#and before that the class was doing a task wrong and i TOLD them they were doing itwrong and i POINTED OUT the evidence of that

[emilielhess]

on air, off ice | 🎙️🏒 chapter 0:1

pairing: hockeyplayer!vi x nerdy!radiohost!reader tropes: 📌college AU | 💘 slow burn | 🎧 strangers to lovers | 🕶️ secret identity | 📻 late night radio vibes | 🤓 nerd radio host

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"Well, that brings us back to last night, right? Big congrats to our beloved hockey team for totally smashing it yesterday! I still don't get half the rules. Okay, maybe none of them, but watching those wild moves on ice, with goals flying left and right?

You let out an impressed whistle, lips brushing the mic's grille.

"Yeah, that told me the night got feral real fast. Shoutout to the captain for making campus something warmer than pre-midterm panic. Who knew she was actually good at more than just throwing elbows and breaking stuff?Just kidding. Good luck with pre-midterms, everyone."

Your fingers instinctively fumble across the control board, searching for the right switch-off button. You could find it with your eyes closed by now. Pressing keys, talking into the mic, messing with the knobs. Saying 'hi' to Piltover Collage over the speakers has become your thing. Your second nature.

The speakers crackle. Something they like to always do at the start and at the end of your broadcasts. It must have been the dust.

The corridors have been silent until you found this place. Or actually refound it.

Scratchy, faint buzz reminds you that you're sitting in the most neglected corner of campus. No surprise there. Studio, as you like to call it, is buried in a forgotten wing of media and communication building, right across unused bathrooms. No official sign. Just a fading, handwritten 'ON-AIR' note, barely clinging to the door.

Decades ago, it was probably a sound lab. Hard to say. When you first found the place it looked more like a junk closet. Two mismatched tables from the biology wing, washed-out walls and the light above your head that flickers every time you press the wrong button. If not for a half-working mic and a scratched-up control board, you wouldn't have looked twice.

It's definitely not glamorous.

The administration clearly had shinier priorities. Like the state-of-the-art hockey rink built two years ago, after completely the team's championship win. That's where the budget goes now.

You don't mind your barely-functioning place.

Moreover, Piltover doesn't even offer courses on radio, wave signals, or broadcasting. At least, not anymore. It's not like you'd be interested.

Your chair squeaks as you swivel to grab your bag from the floor.

Nobody had really considered starting a college radio station since the '80s, or that's what you figured. And honestly, you keep your broadcasts so random, it barely counts as official anyway.

Especially when every broadcast means slipping out of your safe space, hoping not to get caught by a lost freshman. Your phone screen reads 11:37. Seven minutes total. Maybe three of you rambling and around four for the tracks you queued up. Just enough time to pack up and disappear back into more civilized part of the media wing before anyone realizes you were gone.

Not a hard task, really.

The journalism section's never that crowded during breaks unless there's free coffee on Fridays or a looming deadline.

You stepped out of the booth and into the hallway, greeted by the sound of echoing footsteps. The corridors were empty, but you could still hear voices around the corner.

I was hoping she'd play that song from last Monday again. I've been trying to find the title everywhere.

This year's championships is ours, obviously. Too bad, it's just women's hockey, right?

Who's the radio girl, though...

You flinch at the last one, your legs suddenly rushing towards your class. The sound of soft clicks welcomes you. When you reach your desk, your friend don't even look up.

"You've vanished again."

You roll your eyes and then collapse into your chair. "I'm allowed to take a break, Ekko. It's practically written in the student handbook. And the constitution."

"But you missed the broadcast again, like... do you even care about our campus life?" He rests his chin on his hand. "Or your head will be buried in your books for the rest of your life?"

"I don't mind." You started your computer.

"That's unhealthy."

"It's just I got stuck in the coffee line. Took forever, so I came back." You gave him a shrug.

"Okay, forgivable." He nods to himself. "So... you've heard it? The broadcast, I mean. It was kind of cool, she mentioned about the hockey team. The whole canteen went nuts."

"Yeah? Good I wasn't there then." You click your mouse, opening a black doc for the day's assignments. "All that scream gives me headache."

"Seems like socializing does the same thing to you." Ekko says, turning back to his screen with a proud smirk.

You hum noncommittally.

"She said something about Vi, like she's got anger issues, but dressed it up so well it almost sounded like a compliment. You think she's actually that aggressive?"

You tilt your head slightly. "I think you just dramatically paraphrased whatever was actually said."

Ekko snorts, but says nothing. He dives straight into a list of new assignments.

"Three thousand words to write about a freaking book club. That's a joke, right?" He groans, dragging both hands down his face when he opens his task for today. "Heimerdinger's lost it. I swear, I'm gonna quit and switch to the arts major. They've got a graffiti course. That's literally my thing."

You pause mid-type. You belonged to that book club for a whole year.

"Since when?" You ask flatly, fingers clicking the keys without typing anything useful yet. "Since you sprayed 'eat the syllabus' on Heimerdinger's office door?"

"No," Ekko scoffs, leaning back in his chair until it squeaks. "Since, like... forever? I could be doing something that's actually creative, y'know? Writing columns about tea-sipping freaks arguing over plot twists makes me sick."

You scroll down your folders, searching for a decent template. "And journaling isn't creative now?"

"You just rephrase what someone else said. It gets even worse when they make you copy it word for word. Like some dumb parrots."

"If you're doing it wrong, sure," you mutter, clicking into one of the cleaner templates. Your eyes skim the options. "Minimalistic layout or over-the-top layout? Can't decide."

"You see? Even you're recycling your old stuff. It’s all repetitive. We're just parrots in a zoo, mimicking echoes of things that already happened. In zoo they feed them for free, at least."

"Well, since you're so creative, maybe you can help me design the layout for this month's paper." You turn your screen towards his face. "And, just for the record, those templates are obligatory."

"Fine. Move over," he rolls on his chair to your desk and peers at the screen. A blink. "That's it? A blank page? You do realize I can't level up a layout if there's nothing to level up, right?"

"It's kind of intuitive," you mutter, already clicking around. "I was busy."

Ekko raises an eyebrow. "Busy doing what? Reorganizing your folders by date and theme again? You already did that last week. Twice. You gonna get allergic to fun and people one day. Breathe a little, geez."

You want to hit him with a glare, but the empty document practically screams at you.

And it is definitely your fault.

You'd spent half the night buried in your broadcast notes again. Told yourself you'd only pick a playlist, maybe write down a few lines. Instead, hours vanished.

You still remember your first night in the booth. Voice shaking. Fingers hovering over the controls like the wrong button might set off a fire alarm.

Back then, you'd had enough of silence. Enough of switching campuses, trying to fit where you don't. Every school near home worshipped sports, like talent only counted if you wear a jersey.

And you weren't that.

You were lonely and broadcasting gave you a sense of escape. The only way to reach people without having to look them straight into their eyes.

No face. Just your voice.

Ekko was a different story. Loud, annoying, intrusive. But safe. It took time to let him in. But somehow, he got there. Not many do.

His shoulders slumps. "Just... let's start with that your soulless template. We don't have much time to make this art."

"While balancing this and mid-terms in two weeks. We don't." You say bitterly.

"Shit. They're already here?"

"That's what I said."

"I'll pass. You'll help me.'

'You're delusional,' you laugh, eyes flicking across the screen.

"Nope. I'm strategic. Besides, you're the only person the profs believe will pass."

"You could be that person too, you know. All it takes is sitting on your ass and cracking a book open." You shake your head.

Ekko shrugs. "That's your talent. I have other gifts. Like... avoiding Heimerdinger during breaks." He glances around the room. "Speaking of-have you seen Ellie?"

The chair creaks beneath Ekko as he spun around, scanning almost empty class.

You don't bother looking up from your screen, the glow of the monitor reflecting faintly in your eyes. "No. I mind my own business. You should too."

Ekko rolls his eyes, dropping his voice low. "Strange, though. We're supposed to finish the sports section, and she's been MIA since last Monday."

You keep your fingers poised above the keyboard, distracted by the subtle misalignment of the title on your page. "And I have to finish the layout, so… we're both hitting hard rock bottom. Sport column is not my concern right now."

"Eh," Ekko says, leaning back and brushing a stray braid behind his ear. "You sure about that?"

You finally glance up with a tight frown. "Yeah. Why?"

His gaze is fixed on something over your shoulder.

"Because," his voice drops even lower, "Mr. Heimerdinger is coming right at us with the blue file."

Blue file. Your gut twists.

The words echo in your head like a bad omen. Blue file. You feel a cold prickling down your spine.

God no.

You try to look busy, fingers tapping feverishly on the keyboard, pretending to be absorbed in your work, maybe even switch places with Ekko. But it is useless. He's already slouched back into his chair, eyes darting away, unwilling to meet yours as Mr. Heimerdinger's steps grew louder, bouncing in the small class.

"You filthy traitor," you hiss at him, a lump already forming in your throat.

"(Y/N)?"

You jolt, twisting your chair with a forced smile stapled on your face. "Yes, Mr. Heimerdinger?"

He's standing right in front of you, blue folder clutched in his hands. Even if you're sitting his not much taller than your. But his gaze full of expectation makes you feel small. You already hate this.

"I must say, this semester we find ourselves in a bit of a bind," he begins carefully, almost diplomatically. "I know the mid-terms are creeping up for al of you and this class is, of course, half-exceptional, but I do hope you're still taking the course seriously. Recommendation season is no joke."

You must go visibly pale, because your professor immediately places a hand on your shoulder. "I reviewed your last submission. Flawless editing. There wasn't a single correction needed." He smiles. "So far as I'm concerned, your section is done, and with your standards of work, I believe you're more capable of stepping in."

Your mouth opens.

"Stepping in?"

"For Ellie." He confirms. "We need someone to take over sport coverage for this month's issue."

From your right, you hear a very unsubtle snort.

"Oh-uh-can't we just wait for Ellie?" You scramble. "I mean, she's probably got all her notes. Maybe just couldn't format things yet. We could just... compile what she has?"

Mr. Heimerdinger shake his head slowly. "I'd rather not. It's highly unprofessional to abandon assigned work. At this stage, we need someone who follows through."

"But I still have to take care of the layout." You try to fight back with arguments.

"Don't worry. I've already thought about it. Ekko can handle the layout. He's got an artistic eye."

Your friend shrinks.

You blink twice emptily.

"I know this isn't ideal," the professor continues gently, "but I believe in you. This is an opportunity to grow, to step out of your comfort zone. I'd be more willing to recommend you if that'll motivate you just enough."

You stare at the blue file. Hockey section material. Leftovers from Ellie's work.

"With all due respect, professor," you said, voice barely steady, "I don't know anything about interviewing. Especially not the athletes. I can do anything else, really. Just not... this."

A brief smile flickered on his lips. "That's exactly why I picked you. You're sharp behind the desk, I know it, but I noticed you tend to stay in one place. This is your chance to break out. To do something new."

You swallow again, your heartbeat thundering in your ears, your hands clammy on the desk. The quiet safety of the booth is slipping away.

But Mr. Heimerdinger's expectant eyes hold yours, and something in them tells you this isn't a request.

You take from him the blue file like some kind of disease.

"Just do the interview for now. I hope miss Ellie will come back to us next week. Either way, I'm sure you won't disappoint."

You nod reluctantly. When he's few steps away, Ekko can't help yourself and says:

"Guess you're finally getting into sport journalism, huh?"

Fuck. Me.

You've texted Ellie countless times last night, practically spamming her inbox with panic-soaked messages, but she seemed to either be really sick or simply blind.

you: hi ellie, when do you plan to come back? you: I cover for your sport table you: do you have any advice or materials? you: its important you: text me back pls you: hope you recover fast

You weren't mad. It wasn't anger that kept your fingers twitching over the screen yesterday, rather your unfiltered, rising panic which took the whole space.

Not till today's morning. That's when you saw red.

No reply.

Just the awful, empty notification.

Read. 11:42 PM.

Ellie has seen everything and left you on a freaking read.

You stare at the screen for a long time, thumbs still curled around the phone. Part of you believe you're going to see the three dots popping up, but no. She's been inactive since yesterday.

You press your phone to your forehead, hit it three times and let out a soundless groan.

That's when you know. Time to say bye-bye to your recommendation list. Seed of hope Heimendinger waved in front of your nose gone.

Now, you are someone who couldn't even fake an interview for the school column.

The blue file lies innocently on your desk, its laminated tab gleaming under the light, supposed to be your pass to an easier life. Without scholarship, you had to fight only with your grades, but it would be way harder to compete, even if you're a nerd always at the top of your class.

To hell with muscles and jerseys.

You take a deep breath, shove it your bag with more force than necessary. Then you grab your coat and throw it on over your fuzzy, creamy cardigan. You don't bother with breakfast. You barely remember to lock your room.

You just go with resignation paper in your hands.

"You good?" Ekko slings a casual arm over your neck, as the two of you step into the library, the heavy doors creaking shut behind you.

You sigh, your shoulder already slumping as you lead your way to your usual table near the back, next to the window, with your friend following you behind.

"Do I look good, Ekko?" A snarky, muttered comment escapes your lips.

You drop your bag beside the chair with a dramatic thud.

"That's why I'm asking," he rolls his eyes and makes himself comfortable on a puff chair, the only reason he agrees to follow you between regals full of books. "Is this that interview thing?"

You unpack your textbooks and place them on the small, square table, your pens and favorite, cannery highlighter already there.

"If only that," you take your sit and start flipping through your notes, "Ellie completely ghosted me."

"She did?" Ekko squints his eyes, straightens himself up. "Strange, she replied on the group chat yesterday."

"I had nothing to work with, Ekko," you whisper-shout, stopping on a page from last lecture. "Like... nothing. No questions. No context. I've never even seen a full hockey match unless we count those fifteen-second reels on Instagram. I thought Ellie would at least save me with some kind of PDF or a cheat sheet before deciding to disappear."

You knew nothing about hockey and you only watched some shortcuts just for the case of your broadcasts to make people listen to you closely because it seems it all they care about.

You don't get goose bombs when you talk about the team. You have to talk about them. To keep Piltover interested. To get satisfaction from not only being the best one in courses.

He raises a brow. "Weren't you supposed to, like... find something to work with? On your own?"

You groan, leaning back on your chair. Your eyes drift to the high, white ceiling of the library. "Technically, yes. But then, I figured I'd get a head start by working with whatever materials Ellie had. I did really think about doing this whole shit. I mean, I need this scholarship and maybe it's my only chance to bag a place here since the whole school seems to be obsessed with sports, but I can't do this."

"Well, that was unwise." He huffs unimpressed.

You scoff. "Giving me this task was unwise. Like, why me? I have zero communicative skills. My charisma walks backwards. I don't even make an eye contact with a librarian or a guy from gas station."

Ekko lets out a quite laugh. "You are literally studying media and communication study. You're talking to me. Right now. In full sentences. You're opening your mouth and the words just flow. Some of them even make sense."

"That's way different." You shake your head, looking back at the pages sprawled before you, trying ot read the first paragraph. "I can't even focus." You push away your things and fold your arms. "He could have just given me anything else. Just not the hockey team."

"It's a sport table. You could do something different than this."

"We both know it has to be hockey." You purse your lips. "They buy our issues mainly because of this column. It funds the entire student paper."

"Make something up then, or at least try. It can't be that hard." He shifts in his sit. "I managed to pull off a piece with just the variations of 'we like books'. I'm sure, the hockey team will be all about loving pucks or something."

You blink.

"You really think I could pull this off?"

"Sure. Just smile, ask deep stuff, nod like you know what you're doing and boom. Journalism in a nutshell."

"I could borrow the clipboard." You say after a moment of hesitation.

"Totally. Clipboard is like half of the job. You would look professional."

Or just use it to cover yourself up.

"Yeah, still not doing it."

"Too bad. Because I've already pulled some strings."

You freeze.

"What do you mean you "pulled some strings?"

Ekko seems to be unbothered by your expression. "I've booked you an interview with hockey team, no need to thank me."

"You did what?" The words barely escapes your lips.

"I mean, not officially booked-booked," he offers, palms raised. "More like... I asked a friend who asked a friend, and now the coach knows. He's cool with it, said it's up to the team. So... you're kind expected."

You stare at him. You can feel the heat crawling up your neck. "Why-why would I thank you? I already gave the blue file to Heimerdinger this morning! I-" You cut yourself off, breath shallow. "I resigned."

"You did what?" He repeats the same line after you.

"Yeah. Guess we both had little secrets, huh?" Bitterness stings your tongue. "Like, how do you even know the hockey coach?"

"That's not really important." His grins becomes more sheepish. "Just-just calm down, you'll be fine. Bookworms from that club would ramble for hours if I didn't stop them. I'm sure the athletes are so fixed on their thing, they'll do the same. Maybe you won't even have to ask, they'll tak you to death. You'll get that recorded and voilà."

You groan, burying your face in your folded arms, your head hitting the table. "You better be right. If I survive this, I'm going to kill you."

"Not if you get that recommendation," he taps you with your highlighter. "Then, you'll owe me. Big time. And I mean it. I was begging on my knees yesterday."

"In front of who?" You peak up your head.

"Doesn't matter," he mutters.

"And when exactly am I supposed to do this?" You ask with a flicker of hope in your chest. "Next week or something?"

"Uh... A little bit closer than a week. Like, today?"

“Today?!”

"Couldn't negotiate. They have practice today," he say with a helpless shrug. "Plus, this whole thing ties into your scholarship, remember? Now or never." Ekko leans down next to you. "Listen, I've got a plan, alright? You go do the introductory interview and I'll sneak into Heimerdinger's office and pull your resignation letter before he sees it. And the blue file."

You bite on your inner cheek, a nervous tic you never quite grew out of.

"I do really owe you, right?" You murmur, not really meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, about that..." Ekko taps his phone screen, then pockets it. "I'll text you later. I might need your smart brain for something."

"Sure." You say, almost automatically. "Anything." You nod slowly, your voice quite now, heavy with a dread-soaked gratitude as you watch him rise from his puff.

"Don't worry, (Y/N)," he says with a smile, hanging his backpack over one shoulder. "It's just till Ellie comes back."

Yeah, till she comes back.

As Ekko strolls off, you start gathering your scattered things. The weight of the task still mocking you.

You pause, glancing towards the library window.

And then you hear it.

Laughter. Loud, unbothered. A sudden clash of sticks.

The hockey team.

You spot them just past the main entrance, occupying space with ease.

And then her. Vi. The captain.

She twirls her hockey stick like it's an extension of her own spine. Her shoulder are squared, posture effortlessly confident.

A teammate bumps into her from the side, playful, a little too rough, but she doesn't even flinch. Just throws a smirk over her shoulder and continues walking like nothing just touched her.

Your throat tightens. Uncertainty knocks on your door again.

No file. No questions. No Ellie.

And your nerdy, overthinking brain already knows how it ends.

