#i need to reduce the word limit

[angelsaxis]

whyyyy are editors so expensive

[sinnettini]

god give me the strength 🫠🫠🫠

[mariasont]

Early seasons Spencer’s gf joining the team and quickly realizing just how used to Spencer she is bc the rest of the team’s reactions to him are so different from hers

Cinnamon Sticks - S.R

a/n: obsessed with the idea of baby spencie having a gf who just gets him while he's still an awkward, nerdy little genius! thanks for requesting bestie so sorry it took so long i am the worst LOL

masterlist

pairings: early!seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, secret relationship, relationship being exposed bc these two are just so in love

wc: 1.7k

Garcia burst into the bullpen like some sort of whirlwind that was painted in neon, her scarf fluttering behind her almost like a cape. She juggled a precariously full cup of coffee, while her phone teetered between ear and shoulder as if testing the limits of human dexterity.

"I swear to all that is holy, if my life doesn't slow down in the next five minutes--"

The sentence derailed as she misjudged her pace, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup. She stopped abruptly, her arms a flurry of motion, but not quick enough to stop the scalding liquid from spilling over and searing her fingers.

"Oh, fantastic! Just what I needed!" she huffed, waving her hand like it might stop the sting.

She threw herself into the closest chair with a huff, slumping back and fixing the coffee cup with a murderous glare, like this was just another tally in a long line of grievances.

Your eyes darted up from your work, only for a moment, enough to confirm what you already knew. You hadn't been working here long, but it was long enough to recognize the phenomenon that was Garcia: a blur of motion and words, mid-rant before anyone had the chance to catch up. It was like clockwork really.

You risked a glance across the desk at Spencer, who was so absorbed in his notebook it was a wonder he even remembered to breathe. If Garcia's antics registered as white noise to anyone, it was him. But then, almost like he had a radar for being watched, he looked up, catching your gaze.

His eyebrows lifted into a subtle what can you do? expression, and you couldn't help but smile back.

That was the thing about Spencer. He had this uncanny knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking, almost as if he had a cheat sheet for your brain. And maybe he did--like his brain worked three times faster than everyone else's in the room (which, let's face it, it definitely did). But instead of that being intimidating, it was oddly reassuring.

"At this rate, I'm one bad email away from alphabetizing my entire pantry for stress relief."

Spencer's notebook hit the desk, and there it was--the shift. His shoulders drew back, face lighting up--the kind of thing that signaled his mini-lecture was incoming.

"Organizing your pantry is actually a practical stress management technique. By categorizing items, you create a structured environment that reduces decision fatigue. Its why people feel calmer in tidy spaces, it's psychological."

Morgan held up a hand. "Psychological, huh? Sounds like you’re just trying to justify your weird love affair with labels, pretty boy.”

“Don’t forget,” you added absently, flipping a page in your report, “it also saves time when you’re cooking. I think you called it practical efficiency."

The words slipped out without much thought, but as soon as they did, the bullpen stilled. You glanced up, heart sinking as you saw every face turned in your direction.

Morgan’s grin was the first thing you notice--wide and knowing, stretching across his face. He tilted his head, eyes bouncing between you and Spencer like he was putting pieces together in real time.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sitting forward with a gleam in his eye. “Did you just quote him? Like, word for word?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “What? No. I mean—maybe. I don’t know.”

“Pretty sure you did,” Morgan shot back, smirking. “Man, what else has he been teaching you? You got the periodic table memorized too?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, please. If you’ve been around Spencer long enough, you’re bound to pick up a few things. He’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

“Well,” Spencer said, his head tilting slightly as he spoke, “your cinnamon sticks always end up at the back of your pantry. That’s why I figured you might appreciate the idea of organizing by use frequency. Like I said, practical efficiency.”

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew he’d made a tactical error.

Garcia gasped, her eyes lighting up like she’d just been handed the juiciest piece of gossip of her life. 

“Oh. My. God. Spencer Reid, how exactly do you know what the back of her pantry looks like?”

You froze, rooted to the spot as the realization hit you like a cartoon anvil. This was bad.

Spencer’s expression mirrored yours for half a second—wide-eyed panic—but he quickly scrambled for an answer. 

“It’s, um… a logical assumption,” he stammered, his fingers toying with the pen in his hand, a nervous tell he couldn’t quite suppress. “Spices like cinnamon sticks always seem to migrate to the back of the pantry unless there’s an intentional system in place.”

Morgan let out a long, low whistle, rocking back in his chair with enough force to make it creak. His grin was insufferably smug, the kind that practically begged for something to be thrown at him. 

“Nice save. But I don’t think Garcia’s buying it.”

Garcia tapped her chin, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, no, no, no. This is too good. I mean, logical assumption my fabulous behind! Cinnamon sticks in the back of her pantry? Really? What’s next? A detailed analysis of how she stacks her cereal boxes?”

You laughed, though it sounded more like a bark than anything natural. “You’re all reading way too much into this. Spencer just knows weirdly specific things about, well, everything. That’s kind of his thing, remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Garcia hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, genius, I’ll let it slide this time. But I’m watching you.”

“Please don’t,” Spencer muttered under his breath, earning a round of laughter from the team.

Garcia spent a solid ten minutes in full interrogation mode after that, her eyes narrowing with each and every pointed question she lobbed your way. Morgan, of course, was no help. He leaned back, grinning like a kid with a front-row seat to the circus, his smirk practically screaming that he knew they were this close to striking a nerve.

Spencer and you had been so careful. You'd been dating long before you joined the BAU, but the moment Hotch had called to offer you the position, you both knew you'd have to keep things under wraps. Dating a coworker was one thing; dating Spencer Reid, a genius with an accidentally too-honest mouth, was an entirely different challenge.

You hadn't expected it to be this hard, though. Keeping the secret wasn't the worst part--it was pretending he wasn't the center of your universe every time you walked into the room. It was keeping your hands to yourself when all you wanted to do was smooth out the messy strands of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was biting your tongue when someone interrupted his long-winded tangents because the truth was, you loved hearing him talk.

The hours stretched on, and the bullpen slowly thinned out. Garcia was the first to leave, blowing a kiss to the room. Morgan left soon after, pausing to flash you one last grin before disappearing. Even Prentiss packed up for the night, muttering something about needed an extra shot of espresso tomorrow morning.

"You handled that well."

You looked up from your report to find Spencer by your desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other skimming lightly along the edge of the divider. His expression was surprisingly soft, almost bashful, as though he had been waiting to get you alone.

