was his fault, and you needed to remedy that before you failed the whole class. You just needed to talk to him and see what could you do to pass. You’ll do some extra homework, maybe write a few more papers. Anything. A naughty part of you wanted to offer him sex favors, but you knew he wasn’t that kind of orc. Maybe.

You knocked on his office door and heard the muffled “come in”. You opened the door and your breath was taken away because how fucking attractive he was. The black framed glasses and salt and pepper hair just accentuating his green skin. Your panties got wet instantly. Fuck. Why had he to be so fucking hot? It would be a lot easier if he was just an old wrinkly dude.

“What do you need from me?” He looked up from the papers he was grading and that look combined with that phrase made your pussy tingle. Fuck, you were so turned on by everything he did.

He could be talking about the condensation of the trees in the desert and you’ll be panting in the back of the class, panties wet. And right now, you were worried your arousal was going to form a wet patch in your pants. This needed to be fast before you embarrassed yourself.

“I- I want to know if I can do some extra activities to improve my performance in your class.” You told him as fast as you could, sitting down in front of him and trying really hard not to rub your thighs together.

The frantic pulse of your heart was mirrored on your clit, and it was driving you completely crazy. Being so close to him was like an aphrodisiac in itself.

“What kind of activities do you suggest?” He seemed uninterested. Some part inside of you got mad at him, you were clearly trying to improve and he looked like an asshole who didn’t care if his students passed or not. And for some reason that only made him hotter. You needed to get laid soon before you humped his leg or something.

“I- I don’t know. I just need to pass your class. Please, I’ll do anything,” you begged. You were sure it was too much, but he looked at you, a spark of interest in his dark pupils.

You realized how bad it sounded when you thought about it. You tried to take it back, say you didn’t mean it like that, but then he surprised you asking back: “Anything?” His smirk was enough to send lighting down your pussy, your panties soaking through your clothes. Good Goddess, how was he so fucking hot?

Contrary to your better judgment, and probably thinking just with your southern parts, you matched his teasing tone as you answered: “Yes, yes. Anything.” You leaned closer to his table, showing more tits than you knew you should. But fuck it. If you couldn’t pass this class, at least you could fuck the hottest professor on campus.

He leaned back on his chair, his eyes flickering to your almost exposed breasts. He hummed and finally said: “Okay, little human, we’ll make a deal.” You nodded eagerly, so ready to do whatever he asked.

If he asked you to get naked and suck his cock right there, you would fall to your knees so fast he wouldn’t even see you moving. You were more than ready, so wet and needy you could feel the wetness pooling inside your thighs, probably through your pants. The walk home was going to be so uncomfortable. Ugh.

But you weren’t expecting his offer to be so filthy, so nasty. “Each morning, you’ll arrive a bit early, and you will handle me your panties. Used panties. And I want you to take them off in front of me, so I suggest you start wearing those slutty skirts you love so much.” You were bamboozled by his words.

Did he notice you? Did he like your skirts, too? He must like them if he noticed you wearing them so often. And he though they were slutty (they were, and you might or might not wear them to see if he reacted). A part of you wanted to be offended, but the other part of you was ready to say yes. Yes to that, yes to anything.

He interpreted your silence as agreement and kept talking. “If you do that, you will pass my class. That works for you?” He was back to looking uninterested, but you saw right through his facade.

His hand was resting suspiciously close to his groin, and you could almost make the outline of a dick. A huge dick, but you weren’t sure. You wanted to lean closer to inspect it, but you refrained, your head spinning with everything that just happened.

“Yes. Yes. Perfect. I’ll do it. Thank you, thank you, thank you…” You repeated a dozen times before he dismissed you. There was a big grin on his face when you left. You could feel his eyes fixed on your ass as you walked out. Point for you.

The first couple days it went without a hitch. You arrived early, and he was always there, expecting you with a knowing smirk. You usually made a show of pushing your panties down your legs and grabbing them, never actually showing him anything, but making it obvious that you were enjoying yourself with the game you two were playing. He always smelled them and hummed appreciatively, making your clit get excited instantly. You loved when men were vocal in bed. In his case, when monster’s were.

Where all monsters more vocal than humans? You never slept with a monster before. You always wanted to try, but never knew someone who excited you as much as your orc professor. The first time you saw him you tripped on your feet and almost hit the ground. He was so much older than you, he could probably be your father, but good lord if you wouldn’t love to call him daddy.