She's gonna eat you alive.

note from Emi: Hey loves 💌 I just wanted to say - wow. You've completely blown me away with all the feedback on this fic. I wasn't prepared for how much love this idea would get, and honestly, my heart is do full 🥹❤️ I'm beyond excited to keep building this world with you. The hype for hockey captain Vi? Get it, she's dangerously hot. Trust me, ugh. Thank you for reading this. I hope this chapter keeps you hooked. Take care 🥰

taglist: @sycamore55, @baylegend6, @summerwriting, @tsujifreya, @sevikas-whore, @jnksvelvet, @eriiwaiii2, @wooziil, @bluminescent-moon, @thxtmarvelchick, @klallx @freakyjorker @lqqkis, @chellecunttt, @cottagegirlworld-blog, @sapphicscripts

[britneyshakespeare]

i have been working with kids for four years and i had to write my first ever note just now about a seventh grade boy being inappropriate towards me. i don't know what the hell this could possibly lead to or what. he was trying to feel my legs repeatedly to the point where i had to stop sitting next to him (and i was subbing for his one-to-one para!!!). he's got high support needs. in that kind of job, you're supposed to sit next to them all day and look over their work.

the teacher whose classroom this was happening in could also tell something was wrong. the whole class was acting kinda crazy because it was the day before school vacation week and there was another class coming in to share projects. so like, he was swamped with keeping order already. but we were sitting two feet away from his podium at the front of the room. the kid was giving him and me a hard time when he wouldn't take out his chromebook as he was instructed. and then when he did take out his chromebook, he immediately, for some reason, places it on my lap. he had been ogling my legs the whole time. he puts his computer ON MY LAP. and i'm just like, stunned, because what the hell? can you not keep it on your own lap, for some reason? i don't even know what to say, i just hold it a little above my lap while i'm thinking why on earth would this be happening? he would NOT do this to his regular para if she were here, would he? this can't be normal.

and the teacher sees this and within a minute places a stool in front of the kid for him to put his laptop on. and i'm like. oh ok. yeah. he notices exactly what's happening and that that's not appropriate. and then when the other class comes in to share projects he tells me "miss b——, you don't actually have to sit next to c—— this whole period if you don't want to." and he grabs me a chair for me to go sit with the other paras in the back opposite corner of the room. like he KNEW. and thank you mr. d—— for recognizing that because i was just kind of shocked and didn't know if i was overreacting in my head to all of this.

when there's a point in the class where the kids are discussing stuff, i privately mention what's happened to the para who's sitting closest to me. and she says that the thing about him calling me pretty is something he's been known to do, but the fact that he kept trying to touch my legs is new behavior. and that's a completely different class of behavior. i was telling him NO, don't do that, and he kept doing it. and the fact that he was calling me pretty repeatedly, even when i was giving him instructions that he wasn't taking. and this is the second to last class before the end of the day, so she says she'll take a walk with him before learning center and talk to him about it, and i'm grateful for that. she does. the kid apologizes to me as soon as i come into learning center. but like. WHAT the hell.

i'm STILL like what the hell. this is unfathomable to me. the other adults who i told about this or who witnessed it were supportive of me. but. what to do??? i wrote a long note to his regular para about this, because i knew she was going to hear about it at least from the first para i told. the second para i told about it after school had a kind of... i'm not gonna say enabling reaction, but i suppose since it had already been "taken care of" (or at least, he had been spoken to and apologized) she didn't really have much to add in the way of discipline. i told her what happened after school and she was just like... a little bit, laughing? like oh, yup, that dog. she at the very least confirmed he KNEW what he was doing, that that was not an accident. she said to me "i had a feeling he was going to develop a crush on you" (me and these other paras were together for most of the beginning of the day too). but it's like. it's not about that.

i have worked with children for FOUR years. children have had crushes on me before; i'm quite unfazed by it. boys from the ages of 5-to-15 have told me i'm so pretty before and asked me to marry them. i've never had them feeling up my legs before. i've never had them making me physically uncomfortable. it's NOT about this seventh grader having a crush on the pretty substitute. he is NOT unusual for that, at all. but i've never had a boy of any age or education level repeatedly touching my knees and thighs. THAT is problem behavior!!!

because what if i wasn't assertive enough with him to tell him to stop? what if i was a girl his age? worse, what if i was an adult who encouraged this behavior? i don't come to the middle school to be a seductress. i had no intention in putting on a pair of tights and a skirt this morning of being viewed as an attractive object, especially not by a pubescent boy. what if i did though? what if his interpretation of me wasn't so incorrect and offensive? what if i let him keep touching me inappropriately and saying flirtatious things to me? me, an adult in my mid-twenties, towards a middle school boy?

in no world would that be ok. if i had been feeling up and overly-complimenting a CHILD at my place of work, holy shit would there be reports about me. so a child acting that way could never be ok either. if it'd be firable for me to be reciprocating that action, then that action should not be happening to me. ever. and that child should never repeat that action again to any other adult again.

like i am simply not there to be treated as an attractive young woman. i put on a skirt that shows too much knee and get paired with a boy, though, and that's apparently just a natural consequence. hooo-ly shit. like i don't know what to do. first of all, the more time passes since this has happened, the more i am just unable to stop thinking about it. i wasn't "hurt" or too emotional in the moment but i'm just still processing it and it gets worse. i'm just more and more disgusted.

i don't know what i expect to come out of this, or the email i sent to his regular para. like, am i gonna have to attend a fucking meeting? what is the precedent that this sets for him? WHY do i feel BAD for him about this? well, because he's a child, of course. a child who has done wrong he may not be able to understand. but he knows WHAT he did. he just doesn't know WHY it was wrong.

and i couldn't even say something to him that was like, "well, how would you like it if i was touching you like this?" because young boys do not understand how inappropriate it'd be. i'm sure this kid thought he was gonna get away with what he was doing at the very least. but probably not unlikely he (being a child with no concept of how wrong it'd be) thought he could get some sort of "positive" attention for treating me like this. either way he was simply doing what he wanted to do, with no perspective of how it would make me feel or that it could be classified as harassment. teenage boys think it'd be awesome if the older attractive woman would reciprocate their affections. they're wrong. i, as the older attractive woman of his affection, cannot be the one to convince him of that, though.

i don't know. i don't know. like it's just so not ok. but if i didn't tell another adult about this, he would've gotten away with it. he would probably do it again. and him being in trouble for it is not the same as him understanding that it was wrong. unless someone has a REAL talk with him about inappropriate attention and consent, it's not unlikely that he'll just repeat the behavior in a setting where he thinks he won't be caught or told on. THAT'S the problem. me, i could just never have to be this boy's para again. in my email, i didn't say that i would never be ok working with or around him ever again. he already knows i didn't like it and i'm not afraid to tell on him; as far as that lesson applies to me, individually, i think he's become too ashamed to repeat that.

i don't know. i don't know. i very much expressed that i, i guess, "forgave" him in the email that i wrote. i clarified that i was writing it for the sake of having it on the record. i think that could potentially be very important for the purposes of preventing further similar or escalating behavior from him in the future. i don't want him to be in trouble. i don't think i will be blamed for this, especially not with how promptly i acted, although i don't know to what extent this will be framed as me thinking i'm a "victim." i'm not... i don't feel victimized. i feel disgusted. i feel afraid for the sake of what could happen to or with him in the future, if he thinks behavior like his towards me today is ok.

i feel like if i end up having to further respond to this, this will be made about me. in a way it kind of was. is? in the moment it was happening, it was certainly about me. because i was the one this boy was giving all this unwanted attention to. but to make the consequences of this about me and to involve me any further, i also don't want. because i said what i said already, i don't care if a student has a crush on me. this isn't about me being the pretty substitute. i'm the pretty substitute all the time, to tons of people. that's not really something i've been concerned about up until now.

but do i have to reexplain my personal embarrassment? that i was wearing a skirt? that he was ogling my legs? really? what more do i have to gain from sharing that, other than having the adults at my place of work confirm or deny me in their heads as the pretty substitute? i don't know. perhaps that's REALLY overthinking it. but i don't want to be the substitute that caused a problem for this special ed kid. i don't wanna be the reason that he can't be around me anymore, the person people think of when they're monitoring how he's acting around girls and young women. i DON'T want to be the one people think of when they think of his past misbehavior. i'm NOT here for that.

that's just fucking humiliating. and in this being a thing that could follow him, i have to be ogled and touched over and over again in people's minds for this to be taken seriously. but for this to be swept under the rug would be even worse, no? i don't know. i hate this. the principal is a nice guy; i wouldn't be surprised if he and/or people from the special ed department reached out to me sympathetically about this. but i don't wanna be reached out to. i don't wanna have ppl i work with tell me "sorry that kid was just so attracted to you he couldn't help himself" like come on. if the kid himself doesn't change then i don't really care to remember this incident. and no one reaching out to me and saying they've talked to this kid will actually prove to me he understands. this is the kind of inappropriate behavior it takes years for people to understand why it was wrong, especially a child who has no idea. i mean come on.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello again. I have another idea that occurred to me during class. Does ENA know what a birthday is? It's been so long since I watched the series. If she does know, she's probably never had one for herself (definitely not a good one). What if reader found out and was like "no, you're existence is worth celebrating and I'm glad you are in my life. I'm gonna do something to prove it." I feel like this idea fits more with Series!ENA, but I think BBQ!ENA would also benefit from not having her point of existence for someone be just endless tasks for once. Thoughts on this? Don't worry if you have too many requests to do right now, I just wanted to once again throw my thoughts out there. Please have a good day/night!

It's okay! I love all these ideas ya'll are giving me. I'd like to think she does, but she's never had a good one nor one worth remembering.

But I'll do both girlies justice bc I want them to be happy <3

......

Series!Ena

It's just a normal rainy day, where you and Ena were taking shelter inside your home. You were watching a show on the 32-Bit television while she was staring at your calendar like it was the morning paper.

"[Y/n], it's come to my attention that you have a specific date marked here that is rapidly approaching."

"Um..I have several things marked on that calendar, Ena." You pause the episode to look at her. "You're gonna have to be more specific than that."

"Why, I'm referring to your birthday, of course!" Her feminine voice giggles, before switching back to her more masculine tone. "Got any special plans? Are you ready for the ritualistic songs and rites of gift-exchanges?"

"Erm...ready as I'll ever be, sweetheart."

"That's wonderful! But hmm....what day should my birthday be on this year?" She holds a marker up, looking over several dates with a quizzical expression. "June? October? February 29th? Or maybe---" You see her violently glitch into her sad form. "--nevewr! Because everyone threw my invitations away LAST yeawr!! All that time and effowt...GONE!! Just like I should be!" She slams her head down onto the table and sobs, tears and marker bleeding into the paper.

Once again, you were forced to learn something truly and utterly devastating about your girlfriend: she's never had a good birthday celebration.

Before meeting you, she was vaguely aware of the "tradition". And one random day last year, she declared it to be her birthday, simply because it felt very "birthdayish", and sent out as many invitations as she could.

Nobody else showed up, except Moony and a small hourglass dog that she kept hostage in her pocket dimension--both of whom stayed for merely five minutes before leaving her in front of a burnt turron, depressed beyond measure.

Ena told you offhand that people seemingly laughed at her invitations and rolled their eyes, claiming that her "annoying" existence wasn't worth any kind of celebration......but she acted like it didn't bother her until now.

She assumed it's because she got the day "wrong" and tried aiming for a different one this time, one that both you and her could agree upon.

But given her current wailing and the fact that you'll definitely have to order a new calendar soon....she was feeling pretty hopeless.

Luckily you're quick to come up with an idea, as you hated seeing your girlfriend like this. "Hey, how about we make it for tomorrow? I have something good planned."

"No, just fowget it. I-I'm not in the mood anymowe." She sniffles, looking at you. "M-My existence is worthless-"

"No, it may not mean a lot to some people...but it means a lot to me. More than you could possibly know." You insist, rubbing her back. "I want to celebrate you, Ena, because I love you and I'm so happy that you exist. I'm glad you're part of my life."

"...you're just saying thaaaat."

"No. I'll prove it to you. Let's just mark it down for tomorrow, okay? I promise you won't regret it." You give her a kiss, and for a moment, you see the white half of her face smile. Just barely.

"O...Okay.."

Tomorrow comes, and Ena expects nothing...yet you surprise her with turron, made from a recipe you acquired from a shady stall, decorated with blue and yellow candies and adorned with a pick featuring a popup ad that said "Happy Existence Day, ENA".

Since she's not a big fan of parties, it was just you two spending the day together and her getting calls from the few entities who tolerated her (Moony, Merci, Phindoll, etc.).

It's a great day, and you two end it going out for drinks, where she's switching between her drunk forms while ranting about how much she appreciated you (which is the most you've understood her while she was in that state), and giving you a lot of hugs and slurred words of affirmation.

But you know she means them with all her heart and soul, even if she forgets the next day.

She's so happy that her entire body stays yellow even as you both come home, and she hugs you and sincerely thanks you for proving her wrong.

BBQ!Ena

It started off as a harmless and innocent inquiry, not giving it much thought. "Weird question, Ena...but have you ever celebrated a birthday before?"

"Pfffft, have I ever taken a vacation?" Her Meanie side bluntly sneers back, staring at you as though she gave you a riddle to solve.

"Uh..not that I can-"

"CONGRATS!! You've just answered yourself! Want a gold star for that?!" She goes back to admiring the png of some unidentified organ floating between her hands, trying to determine its market value.

Although her face eventually flickers back to its Salesperson side, who appears a little guilty for her outburst. Her gaze lingers, eyes buzzing with curiosity and....a hint of longing and want.

"Apologies." She suddenly claps her hands, the organ turning into nothing but bloody ooze that dissolves into the soil. "What I meant to say was....no. I'm not familiar with such a tradition. Is the commemoration of one's existence a common practice in your workplace?"

If you're human, this is yet another simple question you could answer. But even if you weren't, you fully knew about birthdays and have celebrated some yourself, or other friends'.

Apparently, Ena doesn't even know what that entails, and/or believed hers was simply not recognized by others since her species isn't well-liked around here.

All her life, she's only ever known how to carry out endless tasks and never doubt the assignment. That was her M.O, and to take some random day off would make her Meanie side break out into a cold sweat.

But ever since that conversation, you've heard her uttering a specific date that seemed important. One that was coming up soon. She spoke of it in various ways: through her business cards she hands to clients who didn't wanna take them in the first place. Through graphs she sketches of your probabilities of success in a job, hidden in plot points. And even through hushed whispers when you're both cuddling, but she refused to elaborate further.

Either something really good or really horrible occurred on that date. It was 50/50 guess, but from what you've gathered, it was the day she broke free of her mannequin husk and formulated her own identity.

It seemed close enough to a birthday, so you rolled with it and began planning something for her behind the scenes (with Froggy's reluctant assistance).

You wanted her to know that you appreciated her existence. Meanie sometimes found it hard to see that, and Salesperson, while she understands and appreciates your appreciation, thinks you're mainly with her for the "business" and "workplace benefits"--so you had to prove both sides of her wrong.

You loved her for her, not for what she was capable of.

When that fated date arrived, you sent her an S.O.S, and she rendezvous at the scene (your house) asap, wondering what the emergency was.

Instead, she finds you and a simple surprise on the table. And for once...this talkative entity has no words.

While you weren't sure if turrons were an ENA's universal favorite, you took a shot in the dark and baked one with fluffy white powder and red candy sprinkles on top, adorning it with a pick that had a star that simply looked cool. It was small, as you didn't wanna risk messing up a big cake.

Froggy criticized your entire baking process, but you were proud of its result, and even prouder when your girlfriend took one bite, and her eyes lit up like the fourth of july.

Not only that, but you also gifted her a laminated photograph of your first assignment with Ena. It stood the test of time, covered in a few scratches here and there. She didn't even know you had a camera.

"Oh, I stole it actually. But I promised to pay them...........woah, are you crying??" You see her static tears getting on the turron, desaturating its vibrant color.

She still hasn't said a word, but she can't stop crying silently and trembling. And it scares you at first. You're convinced that you royally screwed this up and today was actually the worst day of her life--

Until her head floats a little more away from her body than usual to kiss you on the cheek.

Before Meanie takes over and lightly headbutts you. "Now look what you've done, you idiot! Getting me all sappy like this on my Existence Day is gonna cost you!" She snaps, even though she's fighting back a smile and more tears.

".....what's it gonna cost me?"

"C-Calculating........one hug will suffice." Salesperson mutters, sniffling.

"Oh! Alright. You had me worried there." You cradle her head in your arms, petting her hair. "So...I was right. Today's the day you, the love of my life, came into existence. I'm glad you were born, and I'm not listening to anyone--Genie or not--who says you should be punished for that."

Once again, you've managed to silence her, through words this time instead of actions. There's no back sass from Meanie. No business offers or quips from Salesperson.

All she does is close her eyes and allow herself this moment of joy.

You proved a big point: She is worth celebrating, and you made damn sure she knew that this was gonna become a yearly occurrence.

She won't use it as an excuse to slack off of work, but she's always curious as to what surprises you'll have waiting for her next time.

[harkness-girl]

chaos makes the muse - pt. 2

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, dom!agatha, sub!reader, manipulation, praise kink, toxic relationship

Plot: your relationship with agatha starts taking a toll on you, but you can’t let go. maybe you can fight back a little bit.

MEN AND MINORS DNI!

Your relationship with Agatha deepens. Your nights are spent between her thighs, the days are spent thinking of being between her thighs. 

Your bed is used as another table, you never sleep there. You’re always in Agatha’s. And she never lets you be the big spoon, always tucking you under her arm, holding you tightly, possessive. 

Then one day you come to your room late after a long study session in the library and you find Agatha curled in bed, tears streaming down her face. 

She doesn’t want to tell you what’s happened, but you can guess her mother had something to do with the tears. You’ve never met Evanora, Agatha hasn’t told you much either, but you can guess a lot from the soft flinches when her name is mentioned or from the fearful look on Agatha’s face when “mother” appears on her phone screen announcing a phone call. 

Agatha lets you embrace her, kiss the tears away, and you don’t even change out of your clothes and spend the whole night holding her, keeping her safe. 

The next day, she changes so suddenly you feel breathless. 

No kisses. No touches. Not even her usual venom-laced sarcasm. She goes quiet, completely.

You panic and try harder. 

You write her five poems in three days, do every task before she asks. You even skip your favourite seminar just to stay near her, in case she needs something. 

She barely looks at you. 

You confront her, crawl to her on your knees. “Did I do something wrong?” You hate the way your voice shakes. 

She tilts her head, blinks slowly. Then she reaches for your face and grips your jaw firmly. “You’re just a little slut needing to hear you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

You gasp and feel tears rush to your eyes. But you know the words aren’t hers and you wonder where she’s heard them. 

When you start sobbing, reaching for her, she merely pulls away and goes to the bathroom. 

Later you find a note under your book. “You break so beautifully, it’s almost art.” 

Next morning when you’re buying her breakfast, she trails a fingertip down your spine and whispers into your ear: “thanks, pet” and even though it’s so completely toxic, you find yourself able to breathe again. 

She starts punishing you for the smallest things, a burnt dinner, wrong brand of shampoo, the fact that someone talked to you. But you start craving the punishments because of what happens after. A kiss so slow you think you might explode from the inside out. A whispered praise. A note tucked into your notebook that you find during a class. 

And it’s not like the punishments are horrible. Once she leaves you tied to her bed, with a silk scarf she wears to class. 

She doesn’t do anything, she’s just lying next to you fully clothed while you’re shivering there naked, waiting for something, a touch, a kiss, a command. 

Her fingers trail across your cheek, your chest, the soft curve of your belly, but never touching you where you need her the most. 

“Do you think I’m cruel?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she whispers into your ear as she bites at your earlobe. 

“I like it.” 