"Handled that well?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You were the one who almost blew it, Spencer. Cinnamon sticks? Really?"

He smiled, lips twitching upward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'll admit that wasn't my most subtle moment. But in my defense, they do end up at the back of most pantries."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. 

"We're lucky Garcia got distracted. If she'd pushed any harder..." Your voice drifted into a soft sigh. "That could've been bad."

"That was a close one."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt a little more substantial, if that was the word, filled with that soft ache that always bloomed in your chest when he was near. 

Spencer stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of your desk. His body angled toward you, like even when you weren’t touching, he couldn’t help but gravitate toward you.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I don’t think she actually suspects anything. But we should probably be more careful.”

"Probably," you replied, drawing out the word in a teasing, sing-song tone. “Unless you’d rather keep showing off how ridiculously well you know me.”

His cheeks flushed a soft pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, that shy, boyish smile—the one that always made you a little breathless—spread across his lips.

"That's going to be hard," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I noticed a lot about you."

The words hit you like they always did--soft enough, but with the force of a thousand butterflies taking flight in your chest. You could feel the flush creeping up to your neck, and you mentally cursed him for how easily he was able to do this to you.

"You're lucky I like you."

His smile widened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way they only came out at specific moments. Like when he successfully performed a card trick for the team or when he stumbled across an original copy of a book at a library sale. 

The same one you'd seen when he talked about his mom on her good days, or when you asked him on a date. 

You leaned forward. "And since I like you, any chance you'd want to kiss me right now?"

"How could I not, with you looking at me like that?"

The angle was clumsy--your chair too low, his frame leaning awkwardly over--but all of that melted away the second his hands found your face. His thumbs brushed soft circles against the place where your cheek met your jaw.

His lips were soft against yours at first, testing, before growing firmer, more sure. The kind of confidence that came with a hundred familiar kisses before. 

Time seemed to slow, or at least for you it did, the rest of the world nonexistent.

The sound of a throat clearing broke the spell, and you jerked back from Spencer, your chair wobbling slightly as you turned toward the sound. You immediately regretted it--your lips felt swollen, your face hot, and there was Prentiss, leaning against the doorframe.

"We were... uh, testing something," you blurted, avidly avoiding eye contact. "You know, like... oxygen exchange! For scientific purposes."

Spencer blinked, then mumbled, "Oxygen exchange? That's the best you got?"

"Shut it," you hissed through gritted teeth, not daring to look at him.

Prentiss arched a brow. "Relax, lovebirds. If this is your idea of scientific research, I'll make sure Garcia doesn't find out. You're welcome."

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[luciality]

maddie who has worked her whole life to repress her need for mommy to pay attention to her:

allie who is willing to give her attention but only for kinky sex and only if she's a very good girl:

maddie who is a very good girl:

[greengoblinswifey]

Off Limits

pairing— stepdad!in-ho x stepdaughter!reader

summary— since in-ho has married your mother, you’ve had him wrapped around your finger and your pussy wrapped around his cock—but lately, he’d been neglecting you in favor of her. you get his attention in the only way you know how, making him jealous.

warnings— minors DNI. age gap(19, early 50s) jealousy, spanking, face fucking, daddy kink, katoptronophilia, choking, hair pulling, cock worship, orgasm denial, begging, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— i feel like after this you guys can tell i have daddy issues but enjoy! requests for stepdad!in-ho are open.

You had spent the last few weeks feeling almost restless. Ever since In-ho started spending less time at home, and more with your mother at the request of wanting to hang out with her husband more, your usual interactions had been reduced to fleeting glances at dinner and quickies when he finally managed to slip away. He was distant and when he wasn’t with your mother—he was occupied with his mysterious occupation and you hated how much you noticed. How much you missed him. But you weren’t the type to sit around sulking. If he was going to ignore you, you’d make sure he regretted it.

Sure, you had no right to be jealous. He was your mother’s husband. No one told you to go fuck your stepfather, of course he’d start spending time with his own wife instead.

So when a popular frat boy from your university asked you out, again—you finally said yes. Not because you liked him, but because you knew it would get a reaction from In-ho.

Getting ready, you chose the skimpiest two piece outfit you owned. The fabric clung to your body in all the right places, the skirt riding just high enough to show your ass cheeks and your thong strings were on your hips. You knew exactly what you were doing when you stepped out of your room.

He was there, standing in the hallway, watching you with an unreadable expression. His gaze dragged over your figure, slowly, before settling on your face.

“Where are you going?” His voice was calm, but there was something sharp underneath it.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a date,” you smirked, tilting your head.

His jaw tensed. “Go back inside and change that sorry excuse of an outfit. You aren’t going anywhere.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, not happening.”

He exhaled through his nose, something dark flickering in his gaze, but he didn’t say another word. You walked past him without looking back.

The date was fine. The guy was charming, a little full of himself, but he paid for dinner and made you laugh a couple of times. Still, your mind was elsewhere. And when he dropped you back home, you made sure to lean in and kiss him on the cheek before stepping out of the car.

As you turned to walk inside, you threw one last glance over your shoulder. “You know, you’re free to touch if you’d like,” you said playfully, knowing full well a certain someone would be watching.

The guy grinned, slapping your ass and biting his lip before driving off. He hadn’t gotten any pussy but he definitely scored that night.

You didn’t need to turn around to know In-ho was there, standing just inside the house, waiting. The door clicked shut behind you, locking you in with the storm brewing in his gaze.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. Maybe you had pushed too far.

“What the hell was that?” His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the irritation beneath it.

You rolled your eyes and moved to push past him. “Isn’t my mother waiting for you?” you said, asked.

Before you could take another step, his hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not painful. “It’s just us right now,” he said, his voice heavier.

You tried to yank your arm away, glaring up at him. “Let me go.”

His jaw tightened. “You’ve been a brat all night,” he muttered. His gaze dropped briefly, taking in your outfit again, and his grip tensed just slightly. “And you really walked out of here wearing this? For him?”

You scoffed, looking anywhere but at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “You think I didn’t see you? Letting that kid put his hands on your ass like that?”

You lifted your chin, crossing your arms. “And?”

That muscle in his jaw twitched. He let go of your wrist only to grab you again, firmer this time, pulling you toward the bedroom.

“Hey—” you started, trying to dig your heels into the floor, but he was stronger.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, kicking the door shut behind you. “You’ve been running your mouth all night.”

You shoved at his arm, cursing under your breath. “This is ridiculous.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you forward over his lap. You gasped, trying to push up, but his hand pressed against the small of your back.