After the fourth day giving him your panties, you got a bit bolder. You turned around and bent down, making sure he was seeing your naked pussy and fat ass as you did so. The red lacy panties barely covered your wet pussy as you pushed them down your legs. He growled loudly at you when he saw them, you groaned softly. When you handled the panties to him, his eyes were as dark as a storm and you could see the outline of his dick perfectly. You gasped, he was so big, so much bigger than anyone you’d been with before. How would that feel inside of you? Would it even fit?

That day, you left feeling elated because of his reaction, a plan starting to form in your mind. You were going to be really, really bad. You spent the rest of the class rubbing your thighs together and trying not to touch yourself. You could still see the outline of his dick if you focused on his groin, and it was making you insane. You almost ran out of the class to jerk off in the bathroom.

On the fifth day, you wore your shortest skirt, the one that barely covered your ass. You walked in and waited until he gave you a once over. Your body was burning by the time he ended his staring. He arched a brow, expecting you to do what you were instructed before. You turned around and repeated the same actions as the day before, showing him your wet pussy as you bent down. He growled again and you smirked.

You handed them the black lacy panties and grinned. “Here you have them, sir.” You pronounced the last word with all your intent, being as flirty as possible as you walked away, sitting in the first row. You never did that before, you were forever a last row girly, but today you had plans. You felt his eyes lingering on your half exposed ass. The walk home was going to be a bit sketchy with that skirt, but it was worth it.

The class started and he looked at you. You smiled innocently as he started to explain about the life circle of some plant. You didn’t care, you were a girl on a mission.

When he turned around and started asking questions, you opened your legs.

The girl sitting next to you wasn’t paying any attention to your actions, but his gaze zeroed on you. You open your legs slightly more, knowing full well your big thighs must cover your pussy most of the time. But if you open them far enough… Yes. You realized the second he saw your pussy because he dropped the pen he was using to write down some stuff on the board.

And then you saw it: the outline of his monster cock noticeable against his dark pants, making you drool and do it again. You parted your legs and bit down on a pen, trying to be as slutty as possible. He coughed to cover what you guessed was a groan. He sat down and ordered everyone to write some stuff for him.

Before you left the class, he grabbed your arm and told you: “Remember we have a meeting after class, I’ll be expecting you in my office.” His tone is harsh and final, you nodded, blushing. Suddenly you feel very embarrassed about your performance in class, but your slutty side is more than happy to comply.

After all your classes, you rushed to his office and knocked softly. He opened the door before you could ask, grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. He closed the door behind you and pressed your back against it. He was over you instantly, his big mouth kissing you as his tusks framed your jaw. You kissed him back with equal passion, grabbing his hair and pressing your whole body against his. You moaned against his mouth when he pulled back.

“You were a very naughty girl. And naughty girls need to be punished.” His voice had an edge of danger to it that had you panting. You nodded, eagerly. “Bend down over the desk. Now.” You had to press against him to get to it, but you complied.

“What about the papers?” You asked, trying to move them around but he grunted. He put a hand on the middle of your back and pushed down, plastering your head against the papers and pulling your skirt up at the same time. You felt the cold air against your backside and shivered.

“Such a slutty girl, offering me his panties for a pass. Showing me her wet pussy like a slut. Parting her legs for me in the middle of class.” He punctuated each one of your actions with a caress to your ass. You were panting against the papers, pushing your ass up to get him to touch you more. “You need to be punished for all of that. You were a very, very naughty girl. Such a slut.” And then his big hand made contact with your right ass cheek. You screamed and he stopped. “That won’t do. You need to be quiet.” You looked at him over your shoulder and watched as he took your panties out of his pocket. “Open.” You complied, and he shoved them in your mouth. “Good girl. I’m going to spank your little slutty ass and then fuck your pussy, do you want that?” You nodded eagerly.

He hit your ass ten times, one after the other, not letting you catch your breath before he was hitting you again. You cried out around the panties in your mouth, but you only got them wet with saliva. Tears fell from your eyes and landed on the papers on the desk, making a mess. He didn’t care about it. When he finished spanking you, your pussy was so wet you were sure it was dripping.