She chuckles, her hand grabbing a handful of your breast. “You’re mine now and always.” 

~~~

You tell Agatha you’d be back by 7pm, cook dinner and read her your new poem, but you get held back, talking to a girl from your class.

She laughs at something you say. Not even flirtation, just joy. 

But when you come to the room, Agatha is waiting cross-legged on her bed with a face so cold you know you’ve fucked up somehow. 

She doesn’t speak, not at first. Waits for you to put away your jacket and your bag. 

“Did she make you feel clever?” 

“What?” You turn to her confused. 

“That girl. I saw you grinning like a dog.” 

You swallow and hate how fast the guilt comes.

“We were just talking—”

“You don’t talk to people. You write poems and worship devils.”

She stands. Crosses the room.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, right against your lips.

And then she grabs you. Pulls you into a kiss that isn’t really a kiss, but a possession, tongue and teeth and bruises. 

Her hands pin you against the dresser. You don’t fight. You don’t want to. You let her mark you.

When she pulls back, her breath is shallow.

“If I see you smile at anyone like that again, I’ll carve my name into your thigh. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

She leans in, kisses your neck. Softer. “Good girl.”

The next night, there is a box on your bed. Black velvet ribbon tied in a knot.

Inside: a choker. Simple, black, delicate. But at the center, a small smooth coin with the letter A carved into it.

She appears behind you before you can react. Her hands brushes your hair aside. She fastens it around your throat.

She turns you toward the mirror. Stands behind you like a shadow, arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Now everyone will know,” she says. “Who you belong to.”

You nod, dangerous heat settling into your lower belly. 

“Say it.”

“I belong to you.”

~~~

It was supposed to be a simple evening. You went out with a few friends, students from literature, people you barely know. But as the night progresses, your vision becomes blurry, your voice slurred and you leave before it gets worse. 

Agatha finds you before you can even knock on your door. Her hands are steady and warm as they catch you by the arm.

“Jesus,” she mutters. “Look at you.”

Her voice isn’t mocking. Not this time. It is… concerned. You blink at her, dazed. She pulls you into the room, closes the door behind you and gently sets you on the edge of the bed.

“You’re a mess,” she whispers, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Did you drink this much to punish me?”

You mumble something, her name probably. And then your head falls against her shoulder and you deeply breathe in her smell. “I missed you.” 

“Shh,” she hushes you softly. “It’s okay.” 

She unties your shoes, takes off your coat, wipes the smeared makeup from under your eyes with a tissue. You try to speak again, but your mouth doesn’t work.

“Don’t talk,” she whispers. “Let me take care of you.” 

She lays you down, careful as if you were something fragile. 

You close your eyes and you feel her weight beside you on the bed. She pulls the blanket over both of you, her arm sliding under your shoulders, cradling you. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says into the dark. “You’re supposed to be the strong one.” 

You let out a pathetic little sound. Something between a laugh and a sob.

“It’s true,” she says, stroking your hair now, and you don’t know why she’s saying these things, maybe because you’re so drunk there is a chance you might not remember it in the morning. “You make me feel like maybe I’m not completely empty. I don’t know…” She stays silent and you think she’s done talking, but then she continues: “I don’t know how to be good and still keep you.” 

You are quiet, you don’t want to say something wrong. You feel her arm tighten around you. 

“You belong to me, my love,” she whispers into your hair. “You make me so completely crazy and I can’t let you go no matter what she…” Her voice trails off into the darkness. And just before you fall asleep, she promises: “I’ll burn down anyone who tries to take you.” 

She didn’t call you pet, she called you my love. 

Even though Agatha might have hoped you’d forget the words, you do remember and you also realise there is a pattern in her behaviour. 

Agatha has good days and she has bad days. Good days make you feel like floating on a cloud, worshipping a goddess who somehow granted you the access to her body, her mind, her soul. 

The bad days make you feel like a caged animal.

The next week Agatha stumbles into the room drunk, not tipsy, not flirty. You can see the darkness in her eyes and you know she’s drowning. 

“Do you still want me?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

She climbs into your lap like she is claiming a throne, her nails scratching down the back of your neck. Her mouth finds your collarbone and she bites hard, possessively.

“You’re too pretty when you bruise,” she murmurs. “Makes me want to break you open.”

She kisses the mark afterward like it is a prize.

“I want to bury myself in your ribs,” she whispers. “Make a nest. Live there.”

You should run.

But you moan instead.

The next morning you wake up and she’s curled around you, crying. 

“You’re going to leave me,” she whimpers into your neck and clings to you harder. 

“No. Never.”

She shakes her head. “You’ll get tired of being mine.”

“I’d die first.”

She raises up on her elbow and looks into my eyes, her hand lifting to caress my cheek. “If you do, I’ll follow you. Do you understand me?” 

You nod and kiss her.

You don’t get tired of her, you never would, but you feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into her universe. You’re tired of life, you don’t have enough time for anything because Agatha occupies every single cell of your body and mind. 

When you start getting worse grades in your subjects and your student advisor tells you your stipendium is at risk, you subconsciously start pulling away. 

And Agatha notices. She is lying in bed, one leg draped lazily over the sheets, wearing your hoodie like it belongs to her. Her eyes follow you as you move around the room. 

“You haven’t written about me in days,” she says. 

You don’t answer. You’re trying to think, to breathe, to reclaim some corner of yourself that doesn’t have her fingerprints all over it.

“Are you tired of me?” she asks and her voice is so timid you just stare at her wordlessly. 

In the evening she wraps herself around you, hunger in her eyes. Her eyes that search your face desperately for signs of something. “You’re slipping away from me.” 

She looks like she’s about to cry and you cannot see her cry again because every tear that falls carves a hole in your heart. You turn away from her and move to sit on the edge of the bed. 

She follows, her hair is a mess, her eyes shadowed with something close to panic, but you see the love in there too. 

“You belong to me,” she says, maybe more to herself than to you and catches your hand between hers and guides it to her chest, right over her heart. “This is yours.” 

You stare at her, aware of the broken confession and the tenderness hidden underneath all the cruelty. 

She does love you, deeply and obsessively. 

You kiss her then, slowly, achingly, honestly and she kisses you back. The longing you feel is accompanied by sorrow, because you can’t continue like this. She will ruin you. 

As if she already hasn’t… 

~~~

She started trying. Actually trying. 

One day she makes you breakfast, terrible breakfast made of burnt toast and watery eggs. She stands in the doorway holding the plate like a small child expecting to get yelled at. 

“I did something for you.”

It’s so weird how the tables have turned. Here is Agatha waiting for your approval, waiting for your praise. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, but accept the plate because you cannot bear to see her like this. 

“I want to,” she whispers. “Isn’t that what you want?”

You push the plate on the table and continue preparing your school bag. 

“Then what do you want?!”

Her voice cracks mid-sentence. She looks stunned by her own voice, like she doesn’t recognise the sound of herself not in control.

You brush past her. You can feel her shaking.

She doesn’t follow you.

~~~

Three days.

That’s how long it takes.

She corners you in the library, between the postmodernists and the Russian revolutionaries.

“Please,” she whispers.

That word has never touched her tongue before. It feels foreign. Ugly. Real.

“I don’t know who I am when you’re not with me.”

You stare at her. She looks small. Eyes rimmed red. Sleepless.

“You’re still Agatha.”

“Not without you.”

She reaches for your hand. You don’t stop her. Because she can hurt you milion times and you will still crawl for more. 

“I miss you,” she says and kisses the back of your hand. “I miss what we were.”

“You miss being worshipped.” 

It looks like you’ve slapped her. She is so close to breaking down and you cannot bear it. You bring your hands to her face and kiss her deeply, hoping she can understand what you mean without having to say it out loud. 

I hate you, I love you, I can’t survive without you. 

Later in the evening she is in your bed. She waits until you settle under the blanket, back turned to her and she quickly climbs up behind you and holds you. 

You hate how safe you feel again, how hollow you have been without her arms around you.

“I’ll be better,” she whispers into the darkness. “I’ll say I’m sorry. I promise.” 

You don’t speak. 

“I’ll write you poems, I’ll give you everything.” 

You turn in her arms and maybe you’re a fool, but God, you love her so much it hurts, so you kiss her on the lips and move your hand between her legs and everything is okay again. 

~~~

Agatha trying doesn’t last very long. You don’t know if she’s ever had a healthy relationship in her life, not just romantic, but any kind of a relationship. She lashes out, acts possessive, hurts you again and again, and you take it all. Because you’re still hoping for her good days. 

One evening you come home especially tired and pissed off after a failed discussion at the end of a class, when you decide to fight back. Just a little. 

Agatha is on her bed, scrolling on her phone. She doesn’t look up when you walk in, just says “took you long enough” lazily. 

You don’t respond, you lock the door behind you, take off your sweater and walk toward her. 

You don’t feel rage or resentment. You just need to win at least once in this sick toxic relationship. 

You climb onto the bed and over her in one slow motion, straddling her thighs before she can pretend to act unbothered. Her phone drops to the side. You don’t let her speak.

You grab her wrists and pin them to the mattress.

Her eyes narrow. Sharp. Curious. “What is this?” she asks, voice low.

“Shut up,” you say.

She blinks. Once. Then smirks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Her lip curls, somewhere between amusement and arousal. Her hips shift slightly under yours. “Feeling bold tonight?”

“Feeling tired of being your pet,” you say. “You want to own me? Fine. But just know that I own you, too.”

Her expression falters. Just for a second.

You lean closer, your voice dropping. “So I’m going to touch you now. The way I want. Slowly. Because you’re mine.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe.

And you kiss her. Not rushed. Not rough. Patient. Purposeful. Her mouth opens under yours like a sigh, like surprise, and her body tenses, but doesn’t resist.

Your hand slides under her shirt. You feel the heat of her skin, the curve of her waist. You pull the fabric over her head, exposing her, your lips immediately attaching to the bare skin. 

“Say you’re mine,” you whisper against her neck. 

“No,” she breathes out, half a sigh, half a moan. 

You bite her earlobe gently. “Say it.” 

She hisses in frustration, whether at you or herself, you can’t tell.

“You think this makes you in control?” she asks. 

You kiss down her throat, slow and deliberate. “No,” you whisper. “But I want to see what happens when you aren’t.”

Her head falls back against the pillow. Her pulse pounds under your lips. And when you slide your hand between her legs, she moans and finally gasps it.

“...Yours.”

Afterward, when she lays against you, chest rising fast, lips swollen, breath shaky, she looks up at you with wide wild eyes.

“Careful,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “You’re playing a game I invented.”

“Good,” you say. “Then you already know I don’t plan on losing.”

And for once, she doesn’t reply. She just stares. Like she isn’t sure whether to kiss you harder, or destroy you completely.

~~~ 

You have managed to get your grades under control, but not Agatha. You have never wanted her under your control, because you are exactly where you want to be when she claims your lips against the book stalls in the back aisles of the library or when she pushes you to your knees and makes you worship her. You just need her to access her stable side sometimes. The side that doesn’t go ballistic when you talk to another person, the side that does not expect you to come crawling like a puppy every time she needs something. 

But maybe you two are not made for stability. You are back in her bed and she is back in your notebooks as if the whole “trying” thing was a dream. 

The rules have change a little bit, though. 

She asks, with a tremor in her voice, “Can I touch you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper pleadingly, already writhing under her. 

“Will you stay?” she mumbles against your neck, kissing the choker that is now your second skin. 

“Always.” 

Because you can never leave. You want her. Her teeth, her chaos, her desperation disguised as passion.

You don’t heal. You merge. 

You start needing her chaos to write because what is a poet without a muse… She needs your need to feel real. 

You feed each other shame and kisses and sleepless nights full of shaking limbs and whispered names. Of carving your poems into her skin with your tongue. 

You make art from it. You make religion from it. 

“This won’t end well,” you say one night, after sex, still shaking.

She lights a cigarette, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t want it to end. Well or otherwise.”

And in the dark, you reach for her hand, kissing her wrist. 

Her mouth brushes your jaw. “Tell me you want me.” 

You smile and pull her hand towards your mouth, taking a drag of her cigarette. “I want you.” 

“Say my name,” she whimpers and leaves the cigarette in your lips, moving down your body. 

“Agatha,” you breathe out. 

“Again.”

“Agatha.” 

You gasp as she bites down lightly on your inner thigh, marking you, claiming you. Your breath quickens and you drop the cigarette onto the ashtray. 

“Good girl,” she murmurs against your skin as your legs wrap around her head. “Look at you. Coming apart like you’re mine. Because you are. You are.”

She starts exploring you with her tongue, she knows every sensitive spot, knows every corner of you and when you come undone, shaking, breathless, full of her name, she holds you. 

Agatha pulls the blanket over you both and lays her head on your chest. 

“You’ll never leave me,” she etches the words into your skin with a tone so final it’s a prophecy. 

“I wouldn’t know how to breathe if I did.”

You will burn, but you’ll burn together. 

[grandline-fics]

For the valentines event possibly the prompt single red rose with Smoker? Please and thanks and hope you’re having a great day!

DESCRIPTION: Single Red Rose- When your date goes wrong, they come to your rescue

WARNINGS: slight jealousy

CHARACTERS: Smoker

WORDS: 1,419

A/N: Thank you for this request @rosemary-lungs. I can't say no to Smoker prompts and I hope this is to your liking!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

———————

You were never one to live in fantasies or fanciful notions, deciding keeping a rational and realistic outlook on the world and your own life- both personal and professional-was the best course of action. To lose yourself in ideal daydreams wouldn’t do you or anyone any good regardless of how tempting it could be at times. As stern as you were with yourself, you’d be lying to say there were times you didn’t immediately stop certain thoughts sooner than you should have. Your awareness of your fondness for Vice-Admiral Smoker was something you ideally found yourself thinking about more than you would have liked. Ultimately decided to put the feelings aside, classing them as a mere crush and reminded yourself nothing was going to happen and somehow it was proving harder to accomplish that you thought it would be. 

At first you tried to keep focussed on your work and mission reports and filling your free time on training; anything to stay distracted and occupied while waiting for the feelings to retreat back to the professional relationship it should have always been. After two weeks of this strict discipline you found that you still felt your heart pick up slightly when you spoke to Smoker. Even with the conversation being civil and downright mundane being near him made you happy. Now you had to readjust your tactics and thankfully another method presented itself a couple days later. On a visit to another Marine Base for interpersonal training on an island you were approached by one of the local Marine officers, catching you surprise by asking you out on a date before you and the rest of your unit returned to the G5 base the next morning. Deciding to use the invitation as the perfect way to deal with things you accepted the date with a smile. 

Other members of the unit were also going out to make the most of their downtime to relax and enjoy all that this island had to offer. The only stipulation before going had been to report to Smoker first and ensure all necessary tasks and duties had been appropriately completed beforehand. With your reports and completed training assessments in hand you hurried through the unknown base in search of Smoker. You caught sight of the clock on the wall as you picked up the pace, you’d be late for your date if you didn’t find him in time. Glancing out the window you sighed in relief to finally spot the man in question below in one of the training yards and sped up to get to him. You approached and smiled politely when he turned to look at who was interrupting him. “My assessments and reports, sir.” 

“Thanks, set them down and I’ll read them later.” Smoker instructed, taking a moment to look you over while you did as he told. It was rare to see you dressed up like this, he was always used to seeing you in your uniform or casual clothes but this was a pleasant surprise. “Heading out with the others?”

“Uh, no.” You hesitated for a moment. Why were you so reluctant to tell him? “I have a date.”

“I see.” Smoker noted, training his voice and expression into one of neutrality. It wasn’t his place to offer any comment on your personal life. “Hope you have a nice time.” 

Your eyes widened as you realised you really were going to be late now. Hurrying out a quick goodbye you turned and left Smoker who could only watch you go, trying to ignore how your eager exit made his jaw clench in slight annoyance. Whoever this date was with was certainly someone you really liked, it made him wonder why you’d never mentioned them before. Was that why you’d started to distance yourself from him lately? Biting back his bitterness twisting and growing in his chest, he set about finishing his training, new frustrations to work out of his system.

When that didn’t work he set out into the island’s town, wandering aimlessly while secretly hoping some pirate could appear or at the very least he hoped someone under his command would make a fool of themselves so he could reprimand them. Instead his disappointment grew to discover everything was peaceful. As he prepared to just turn around and head back to the Marine base he paused to spot you across the street, sitting outside a cosy little restaurant. Spying on you and your date hadn't been his intention but when he saw you he became curious about who your date was. Smoker’s annoyance only grew when he saw the person sitting opposite you was someone you’d only just met at the beginning of the day.

Then something else caught his eye, you were tense. Sure you hid it well enough, pretending to seem relaxed and offer your date a smile but Smoker knew how genuine interest lit your eyes when you spoke on topics you enjoyed. He’d seen first hand how you’d lean just a little bit forward and smile in a way anyone would want to keep the conversation going. His gaze dropped to how your foot lightly tapped in restlessness before you would catch yourself and stop the action only to start it again. Smoker couldn’t help but feel his bitterness subside into reassurance to see you weren’t having an amazing time. Deciding enough was enough he approached. “There you are!”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Smoker’s voice. While you stared at him with surprise, your date froze and momentarily choked on the piece of food he’d been chewing. He recovered fast to wheeze out. “V-vice- admiral! What a surprise. Are we-”

“Keep eating, it’s not you I’m here for.” Smoker ordered, the sharpness of his voice effectively silencing your date and making your eyes widen.

“Me?” You immediately rose in your seat.

“You assessment reports were incomplete.” Smoker explained gruffly and you instinctively opened your mouth to protest but he continued. “Get back to base and finish them properly. No excuses.”

“But I-” 

This didn’t make sense. You never handed in anything incomplete. Smoker knew that! He knew you! Why was he-? Then a thought occurred to you at the same time you spotted a look appear in his eyes. Was he doing this to get you out of your date? 

“No buts and don't even think about asking to finish them later.” Smoker continued harshly. “You aren't leaving my sight until they’re completed. Start walking.” You pressed your lips together into a tight line in a bid to pretend to seem disappointed and nodded. Glancing over your shoulder you threw your date an apologetic glance and began to walk with Smoker back to base. 

When you were both a sizeable distance away you let out a long breath and looked at Smoker, finally seeing his hardened expression of the pissed off Vice-Admiral act had dropped and he glanced at you with a small smirk. “Did I really look that miserable?”

“It wasn’t obvious to your date.” Smoker reassured you. “How bad was it?”

“He wasn’t happy that I was late but when I explained I was handing in reports he called you a ‘hard-ass’ and said his commander let them hand the reports in tomorrow. He was…okay. It just felt like I was staying to be polite and regretted saying yes to the date. I was- no I can’t be wasting your time with this.” You immediately shook your head and smiled up at Smoker. “Thank you for helping. I owe you one.”

“That’s not necessary. You shouldn’t have to sit through a date out of mere politeness so I was glad to have helped.” Smoker explained with a simple wave to dismiss your gratitude. How could you owe him one when as honest as he words were, his actions were mostly fuelled by his own selfish reasons? After a moment he cleared his throat. Deciding he didn’t really want to go through something like this again at the thought of missing a chance. “Though if you wanted to go out for an evening with me the next time we’re free I would like that.”

You definitely weren't expecting this turn in events and you didn’t even try to hide the smile growing against your lips. It wasn’t in Smoker to lie or joke about something like this. Gently you looped your arm through Smoker’s and smiled up at him. “I’m free right now.”