“In-ho—”

“You went out with that little boy wearing nothing but a thong?” he asked, lifting the hem of your skirt, scoffing. “Figures.”

You squirmed. “Let me go.”

“You know the drill.” His voice was calm, almost amused. “Count.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sharp sting that followed had you sucking in a breath instead.

“One.”

Another.

“T-two.”

His hand came down again, this time a bit harder. “I’m sorry,” you whined.

He scoffed, smoothing his hand over your burning ass. “Sorry who?”

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

It clearly wasn’t enough for him as his hand came down once more.

By the time he reached fifteen, your breath was shaky, and your ass tingled with heat.

He exhaled, running a hand over your ass before finally letting you go. You sat up quickly, glaring at him through glassy eyes.

He smirked, leaning back slightly. “That little stunt of yours was cute.”

You huffed, wiping your eyes. “S-shut up.”

Still, the way he was looking at you made it clear—he knew you weren’t going to pull something like that again.

You pouted, the look on your face making his resolve falter. “Can you hold me? Please daddy.”

He wanted nothing more than to scoop you into his arms and tell you all was well but you needed to learn. He tilted your chin, meeting your watery, pouty gaze. “When you’ve learned to be a good girl but you’re not there yet.”

He undid his belt, his hard cock springing free and you immediately knew what you had to do.

“Get on your knees, worship this cock and show me exactly how sorry you are.”

You nodded, getting on his knees to place a soft kiss on his tip, murmuring, “I love how perfect you are.” Your lips traced a slow path on his shaft, and you could feel his gaze on you. “So big daddy,” you whispered, your words a mix of praise and awe. You knew he liked hearing it, the way his jaw tightened and his fingers threaded through your curls told you so.

“Shut up,” he said, his tone more commanding now. “I don't need you to tell me, you're going to show me.”

Your lips parted, and you took him in your mouth, your gaze flicking up to meet his. His hand tightened in your curls, guiding you to remind you who was in control. “That's it, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Keep going, just like that.”

You continued, your focus entirely on him, feeling his quiet approval in the way his cock throbbed, though his hand remained firmly in your hair. He let out a soft moan, “You're doing so good for me,” he murmured, his words making your pussy throb. “Sometimes you can be a good girl.”

You glided your tongue along his length, your voice barely above a whisper as you said, “I love making you feel good, daddy.” Your fingers traced gentle patterns on his balls, adding to the warmth of your affection.

You took him deep into your throat, gagging as you did but it only turned him on. His grip on your curls remained, pushing your head down then thrusting when you got too comfortable. You swirled your tongue around his shaft, saliva and pre cum dripping down your chin, and you made sure your eyes looked up at him, full of admiration as he fucked your face.

“Such a beautiful fucking slut for your daddy,” he moaned. He began thrusting faster, ready to shoot his load down your throat. “Get ready, and you're going to swallow every drop.” You hummed in response, the vibration sending him over the edge and he pushed your head all the way down until your nose touched his pelvis. His cum shot down your throat and you swallowed every drop like the good girl you aimed to be.

He pulled you off him by your hair, his breath shaky, cock twitching.

“I’d eat your pussy but you don’t deserve that right now.” You pouted at his words. “Get on the bed. Face down, ass up. Move.”

You obeyed, biting your lip as you crawled onto the bed, positioning yourself as he instructed. Your heart raced as you glanced at the mirror in front of the bed, where you could see the reflection of the both of you. In-ho stood behind you, his intense gaze fixed on you as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the muscles of his torso.

He tore your skirt and your thong off, then your skimpy top followed. His smirk was almost cruel, his hands brushing along the curve of your now bare ass as he positioned himself behind you.

“You're going to behave now, aren't you, sweetie?” he murmured. “Or do I need to remind you who's in charge?”

You rolled your eyes and he slapped your ass in response, making you yelp. He didn't hesitate, gripping your waist tightly before plunging into you with a force that left you screaming. Your face buried into the pillow instinctively, but his low, commanding voice brought you back.

“No,” he growled, his fingers tightening around your hips. “Look at yourself. Look at what happens when you act out. Watch me punish you."”

You turned your head toward the mirror, catching sight of him in all his glory. His dark eyes met yours in the reflection, a look of dominance swirling in them.

“That's fucking right,” he said, slamming into you harder, making your entire body jolt. “Don't you dare look away.”

Your breath hitched as his pace quickened, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “Daddy, I'm sorry,” you cried, your voice trembling.

“Too bad.” he said sharply, his lips curving into a smirk. “You've been a brat and a damn whore all night. You don't get to apologize now.”

His rhythm didn't relent, his grip firm as he hit that spot inside you that made you tremble uncontrollably. “You're enjoying this way too much," he murmured, his tone almost teasing as he noticed the way your pussy soaked his cock.

He could feel the way you clenched around him and he grabbed your throat, pulling you back to his chest.

“You wanna cum for daddy? Yeah?” he asked.

“Yes, daddy,” you sobbed. “P-please let me cum. I promise I’ll be good.”

He chuckled darkly, shoving you back down into the mattress, your face pressed into it. “Beg me, scream for me. Tell me how sorry you are.”

The overwhelming urge to cum was so much, you couldn’t hold back the words that tumbled from your lips even if you tried.

“Please daddy! Please, let me cum. I- I’m so sorry! I won’t be a brat anymore, I swear. Please, wanna cum s-so bad,” you cried, your voice breaking into a pathetic sob.

You could feel the way his cock throbbed inside you at your words. He pulled you back by your neck, your gaze locked on him in the mirror.

“You’ve earned it, baby. Cum for daddy, soak my cock.”

His words were all you needed, your body shook in his arms, and your orgasm took ahold of you. Babbling incoherent words, you squirted, the sensation so intense that his cum spurted deep inside your pussy. He pressed your face into the bed, moaning loudly as he fucked his cum into you and rode out his high. When he was satisfied, he collapsed onto the bed, laying kisses all over your face as he tried to ground you.

In-ho exhaled as he stood up, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment before returning with a warm cloth. He crouched down beside you, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wiped your face, brushing away the dampness on your cheeks then cleaned between your legs. His fingers lingered for a moment, thumb grazing your cheek.

“What’s really wrong, sweetie?” His voice had softened now, no longer edged with frustration.

You pouted, crossing your arms. “You’ve been spending so much time with mom,” you muttered, barely meeting his gaze. “I feel alone.”