“Such a good girl taking the spanking she deserves. Are you on the pill?” His question took you by surprise and when you nodded again he smirked. “Good, I’m going to breed you so deeply you are going to feel me for days.” You groaned at his words. He lowered his pants enough to get his dick out. When you saw it, you whimpered. “Don’t worry, it will fit.” You weren’t so sure about it, but he was already pushing the tip against your gaping hole.

By the time he bottomed out you were breathless. His dick so big you could feel it in the back of your throat. You were spread so wide you felt like you were going to tear in two. But it felt so fucking good. His dick hit every single good point inside of you, rubbing against your G-spot and parts of your pussy you didn’t even know could feel that good. He breathed hard over you as you adapted to his size. He was being so careful with you it was a shock from the way he acted when you entered his office.

After a few minutes you started moving your hips back. He grabbed your hips and pulled back, controlled. You groaned and he chuckled, pushing into you again. The scream you let out wasn’t muffled by the panties. And then the carefulness stopped. He fucked your pussy restlessly, until you were drooling around the panties and over papers on the desk. You could feel the bruises forming on your hips, where his green hands were holding you.

He fucked you like a machine, grabbing you like a toy and fucking your body like you weren’t more than a fleshlight to him. You moaned and groaned around your gag every time he thrusted inside. The pleasure so high it was maddening. His hand went around your body and he started rubbing your clit frantically. You came less than three seconds later and he rapidly followed. His cum was scalding hot in your insides, so deep and so much of it you could feel it slipping out around his dick.

When he finished cumming, he draped himself over you and hugged you close. “You did good, you were perfect.” He took the panties out of your mouth and kissed you softly, moving your limp body until your back was on the desk and he was sitting on his chair in front of you. “Now, take out my cum and eat it.”

You pushed your torso off the table, leaning on your elbows. “Wha- what?” Did he really wanted you to do that? That felt forbidden, like a step too far, but it made you so hot to think about it...

“Finger yourself for me and eat out mixed essence like a good girl for me,” he repeated. As soon as he praised you, you were ready to do whatever he asked you to.

So you complied. “Ye- yes, sir.”

You proceeded to do exactly what he told you, slowly scooping his cum from inside you with your fingers and putting it in your mouth. You moaned at the first taste, feeling naughtier than ever, feeling like the slut he called you earlier. His eyes were focused on your pussy and it felt so good to have all his attention over you that you wanted to scream again, your pussy tingling.

“Come here.” He pulled you off the table and to a kneeling position between his legs. You looked up at him adoringly, your brain, blind with pleasure. “You are going to show me those beautiful breasts of yours and I’m going to come again over you. Then you’ll put the shirt back on and walk to your house like that. Pussy dripping cum, tits marked by me,” he growled the last part. You nodded, already taking your shirt off. “Good girl.”

He jerked his monster cock over your tits, his green fist contrasted with his red tip and darker dick. It was beautiful to see. It took him less than three minutes to be groaning over you as he painted your boobs with his release. He spread it all over your tits, pinching your nipples as he did so. You groaned, your clit pulsing again. You couldn’t understand how much his actions turned you on.

He helped you put back your shirt, and he put you over his lap. You made out for a few more minutes as you melted against him.

“Tomorrow morning I expect you to be early for class.” You arched an eyebrow at him, confused. “If you want to show me your pussy, my cum better be leaking out of it. Do you understand?” You nodded, unable to form words after such risky order. “Good.” He kissed you again before sending you home.

Anticipation filled your inside as you walked home feeling his cum drying over your tits and leaking out of your bare pussy.

You were going to get an A+ in his class.

Don’t forget you can comission me for something like this if you want.

[strange-mage]

Walking through the snowy forest with Severus 🖤

(Soooo happy to be done with this illustration!! hold tight for another Snape art ya'll)

[madamechrissy]

Study Session

NSFW- Professor Geto x college student reader

"Professor Geto... we can't!" You whisper, as Suguru Geto - your Physics Professor - is fingering your slick little cunt right in the library as you study. He smirks down at you, violet eyes glinting.

"Can't do what, Princess?" He murmurs, long, thick fingers continuing to pump in and out of your gummy little walls, you're so terrified everyone can hear in the quiet room, looking around nervously as your breaths come faster. "Can't give you a study session?"

"N-no..." He's knuckles deep in your pussy with one hand, his other is carelessly pointing to a part of a book, your vision starts swimming with how good it feels.