——————————————-

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[yuwuta]

PEOPLE TOLD ME ABOUT THE FLAMES, I COULDN’T SEE THROUGH THE SMOKE — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

cw some kind of college au/boarding school au? this used to be for rodeo station and now just... exists on its own, friends to lovers, megumi has toji and satoru as father figures so are we surprised that he’s a bully and doesn’t really grow out of that phase… anyway, apologies to muta and miwa, 1.3k words

Nobara makes a poor effort to stifle her laughter as Kokichi stomps up to stand in front of you, hair and clothes drenched in chocolate milk, shoes sloshing with each step, and the bandage on the side of his cheek peeling from the wetness.

When you look up at him, you’re unimpressed, and unsurprised, so you resume annotating your lecture notes as if you weren’t interrupted. If Kokichi wanted to stand in a puddle of dripping milk, then so be it—you should have finished your notes yesterday, and you couldn’t get through your other tasks without catching up first.

“Look, I already said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have kept bothering you for your number when you’d already said no,” Kokichi starts, wiping dripping milk from his chin, “Now, will you please call off your guard dog.”

You don’t reply immediately, focused on finishing the last paragraph of the page, much to Kokichi’s dismay, and Nobara’s amusement. He huffs at your silence, frustrated and humiliated, but there’s nothing for him to say or do until you respond. Maybe that’s something he should have considered when he kept trying to talk to you in class. Still, even now, you’re not ignoring Kokichi to embarrass him or string him along; you just want to finish your godforsaken anthropology homework.

“You seem to be under the impression that I can make Megumi start or stop doing anything,” you sigh, put your highlighter down, and tiredly look up at Kokichi, “But I regret to inform you that you’re wrong.”

Kokichi’s nose scrunches in disbelief, an angered hand coming to wave in front of his face, but his dripping clothes result in splashes to his face—and further laughter from Nobara. He sighs out of frustration, trying to put away his pride, but Nobara’s giggling and your nonchalant attitude are really making it difficult for him to take this in stride.

“Okay, you’re fucking with me—and I deserve it, alright? But, Todo already gave me a fucking lecture, Mai won’t look at me, and Megumi is going to rip and stain every single shirt I own at this point.” 

“That sounds like your problem,” Nobara snickers, rolling her eyes when Kokichi gives her a glare. 

“I'd love to help, Muta, but this is out of my control,” you loll, capping your marker, “Maybe try apologizing to Megumi instead of dripping chocolate milk over notes and shoes.”

“Eh? The hell am I apologizing to him for?” 

“You’re the one who pissed him off—how should I know?” you sigh, sliding your pens and markers into your bag, and closing your folder. 

Nobara pipes in to taunt, “You’d better figure it out soon, though. I hear they’re serving spaghetti tomorrow, and that definitely stains.” 

You swear you hear Kokichi growl, but it only makes Nobara laugh harder. The two of them together is a bad combination—Kokichi is easily aggravated, and Nobara easily aggravates. You’re certain that if Megumi weren’t already on his ass, Nobara would have stepped in to bully him just for the fun of it.

Still, you’d rather not have to testify on either of their behalf, so you bid Kokichi a goodbye, offering him your best advice about cleaning milk stains out of white shirts, and drag Nobara by the arm before she can make another quick quip to finally make him snap. 

She’s still laughing at Kokichi’s expense all the way back to your dorm, “As much as I like seeing Megumi pummel Muta, he’s definitely gonna get written up, at the very least, if he keeps it up. Just tell him you’re not mad about it anymore, and he’ll piss off.” 

You stuff your hands into your pockets, “I don’t control megumi. I didn’t tell him to egg Muta’s car, and pour milk all over him. ” 

“Like hell you don’t,” Nobara scoffs, “Kokichi was right about one thing—Megumi’s a doberman on a leash and you’re his owner.” 

“I didn’t even tell him that Kokichi kept asking for my number. I’m pretty sure Todo told Yuuji, and Yuuji told Megumi.”

“Yeah, that’s almost worse,” Nobara huffs, “He’s just moved to protect you out of undying loyalty—it must be nice to have a knight in shining armor. Does he call you ‘my liege,’ when you’re alone? He might as well bow down and kiss your shoes with the way he worships the ground you walk on.”

You know Nobara is teasing. The rhetoric that you have influence on Megumi isn’t new to you, but it’s always confusing for you to hear. You’ve known Megumi since grade school, and one thing you’re certain of is that he does things of his own conviction, and when he’s decided something, there’s little anybody can do to convince him otherwise. He’s the true definition of steadfast, and sometimes you wonder if his beliefs have inadvertently made him gain masochistic tendencies, because you’ve seen Megumi suffer in pain just to prove a point. 

“Megumi’s his own person, and he’s not easily influenced,” you chuckle, “If anything, he’s more of an attack dog—he bites whenever he sees something he doesn’t like.”

“In any case, he’s your dog,” Nobara shrugs. She pauses for a moment, skipping to catch up to you with a scrunch to her face, “I change my mind though, he’s definitely not scary enough to be a doberman. What are the puffy ones—the really small ones that yap a bunch?” 

“Pomeranians?”

She lights up—“Yeah, that’s way more fitting! Plus, he’s got spiky hair like those little mutts, a really bratty, spoiled one too. Gojo probably kept him in his Birkin as a kid.” 

You giggle as Nobara searches for an image to compare to one of Megumi. She goes as far as to make a collage and send it in your group chat for approval, instantly getting a rave reaction from Yuuji, and predictably, no response from Megumi.

Nobara walks you back halfway to your dorm, leaving you on your own to head to the gym to meet up with Yuuji. When you get back to your room, you’re not surprised to already see Megumi inside, sitting snugly on your worn-in couch with a book in hand. It’s Wednesday, so he only had morning classes, and prefers to spend his afternoon studying in solace, usually taking advantage of your larger, empty room to get his work done. He gives you a small wave, enraptured in his reading, and you know better than to try and disturb him, so you take your place on the opposite side of the couch with the remainder of your notes in hand, finally having the peace and quiet to finish your annotations. 

Megumi finishes his chapter before you’re done, but he waits for you, quietly scrolling on his phone so as not to interrupt you. You don’t face him when you speak, keeping your eyes on your notes, and simply stating, “Kokichi apologized.”

You hear him hum. you know he’s looking at you, but you don’t meet his gaze, and do your best to bite back a smile before he asks, “You forgive him?”

You finish your annotations with a final asterisk at the bottom of your page, so you cap the marker, and finally turn to face Megumi. He doesn’t ask a second time, even as you silently observe him, even if your smile is confusing to him.

“I wasn’t ever really upset,” you explain, “It was annoying, but he wasn’t harassing me or anything.” 

He hums again, but it’s not agreeing. “Tsumiki is gonna get mad if you get suspended.” 

Megumi calls your bluff with his hum this time, and you sigh. Tsumiki won’t get mad, because Megumi would never get suspended, not as long as Gojo is around as headmaster.

Megumi turns his body inward, raising an arm to rest his elbow against the cushion of the couch. He lolls his head to rest against his palm, cheek squished, and almost mischievous glimmer in his eye. In this light, you see Nobara’s argument—with sleep-tousled hair and expectant eyes, Megumi looks an awful lot like a puppy waiting for a command. 

It’s cute, until you realize that Megumi is awaiting your command. Is he?—why would he, he’s never been known to listen, and yet, you’re tempted to see if you truly do have him on some proverbial leash, like everyone else seems to believe.

“Megumi,” you call, softly, “He’s learned his lesson, and I’m fine, alright? Leave him alone.”  

Megumi blinks slowly. His features soften, only for a moment, before he’s turned away from you to pick up his book again. He doesn’t respond verbally, doesn’t touch on the topic for the rest of the evening that you both spend studying in your room, but the following day, you walk past Kokichi and Miwa heading into their chemistry lab, and notice a distinct lack of milk or food residue on his clothing or in his hair, so there isn’t anything more to be said.

Megumi is waiting outside of your lecture hall after your last class of the day, offering you a carton of strawberry milk—unopened, and un-thrown. You accept it, reaching up to ruffle his hair as a thank you, and you’re surprised when you feel him move into your touch. He dips his head down a bit further, gently knocking it against yours before straightening up with a sly smile. He nods his head, wordlessly, and turns towards your dorm, ready to walk you back. 

You follow, dazed, as you stab the straw into your milk. You’re a half-step behind Megumi, head clouded with confusing new daydreams about the boy in front of you, and now you can’t help but to wonder if you’re the one left to follow Megumi’s whim, or if he’s just pulling you by his own leash. 

[corroded-hellfire]

Could I get a blurb or something from the AYW family when eddie and reader find out that she is infact pregnant and he's so happy and he can't wait to see her all pregnant with bigger breasts etc. And he loves to help her in anyway he can. And he's so excited about her belly when they do have sex. All the Fluffy stuff but a bit of smut to. Hehe. Thanks!

Eddie is a lovesick puppy all the time, but his pregnant wife? Oh boy. So thankful and happy to write this with my beloved @munson-blurbs 💚

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap to up), pregnant!reader, breeding kink or does this move to pregnancy kink? We all know this Eddie has breeding kink BAD

Words: 2.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie’s been on cloud nine from the moment you even suspected you might be pregnant. Now with it confirmed, everyone knowing, and steps rolling along to get things ready for the baby, you’re pretty sure your husband physically can’t get any happier. You’re proved wrong the moment he notices your breasts getting a little larger, though. Then the very beginnings of your baby bump appeared, and Eddie’s hand didn’t leave your stomach for what felt like a week. 

Your husband has always been a gentleman, but he’s kicked it up a notch now that your second trimester has started. He’d always carry things for you, but now he makes the extra effort to go grocery shopping so you don’t have to reach for things on the high shelf or lift the full bags from the cart into the trunk of your car. And he isn’t the only one helping out.

The boys were, for the most part, good about doing their chores. Once in a while you’d have to get on one of them about picking their clothes up off the floor or cleaning up after themselves in the kitchen, but it was never anything major. But as twelve and nine-year-olds, they weren’t exactly known to go the extra mile, either. So, the day you first came home to them working as a team to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer, you almost thought you walked into the wrong house. You hadn’t intended to stand there and watch them as they did the task—they didn’t need a supervisor. But the pure shock kept you rooted in place as you watched Luke toss a dryer sheet in and Ryan reach up to press the correct buttons on the dryer’s control panel. 

“Eddie, the boys did laundry,” you had told him when he came home from work, your wide eyes amusing to the man. 

“I figured it was about time they learn,” he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Helps you out around the house, too.”

“That was your real motive,” you had said, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“So, sue me.” Eddie shrugged and stepped around you to get a bottle of water.

The men of the house have been at this for a few weeks now and it’s honestly nice to have some of your usual duties lifted from your shoulders. Are things done perfectly? No. But they weren’t when you did them, either. At least when Luke got Ryan’s clothes and Ryan got Luke’s this time, they could blame themselves instead of you. 

The boys have even been changing their own sheets and putting the clean ones on. Luke’s been so proud of himself that you don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s been putting the bottom sheet on inside out this entire time. 

The domestic bliss of it all fills you with a soothing warmth, like you’re being wrapped in the softest downy blanket. Sometimes you’re afraid this is all a dream and you’re going to wake up in your apartment back in college, late for some class before you have to go pick up the boys from school so you can babysit them. When that happens, you usually walk over to the large fake crystal bowl on the counter where you keep your keys and pull out your set. On your keychain there’s a small, laminated Shrinky Dink that says “Luke” that was given to you the first Mother’s Day that you were with Eddie. The first year they saw you as a mother figure more than a babysitter. 

You run the pad of your index finger along the rough plastic edge of the Shrinky Dink and the tiny little pricks of pain are another reminder that you’re not dreaming. 

Getting ready for bed that night, you tighten the belt of your lavender bath robe before grabbing a cloth to wash your face. This bathroom never used to seem as cold as it has to you these past few months. Pregnancy does weird things to your body. 

“Oh!” Eddie says as he steps into the bathroom. He snaps his fingers and spins around to head back into the bedroom. A moment later he comes back with a plastic drugstore bag in his hands. “I got this for you today. I know you said your gums are being more sensitive now, so I thought this might help.”

He offers you a plastic and cardboard package, a jade green toothbrush inside, and the words “Soft-Bristled Brush!” emphasized on the front. The hormones well up in you but you force them back down, refusing to cry over a toothbrush.

“Thank you, baby,” you say. “Now I can throw out that mean, old medium strength one.” 

Eddie chuckles and presses a kiss to your head as he passes by to get to the shower. 

As you scour your dresser drawers for pajamas, lacy material grazes your fingertips—maternity lingerie, courtesy of Jess, who swore Eddie would go absolutely feral over it. 

Her exact words were actually “he’ll cream his jeans,” but that was neither here nor there. 

Your eyes flit back to the bathroom where your husband is currently bathing. Your husband—the man you love and adore, who doted on you before you got pregnant and is the epitome of devotion now that you’re actually carrying his child. The alleviation of chores, the special toothbrush…maybe he deserves a little reward. 

As quickly as you can—which isn’t all that fast, considering your new center of gravity, you put on the babydoll slip, adjusting it so the slit down the middle showcases your bump. The matching set of panties almost feels like a waste, considering how swiftly Eddie will tear them off, but you step into them anyway and complete the look. 

There’s a clattering in the bathroom, jolting your already buzzing nerves. You know better than to ask what’s going on; over the years, you’ve found that many questions are best left unanswered. 

“Babe, have you seen my—holy fuckin’ shit.” Eddie’s eyes widen when he takes in the sight of you. The towel wrapped around his waist tents where his erection begins to burgeon. 

“Seen your what?” You bat your eyelashes, exaggerating your innocence, as you caress your bump. 

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.” His hands are drawn to your sides, thumbs brushing over the swell of your stomach. “What’s all this for?”

“Just wanted to thank you for being such an amazing husband, even when I’m tired or moody or—”

“Baby,” Eddie cuts in, “all I’ve done is get you a new toothbrush and delegate chores to the boys. I should be thanking you for having my baby…and looking so damn good doing it.”

With that, he gets on his knees, grabs your thighs until his fingertips sink into your plush skin, and kisses the bump. 

“You’re perfect.” 

He moves forward on his knees, gently guiding you backwards until the back of your thighs hit the soft cotton sheets of your mattress. Large hands follow your hips onto the bed and quickly move down your legs to slip your panties off.

“Eds?”

“Hmm?”

“I, um,” you pause, feeling insecurity creep up in you despite your arousal, “haven’t been able to shave as well as I used to…”

Eddie pays your words no mind, instead just uses his pointer and middle fingers to part your lips and lick a stripe up your center. 

“‘S not gonna stop me.” His voice is gravelly, deep, and it sends a pleasant shiver up your spine. 

He takes your clit between his lips, tongue gently flicking over the bud. Giving it a little suck, he drops his unoccupied hand to your thigh and squeezes. 

You can’t help the way your hips move, as though of their own accord, grinding your core against his face. Eddie notices it, too, pulling away briefly to tease you. 

“Needy little thing tonight, hm?” His smirk glistens with your arousal. 

You’re in no position to argue; you simply nod and thread your fingers through his curls in a silent plea for him to resume licking at you. 

Eddie takes the hint, his tongue eagerly finding your hole and fucking it wildly. 

“Eddie, shit, holy fucking shit!” You find your voice in time for your orgasm to crash over you, crying out your husband’s name as he brings you that beautiful release. 

When he stands up, panting, you can see just how hard he is. The towel must have slipped off while his face was buried between your legs, and he’s now stark naked in front of you. 

“Tried to look at you while I ate your pussy, but, uh…” his cheeks tinge red, “couldn’t quite see you over this.” He cradles your bump, pressing his erection into your thigh. The pre-cum that’s beaded at the tip sticks to your leg, a reminder of what you do to him.

You flop back on the mattress, breathing heavily with a lazy smile on your face. 

Eddie crawls up over your body, chuckling when he catches your euphoric expression. 

“Feel good, baby?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you hum, eyes drifting shut.

Eddie parts the sheer panels of the baby doll top so your emerging bump is on full display, pressing kisses in the valley between your breasts and working downward. 

He stops when he reaches your stomach. “Wish I could just keep you pregnant. Fuck, you look amazing like this.”

“So do it,” you mumble lazily.

“Don’t tempt me,” Eddie says, looking up at you with another smirk. 

He pauses, delaying removing his hands from your belly but craving being inside you. 

“Ride me, baby?”

You giggle. “Gonna need some help.”

Eddie nods, standing up and kissing you with his hands on your cheeks. “Anything. Anything for you. Christ, you’re a goddess.”

He helps you on top, his hands on your hips and holding your bump. Without further hesitation, he lines himself up and you sink onto his cock, letting yourself be filled entirely. 

“F-Feels so good.”

Eddie grunts. “That’s because this pussy belongs to me. You belong to me.” 

You just moan in response, so he grips your hips tighter and growls, “say it.”

“I belong to you,” you whimper, tightening around him as he thrusts up into you. “I’ll do anything for you, Eddie.”

After a few minutes, a newly-familiar ache creeps into your chest. Though you try to hide your wince, Eddie is all-too aware of your every move.  

“What’s wrong?” He stops thrusting, grabbing your wrists and pulling your attention to him. 

You gently maneuver out of his grasp and cup your breasts. “They’re just really sore from the, um, bouncing.” This never happened before pregnancy, but their extra sensitivity has you feeling every twinge of discomfort. 

Eddie pouts, not from disappointment, but from the realization that you’re in some pain. 

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

He withdraws, earning a whimper from you before he gently guides you onto your back and places a pillow beneath your lower back. 

“I’ll take it a little slower, yeah?”

You nod, your warmth enveloping him once again. He thrusts languidly, holding back so he doesn’t hurt you, and his carefulness has you connecting your lips to his. 

“I love you,” you mumble into his mouth. “I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you, too.”

His words, his movements, and your earlier orgasm are a perfect combination. You come undone, clenching around his cock and digging your nails into his back. 

“There you go,” Eddie coos, kissing just below your ear. “Baby, can I go a little faster? Is that okay?”

He rarely begs you; normally, you’re the one pleading with him to let you come. 

“S’okay, Eds.” You smile and he returns it, bracing his elbows on either side of your head. 

He slams into you, burying himself to the hilt and tucking his head into the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck—feels s’good—gonna come.” The words barely leave his mouth before he’s spilling into you, filling you with his seed. His body against yours and his release coating your walls has you falling into a foggy haze—the closeness, the intimacy, the safety you feel with Eddie is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s only grown fiercer since carrying his baby.

The moment he pulls out of you and starts to move from hovering over your body, you tug him down next to you. Eddie laughs as you practically wrap him up in a death grip as he bounces against the pillows. 

“Well, this is one way to cuddle,” he says. 

“Got overexcited,” you say as you loosen your grip on him.

He doesn’t go too far though, immediately moving so that you can tuck into his side. As you move to slide closer, there’s a sharp intake of breath and your right hand instinctively goes to hold your bump.

“Baby?” Eddie asks, sitting up in concern, careful not to jostle your body. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head as you scoot closer to him again. The sharp jab of pain vanished as quickly as it was sprung on you. A subtle aftershock rolls through you, but it’s barely even detectable.

“Just some mild contractions. Doctor said they can happen after sex sometimes. They’re not, like, baby contractions,” you explain. 

Eddie visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping, and lays back against the pillows with you. “So, my excellent fucking skills didn’t send you into super early labor?”

A snort of laughter bursts out of you as you lay your head down on Eddie’s warm, solid chest.

“Sorry, Eds. Baby’s gotta stay put till she’s fully cooked.”

Your husband gives you a fake groan but smiles the whole time, kissing you tenderly. 