He sighed, shaking his head as he sat beside you. “You don’t have to be jealous or seek attention from some little boy to get a reaction out of me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him. “You’re the one I want. You know that.”

Your defenses crumbled at his words, and without thinking, you buried your face into the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close, stroking your hair and your back.

“Good girl,” he murmured, running his hand down your back in soothing strokes. “You know I’m yours regardless.” His lips brushed the top of your head. “And you’re mine. My princess, my baby girl.”

You exhaled, finally relaxing against him as he held you, warm and a bit—fatherly, exactly where you wanted to be.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @chrisgetsmewetter @namsgyu @pillowtalk6 @namelesslosers @verouys @megangovier @torasgfreal @badasoneandonly @nicholaschavezslut69 @cathers-world @hisokasimp1 @matcham1lk @blushlaced

[sungiescheotluv]

mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would’ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more. 

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes. “It’s another form of self-love. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, try new things and ultimately, live a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel. 

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad. 

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance. 

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.” 

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad. 

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone. 

Ill with lust, as you’d joke. 

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny. 

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.” 

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

[helluvapoison]

jealousy, jealousy

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: violence, off page murdah, suggestive themes, possessive behavior

18+ only

watch out for red flags in real life and read at your own discretion ♡

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The least jealous of the three, but that doesn’t say much, does it?

• Running an enterprise goes hand in hand with being an Overlord. Vox prides himself on being everywhere at once but he knows his limits. If wants to keep this cushy life he built, and you safe, he can’t spread himself too thin. That means occasionally cutting back on distractions

• So go out, have your fun— playtoys even! He’s not worried. Vox has literal eyes on you 24/7, access to your phone and all its contents, your lifeline is constantly synced to his peripherals. Really! He’s not worried!

• The problem arises when Vox feels threatened or undermined. If he’s in the same room, no one should even be looking at you! And if some sorry soul dared to touch you!? That’d be the last time they have hands

• “I’ve been looking for you!” He says from behind as his claws creep around your shoulders. He’ll ignore the Sinner, bringing your attention to him as security drags them away. You don’t need to know how jealous he can get

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Sharing, shockingly, is not in her vocabulary! Not outfits, not credit, not the spotlight and fucking especially not you

• You’re her favorite project, she so lovingly calls you, which is a giant compliment. She dresses you every day so if— for some hellish reason— you left her side, she knows she has a visual claim on you. Vel quickly snaps and posts a pic of the two of you together before you go, just to remind her audience the fact you’re spoken for! Don’t you feel safe? And stylish?

• Unlike her partners, Velvette can multitask so having you around the studio can be an everyday treat! Unfortunately she has to split her focus, occasionally crashing the conversation to a stop so she can snap at someone

• Her eyes are sharp, they pick up on every little detail and seldom miss a thing. No one in her workshop would even think about approaching you, unless Vel asked, so it was all too easy to spot that new-nobody-model break his neck to check you out

• You’ve seen Velvette reduce even the oldest, most thick skinned to a puddle of piss in the street with her words. She doesn’t give anyone the chance to touch what’s hers. She’s shameless and loud, stopping the inappropriate behavior from across the room if she has to, “Oy! You! You’re fuckin’ fired, get the fuck out of here ‘fore I set you on fire!”

• As they run for the elevator, she debates if the clothes they’re wearing are worth keeping or not. With a glowing finger she swipes them off the model anyways, stripping them of her brand… and their dignity

• Velvette marks the occasion with a kiss to your cheek, stained with black lipstick, and another posted picture with a clever caption

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Val invented jealousy

• He handles it as well as everyone expects

• It’s not limited to you, either! Business partners, employees, friends (if he has any left), play things, he’ll be up and arms about anything that belongs to him. There’s only one way to cut the cord tethered to him, and he’s always the one to decide how and when

• Val may have a lot of toys but you’re not one of them. You’re special— precious, actually!

• He has tabs on you at all times. Tracker in your phone, jewelry with his name on it, a bodyguard if he’s feeling particularly paranoid that day!

• Val also loves showing you off. Love bites are his favorite mark of ownership, he’ll show off wherever is most recent so be prepared to swat his hands away. Everyone can look, but only he can touch. He has four hands, one of them is on you at all times in public

• No one should manage to get in spitting distance of you— but if somehow they did and had the gall to talk to you… he’ll break their nose on the spot. He’d make quicker work with a gun, but then he’d get blood on you and he doesn’t want that

• “You’re so fuckin’ hot tonight, baby, look how clumsy you’ve made this idiot!” Val cackles, poorly masking his rage, “Seriously, I think you’re trying to get me riled up.” You open your mouth to deny it but he laughs again, carefully pulling you closer with both pairs of arms, “I’m only teasing!”

• Looming over you, Val shoots said idiot a murderous glare that gives them a five second head start. He’s yet to lose this game of chase. He always returns, clean as a crappy soap ad, to shower you in gifts in lieu of an apology for disappearing

[dilfsfordinner]

“Mi amor- ngh, a- ha-” Miguel’s voice was reduced to nothing but ragged syllables slurred together, groans spilling from his lips as he bullied into your now raw and sore cunt.

Scarlet eyes were glued to your face, watching as you writhed beneath him, droplets of sweat sliding down your flushed neck, your eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows drawn up, mouth releasing little pants and moans of his name.

“Y/n- ay carajo-” he choked out, his large hand cupping your cheek to pull your attention back to him, “look at me.” With fluttering eyelashes, your watering eyes opened to latch onto him, a light groan leaving his lips at the look on your face, your expression the effect of his very targeted pace. His hips continued to snap into yours, your knees bent to cradle his shoulders, thighs pressing against your chest in a mangled hold.

Your husband wasn’t someone one would call careful, especially when it came to himself, but with you waiting for him at home he found it his personal duty to always make his way back to you. His recent mission had gone awry and he found himself hanging on the edge between life and death, the image of you in his mind his only motivation to keep pushing, and when he did come back home, you were immediately subject to his burning hunger, his need to protect and prove to himself you were safe only satiable through the form of intimacy you both loved most.

You had been in all sorts of positions already, your current being the favorite, your pliant body bent basically in half to take him. His heavy cock continued to stretch your insides to the limit, every vein lining his shaft catching on the ribs of your walls to ignite hot, blinding pleasure throughout your body.

“Araña, Migs- s’too much,” you panted, your eyes looking down to where you connected, your most sensitive area now red and practically gleaming in your shared liquids, cunt literally sucking him in, skin wrapped taut around his shaft as he pumped in and out. You couldn’t help admire him as he took you, his skin glistening with sweat; his dark hair messy, stray pieces sticking to his forehead; his muscles rippling from exertion, pure strength lining his arms as they cradled you.