"Write those notes, be a good girl would you?" Professor Geto murmurs, his long silky hair falling over a shoulder, brushing against your overheated skin. "Come... on now."

"Fuck." Is all you manage, taking a shaky hand and trembling as you write messy ass words, jumbled and senseless, now Suguru's thumb is pressing against your clit, which twitches under the touch, swollen and sensitive. You bite your lip hard, struggling not to make noise, he's leaned even closer now, pointing at another sentence.

"And what do you think about dark matter?" He asks, voice husky, you look at him wide eyed, now he's grinning, eyes crinkling at the corners, as he continues rubbing circles, and your eyes are rolling back, your hips bucking. "Shh, Princess, just answer."

"Dark... matter... is..." You cum so hard you have to bury your face in your hand for a moment, muffling the cries, as you're soaking his fingers, his hand, and he lets out the quietest moan, running his long fingers up and down your soppy slit now. "It's... fucking amazing."

Professor Geto chuckles deeply, sliding his hand away finally, leaving you a hot sticky mess under your skirt, sucking on his finger and moaning then, leaving you throbbing around nothing. "That's not gonna do, we're gonna need... more lessons. In my office."

There's never enough Geto content I swearrrr

[mrshowlettsgarden]

Cherry Kisses - Logan Howlett: the one where he gets distracted from your ranting

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: fluff, make out session, god bless this hunk of a man

─➭ take a walk in the greenhouse (master list)

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Logan lets out a frustrated groan as he stands out on the balcony leading to the back of the mansion. “These damn shitass kids…,” he sighs aggressively as he pulls out a cigar and begins to light it.

He’s been teaching history to the students for years now and he still can’t get used to teaching the students. He doesn’t know how Charles, Storm, and you do it so easily - near effortlessly - and you have been teaching longer than him despite the fact he’s been living for almost 200 fucking years.

He lets out a puff from the cigar and blows it out to the air above him as he basks in the quietness of the outside. Everyone left for the evening since it’s a Friday night but Logan chooses peace and silence.

And peace and quiet is what it is now. But there’s one more thing he needs in his arms and it’s-

“What has Charles told you about smoking here, my love?”

Ah…the only woman in the damned world that has kept him sane is here. You’re always there when he needs you the most.

His wife…

Logan turned around to find you standing tall and all in your glory. You have your arms crossed over your chest with your hip popped out and a faux serious look on your face.

“Seriously, Lo. After 10 years, you still haven’t broken the habit. Even just for a couple of hours during the day,” you exaggerate with a laugh.

Logan has a soft smile on his face as he listens to you rant about his smoking habit as he continues to take puffs out of the cigar. He was supposed to break the addiction a long time ago but he stopped listening to you rant once his eyes fell to your glossy lips.

Wonder what flavor it is…

“You also still leave ashes along the railing and it leaves burn marks.”

You’re still ranting with no true seriousness behind it but it still doesn’t hurt to keep trying to talk him out of smoking. Charles has threatened Logan that he’ll turn him into a six year old girl for smoking while he was using Cerebro. As you were about to go in that particular rant your words were caught in your throat when you noticed him stalking towards you with a curious but dazed look on his face.

You huff, “Logan, are you even trying to listen to - mph!”

Asshole, cut you off with a kiss but who are you to break that kiss? What kind of loving wife would you be and not enjoy the kiss?

You feel one of his hands cup your jaw to keep you close with his free muscled arm wrapped around your waist. You moan into his mouth when he pulls you tighter in his embrace. Your hands clutch his gray flannel as you try to ground yourself but he makes it so hard to do so, especially when he nearly whimpers in your mouth.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, Logan is the first to pull away still holding you firm against his body. You're both softly panting into each other's mouths trying to catch your breath.

“Wha-what was that for?” you breathlessly giggle, “Are you trying to shut me up?”

“Cherry,” he mumbles a whisper against your lips, “Fuck - your lips taste like cherry, baby.”

“Oh…,” you mumble as he continues to barely touch your lips with his. You feel an ache between your legs and you want more from his teasing. “I-I got it a couple days ago… You like it?”

He answers you with a softer kiss followed by another one and another then one more.

“I love it, baby,” a kiss.

“Fuck, gimme more, yeah?”, another kiss.

“My pretty wife…”

And another kiss…

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