“All right,” he says. “But I heard from someone who shall not be named—”

“Steve?”

“Who shall not be named, that sex can help induce labor. In case you need some assistance in a few months.”

You smirk. “Let me know if anyone’s offering. There’s that cute guy at the grocery store—”

Eddie tackles you, taking care not to hurt the bump, pressing sloppy, silly kisses to your cheek and neck. You squeal with laughter and try to push him off of you.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

Eddie pulls back and smiles down at you. “You better be. Because this,” he gestures to your lingerie-clad pregnant body, “is mine and only mine.”

“Well, this,” you say, gesturing to your own body, “has to pee.”

Eddie pouts as you slide off the bed, eyes not leaving your frame for a moment.

“But we were gonna cuddle,” he whines.

You walk into the bathroom as you shrug your shoulders.

“Take it up with your daughter,” you say before closing the door.

With a dramatic sigh, Eddie rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His thoughts linger on your last sentence and the smile that was already on his face grows until it becomes a beaming grin.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself. “I’m going to have a daughter.”

[slurp-imagines]

Kamo Noritoshi - Just classmates, just an accident.

Summary: Reader tripped in front of Noritoshi and he accidentally saw up their skirt. It's been hours and it's still on his mind.

A/N: this was written for my OC originally, just removed names. so it's a female reader wearing a skirt. kind of works as a self-insert if you're okay with she/her pronouns.

Tags: NSFW/18+, M/F, masturbation, one-sided feelings / not in relationship, 3rd person narration

Words: 1,279

He feels disgustingly perverted. But he can't stop thinking about it.

They were in the wooded training zone together for a simple class exercise in the early morning. It was hours ago. She's tripped and fallen a little ways ahead of him. And he hadn't tried to look. It was natural to look at unexpected movement happening right in front of him.

She'd stood up and laughed it off with only the faintest hints of warmth in her cheeks, knowing he'd seen and knowing it couldn't be changed.

It was hours ago, though. He had gone through multiple other classes. Eaten lunch. Taken an exam. Went through his after-school training. Completed his school day with all the diligence and care to detail that everyone would expect from him.

Silently putting great effort into staying on task. Into forcing that single, erotically persistent mental image away from his attention.

The way the fabric hugged her butt, framed by the pleats of her skirt. He actually didn't see that much, and that somehow makes it harder to forget. The way his eyes quickly traveled up her thighs and then between them, the sharp pang of guilt before he finally forced his gaze away. He's wrong for looking – she isn't his to look at.

But he wants her to be. So, so badly. As soon as he's alone in his dormitory, the memory creeps back into his attention. This time he lets it stay there. He locks his door and doesn't bother turning on the lights, just undresses and goes straight into his shower room and starts the water.

To his credit, he does reconsider for a moment while his member twitches between his thighs, growing harder. Is it fair to do this? Is it fair to her?

I guess you aren't the worst option, she'd told him. I woulda maybe died if it was one of the first-year guys.

That must mean she wouldn't mind, no…? Yes? She was embarrassed, but she wasn't upset with him. She would have hated it if the first-years had seen, but if it was him– since it was him, she was okay with it. That's what she meant, wasn't it? This wasn't wrong, was it?

After just a moment's hesitation, Noritoshi's hand moves between his legs, grasping his erection. He was already almost full mast, just thinking about her. To think she has this much of an effect over him…

He sighs out, turning to face the wall and leaning his arm against it as he begins slowly stroking himself. Hot water pelts his back as he closes his eyes and focuses on the mental image of her, on all fours on the forest floor, the skirt of her dress haphazardly tossed up over her hips. What would she have looked like if she'd wanted him to stare longer? He thinks of her coy expressions, the beautiful curl of her lips when she wants to get a reaction out of him. Imagining her there, perking her ass up and spreading her legs for him, blushing just like he saw her today, smiling invitingly like she always does…

He moans, a soft hum low in his throat. His hand curls his palm around the tip and twists slightly. Precum quickly coats his fingers, dribbling down the rest of his cock. He gives himself a few full strokes, smearing it over himself, delighting in the smooth glide that results.

What he'd seen of her ass was just as beautiful and enticing as the rest of her. He wishes he could have touched her, the cleft where thigh meets her rear, the valley between her legs. Wishes he could have moved her panties to the side, seen pink folds beneath pink fabric…

He puts his hand back on the head, thrusting into the tunnel of his fingers. Imagining himself on his knees with her in the forest, pushing his cock into the tunnel of her warmth instead. She'd cry out his name. Kamo-kun? Noritoshi? It didn't matter. He just wanted to feel her, warm and wet and squeezing him. Wanted her to take him, to want him.

She would be welcoming but demanding, the same as she's always been. She'd let him fuck her until he couldn't anymore. She'd whine and moan and call out his name from between her glossy, plush lips, she would tell him she needs more, faster, harder, and he would give it to her as soon as she asked. Because no matter how much he pretends, deep down he knows he can't deny her anything. In fact, he wants to give her everything she could ever ask for. He would, if he could.

"Y-Y/N..."

He can't help calling out for her, too, though his voice remains quiet underneath the spray of water. He imagines his hands pushing her skirt further up, until he could grip the bare skin of her waist, pulling her body back onto his cock. Watching her ass bouncing off his hips, his member disappearing into her soft pussy over and over again.

He wishes he could give her this, make her feel this touched and pleasured. Wishes he could make her blush and beg until she came all over him, overcome by the feelings he'd aroused in her. He imagines her collapsing onto the ground after he's finished with her, turning herself over and smiling up at him, breathless and sultry, legs spread wide and fingers spreading herself even wider. His load dripping out of her hole. It's erotic and it's obscene, it's– he needs it, needs her, needs her to want him–

Noritoshi stifles his groan into his arm while his cum paints the wall in front of him with thick, creamy droplets. Hot semen dribbles down his fist while he trembles and fucks his hand in a restrained, twitchy rhythm, slowly winding down from his peak.

Noritoshi breathes in and out of his mouth once he feels he has his voice back under control. A new sense of shame washes over him when he opens his eyes and stares at the mess he'd made of the shower wall. He takes one of the wrappings out of his hair – he was so preoccupied he forgot to even remove them – and uses that to wipe it off. He'd just throw it out afterward, he has plenty to spare. There is just no way he could continue wearing the remnants of what he'd just done.

But at least now that he's gotten it out of his system, he can forget about that image properly. At his age, this was just something he had to take care of sometimes. He wasn't wrong for it.

And she would forgive him even if she knew, anyway… She'd said it herself, that he wasn't the worst option. She had laughed it off before, she would do it again.

This wasn't a bad thing that he'd done. It was just… all of it, an accident.

Tomorrow, he will be normal again. His thoughts clear, attention focused where it's actually meant to be.

He will be normal. And they will just be classmates again.

He turns back into the shower spray, and tries hard to ignore his disappointment.

[tzifron]

I’ve been rereading the late anthropologist David Graeber’s Bullshit Jobs, which persuasively makes the case that the corporate world is happy to nurture inefficient or wasteful jobs if they somehow serve the managerial class or flatter elites—while encouraging the public to harbor animosity at those who do rewarding work or work that clearly benefits society. I think we can expect AI to accelerate this phenomenon, and to help generate echelons of new dubious jobs—prompt engineers, product marketers, etc—as it erodes conditions for artists and public servants.

A common refrain about modern AI is that it was supposed to automate the dull jobs so we could all be more creative, but instead, it’s being used to automate the creative jobs. That’s a pretty good articulation of what lies at the heart of the AI jobs crisis. Take the former Duolingo worker who was laid off as part of the company’s pivot to AI.

“So much will be lost,” the writer told me. “I was a content writer, I wrote the questions that learners see in the lessons. I enjoyed being able be creative. We were encouraged to make the exercises fun.” Now, consider what it’s being replace with, per the worker:

“First, the AI output is very boring. And Duolingo was always known for being fun and quirky. Second, it absolutely makes mistakes. Even on things that you would think it could get right. The AI tools that are available for people who pay for Duolingo Max often get things wrong—they have an ‘explain my mistake’ tool that often will suggest something that’s incorrect, sometimes the robot voices are programmed to speak the wrong language.”

This is just a snapshot, too. This is happening, to varying degrees, to artists, journalists, writers, designers, coders—and soon, perhaps already, as Thompson’s story points out, it could be happening to even more jobs and lines of work.

Now, it needs to be underlined once again that generative AI is not yet the one-size-fits-all agent of job replacement its salesmen would like it to be—far from it. A recent SalesForce survey reported on by the Information show that only one-fifth of enterprise AI buyers are seeing good results, and that 61% of respondents report a disappointing return on investment for AI or even none at all.

Generative AI is still best at select tasks that do not require consistent reliability—hence its purveyors taking aim at art and creative industries. But all that’s secondary. The rise of generative AI, linked as it is with the ascent to power of the American tech oligarchy, has given rise to a jobs crisis nonetheless.

We’re left at a crossroads where we must consider nothing less than what kind of jobs we want people to be able to do, what kind of work and which institutions we think are important as a society, and what we’re willing to do to protect them—before the logic of generative AI and the jobs crisis it has begotten guts them to the bone, or devours them altogether.

[she-whatshername]

loved the sleepy Tyrrish men hcs. would you write one for how they’d be if you had a nightmare?

I’m so glad you liked the Sleepy Headcanons. Those were fun to write. Let’s see how they’d react to this prompt

Prompt: nightmares

Bodhi:

If you had a nightmare Bodhi would be an amazing person to consult with.

He’d take you seriously. Even though it was a dream he knows what those are lien and how real the fear is

No matter what he’s doing, if you come to him, he’s pausing any task to be there for you

“Hey, bit late for you to be up - love, what’s wrong? …. Let’s head back to bed and talk about it. Can you walk? I’ll carry you.”

How does he take care of you: giving you lots of attention, eye contact, holding your hand while you talk, and if you can’t share just yet he’s sitting in silence with you rubbing circles on the top of your hands while he holds them.

He always offers tea after you wake up from a nightmare to help you calm down to sleep again

He makes a mean cuppa tea and keeps a kettle in his room near the fireplace so he make a brew for you without leaving the room.

He’s going to hold you, with your permission, for the rest of the night after you fall asleep.

Garrick

This man

He’s so observant he’d most likely sense you’re having a nightmare and help coax you awake

And he’d be so fucking good at it

You’d wake up terrified and he’s hovering over you like, “easy, easy. Just a dream, love. You’re fine. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Atta girl.”

And even if you did wake up ready to fight and accidentally attack him he’d make some joke about how you need to take that energy to the sparring gym the next day

How does he take care of you: Garrick would listen to you like Bodhi but I don’t think he’d be as present throughout the convo, mostly because he’s running though scenarios to see what he can do to make sure the nightmares go away.

And post-nightmare care with Garrick is great

After you fall back asleep he’s sneaking out in the morning to get you breakfast in bed or he’s using his “Xaden is my friend” card with senior leadership or Brennan to push back any matches or get you excused from class

He’s also doing side guard dog duties and giving angry eyes or quick quips to anyone who says how tired you look the next day

Xaden

Ok do not come for me

I do not think he’d be the best person to take care of you after a nightmare

I don’t think this man had a restful night himself since before the apostasy so I feel like he too is working through some shit himself

He probably wouldn’t know you had nightmares unless you told him directly. And honestly he’d be a little stuck on how to take care of you.

He’d hold you, ask if you want to talk and kiss your forehead but it’s very surface level

Nightmares are hard for him, and that’s okay. He’s great at other things

Though he’d make sure that if he can’t help you, you’re getting Bodhis kindness and Garricks careful planning to make sure you’re taken care of.

Honestly he’d probably get Bodhi and Garrick in a room and be like “Y/N is having nightmares. Fix it.” Lolol

And he’s there too! Not gonna lie but if he’s super confused on how to help you he’s using his signet to find out what the nightmare was. And if it’s related to any living person in the quadrant. He’s going after them lolol

He’s the male lead equivalent to “you were mean to my partner in a dream and now I am pissed and going to kick your ass”

[judyprincess]

Too Pink for me- Logan Howlett +18

04: Adam's Apple

"No."

The garden area, where the teachers usually had breakfast, was filled with Logan's bad mood from the early morning, marked by his firm refusal.

"Logan, I haven't finished," Charles said calmly, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

Everyone was watching the scene, but Ororo didn't seem surprised—she had already predicted this would happen.

"Guess what, I don't care."

Logan replied before taking a sip of his black coffee, fully intending to escape Charles' explanations. Knowing what was coming, Charles had no choice but to use his powers, stopping Logan from walking away, which made a low, almost animalistic growl escape from his throat as he turned back to them, frustrated.

"Is this some kind of joke or punishment? Did I do something wrong as a substitute that I don't know about?"

Logan finally spoke, his rough voice like sandpaper, clearly expressing his displeasure.

"Logan, I still don't understand why spending time with Rosellina is a punishment." Charles didn't react to his bad attitude and took another sip of coffee. "The girl is delightful."

"I don't like her. Can that be respected?"

"Do you have a valid argument I might accept?"

Charles leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced hands, waiting expectantly. Logan thought for a moment, but no words came out.

"Then, no, I can't respect it. It's just nonsense."

Logan took a deep breath, trying to keep the animal inside him from breaking free.

"This is Scott's job. I don't get why I'm the one doing this."

Ororo glanced at Charles when Logan justified himself to avoid the task, her expression clearly saying, I told you so.

"Logan's right," Scott said after a moment, surprising everyone.

Hank nearly choked on his coffee, having to grab a nearby napkin to wipe himself off as he coughed. The world must have been ending—Logan even raised an eyebrow at Scott.

"Well, that's new," Ororo muttered under her breath, watching the situation unfold.

"Professor, I don't usually agree with Logan."

"Usually?" Logan asked, accusingly.

"Never," Scott corrected. "What I mean is, Rosellina is a new student. I don't think her first day at the school should involve enduring Logan's bad mood. She needs a good experience."

Logan mentally thanked Scott for the intervention, though Scott never missed an opportunity to criticize him.

Charles sighed in his seat, remaining calm and unfazed by Logan's attempts to escape. He waved a hand toward Scott, signaling that his intervention wasn't necessary, before addressing Logan.

"Logan, you have two options," he finally said, unwilling to prolong the situation further. He could already sense Rosellina's thoughts approaching—no, in fact, he could feel her emerald eyes watching them.

"You help Rosellina with her tour of the facilities and try to swallow your bad mood a bit."

Before Charles could continue, Logan cut him off with a challenging tone.

"Or what?"

"Or you'll start teaching history classes first thing Monday morning as an official professor," Charles dropped the ultimatum, taking a sip of his coffee without even looking at him. He didn't need to look to imagine Logan's expression.

"Your choice," Charles concluded, leaving a silence as Hank struggled to hold back a laugh.

"This is the library," Logan grumbled, just like every time he pointed out a new room to Rosellina.

After that trap Charles had set for him, Logan had no choice but to reluctantly accept. As soon as he left the garden, Rosellina was already waiting for him. They began on the ground floor, and after a few rooms, they found themselves in the library where several students were studying.

Logan leaned against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed, as he watched her wander around the room with curious eyes. He couldn't help but let his gaze slide over her, observing how she moved so delicately, like a graceful heron. Her clothes were simple, yet somehow, she made them look elegant and magical—a pink skirt and a white blouse with puffed sleeves. Half of her hair was tied up while the rest cascaded down her back like a waterfall, reaching places he knew he shouldn't be staring at. Logan mentally scolded himself, shaking his head firmly as he tried to focus on the windows.

That's exactly what he hated about this girl—the way she made everyone fall under her charm without even trying. Even he, despite his enduring love for Jean, couldn't stop himself from looking at her. It made him feel like a disgusting pervert.

Logan let out a low growl, tightening his grip on his arms, leaving faint marks from the pressure, though they quickly disappeared. He could hear the murmurs of the students watching her as he tried to keep his mind steady.

"She's beautiful," a rough whisper from one male student made Logan turn his head.

With indifferent eyes, Logan observed the admiration that built up around Rosellina with every step she took. The students watched her with eyes full of infatuation. She hadn't even said a word, but they were all staring at her, though they kept their distance, as if feeling unworthy of approaching her. Logan raised an eyebrow at their behavior. It was like she was a painting they admired from afar, afraid to touch for fear of breaking it. Like she was somehow "forbidden."

He chuckled under his breath, but it wasn't because he found it funny. Not at all—it irritated him. The reverence for someone just because they were pretty, someone who barely said more than two words.

"Uh, good morning," Rosellina finally spoke after hearing the whispers, attempting to greet them.

Logan was surprised by the gesture, but what shocked him even more was the students' response. Shy and embarrassed, they turned away, and only a few managed to give her a small nod in return.

Logan huffed at their ridiculous and timid behavior. Impatient, he pushed off the bookshelf and grabbed Rosellina's wrist.

"She's just a girl," he growled. "Stop drooling and at least return her greeting, you rude brats."

Rosellina was caught off guard, not only by Logan's sudden intervention that caused the students to mutter their apologies under their breath, but by his grip on her wrist—so rough, so abrupt, and of course, without any permission. She hadn't even realized when her legs instinctively quickened, trying to match Logan's long strides as he moved swiftly down the hallway, his towering height forcing her to keep pace.

"L-Logan..." she murmured softly, trying to keep up as they climbed the stairs. "It hurts..." she whispered, wincing as he dragged her down the hallway.

"I really hate you," he spat.

Those words left Rosellina stunned. She could only remain silent, frozen by the sharpness of them. Logan was a man giving her firsts in ways she couldn't understand. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Why was this man, who barely knew her, so determined to bury her beneath his hatred, to push her away from him?

"The way you draw attention, the way you make people stupid, unable to speak, and yet you don't even say anything back," he continued, releasing her wrist abruptly, letting it drop as she came to a halt.

He turned to face her, his breathing heavy, revealing the erratic pace of his heart driven by the rush of adrenaline.

"I hate it so much."

Rosellina looked at him, feeling a sudden ache in her chest. What was that feeling? Why did it hurt? She wasn't sick, so why did her heart feel this way? In a desperate attempt to ignore that unknown pain, she offered him an embarrassed smile. Even though she wasn't to blame, she was ready to apologize.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking at him. "I didn't mean to be such a bother to you today."

Logan blinked, taken aback by her response. It only made his irritation grow. Why was she acting like she was the one at fault? Why so much submission? It was driving him crazy. He hated that unbearably helpless attitude.

"Forget it," he muttered under his breath.

The sharp words, like a blade ready to cut deep, were held back. He was restraining himself, knowing deep down that this girl wasn't truly at fault. Or at least his mind tormented him with the thought of Charles scolding him if she ran off in tears because of his rough demeanor.

"Walk," he grumbled as he began to move, shoving his hands into his pockets. The quicker they got this over with, the better for both of them.

The tour of the facilities continued until they reached the second floor, above the dormitories where more secluded rooms were located. Rosellina remained silent, avoiding greetings but offering a shy smile as the older students occasionally glanced at her. Soon, the hallways were empty, and she couldn't help but fidget with her hands.

"What's your mutation?" she dared to ask after what felt like an eternal silence under the weight of the tension.

Logan didn't respond at first, unwilling to engage in more conversation than necessary, but it seemed Rosellina was determined to go against his plans.

"Healing."

He answered curtly, but he could feel her gaze behind him, quietly asking for more information.

"I've got enhanced senses. I'm like an animal, but with extraordinary regenerative abilities," he explained after a few moments of hesitation.