“I know-” Miguel whispered, his fingers carding through your hair as he kissed along your neck, “Corazón.. I know you can take it for me.” With his sweet words, he upped the intensity, strong legs aligned with the backs of your thighs as he pushed into you, his thick cock now completely sheathed in you. It was a feeling like none other, some pain mixing with your pleasure to enhance your senses, your lips letting out little cries as he thrusted into you, his cock visible underneath the sheet of skin covering your belly.

His movements seemed endless, every ushered word and tender kiss infinite, the only end you ever felt being the snap of pleasure in your core accompanied by a surge of thick liquid filling you, a heavy body collapsing atop your own. Miguel wasn’t careful, no, but when it came to you, he found his apathy slowly turning upside down into the pounding desire to protect and provide.

—————————————————————————

—————————————————————————

mi amor- my love

ay carajo- oh fuck

araña- spider

corazón- sweetheart

[chaisshitposts]

𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇-𝐊 / 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐅𝐒 + 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆

what is psych-k? •°. *࿐

according to the psych-k frequently asked questions, PSYCH-K, "is a proven and safe way to change subconscious beliefs that perpetuate old habits of thinking and behaving that you would like to change."^1 dumbing it down, you are using psych-k to tap into your subconscious and conscious simultaneously, rewiring your brain with a single affirmation. and while doing this, you may begin to have a rush of negative, limiting thoughts, but instead of pushing them away in frustration, you will invite them in. think of it like this... you are the teacher and your affirmation is a brand-new lecture. you're standing at the front of the room in front of many desks, all filled with 'students' aka your thoughts, emotions, etc. as you are 'lecturing' (repeating this affirmation over and over and over) the 'students' begin to disrupt you with hurtful words or overall trying to debate with your 'lecture'. how do you handle this? you continue to 'lecture', you can continue to listen to your 'students', and eventually, the 'students' will quiet down until there's complete silence and that's when your 'lecture' has started to implement its knowledge into your 'students'.

how does psych-k work? •°. *࿐

"PSYCH-K® is a unique process, having evolved from years of brain research and thousands of sessions with individuals and groups. It creates a receptive, “Whole-Brain State” that dramatically reduces unwanted resistance to change in the subconscious mind. The subconscious can be accessed in a way analogous to a personal computer. PSYCH-K® works as a kind of ‘mental keyboard’ — a user-friendly method of communicating with the subconscious mind that is simple, direct, and verifiable."^2

has there been scientific research on psych k? •°. *࿐

absolutely. if you'd like to read more about this, you can go here and download the various articles and give them a quick read.

how does psych-k differ from other methods as well as other healing techniques such as meditation? •°. *࿐

if you're looking for a thorough answer to this question, feel free to look at this for reference as it better explains the answer to this question in its entirety. the bottom line, however, is that this technique is just as important as others and is not meant to replace any other methods, it is simply another addition. many healing techniques will depend on outside sources of the person, such as a psychologist, hypnotist, or anyone with similar titles. however, psych-k will depend on the inner-workings of those who are performing it, psych-k simply provides the tools and you, the one who is getting into this 'whole brain state' are the one actually doing all of the work. you will be the one taking apart your limiting beliefs and replacing them with whatever you truly desire.

will it benefit me? •°. *࿐

PSYCH-K, "[...] enables you to communicate with your subconscious mind so you can change beliefs that are limiting your self-esteem, relationships, job performance, even your physical health…and much more! PSYCH-K® is popularly characterized as a spiritual process with psychological and physical benefits. While the term “psych” is often used as an abbreviation for “psychology,” in our case it is used as a variant spelling of the word psyche, meaning “mind,” “soul,” or “spirit.” The letter “K” represents the Key to sustainable success."^3

why should i test out the psych method? •°. *࿐

just like anything else, you do not need to try this out, however, what do you have to lose? the results may shock you.

can anyone do the psych-k technique? •°. *࿐

absolutely anyone can do the psych-k, it is not limited to any particular group of people, and it can effect people differently depending on how they use it.

how do i do psych-k? •°. *࿐

there are many videos on YouTube that will provide a visual guide of instructions on how to do it, however, this is the video that I use and I highly recommend that you watch the entire video to get a logical understanding of what's happening (if you prefer logical info like I do). and if you're having trouble figuring out how to position your hands, watch this video as well. I'd also like to mention that if you're unsure of which side of your brain has more resistance to a new belief, set yourself a timer for 5 minutes and do psych-k with your left ankle crossed over your right and your left hand crossed over your right. after the timer goes off, switch your right ankle to cross over your left, and your right hand to cross over your left. a l s o, if you decide to have resistance against this method bc or any method in general (bc you're stubborn perhaps), take the time to do psych-k and affirm that all methods work for you, boom, fuckin' foolproof.

can i use psych-k to manifest anything i desire? •°. *࿐

yes, yes you can, you're changing your beliefs right in the moment, there are no fuckin' limits unless you create those limits for yourself.

can i use psych k to enter the void state? •°. *࿐

yes, you can do anything you want with psych-k. @urgurljodie has a bit more information on this, but, i am aware that they sent an ask to someone and stated that while doing psych-k you should affirm that you're in the void state/in the void etc.

how do i know if I'm doing it right? •°. *࿐

there's no need to overcomplicate this, don't fear the replacement. simply sit down, get into position as instructed in the videos provided above, and follow their words. stay in the psych-k position for as long as needed, repeating your new belief over and over, invite the resistance in, and simply keep thinking this new thought until you no longer feel resistance towards your new belief. you'll know if you did it right, promise. may sound unbelievable at first, but again, what do you have to lose?

can i combine psych-k with the laws of manifestation? •°. *࿐

absolutely, use any affirmations you want.

do i have to do psych k to eliminate limiting beliefs? •°. *࿐

nope! this is simply just another method of sorts, you don't need to try anything you don't want to. no one is forcing this shit down your throat...

notes •°. *࿐

i'd recommend this technique that combines psychology and kinesiology to anyone and everyone who thinks they are struggling to build new beliefs or manifest their dream lives. the worse that could happen is that it doesn't work or it just takes you a little longer to replace the programming in your mind. give it a try and report your results. a l s o, before anyone comes at me i will give proper and due credit to @urgurljodie for bringing light to this technique to the tumblr void community, ya should be thanking them for this. this particular technique has thoroughly pleased the logical and more scientific-based limiting beliefs I've had for a while. this post was simply meant to add onto what's already been established, all due credits go to the developer of the technique of rob williams as well as the tumblr user mentioned above.

references.

all of the quoted information comes from this site.