Rosellina nodded, trying to piece it together. Someone who could heal as quickly as he was injured? That explained why Logan, despite his age, looked so young. His mutation slowed his aging. She observed him subtly, careful not to seem intrusive, until her eyes landed on his chest. A dog tag rested against his shirt, and she could clearly read the name on it.

Wolverine.

She remembered Rogue mentioning that most had nicknames, and she quickly deduced that this was Logan's. It suited him, considering what he had told her about his mutation. Yet, despite everything, Logan didn't generate any ill feelings within her. It was his behavior that caused those tiny stings of pain in her chest.

"Were you in the army?"

Rosellina asked after a while, nervous that she might anger him again. Logan let out a heavy breath in response before turning slightly to look at her.

"You're out of questions."

That was all he said, but his response only confirmed for Rosellina that it was a sensitive subject for him. His expression had darkened when she mentioned it. She followed him closely as he pointed out more rooms, moving at a faster pace, his desire to end the tour evident.

"The professor mentioned an attic," she whispered softly, debating whether she should've said anything at all.

She could've let him go and asked Rogue to take her there instead. She watched Logan stop, fully expecting him to sigh in frustration.

"I... we can finish here—"

"Follow me, it's up the right staircase."

Logan interrupted her, veering off and walking with long strides, though his pace had softened so she could keep up. They ascended toward one of the mansion's towers. When they arrived, Logan turned on the lights, the smell of wood immediately filling the space, mingling with the natural floral scent of Rosellina as she stepped inside, awestruck by the attic's size. Logan lingered in the doorway, watching as the light from the balcony helped him see her move around, as if she were already placing things in their designated spots in her mind.

"Why did the professor give you the attic?"

Logan asked, curiosity gnawing at him. Rosellina, stepping away from the table she had been examining, turned to face him.

"He said I could paint here if I needed space, so I wouldn't bother anyone."

She answered, as kind as always.

"Paint?" Logan raised an eyebrow, not expecting that response.

"Yes, I'm an artist."

Logan could sense the hint of pride in her words when she spoke about her craft.

"Well, I guess that's something you can afford to do when your father's one of the Pentagon's big shots," Logan scoffed, the glint of disdain sharp in his eyes.

Rosellina lightly grazed her fingers across the wooden table before pulling her hand back, a small smile on her face.

"I suppose," she murmured after a moment.

Why did it feel like Logan kept testing the limits of her patience? Was she always going to let people treat her like this without pushing back?

"I really do love painting. It's a way to express myself."

Her words pulled him from his thoughts, as she stared down at the floor.

"Everyone expresses themselves somehow, but for me... well, sometimes it's hard to say what I feel." She confessed, her face turning toward the warm light spilling in from the balcony. "It's so easy to swim and just as easy to drown at the same time. But a lifeline can always be there, something to hold on to and escape from the obvious, if only for a moment."

Logan listened closely. Her words flowed like prose, a melody written in frustration and emotion on the oldest pages of Europe, hinting at something deeper. He wasn't sure if it was just her artistic nature making such elaborate comparisons to things that could've been explained in simpler terms, but something about it held him captive.

"Escaping death is easier than escaping feelings, always finding a way to hide them in plain sight, beyond the understanding of those who can't see past their own pain." Rosellina recited, as if recalling a forgotten tale lost in an untold book.

Logan found himself submerged, drawn into that stormy sea of words that seemed to lead nowhere—yet they consumed him. Because, in his mind, there was an understanding, a connection to what she was saying, even if he didn't fully grasp it himself.

"Maybe... painting is my lifeline." Rosellina turned to meet his gaze with a gentle smile. "But mostly, I love doing it because it makes people happy when I do."

She added, as if trying to steer the conversation away from the previous reflections. Logan looked into her eyes, those emerald gems piercing deeper into him, searching for something beyond what he projected. They were mesmerizing, undeniably beautiful. A truth he couldn't deny.

There was a silence between them as Logan observed her; a storm always seemed to brew whenever Rosellina was around. After what felt like an eternity, Logan finally peeled himself away from the doorway.

"I'm sure you've got other things to do, just like me," he said, turning to head down the stairs. In his language, that meant: time to get out.

Rosellina hurried to follow him, casting one last glance at the space. For some reason, Logan didn't seem as resentful as he had been yesterday or even this morning—that was a small victory for her. They descended the stairs together, arriving at the ground floor where most of the people were gathered. Jean crossed their path before Rosellina could greet her, but Logan beat her to it.

"Hey, Jean," he greeted her with a small smile.

Jean quickly returned the smile and greeting. Rosellina stood there, watching the interaction, noticing Logan's smile and his attitude towards Jean. Was he only resentful towards her? No, surely not. Rosellina mentally shook the thought away.

"Hi, Logan, and you too, Rosellina. I see you've finished the tour," Jean observed after saying hello.

Rosellina greeted her and nodded in agreement.

"Well, you sure took your time. It's already lunchtime."

"Yeah, well, the place isn't exactly small," Logan replied with a short laugh.

Rosellina could feel herself fading into the background of the conversation. Even though they were talking about both of them, the conversation started to feel more like it was just between Logan and Jean. Her emerald eyes watched their expressions, noticing the faint air of flirtation between them.

A flush rose to Rosellina's cheeks. They were probably a couple or at least interested in each other, and here she was, stuck in the middle, feeling like a third wheel illuminating a pair of lovers.

"I've got things to take care of, ciao," Rosellina mumbled softly, excusing herself so as not to interrupt any further.

As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw them speaking comfortably, catching sight of Logan's expression as he looked at Jean, noticing the small touches she made on his arm. She quickly turned back.

Intrusive. You're being rude, Rosellina.

She scolded herself mentally, determined not to look again. All she could think now was that Logan probably had a girlfriend, which didn't make him a bad guy, right? Rogue had been right, after all. Not that she had ever thought he was a bad guy anyway.

Logan was so absorbed in his conversation with Jean that he suddenly realized he no longer caught the scent of Rosellina's perfume. He turned around to see that she was gone. When had she left? Jean had distracted him that much.

"Logan?" Jean called, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, didn't notice the little annoying rose had left," he muttered, refocusing on Jean.

"You don't like her, huh?" Jean asked as they walked down the hallway and out of the mansion, heading toward the front gardens.

"No," he answered firmly.

After a while, Logan's curiosity got the better of him, and he continued, "Beyond her striking looks, I don't even know what her mutation is."

"Well, you didn't ask her, did you? I'm sure she would've told you. She's not shy about showing it."

Jean teased him, practically telling him it was his fault for not asking her directly. Logan cursed under his breath, glancing at Jean while listening to her. Standing around like an idiot and just listening wasn't exactly his idea of fun.

"I'm asking you so you can tell me, Jean."

Jean raised an eyebrow before giving a sly smile.

"It's in her eyes."

Logan stopped in his tracks, recalling how he had been captivated by her eyes just a moment ago. He remembered thinking they were the most intense emerald green he'd ever seen in his life—like two precious gems. But he hadn't thought much further than that. Beyond her striking pink hair, those eyes were the real pressure that could crush you like the deep ocean's abyss.

"Her eyes? What are they supposed to do?"

"Illusions, she can make your mind see things completely out of reality."

Logan thought that maybe people fell under her spell because of her charm, but that wasn't the case. Her mutation went beyond his understanding. Jean took her time explaining what the professor had told her, along with his hypotheses after conducting an initial test with Rosellina. The Canadian listened closely as Jean talked about the classes Charles would have with Rosellina and how she had agreed to become an arts teacher.

"Art teacher..." he muttered to himself with a faint, mocking smile.

It suits her.

Logan thought to himself. Just then, he felt Jean's hands softly brushing against his, her fingertips tracing the calluses on his palms. That small electric charge traveled up Logan's spine, quickening his heartbeat. He turned to look at her.

"I thought you'd be falling for her by now; she's a very beautiful woman." Jean's words felt strange to him. He could sense a mix of teasing and satisfaction in them.

"I only have eyes for one person, if that's what you're worried about." His voice was lower, more intimate and rough. His hands slipped under her jacket, gently grazing her waist, savoring the feel through her clothes.

Once again, he was falling into something he shouldn't. Into the endless flirtation with Jean that always led nowhere, leaving him with scraps of affection that would never turn into anything more.

"She's not even my type," he clarified.

"She's sweet, pretty," Jean offered, "smart, kind."

"I prefer the strong, independent ones." He shook his head at her attempt, his face leaning closer to hers. "What do I have to do to make you understand that I'm only dying for you?" He confessed, now dangerously close.

Jean placed her hands on Logan's chest, creating some space between them, a small barrier, as she felt her breath catch. Logan's masculinity and boldness always made her tremble—a forbidden man who would only bring her trouble.

"Girls only flirt with the bad boy, Logan..." she whispered softly, looking at him with doe-like eyes. "But they marry the good guy."

Jean crossed that dangerous line, her lips almost brushing against his. Jean could hear the low growl in his throat, feel his hot breath on her face.

"I could be the good guy..." he murmured against her lips, barely grazing them.

He was putting all of his effort into not doing something reckless in the school's gardens, where anyone could see them. It was all forbidden and filled with consequences, a mix that made him both sick and excited at the same time. That little fantasy evaporated when Jean, just inches from sharing a kiss with him, pulled away. Once again, the same thing happened. So close, yet so far.

"Scott's waiting for me," she said as her final words, removing her hands from his chest and breaking all contact as his own hand slipped from her waist. She turned to leave, leaving him standing there. Logan didn't dare say anything, letting her walk away. All he could feel was a toxic storm brewing inside, consuming him—pain, pain and resignation. Settling for the bare minimum, knowing it would never go further, and that he would always be the loser, never the first choice for the red-haired woman he desired so much. Could his healing ability save him from that pain he masochistically confused with pleasure? No. He wouldn't feel so lost and broken, knowing he would never be her choice.

"Damn it."

________________________________________

Why does the forbidden always have to be so tempting?

The human desire to always want what we can't have, that greed that makes us brush against sins we will later pay for dearly.

There is no sin without consequences.

________________________________________

Hello, my dear readers! I'm leaving a little note here for you. I know you're a fan of Marvel, so if you're interested, I've recently published another book, though this one focuses more on the Avengers. In this fanfic, the Avengers' story is rebooted from the first movie, and a new female original character will change the course of the movie timeline in this alternate reality. You can find it on my profile, or search for it by title: Immortal Flames.

If you're also into Japanese mythology, this fanfic will be for you! (Of course, it will be explicit and feature romance between the original character and another Avenger, along with secondary pairings among other Avengers).

I hope you're enjoying Rosellina's story. ✨️

Kisses, 

Judy. 💖

[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting.  Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

*

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

*

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

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TAGLIST:

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado

if I missed you LMK!!!!

[joonlaksme]

Sign Here: Chapter Four

Sign Here Masterlist

Summary: All of Min Yoongi’s partners never knew what he truly wanted. Too scared to tell them to their face, he decides to just invest into a professional. He didn’t know you were exactly what he was looking for.

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

-> Genre: Yoongi x Dominatrix!reader, Smut

-> Warnings for this chapter: Breath play, handjob, Yoongi gets a little manhandle-y, semi-public stuff (briefly), masochist Yoongi, edging (m), aftercare

-> Word Count: 4,400+

A/N: After months of being in a stump, I’m FINALLY back!! Thanks for waiting and enjoy :D

Chapter 4: Maroon

Taking a break has never felt so stressful before. You sit down, an extended sigh resting hot on your lips and you feel the faux leather clinging to your thighs. With it getting hotter and hotter outside, humidity enters your older apartment through cracks in the balcony doors and no matter how often you shower, you can’t seem to get the sticky feeling off of you. 

“Maybe we should eat something cold.” Mi-na interrupts your thoughts.

You lean forward and place your elbows on your kitchen island, marble feeling nice and cool on your skin. Kyung Mi-na has been your best friend ever since your shared second year of college where she became your new roommate. A cute 5’2 with pretty black hair and an even amber complexion. No one would think she had the same job as you considering her sweet appearance but she was the one who had gotten you into BDSM. 

Your fingers feel around the plastic-y texture of the stool, a deep maroon color. It jogs your memory to check your bathtub later. 

“What are you in the mood for, hm? Eggs? A muffin?” She opens your off-white fridge and rummages through it. There really isn’t much in there but you can see she’s smiling ear to ear, tapping her fingers on the fridge door and standing on the tips of her toes. You often wonder why she’s always in a good mood but you suppose you don’t always need a reason to be happy. Maybe she’s feeling content because nothing wrong has happened. Right now, at 9 in the morning, you want to complain and then stew in your pot of thoughts. You have a meeting planned with Yoongi and you have no idea what should be on the agenda. Of course you have a great variety of ideas but not specifically for someone who’s more of a beginner like Yoongi. You even think you went a little hardcore on him in your most recent session.

“Can I just get some tea for now?” You finally reply.

Mi-na tilts her head but turns around to turn on the electric kettle. “What’s on your mind?”

Of course you can never keep anything away from her. She majored in psychology and she was always the top of her class. 

She’s subtly shaking her hips to the blasting music of an apartment down the hall. You gave up on trying to complain about them for a while now.

You’re distracted from the task at hand. 

“Well, remember I was talking about my new client?” 

She nods, “The one you said you were worried about because he was a total beginner? I told you that you should have just offered me. I know you’re uncomfortable with beginners.”

“Based on what he filled out on the form, I was fully expecting him to have experience. You should’ve seen him, Mi-na. He doesn’t look submissive in the slightest. I thought he was joking at first.”

Mi-na scoffed, “There goes you and your drawing to conclusions. So, what’s the issue?”

“I don’t know where to go from here to be fully honest.” And then you tell her what you HAVE done, assuming she can work from there.

She takes out a cup from your cabinet and pours out hot water, plopping a teabag in it and looks you in your eyes. “Hm…why don’t you touch him properly? Beginners feel better when something more familiar is implemented in play. I’m sure you can work your way from there, you know. I think that once you are both comfortable, you can start implementing the things you like to do like shibari, general bondage, sensory deprivation, edging, all of that.” 

You nod. Of course. You have to be the more confident one in this relationship. After all, he is the one paying you for it. 

“So what made him stand out?”

“What do you mean?” You reply, eyebrows knitting.

She lets out a short laugh, “C’mon. You never talk to me about your clients. I was a bit surprised by how much you talked about and described this new guy.”

“Like I said, you have to see him to understand where I’m from. He’s this guy with a composed look, stylish, tattoos all down his arms–”

“So? You’ve had hardcore bikers and models under you. What makes him different?”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. You knew exactly what made him different. You just don’t want to admit it to Mi-na just yet. Instead, you’re fiddling with the tail end of your tea bag, watching the water turn into a deeper red color.

-

When Mi-na leaves, you make your way to your bathtub. Walking into there is a bit of a pain nowadays since water covers the tiled floor and you’ve constantly found yourself too sluggish to lay a bunch of towels down. There, plunge your hands into the dark red water of the tub. You pull out the bunch of ropes you had just bought, feeling the texture on your fingers and then you drain the water, rinsing out the excess dye. You pull it out of the tub finally, the water making it a bit heavier and then you loosely coiled it on a specially made drying rack. 

-

Then, here you were, standing in your closet and deciding what heels would be best for tonight. Something more comfortable or something more sexy? Why is this something you’ve been deciding on for as long as you have? You barely have an hour left and you’re thinking so critically about which shoe to wear on your next meeting. Something tells you that you need to keep your mind on what’s important: Keeping Min Yoongi satisfied. 

So you pick a simple pair of black heels with comfortable soles and make your way out your front door. 

When you arrive at the restaurant, you arrive 10 minutes earlier than you should be. You tell the host about your specific and private reservation. This is a place more familiar with your line of work and more specifically, in a collaboration with the company you work under. So, it’s no surprise when you’re led to a luxurious booth covered with maroon velvet seats and with foldable panels, separating you from the rest of the public. Here, there’s menus with small and fancy writing and no price next to the variety. There’s cherry blossoms decorating the walls and a dim but warm light hanging from the top. 

You’re sitting close to the kitchen so you can smell all different varieties of aromas from food that vary from pasta to creamy sauces. You haven’t been here in a long time so you were looking forward to this. 

Speaking of looking forward to something, that’s when Yoongi takes the corner and sees you sitting there with crossed legs and the small wave of your manicured nails. He takes a seat at the booth across from you, looking how he always does: calm and collected. 

“I’m glad you found the place alright. I know the further you get to the back, the harder it is to navigate. The host and hostess often don’t come back here...” You start, trailing off. You’re looking at him with a piercing stare because he looks good enough to eat. His sleeves are rolled up and one button is down in a normal, white button-up shirt. His belt really shows his hips and his suit pants make his legs look nice and slender. Did he dress up just for you? You clear your throat. “How have you been?”

When you look closer, you can see the shade of Yoongi’s ears turn a nice pink and it sparks up your confidence. “I’ve been fine. Just a long day…So…” and he mutters something you can’t hear. It’s obviously aimed towards you by the way he meets your eyes but you can’t quite hear him. 

“Speak up?” 

“I asked…what’s on the agenda for today?”

“After dinner, we’re heading to your place but after that, it’s a surprise. You like surprises don’t you?”

He lets out a scoff, “I do but it takes a lot to surprise me.” 

“Humor me.” You pick up the menu. “I’m paying so choose whatever you’d like.”

His lips twitch a bit, “Aren’t I paying you? Why are you paying?”

You hush him.

You choose one of your favorite things from the menu and as he’s ordering, you pretend to accidentally slide your foot up his leg. He does spring up a bit but he keeps his expression flat. You mutter an apology but don’t bother to try to hide the small smile that creeps up your lips. The waiter seems submerged in every word Yoongi communicates to him. You look back at your menu but in the corner of your eye, you can see his eyes flicker down to your foot that is a bit too close to his side of the table. He doesn’t acknowledge it outloud but his gaze lingers and then he shifts his weight from one leg to the other before finishing his order. Once the waiter leaves, Yoongi places his elbows on the table with raised brows.

“You gonna try anything else here?” He asks. His lips quirk up just for a moment.

“You should take your elbows off the table. That isn’t very proper.”

Instead of answering his actual question, you offer him a small smirk. Your heel is nudging his leg playfully. There’s an anticipation between you two. The sexual tension is becoming thick and as you reach over and grab his hand in yours, you can feel the goosebumps raise on him. He’s nervous when his mind is submerged in possibilities of what your surprise may be and you can read him like a book, even when he’s just giving you a blank expression. 

Your fingers interlock on the table and you think about your first impression of him. He’s looking at you and slowly, you can tell he’s cracking. He takes a deep breath as tension grows and you slide your foot up until it’s resting on his knee. Then it goes back down to the carpeted floor. You want to tease him more. As your foot retreats, his eyes glaze over. Your foot returns to the floor and his gaze snaps back to yours, while you start up a new conversation and you can see the slightest hint of disappointment in his expression. He quickly masks it, however, and clears his throat.

“I think you’re easily surprised. You just choose not to show it to many but…I believe I can wrap you around my fingers.” You say, taking a sip of water.

The waiter returns with a basket of bread and a small dish full of seasoned olive oil for dipping. He leaves quickly after. Yoongi keeps his eyes on you. When he goes for a piece of bread, that’s when you decide to move your leg up until it’s at his inner thigh. His hand stops in mid-air as your foot drags up until it’s touching his crotch. 

“What am I feeling here, hm?”