1. https://psych-k.com/faq/#what

2. https://psych-k.com/faq/#what

3. https://psych-k.com/faq/#what

4. here's some information on muscle testing and psych-k

5. clearer instructions for the correct posture (en)

6. more information on the whole brain state

[eamour]

method · alter ego

many people which are now known as famous and popular celebrities have created their alter egos long ago. jennifer lopez' alter ego called lola, eminem's alter ego slim shady or mariah carey's alter ego mimi — they all serve one purpose: to extend one's self-image. in other words, becoming someone, which is exactly what we do when we manifest!

definition

an alter ego — latin for "other i" — can be referred to as a secondary self, a hidden or even opposite side of one's self. it’s an alternative personality which is believed to be different from a person's actual or original personality. some even say it’s a better or enhanced version of oneself, possessing all characteristics which your first self desires or aspires to have. your alter ego is defined by everything you wish and intend it to be defined by. in manifestation terms, an alter ago is simply a different concept of self or state of mind which you can embody or identify with at all times.

suggestion

creating an alter ego for yourself can be quite beneficial if you find it exhausting to embody your desired version of self all the time or experience difficulties representing or relating to a fixed state of self continuously or repeatedly. inventing and alter ego helps to be able to identify with a made up side of yourself without feeling the pressure or the need to show up as them every minute of the day, especially if they are inherently or drastically divergent than how you are normally.

on the other hand, it serves as a means to express yourself in a way that’s in contrast to how you usually are, reducing anxiety and inducing confidence instead. it guides you into thinking and expecting more of yourself naturally and get over your mental limitations and restrictions. your alter ego is an extension from who you are to who you could be. what you can’t do, your alter ego can!

invention

let's create your alter ego together!

biography. give them a name. it does not have to be your exact first and last name. your alter ego's name could be your actual first name and a different last time, a nickname or variety of your first name or an entirely new name. you can continue by choosing their age, their sex, their birthday, their zodiac sign or even birth chart, deciding on their nationality, their political, sexual, spiritual or religious orientation,…

personality. define their personality. who are they? what do they know? what are they interested in? what do they like? what do they dislike? how do they talk? how do they walk? how do they look like? how do they dress? how do they behave? how do they treat others? what do they know? how do they think of themselves? how do they act? what do they think? what do they own? how does their home look like? what’s their social life like? do they have a routine? do they have a signature smell? do they own a motto they live by? or do they have a catch phrase they always use? who is in love with them? do they have a partner? do they have several lovers? who do they know? what is their family relationship like? do they have a best friend? are they in a friendgroup?…

expression

now, we need to get to action. our next step is all about embodying and expressing. having an alter ego is one thing but showing up as them is another.

whenever you intend to become your alter ego and let them "take over yourself", your job is to get into the mindset of that specific alter ego. you need to let them live through you. let them be who they are while using your body as a "vessel". think about it, what would they do? how would they act? if you were to make a decision, how would they choose? what would they say? make it your aim to BE them.

with love, ella.

[missswritesalot]

Can I request something with Robb stark x shy reader. She is very quiet and a good wife too rob, but she loves seeing him be a true king to his people so when someone comes along and tries to knock him down a few pegs she speaks up and reminds said person of who they are speaking to leaving Robb speechless and a little turned on. You can end it there or add in a little smut if you want. Thank youuu

A/N requests open! Hope you enjoy, anon! There is just a sprinkle of nsfw at the end, but I tagged it with smut just to be safe ;) i think i used the word shy like a million times. Reblog/Comment if you want more!

You and your husband, Robb, were touring the North and providing supplies to the smallfolk to support them through the Winter. There were many grievances to address and you held court at all the small towns.

You hated the attention, and it was a small mercy that you rarely had to speak. Even when Robb needed your counsel, he asked for it in private so you weren’t embarrassed. The eyes of the people on you were enough to mortify you, yet you bore your discomfort silently and stood by his side.

At one such hearing, Robb ordered the Lords of the lesser Northern houses to visit. You were seated next to him on your throne, Greywind sleeping on the raised floor at your feet.

“The old ways have served the North fruitfully for years. Listen carefully, one war does not make a boy a man and you are yet to know the ways of the world.” Lord Karstark said, wagging a wrinkled finger at Robb.

It was the third time he had questioned your husband in front of his Council. You were furious.

All Robb had suggested was reducing the great burden of supporting lesser houses with tithes from the peasants. Many smallfolks families were missing men and weapons due to the war, and winter was coming. It would be his first Winter as King of the North and he wanted all his subjects to survive, not just the noblemen.

You thought it was admirable. You also knew how hard he worked, spending almost all nights this week pouring over papers and accounts.

“Don’t forget yourself, I am the King,” Robb chided him. Greywind woke up and went to him, a silent threat.

“No man that calls himself King is a true-“ Lord Karstark began in his crotchety old voice. Anger coursed through your veins. How dare this senile old man try to insult your husband.

You cleared your throat. The hall fell silent. Robb frowned and turned to look at you. His wife was a woman of few words but they were all worth hearing.

“My King husband would have no need of repeating his station if you would remember it, my Lord. And if you cannot, then perhaps in the evening of one’s life we must accept our limitations and resign to things we are capable of.” You said calmly, yet sharply. Robb’s jaw dropped in awe.

It took Karstark’s slow mind a moment longer to process.

“Control your tongue, woman,” he said said, eyes wild, pointing to you.

“Disrespect the Queen and you will feel my blade,” Robb yelled, stepping down from the throne and pulling out Ice, just as the direwolf by his side leapt into action.

Karstark did not know when to keep hush. He retorted back sarcastically, and the altercation ended with him being dragged to the dungeons for his impunity. The other lords were also greatly displeased with him, for now they had no chance of changing the King’s mind about restoring their allowances.

You were glad to see the end of the day, and walked into the chambers of your current abode with Robb trailing behind you.

“Lord Karstark demands hot oil for his feet, did you hear it, darling?” Robb said, crushing the piece of correspondence he read. “To send his demands with servants even when imprisoned. The gall of him.” He chuckled.

“I’ve had it up to here with that old bastard,” you said angrily. You let your hair down and started running your fingers through it roughly. The more you thought of it, the more your anger flared.

“How dare he set foot in your court, dine and dwell in our hospitality, and feel entitled to disrespect you like that? I will not stand for it, Robb.” You said, tugging at the lacing and stepping out of your gray court dress.

“Age does not guarantee wisdom, darling. Experience does. And the old fool has none.” Robb said, walking up to you and resting his hands on your shoulders. He pushed your hair to the side and kissed up your neck from your shoulders to your ear.

You tilted your head to give him more access. After a while he turned you around and kissed your mouth. You savored his languid kisses. His hands slowly pushed your chemise over your shoulders till it hung just above your breasts.

You pulled away, and leaned back, his strong arms holding you up.

“I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, love” you said shyly. You were bold in your anger but the shyness was starting to creep in now. “I love you, and I cannot bear to see you insulted after you pour your soul into this Kingdom.”

“Don’t be sorry, you were fantastic,” Robb said, apparently unable to keep his lips off of you. You gasped as he nipped at the bottom of your throat. “I would like to see the wolf in my little wife more often.”

You giggled at his words, and he walked you backwards till your calves hit the bed. Your chemise dropped to your hips and his hands made quick work of finding your breasts.

Your hands came up to cover yourself.

“Robb, the candles,” you said, eyes wide. His own blue ones lit up with mirth.

“I know now that you are not shy, let me see what is mine, darling.” He whispered, pushing your chemise to the floor. You stepped out of it, naked as the day you were born. Your skin felt hot under his hungry gaze.

“Lie back, Y/N,” he said, licking his lips and pushing you down on the bed. “I wish to show you some of my appreciation.” He knelt before you with a wink.

Robbs hands found your knees and he spread them apart. Your hands twisted into his auburn hair in surprise.

And there was nothing shy about the sounds you made that night.

[prokopetz]

I'm pretty sure I overscoped things with my current project, so for when this finally catches up to me and I need to work on something smaller for experience... What kinds of projects would you recommend as intermediate between "diceless jam game that I still haven't playtested" and "ripping the guts out of Lancer and replacing them with insects"?

For a project where the goal is to gain experience with the tabletop RPG production process from end to end, a good target is a pamphlet-size game. Put a hard limit of 5000 words on it, or 16 pages if you're laying it out for print. If you find yourself going over 5000 words or 16 pages, reduce your scope until you're back under those limits. Do not allow yourself to be persuaded that going "just a little bit over" is fine; part of the point of the exercise is to cultivate the habits of creative and editorial discipline.

[star-byeoli]

San Drabble 27.02.25

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff.

Pairing: San x Gender Neutral Reader (No y/n)

Word count: 766

Warnings: Crying, Overworking, Stress, Sannie being a massive softy <3

A/N: I had an assignment due yesterday, so this is completely self-indulgent. Sannie my love <3<3<3

Hunched over your desk, the crick in your neck is finally making your evening miserable. You’ve been working on this assignment for hours but seem to be making no progress as your eyes begin to glaze over. Fatigue is quickly taking over, but the deadline looms overhead, forcing you to keep working. Just as your eyes threaten to fill with tears, a hand gently leans over your shoulder to place a mug on your desk.

“You looked like you needed some tea.” San says softly, patting the top of your head gently. He looks like comfort incarnate – fluffy hair, thin-rimmed glasses and a chunky knit sweater. His broad stature looks so tempting to cuddle into, but you pull your gaze back to your assignment before you can give in.

“Thank you, Sannie.” You whisper, too tired to raise your voice. His hands drop to your shoulders, slowly rubbing in a clear attempt to comfort you. Your hand shakes slightly as you reach for your tea and take a sip. You can feel San’s disapproving frown behind you, a heavy sigh escapes him as he nears the limit of his patience. Before you can move to placate him, he presses his lips to the crown of your head delicately.

“My love,” San mumbles into your hair, “I think you should take a break.”

“I would really love to, but I just have so much left to do. I don’t have enough time.” Your voice starts to crack as your tears finally burst over your cheeks. San immediately wraps his arms around you, cooing as he presses more kisses along your temple.

“Oh, my baby. You’re gonna be okay. Here-” San gently manhandles you out of your desk chair, before taking your place and pulling you down onto his lap. He cradles you tight, legs slung over his lap and face pressed into his neck. His firm grip and gentle humming soothe you effectively, your sobs reducing to small hiccups in a matter of minutes. When you eventually pull away to look at him, he smiles weakly at you. His eyes are red, a few tears trailing down his own cheeks. You both burst out in watery giggles, moving to wipe one another’s tears away.

“I’m sorry Sannie.”

“For what? I just want to take care of you, baby.” He plants more kisses along your temple and cheek playfully before pulling away. He arches an eyebrow at your disappointed frown, taking his time to tease you a little in an attempt to lighten the mood. Being the merciful gentleman he is he swiftly appeases you with a firm kiss on the lips, cradling your face in his strong hands.

“I love you so much, baby.” He hums, his eyes shining with affection.

“I love you too Sannie.” You reply softly.

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“I love you 3000.”

“I love you 3001.” You stick your tongue out at him, earning a tickle to your waist. Yelping, you shift slightly in his lap and grab onto your desk. The sight of your laptop brings you back to reality. You still have work to do, and you still have a deadline. Deflated, you try to convince yourself to get back to work. San is a different beast though.

“I seriously need to get this finished though.” You gesture frustratedly at your desk. San sighs and holds onto your waist tighter.

“Okay. I’m not going anywhere though. There are no rules against working and cuddling at the same time.” His chin nuzzles over your shoulder, eyes scanning over your desk. Despite blushing aggressively, you reach back to your keyboard reluctantly.

After a few minutes you’re back on a roll, a new wave of energy coming over you just from San’s gentle presence. Suddenly your workload is manageable – maybe you did only need a little break. Or maybe you just needed your Sannie. He distractedly hums occasionally and his hands fidget slightly in your peripherals, eventually picking up your mug of tea.

“UGH!” He splutters out abruptly. You instinctively flinch and glance back at him. He grimaces as he places the mug back onto your desk begrudgingly.

“Are you okay?”

“Tea’s gone cold.” He grumbles, eyebrows furrowed. You chuckle lightly as you push his hair out of his face. His sulky pout is almost irresistible, but you know better than to fall for his wiles.

“I’m almost done, give me and hour and I’ll make you another one.” San hums in agreement, although his head resting heavily against your shoulder tells you he’ll probably be asleep by then.