He swallows hard, his eyes widening slightly as he feels your foot against him. He tries to steady his shaking fingers. "I…uhm…I don't know what you mean."

You press harder and he can’t help the breathy sigh he releases from the sudden pressure. He pushes himself closer. 

“I think you do. I think you have been anticipating something.” Your smile is kind but your tone is sultry, low. He’s having this conflict in his mind between keeping up his facade to keep cool or to give in and beg you to stop your torture. He thinks he can last longer but he’s burning up so he pops open a button. 

Watching him attempt to compose himself is more fun than you expected it to be. His heart even jumps out of his chest when the waiter comes back with your food. That’s when your foot starts moving and he’s feeling so much that he’s getting lightheaded. 

“Maybe we should get this to go? You look a bit tired, Yoongi.”

He presses his lips together. "I'm fine," he manages to say, his voice strained. You can see the vein on his neck popping with the effort of keeping himself under control. It doesn’t last long because as soon as the waiter walks away and there’s steaming plates of food in your faces, he’s holding your hand tighter. “Please?”

You raise your eyebrows and have to clench your legs closed, “I don’t know what you mean?” You echo his words back at him.

“You’re mean.” You can see the way the side of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Okay, I think we should go.”

So you do. Your untouched food goes in boxes and you send your regards to the owner of the restaurant. When you make it back to Yoongi’s place, you can tell he’s nervous by the way his hands tremble when he brings out his keys to open the door. You lay your hand on his and help steady him. It’s when you start laying light kisses on his neck that he goes weak under your touch. You feel as if you’re sucking his energy from the way he lets out this deep exhale.

The door turns open and he stumbles in with you. His jacket is off and on the floor before you even make it to the living room. His breathes out in short and shallow gasps. His hands make their way in your hair when you find a particular part that gets him rowdy and suck on it. His back meets the couch and his knees buckle. 

He gets confused you don’t come down with him. You don’t bother to fix your hair but you take off your own jacket slowly and get his remote from the coffee table. 

“What should we watch…?” You’re acting as if nothing happened just a couple of seconds ago and as if he’s not half hard in his pants. 

He whimpers your name to get your attention. You turn to look at him and sit down right beside him. Just by the way you look at him, he know you’re not going to give in until he does first and if there’s anything Yoongi is confident about, it’s his stubbornness. So he gives you a movie recommendation and then you lean back and watch it together. 

However, as much as Yoongi wants to calm down, he can’t stop looking at you. You’re dressed like the goal was to tempt him and he’s wondering if this torture was his surprise. The movie begins, but Yoongi's eyes are not on the screen. He’s taking in every detail of your appearance. Your outfit, while it looks comfortable, leaves little to the imagination and Yoongi can't help but feel himself getting more and more worked up as the minutes pass by. He can’t stop shuffling by the time half an hour goes by.

His hand lands on your thigh to your surprise. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

His lips are shut but his eyes are begging. 

“That’s not exactly what I want and you know that…” You move his hand away with little regard for where it goes. 

You look away but it’s quick when he takes hold of your waist. You’re on his lap almost immediately and you’re caught off guard for a just a moment. 

“I thought we were going to watch a movie but you just can’t hold yourself back, hm? If you’re having so much trouble focusing, maybe we can do something else?” You guess he can win this time.

He stopped himself from eagerly nodding, “That would be nice…” He mumbles back.

You lean closer to him and grab his wrists, holding them together up above his head.  While that hand is holding his arms away from touching you again, the other unzips his pants. 

“Is this your surprise?” He lays his head back with a huff. 

You pull out his cock, twitching in your palm. As you begin to stroke him, you start talking. “Let’s set some rules. I want you to last until I say you can. No touching and think about your behavior. I think that if you were more avid, I would be nicer.”

He finally lets out a full blown groan, the same sound reverberating down your body and all along your skin. For as long as he’s had this boner, he’s so sensitive.

“I don’t know how long I can l-last for.” He thrusts into your hand. 

“C’mon playboy…” You let go of his arms and instead grip his jaw. The way you’re treating him has him submerged into what feels like paradise. He feels as if he’s been placed in a place where he does not have to think about anything but you and the way you skillfully make him feel. “You don’t last and there’s going to be an issue, understood?” Your voice is raised just a bit. He’s hesitant to admit that your voice turns him on in itself.

“Yes…” He replies with, hands lowering to take handfuls of his couch as you continue to stroke him at the same torturous pace. 

“Yes, who?” Your grip tightens.

He moans out a blended mess of, “Yes mistress.”

You smirk at his response, “Better.” You’re pleased with his obedience so as a little reward, you lean close to his ear and the heat of your breath causes shivers to run down his body. If there’s anything that Yoongi has learned in your sessions, it’s that he’s definitely more submissive than he ever was dominant. He’s never felt so embarrassed about how he might cum soon if he doesn’t think of something else before and sure, pussy feels good but when he’s been edged for what feels like centuries, he gets desperate. He likes seeing how satistsfied you are, how much you feel from making him feel good. 

You turn him to lay down on the couch just like how it was before when you discovered his seriously sensitive nipples. Only, this time, youre sitting on his face in a pencil skirt. Coming to a conclusion that he feels the most satistisfied when you are, it’s now a new torture to feel you stroking his cock while you’re needy and shuffling on his face. You gather saliva up in the cheeks of your mouth and spit a glop on your hand, using that to  guide your hand in a more slick handjob.

His words and sounds are muffled under your skirt. His mind drifts off to when you made him cum before without even touching his dick.  

“Hm?” You ask him, leaning off of his face for a moment.

“Can I…”

 "Can you what?"

Yoongi swallows hard, his face flushed beneath your skirt. "Can I taste you?" He asks softly, pleading you for permission.

You think for a moment, considering his request. You know how wet you are right now but…“No. You can’t.”

“Please?” He’s getting whiny, out of his typical deadpan character. 

Watching him beg only makes you want to get more mean, more cruel. You finally quicken your pace and instead of answering him with another denial, you sit back down on his face, only with more pressure and he’s damn near suffocating under it. All he can breathe in is the smell of your arousal and feel the limit of how much air his lungs can take. There’s some breathability when you open your legs but sometimes you shut them and practically suffocate him with your thighs. He’s way too into it and he twitches in your hand like crazy. It’s invigorating and pretty soon, he’s getting louder under your skirt. Every once in a while, you lift off of him to give him one big breath before he’s back. 

So it’s a wonder with all the air you give him, why he grabs onto your hips when you explicitly told him not to.

You let go of his dick, wetly hitting his stomach and you lift yourself up again. There’s a mix of amusement and annoyance in your tone and even in your expression, “Didn’t I tell you not to touch me?” Your voice is cold and now, Yoongi can feel it. He can feel a slither of fear run down him and it does nothing but fuel his fantasies and increase his desire for you. He’s gotten himself enamered with you by now. If you react this way, he’s thinking that maybe he should do it more often; acting out and seeing how you punish him. 

“‘M sorry…” He apologizes but any one would be able to tell that it was lackluster, pathetic. 

So he admits he’s surprised when you land a slap on his dick. He thrusts up but is confused why. It burns at first but the shock of pleasure is addicting. His fingers are tingling and his brain is clouded. “Fuck–I’m sorry…” He says it again but it’s even weaker than the first one. It’s not on purpose though, he just can’t think straight anymore. 

You slap it again and the moan he lets out is damn near angelic. If you weren’t wet before, you definitely are now and it threatens to soak through your skirt if it’s already through your underwear. “Oh…seems like you’re more of a masochist than I thought you were. You’re getting off to this, aren’t you?”

He shivers under your touch once you take his dick in your hand again. A mix of pleasure and pain courses through his body and before he can open his mouth and admit it, a moan comes out instead, gushing pre-cum as you slap it once more. 

“I’m–I’m gonna cum.” And he says your name with such a shaky breath that you actually think he’s scared to cum.

“No, you aren’t.” You state matter-of-factly. “You’re gonna hold it for me and make up for your mistakes, aren’t you Min Yoongi?”

He whimpers but nods. There’s pressure building up in the pit of his stomach, the need to release almost unbearable but he doesn’t want to disobey you even more. 

You lean back down so he can tell there’s new arousal, thick and heavier than before. “Good boy,” You whisper.

You can feel his chest vibrate at his groan. After multiple sessions, of course you could tell he liked praise and you found it amusing how much it affected him.  

His words are muffled but he gets more and more despreate as you stroke him harder, tighter, faster. His tip is this bright and pretty shade of pink from your treatment. The last thing on your mind at this point is treating him kindly. It’s when you use your other hand to rub his tip that he really can’t stop moving. You watch and feel him squirm beneath you as you continue. Then you twist your torso and grab a handful of his hair, pulling him back slightly. The breath that touches your skin is quick and hot, chest heaving with every pant.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.”

His ears perk up and he lets out this long and low moan as you pull his hair and give him your final command. It’s like a switch flips in him as he bucks his hips and gets closer to your masterful touch. There’s sweat down his stomach as he trembles and rolls his eyes back. 

You keep stroking him and nudge yourself off of his face. “Let go for me. Focus.”

You know he’s stuck at this moment and he just needs a little nudge. That’s what your words do to him and he finally bursts, cumming all over your hand and on his stomach. He’s heaving so hard that you go into aftercare mode immediately. When he’s done. You come off of him and hold his face in yours. Even when his forehead is sweaty, you press it to yours. 

“Breathe…You did so good for me, Yoongi. So good.” 

He’s almost completely limp in your hold but you can see his smile. He’s already starting to feel achey everywhere even when you just finished and that lets him know that he’s going to feel this even more in the morning. He only starts talking when his breath is nearly calm and he’s realizing how dirty he is. Sweat all over his body and he hadn’t taken off most of his clothes. There’s cum on his stomach and dried up tears on his cheeks. You’re flattered.

“Fucking hell…” He mumbled. He whinces as he hears how raspy his voice is. 

You kiss his cheek, noticing a nice purple mark on his neck. “Did I go too hard on you?” You ask him, taking his safety into mind.

He laughs, “Honestly, if you keep doing things like that to me, I’m gonna fall in love with you.”

You both laugh. “Where’s your towels?”

He points to a closed door, “In the bathroom, in the closet next to the sink.”

So you make your way there. You find the closet and take out a rag but before you can close the closet, your eyes catch on a black box. Curiosity takes the best of you and you open it just for a peak inside. 

You find a variety of women’s clothes. Cute turtle necks, skirts, knee-high socks, the works. Your jaw drops. This could mean so many things depending on which way you plan to look at this from. 

When you come back to him, he’s completely calm but just uncomfortable. You bring a bowl of warm water and a rag and wipe him down, assuming he doesn’t want to make his way to the bathroom. He looks at you through it all and feels himself overwhelmed with a certain feeling. Maybe he’s just horny again but the silence is sweet and he doesn’t want to do anything but look at your face. His blinks are slow and eventually, he starts to feel really sleepy. 

“I’m just gonna get you some new underwear and then we can make our way to your  bed, okay?” You’re kinder with him now that he’s completely weak. 

He feels a bit fresher and knows he’ll have to shower later tomorrow but he feels nice when you lay with him on his bed. You play with his hair with let him lay between your breasts, gentle in reflection to how you treated it before. When he falls asleep, you slowly move his arm from on your hip and make your way out of his home. 

You’re chewing on your lips as your mind is busy with other thoughts. What was up with that black box? 

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[apricityxoxo]

Help and Care.

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✧.* Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

✧.* wc 1,156

✧.* summary: he definitely didn't need help, he doesn't need someone to care for him. no one has ever helped him before, and no one ever cared so why would they start now. he doesn't care, he definitely doesn't need help. so why does he keep ending up in the infirmary with the beautiful nurse?

contents: fluff and a bit of angst

sorry y'all, I had to finish up my winter classes but I'm back. (don't be mad at me it's black history month.) here's something new that I'm working on and don't worry part three of uncertainty is coming soon. I'm going to make a masterlist and a schedule lol. hope y'all enjoy this and lmk what y'all want to see soon.

enjoyy

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Help. He hates help. He can’t stand it. When others look at him, when he looks at himself, he doesn’t see himself as someone dependent on others. Why else would he enlist, he didn’t need help, he learned that the hard way. No one ever helped him and he adjusted, so why would he need help now. People are dependent on him; they rely on him. When someone is injured, scared, or dead it’s up to him to fix the situation, to solve the problems of others, to carry the fallen.

When Price told him to go to the nurse he was upset, actually, he was pissed. He was not a child who scraped his knee playing football at school. He was a soldier; he was more than a mere man. He knew how to endure, he knew how to carry his weight, and he knew that he didn’t need to see the nurse. He knew what was wrong with him, he just bruised his ribs. He didn’t need some old woman with a bad attitude to tell him what he already knew.

He endured and he resisted the pain for exactly two weeks, but the pain was only getting worse. He was confused and didn’t know what to do, he hoped that no one had noticed and he didn’t want people to start. He didn’t want questions or concerns, he wanted relief and nothing more.

He thought no one would notice and he was so wrong.

Training.

Simon hated training the new recruits, they were cocky and they didn’t know their place. They thought after joining and passing the initial physical exams, they were done.

They were most definitely not done. They needed to adjust, physically and mentally, to fit in. Many people think the initial physical and mental exams are where new recruits break, no they break here, during training…with him. He hated it but, he knew why Price asked him to do it.

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Price usually did rounds during training, he watched the recruits and the techniques of the other task forces. The smell of sweat, dirt, and blood filled his system and that smell drew his attention to Ghost. Today he felt the need to check on Ghost, see how he was doing. Ghost was a good teacher even though he didn’t realize this, Price did though.

Ghost was mean, harsh, and disciplined, and the people he taught tended to not last long, however the ones who do, they turn out to be great because the one thing that ghost teaches best is endurance.

When Price was watching him train, he started to get upset and he was confused. This was most definitely not the big and bad Ghost he was used to. He thought at first that "maybe Ghost was pulling his punches?" When he paired Ghost up to train some of the rookies, he thought maybe Simon was finally going soft.

Usually after training, the rookies would be sore, and in pain, sometimes they might even need to be excused to nurse. However, these past few weeks the rookies have been surprisingly...fine. Maybe even better than fine and it's been making them cocky, it's boosted some of their egos.

It would probably boost his ego too, Price chuckled. If he were to beat the big, brutal, and scary Ghost while still a rookie. However, they are starting to get obnoxious because they are taunting and boasting, which is certainly something that Price could not have. It was starting to piss him off. Price was going to tell Ghost that if he didn’t put these pricks in line, there were going to be consequences.

That was the plan, but then he took a closer look and that’s when he saw it.

He saw the way that Ghost taking more hits than normal, he was slow to react and he was even slower to respond. His stance was off as well, usually his form made him feel like a giant among men but now he looked like he was shrinking himself, like it was his first day of training. Ghost wasn’t pulling his punches, he wasn't holding back, he was weak.

Now he was pissed.

Price knew.

Price knew exactly why Ghost wasn’t as strong as he usually is, why his punches aren’t as powerful as they normally are. Ghost was a disobedient bastard and Price was pissed.

“STOP! That’s enough training for today, soldiers.”

“Ghost, come now!”

“Yes, Captain” Ghost replied in his thick Manchester accent.

“The hell is wrong with you Lieutenant!”

“Nothin' Capt’n, I'm just-”

“You’re just hurt, did you go to the nurse?” Price knew the answer.

“I didn’t feel the need to go to the medical facility Capt’n”

“You didn’t feel the need to go?” Price asked Simon and looked at him like he was crazy. Since when did his soldiers feel the need for an opinion?

“If you don’t get your ass to the medical facility right now, you’re going to be training these pricks for three months straight. You understand?”

“Yessir!”

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Unbelievable!

He doesn’t need to be here. He feels everyone’s eyes on him as he walks to the nurse’s office. He’s rarely ever here and because of that it draws the eye, lots of them. He thanked his balaclava every day because without it, based on the face he was making, some might think he was actually nervous.

He doesn’t want some old hag telling him what to do and degrading him for not coming sooner. Some old nurse or doctor telling him everything he already knows just to insult him and show off their vast vocabulary just to try and make him feel small. that’s what they all do, that’s what his father did.

Before he goes and knocks on the door, he dries his palms on his pants, desperately hoping to get over this.

Knock-knock.

Some time passed but then he heard a soft voice say…

“Come on in”

He opened the door and he was surprised that the soft voice matched a beautifully soft face. A face with beautifully unique features that worked together in harmony to make the beautiful woman that sat before him.

God damn.

Those were the only words on his mind.

It wasn’t an old woman who looked like she had a chip on her shoulder and carried a deep grudge, nor someone who looked like they were going to insult him… no. definitely not.

It was a young woman.

A beautiful young woman.

A beautiful young woman with the most inviting features. Absolutely gorgeous, he’s never seen a woman this beautiful ever on this base. He feels like she doesn’t belong here, her face is an exact contrast to the environment he surrounds himself every day. He has a million questions he wants to ask her, he feels the strong urge to get closer to her. He’s such a creep. He doesn’t even know her name.

He feels his mouth goes dry and his hands sweat. Gross. He hasn’t felt this way since Secondary School, he feels like a dork and he doesn’t know what is wrong with him.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you!” Her voice was cheery and if he was a little bit more nervous, he wouldn’t notice the shock on her face and the tremble in her voice. He was used to that reaction; it was probably due to his appearance. her voice matched her face and he felt his heart beat faster, he finally was going to die.

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the whole story is coming soooon, pls let me know what yall think

i wrote this while listening to creep by radiohead lol

full story

[antheiagoddessofwriting]

Gold Rush part 7

To say that you do not get along with Jake "Hangman" Seresin is an understatement. From the first day the two of you met, you got off on the wrong foot. When both of you are called back to Top Gun for a special detachment the rocky relationship continues. Between jealousy, fights and accidents, can you and Jake see eye to eye? or will your relationship sink and fade away before it ever began?

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Slow burn, enemies to lovers. Inspired by Gold Rush by Taylor Swift

Chapter 7 - roughly 3,100 words

Cross posted on ao3 under - AntheiaGoddessOfFlowers

Chapter 7 - what must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

You and Jake are on your way to his home in Texas so he can help you on the road to recovery. When you land, you meet his family and immediately fall in love with them. Both you and Jake begin to realize how difficult it will be to hide your feelings from each other.

Two weeks after the mission ended you found yourself sitting with Jake at the San Diego International Airport. Although the two of you had grown much closer, the reality of the situation was kicking in. You would be living with Jake, for months while you healed. You had about a month and a half, maybe more before the casts on your leg and arm would be able to come off. You already were frustrated with your injuries and needing help, but with a broken leg and a broken arm in clunky casts, regular tasks were difficult. While you were in the hospital, Jake had doted on you and you knew that would only continue. As much as you appreciated how caring he was, it only added fuel to the raging fire that burned in your heart for him. 

It would be so hard to hide how you felt for him, to have him so close and not be able to have him. Jake noticed the way that you were digging your nails into your thigh with your free hand. He took hold of your hand and gave it a squeeze. To distract yourself you decided to ask him questions.

“So, you’re from San Antonio right?”

“Kinda,” he said. “I just tell people that if they aren’t from Texas, it’s easier”

You nodded your head and asked, “So where are you really from?”

“A little town about an hour away from there. It’s called Sunshine”

“Sunshine, Texas? Are you messing with me?” you laughed.

He shook his head and smiled. “No ma’am I am not. It really is called Sunshine.”

You smiled at the thought of little baby Jake running around in Sunshine, Texas. It was too perfect, too picturesque, and explained why he just told people he was from San Antonio.

One of the gate attendants made an announcement that priority boarding would be starting. Since you and Jake were on active duty that meant you would board first. He scanned your tickets and wheeled you to the door of the plane. He helped you stand up and slowly walk to your seats. 

“First class? Jake, I told you not to buy first class tickets!” you said as he helped you sit down in the window seat.

“Scold me later darlin’. I have to get our bags.”

He disappeared for a moment to grab your bags and the wheelchair from next to the plane’s entrance. After he stowed them away he sat next to you smirking. You shook your head and tried your best not to smile. You had a feeling you were going to get spoiled while you stayed with him, especially since you didn’t have much to bring. You only had a carry on as you packed light while you were deployed again. Luckily your friend Maria and her husband were able to find a babysitter long enough to pack up some more of your clothes and mail them to where Jake’s house was. Until your things arrived you would have to go out and buy whatever else you needed.

The two of you were quiet, a comfortable silence falling. Shortly after the plane leveled out you had fallen asleep. Jake leaned over and closed the window slightly to make it darker for you. It was still early in the morning and you were very tired. You looked so beautiful and he couldn’t help but watch your breath rise and fall. He let you sleep until the flight attendants came by offering cookies and water. Gently, he prodded you awake and handed you your cookies, which you happily ate. For the rest of the plane ride the two of you talked, enjoying each other’s company.

Before you knew it, you were off the plane and Jake was steering you through the crowds of people. You were glad that he knew his way around the San Antonio International Airport. It didn’t seem too confusing to navigate, but the business made it hard for you to see where to go. 

“Where are we meeting the uber?” you asked.

Jake didn’t say anything.

You craned your neck to look at him. “Jake?”

He looked down at you. “It’s not an uber”

“What do you mean?” “My parents are picking us up”

Your heart stopped at the thought of meeting his parents. Frantically, you grabbed your phone and pulled out the camera to try and fix your hair. You wanted them to have a good impression of you. Why am I freaking out? We aren’t even dating! 

Jake pulled the wheelchair and the luggage to the side. He walked so that he was facing you. “Why are you fixing your hair?”

Your face flushed as you said, “I like to look nice when I meet new people Jake”

“You do look nice. You’re beautiful”

Hearing him say you looked beautiful felt amazing. You couldn’t help but smile as your stomach flipped and your heart skipped a beat.

He walked back around and continued leading you both out of the airport as he said, “I’m the one who should be nervous. You’re the first girl I’ve brought home since… I think since highschool”

Before you could reply a blonde woman was shouting Jake’s name. 

“Jake? Is that you?”

“Hey mama” he said as he parked your wheelchair and gave her a hug.

“Here son, let me take your luggage” said an older man in cowboy boots. He had to be Jake’s dad. Besides the fact that his hair was brown he and Jake were almost identical.

“Thanks dad”

His mom brightly smiled at you and nudged Jake in the arm. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Jake nodded, “yes, sorry. Y/n, this is my mom, Sadie, and my dad, Charles. Mom, Dad, this is y/n. She’s a pilot too.”

His mom rolled his eyes, “Jacob. We know she’s a pilot too.” She turned her attention towards you and gave you a big hug. “We have heard so much about you. He never stops talking about you!”

“Mom,” Jake interrupted, hoping she wouldn’t reveal too much.

“I am so glad I finally get to meet you”

You laughed at her comment. “It’s nice to meet you too”

“Alright Sadie, we better get going. The truck is not parked legally” said Jake’s dad, Charles.

Jake wheeled you out and helped you into your seat in the back of the truck as his dad loaded the bags into the cab. He got into the back next to you and soon you were all on the road.

“So how was the flight?” Sadie asked.

“It was good,” Jake replied.

“Have you ever been to Texas y/n?” asked Charles.

You shook your head. “This is my first time”

“Oh how exciting!” Sadie exclaimed. “We’ll have to take her to a rodeo before the summer is over.”

Jake laughed, “that could be very fun”

“Are you two coming over for lunch?” 

Jake looked at you, signaling that the choice was yours. You nodded your head yes causing Jake to smile.

“Yeah we can come for a bit”

“Good,” Sadie said. 

For the rest of the hour-long car ride you all got to know each other. You learned that Jake’s two sisters, Anna, and Daphne were already cooking up a big lunch to celebrate Jake coming home. Anna’s husband, Greg, was grilling three kinds of meat. You also learned that Jake’s birthday was next week.

“What kind of cake do you want Jakey?” asked Sadie.

“I don’t need a cake,” he protested as his face got red.

“Nonsense! You need a cake!”

Jake sighed in defeat before replying that he wanted a carrot cake.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a carrot cake kind of guy” You teased him

He shrugged, “It’s a hidden gem.”

“I guess it is a hidden gem,” you laughed.

He looked at you with a bright smile, ‘I’m pretty good at finding them.” 

You smiled at his comment and looked down at your hands, the eye contact making you nervous. Does he mean me? In the front of the car, his parents exchanged knowing looks and smiles.

“Alright.” started Charles, “We have arrived.”

The car slowed and turned onto a long driveway. There were large trees along the drive, they were the kind of trees that were planted generations ago, for someone else to enjoy. A large ranch style house came into view. It was a rusty color, complemented by the copious bushes and flowers planted in the long. This house, the one where Jake grew up, was perfect. It was so unlike the tiny house in a crowded neighborhood that you and your grandfather lived in. 

“This is beautiful,” you said.

Sadie gave her gratitude as the car parked. Jake grabbed the wheelchair and helped you get into it. 

“Thank you,” you told him.

“Anything for you”

Charles shouted from the porch, “I set up a ramp to get up the porch’

“Perfect”

“I put one in your house too”

“Oh thanks dad, that’ll make things easier”

Jake carefully wheeled you up the porch and into the house. The second that you were inside his two sisters were in front of you

“Finally! I’m so happy you’re here!” said a short blonde woman.

“Daphne calm down, you’re going to scare the poor girl away!” Exclaimed the slightly older woman, who you assumed was Anna.

Daphne stepped back slightly, giving you some room. 

“I’m Anna, and this is Daphne, the crazy one”

“I am not crazy!” Daphne protested.

Anna laughed, “tell that to Jake’s girl! You accosted her!”

The words Jake’s girl rang in your ears as your heart quickened. You were beginning to think that maybe he felt the same. Maybe the reason his family was so excited to see you was because he told them he liked you. 

Those same words were also replaying in Jake’s head. He told his family how much he liked you, but he also told them not to tell you that. He was starting to panic and worry that they were going to tell you how much he loved you and ruin everything. 

“Anyways,” Jake said, trying to get his sisters to act like normal people. “Mom said that there would be lunch”

Anna nodded. “Yes, Greg is grilling up the last of it. Jake, why don’t you go and set the table while we get to know y/n!”

“Yes, Jake! Go do that” Daphne agreed as she pushed him towards the kitchen as Jake tried protesting.

“How about a house tour while we wait?” Anna suggested.

“Um… sure” you said.

You followed them as they showed you around the ranch. They stopped at Jake’s childhood room which had been left untouched since he moved out. The room was painted a slate grey with blue accents all over. Posters of airplanes and cowboys covered the walls. 

“So,” Daphne started. “How do you feel about staying with Jake?”

You turned towards her and said, “well I am a little nervous. But he’s a gentleman so I think it’ll be good”

Anna laughed. “A gentleman? That's the first time I’ve heard him described that way”

Before she could say anything more, Greg and Jake were calling them over to eat lunch. The food was delicious and you loved talking to Jake’s family. From the moment you met his parents and sisters you couldn’t help but envy him. Sure, you loved your grandfather, but Jake was so lucky to have parents and sisters who loved him. His family and life was beautiful. You already had feelings for Jake which were making your stay with him complicated, and now your love for his family added on to it. 

But you and Jake were both getting tired. So, after lunch the two decided to leave. Charles started up the truck so he could drive you to Jake’s house. After Jake helped you into the truck his sisters were calling him back to talk. 

When Jake walked back to where his two sisters were he knew they were going to talk to him about you. 

“We really like her, Jake. You better not mess this up” Daphne told him.

Jake shook his head. “She doesn’t see me that way, I told you all that already.” “Jake Seresin, are you blind?” Anna scoffed. “That girl is head over heels in love with you!”

He glanced back at the truck where you were sitting, scrolling on your phone. A sigh escaped his lips before he returned his gaze to Anna and Daphne.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“If you don’t tell her I will” Daphne said.

Jake’s eyes opened wide. “You can’t do that!”

“Why not?” Anna asked.

“Because she’s injured and she’s staying at my house! I don’t want her to think I’m taking care of her only because I want to get in her pants or something! What if she thinks I’m trying to take advantage of her? ”

Anna and Daphne shared a look. “I guess that's true,” Anna said.

“How about we make a deal?” Daphne asked.

“What is it?”

“If you don’t tell her once she's feeling better than I get to do it”

He let out a deep sigh as he looked at his shoes, skating his head. “I should say no”

“But you’re not going to,” Anna predicted.

Jake shook Daphne’s hand, thereby sealing their deal. He then hugged them goodbye and walked towards the truck. What did I just agree to? He thought to himself as the truck started moving down the road. From the moment you agreed to come home with him he had turned into a ball of nerves, and now that his sister was determined to tell you about how he felt, his stomach was doing backflips. He wanted you more than anything in the world, but he didn’t want you hearing that from someone else. If you were finally going to be his, he wanted it to happen the right way. 

From the passenger seat he glanced back to where you were sitting. You were looking out the window at the unfamiliar Texas landscape, your attention never wavering from the trees and the bushes. Even though he’d prefer to stare at your beautiful face forever, he turned away to look at the road. The short drive to his house was almost over, meaning that you two would be alone. He would have to keep his nerves and his lust for you at bay if he was going to make it. 

“Alright you two” Charles said as he pulled into Jake’s driveway. “We are here”

“Thanks for the ride” you said

“Oh no problem.” 

Once the truck was parked the two men hopped out. Charles began unloading the bags out of the truck. Jake grabbed your wheelchair and set it up as you carefully lowered yourself out of the truck with your good arm. His hand wrapped around the side of your waist to steady you. 

“Sorry my dad’s truck is so high up” he apologized as you were steadily standing on your good leg. His hand never left your waist and his head was bent towards yours. Your breath hitched in your throat at the closeness, and you didn’t know what to say. His gaze dropped from your eyes down to your parted lips. He gently squeezed your waist and then moved his hand to hold the small of your back which ever so slightly caused you to inch closer. The sound of the truck bed closing pulled you both away from each other. 

Jake coughed as you sat in the wheelchair and took a deep breath. He grabbed a few bags from his dad and then walked up the newly installed ramp to unlock the door. Jake walked back over to push you in the house. Just like his parents, Jake owned a ranch, but his was much smaller. However, unlike his parent’s house, it wasn’t very cozy. He didn’t own very much and it was very basic and bare. You were lucky enough to have been stationed at the base in North Carolina for a couple years, so your home was cozy and lived in. But Jake clearly was stationed in different places often and was rarely home. 

You felt bad for him. It was nice to have some stability, which was very rare for people in the military. But for someone like Jake, who had a family that adored him and was anxiously waiting for him to come home, it must be hard to constantly be gone. You pushed the thoughts away as Jake beckoned you to follow him to the guest room. 

His dad was already there setting down your carry on. He said goodbye to the both of you and left the house. 

“So this is the guest room” Jake said as he scratched the back of his neck. “I know it’s pretty small but-”

“It’s great Jake. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me”

He smiled at you sweetly, like you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Because you were. His heart was beating out of his chest and every time he looked at you it got worse. You were the sun, the moon, and everything in between. 

“I’d do anything for you” he stated. He wasn’t saying this or doing all of this just to be nice or because he had some motive. Everything he was doing was simply because he wanted to take care of you. If you asked him to move a mountain he would do it without hesitation or complaint.

His words, which were said so matter-of-fact, made your stomach knot together. Your breaths became shallow under his warm gaze. He truly was too handsome and too kind for your own good. So unlike the cocky, and selfish pilot you met him as. 

He finally broke eye contact to show you the closet, as well as the rest of the house. His room was just a tiny walk down the hall. It was made clear that if you needed anything at all, he would get it. All you had to do was say his name and he’d be there by your side.

Once again, you thanked him, and he told you that he’d do it a thousand times over. Your face was burning hot when he told you that he was going to get changed and make some dinner. You decided to take a bath while you waited and used an old crutch Jake had found from when he was in high school to make your way to the bathroom. As you ran the bath, you unloaded your little toiletry bag and wrapped your casts in bags. Carefully you lowered yourself and took the time to relax and compose yourself before you would face him again. 

It had only been one day with him and already you knew you wouldn’t last. All you could think about was his smile, and his hair. But what kept your breath ragged and your heart quick was the way that he was so gentle and tender, the way his strong arms held you when you needed it. The way that his breath fanned against your neck earlier that day outside the truck. It was all too much, and you were sure you would burst into a million sparks. 

Jake went into the kitchen after he had changed into fresh clothing. He opened his fridge and cabinets and found groceries that his mother no doubt bought for him. As he grabbed ingredients to make tacos he made a mental note to text her a thank you note he heard the bath running from the bathroom. His eyes fluttered shut as he imagined you soaking in the tub with nothing but suds covering you. Gripping the counter to steady himself, he took a deep breath and cursed himself out. If he was going to do this the right way then he had to control the way the curves of your body made his mind wander. 

He was almost done with the tacos when the bathroom door opened. Quickly, he glanced over to see you carefully limping to the guest room in the tiniest shorts known to man. His jaw fell slack and it took him a few moments to remember his vow to be gentlemanly. 

“Are you all good?” he asked, trying to remember you were here because you were injured, not because he was going to ravage you.

You reached the door and told him you were all good and that you were just going to put away your clothes. He let you know that dinner would be done in about five minutes. This meant that he had five minutes to get his mind under control. He took deep breaths as he focused on warming up the soft taco shells. 

The noise of a chair loudly skidding across the kitchen floor told him that you were sitting down at the table. He set down everything needed to assemble the tacos on the table and then grabbed you both waters as you made yourself tacos. As you dug in you made the most delicious noise that Jake had ever heard in his life. 

“Mmm” you moaned. “This might just be one of the best tacos I have ever had in my life”

Jake clenched his jaw as he watched you lick your lips. “Why thank you darling”

You smiled at the nickname and felt butterflies. He took a bite of the food, hoping to distract himself from the fact that he would much rather be eating you. But absolutely nothing could get his mind off of everything he wanted to do with you.

This was going to be the hardest couple months of his life….

Sooooo…. I'm not going to spoil anything. But the next chapter is going to be so good. The feelings are going to start simmering more… :)

[glitterguts13]

Honkia star rail boys with a baby stuck in their pussy! (I love how you did this with the genshin boys)

The long-awaited part 2 is here!

Argenti There certainly was nothing beautiful about this situation. He'd kept a calm, clear head for the last 12 hours, but Argenti just can't find the last amount of strength needed to push this baby out. Each try leaves the head bulging from his aching pussy, but always slipping right back inside of him when he gasps for air.

Arlan The medical staff on the space station are second to none. Arlan expects them to help but...with the baby not showing any signs of distress, they don't have any reason to intervene. One nurse on each side, holding his legs so far back he worries his hips might break, he's left only able to struggle with pushing his unborn child to crown before it slips right back.

Aventurine Has he not suffered enough? The IPC medical staff seem more annoyed than anything, sharing irritated glances and reminding him over and over he has to push. Hard. It just isn't doing anything! He can feel them right there, large head keeping him stretched open, but no amount of pushing makes it budge.

Blade Is so very close to just cutting them out with his sword. It isn't like he'll die from it after all. Stubborn baby, resting right in his swollen cunt and ripping him open, only to refuse to come out all the way when it matters most.

Boothill There's a deep panic in his chest, head pounding with effort as his lungs feel full of fire. He has to get them out. He'd known people to die in childbirth back home, and he'd heard the cries of mothers holding their stillborn babies. He's lost one child already, he can't handle the idea of not being able to bring his second child safely into the world.

Dan Heng/Lunae The rest of the Astral Express crew are sleeping peaceful while he struggles alone in his room. His fingers brushed over the damp head of his stubborn child. Squatting low, he prays gravity will do the worst of the work for him, but he's finding it isn't helping at all. His baby is stuck, refusing to do more than peek out of his dripping pussy, the very real terror of having the call for help sinking in.

Dr. Ratio Did every bit of research he could do before his child was born. Versed himself in all the risks, tricks and tactics used to help bring newborns safely into the world. He's certain he can do so, on his own and better than any medical professional. However, as he's sprawled on his back, gasping for air, womb still full with child, he can't figure out what he's doing wrong. Why won't they come out? They don't seem to be stuck, but...no amount of pushing is making any progress.

Gallagher He told himself it was a bad idea. He was far too old for this shit...but...maybe leaving behind a piece of himself wasn't the worst idea. Well, that was before he was left bow-legged behind his bar, his baby's thick head stuck in his cunt, refusing to budge another millimeter no matter how hard he bore down. Luckily, being in a dream meant no 'real' danger...but it also meant no real help either.

Gepard His sisters are right by his side, offering all the help they can. Lynx has plenty of emergency medical training and had attended classes on childbirth in the past, but learning about something and doing it are very different things. Seeing her stoic brother wailing in agony, crying and pleading for her or Serval to do something, broke her heart. Writhing in pain, the sisters watch helplessly as their niece stubbornly stays lodged in Gepard's burning pussy.

Jiaoqiu There had been a few instances over his many years as a healer where he'd been called in to assist in delivering a baby. Doing it himself, however, was a much different task. The burn in his cunt was indescribable, he can feel his baby wiggling unhappily in his birth canal, but no amount of pushing was dislodging them.

Jing Yuan He'd tired, so very tired. The best healers and medics on the Loufu were attending him, sharing worried looks as each push grew more and more weak. The baby was there, he can feel them opening him up with each struggle, but always retreating back inside the safety of his pussy.

Luka After nearly two hours of pushing, Luka knows he isn't making any progress on his own. With the baby crowning in his cunt, he struggles through back alleys as he limps his way to Natasha's clinic.

Luocha Using the coffin he carries as an anchor, he squats, deep and low. Each push causes his dripping pussy to squelch, the head just barely peeking through, before sliding right back into place inside his womb.

Misha Sobbing and gagging on spit and bile, Misha feels as if his hips are cracking open, his tight cunt being torn open as his baby stays firmly stuck right at full crown. Each push and squeeze leaves him feeling more and more hopeless.

Sampo Maybe this was just another joke Aha was playing on him. One hand cupped the head sticking from his pussy, the other pressing down on his rock-hard belly, trying to force them from his womb and into the world.

Sunday Dignity stripped away, legs held open for the other family heads to see, Sunday sobs. Labor had dragged on for days, and each failed push earned him another disapproving sigh and scoff. The midwives are standing nearby, watching, ordered to not touch unless Sunday's light was in danger. It isn't, but he feels like death as his unborn baby refuses to leave the safety of his womb. Welt Much like Dan Heng, Welt closes himself inside of his room. He knows it's time, his baby is right there, teasing him with the relief of being born, but refusing to leave his exhausted form. Yanqing This feels like one final test of his strength, and he feels like he's failing. His baby is just too big, and his hips too narrow. The head is right there, but no matter how far back the midwives pull his legs, or how hard they push on his aching tummy, nothing moves his baby any further.