[ahqkas]

♯ DEALER ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!ravenclaw!reader

SYNOPSIS! smoking had never interested you before but when the local dealer catches your eye, you might get the experience of a professional

WORD COUNT! 2.9k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! smoking, theo is hogwarts’ dealer, reader is inexperienced in the area of smoking, theo teaches reader how to smoke, kissing

NOTES! i do NOT promote smoking / dealing in this, it’s simply a work of fiction!

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

CIGARETTES, SLENDER CYLINDERS OF FINELY CUT TOBACCO WRAPPED IN PAPER, HAVE LONG HELD A FASCINATION FOR MANY. Each drag brings a mix of sensations: the initial spark and crackle as the flame meets the tip, the first inhalation that fills the lungs with a warm, almost soothing burn, and the exhalation that releases a plume of smoke, curling and dissipating into the air like whispers. The nicotine within offers a swift release, a rush that calms the nerves and sharpens the focus, although temporarily.

In the heart of Hogwarts, where the whispers of ancient stories mingled with the soft rustle of parchment, existed a sacred place of knowledge known to all as the library. To the ordinary eye, it was just a place of shelves filled with dusty books and boring atmosphere. But to those who knew where to look, was a hidden secret only some had the privilege of knowing. It was here, that Theodore Nott found his sweet spot.

Theodore Nott moved with a smooth, practiced ease. He blended in perfectly, among the towering shelves and the scent of old books. To most, he was just another student, perhaps a bit more mysterious than others. But to those who sought him out, he was a source of comfort, someone who could give them relief from the intense pressures of their magical education. A dealer.

Theo's operations were known to be like a well-choreographed dance. A subtle nod here, a quiet exchange there, all under the watchful yet unsuspecting eyes of Madam Pince. The library was the perfect place for his discreet business. It offered the privacy and anonymity that his clients needed - students from various houses looking for a way to escape their stresses.

Cigarettes, slender and neatly wrapped, were his main product to sell. Easily accessible and easily sold. Each one was more than just a tobacco roll; it was an object of escape. Theo understood the draw of that first spark, the way the flame flickered before lighting a moment of calm. He saw it in their eyes - the relief as the smoke filled their lungs and the world's worries seemed to disappear, even if just for a moment. He wasn't just selling cigarettes; he was providing a brief moment of peace.

But the Slytherin's trade wasn't limited to tobacco. For those in deeper need, he offered small vials of potions, each carefully brewed and discreetly hidden. These elixirs could calm stressed nerves or boost a tired mind, depending on what was needed. Theo got everything you could dream of.

His reputation spread quietly through whispers in common rooms and soft murmurs in the Great Hall. To some, he was a lifeline; to others, a tempting distraction. And through it all, Theodore Nott remained a mystery, a figure covered in secrecy, walking the fine line between the pursuit of knowledge and the lure of the forbidden.

He was intelligent, cunning, and unbelievably handsome. No one would suspect him for a dealer.

That boy got your interest.

You stood hidden behind a tall shelf in the back corner of the library, your heart pounding loudly in your chest as you peered through the gap between two dusty volumes of Hogwarts: History. The library was quiet, the usual hum of activity reduced to a soft whisper. You were careful to keep yourself concealed, not wanting anyone to notice your presence, least of all the Slytherin boy.

Your eyes were fixed on Theo, who was standing in a quiet corner of the library, partially hidden by the towering bookshelves. His movements were smooth and calculated as he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial filled with a bright blue potion. The vial shimmered under the soft light, casting an ethereal glow that caught the eye of the Hufflepuff girl standing nervously before him.

Theo handed the potion over with a calm, practiced ease, his expression unreadable. The Hufflepuff quickly slipped a handful of coins into Theo's hand, their fingers brushing briefly before the girl tucked the potion into her robes and hurried away nervously. You watched as Theo carefully counted the money,

Good to know you won't be first to approach him with those feelings.

You stepped out from the safety of your hidden place, your heart racing as you made your way towards Theo. The decision had been made in your mind - you needed those cigarettes, even though you had never smoked a single one in your entire life. The Slytherin interested you, and what was better than the idea of approaching him with a business offer?

Theo's eyes flickered up as you approached and a flicker of surprise appeared on his face before he quickly masked it by his usual calm demeanor. He had noticed you before, the pretty Ravenclaw with the fierce personality, always absorbed in your studies. You were the exact opposite of his usual clientele, and that piqued his interest. What was the Ravenclaw's good girl doing here, with him?

He watched you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, noting the determined set of your jaw and the way your fingers clenched around the strap of your bag that clung to your shoulder. You were nervous, that much was clear, but there was also a resolve in your eyes that he couldn't ignore.

As you came to a stop before him, the faint scent of old books and parchment lingering in the air between the two of you, Theo tilted his head slightly. "[Last name]," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. This would be interesting. "What brings you here?"

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "I need some cigarettes," you said, the tome of your voice firm despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Theo's eyes narrowed slightly, appraising you. He had seen many students come to him for relief, but your request was something he wasn't expecting in the slightest. Still, he had watched you from afar, intrigued by your quiet determination and the air of mystery that surrounded you. Could you blame him though? You were pretty, smart, and had a flicker of fire in you.

Just Theo's type.

Your request hung in the air, tension crackling between you like static electricity. Theo's gaze softened, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding as he considered your plea. Sure, he was a dealer, but he wasn't heartless.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he began cautiously, his silver eyes flickering over your determined expression. "You've never smoked before, have you?"

Well, that was surprising. How did he know that? You shook your head. "No, but I need something, anything."

Theo paused, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He knew the risks of smoking, the addictive grip it could have on a person's life. Merlin, he smoked almost every single day, of course he knew. Yet, as he studied you, he couldn't not notice the desperation in your eyes - the same desperation that had driven countless others to seek him out.

But you  wanted him for something entirely different.

Finally, with a sigh, he relented, his hand reaching out to offer you the pack of cigarettes in his hold. "I'll give them to you, but only if I can share one with you," he proposed, his voice soft yet firm, insisting on it. He wouldn't take a no for an answer in this. "And I'll teach you properly how to smoke. It's not something to take lightly."

Your eyes widened in surprise, gratitude flooding your features. Your plan worked. “Thank you, Theo," you breathed out a sigh of relief. "That means a lot."

The Slytherin nodded and a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Consider it a lesson in the art of stress relief," he said with a hint of amusement in his tone. "And the pack of cigarettes? It's on the house."

Decisions are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives, guiding us along paths both familiar and unknown. Good decisions illuminate our journey of life, leading us towards fulfillment and growth. They are born from careful consideration, informed by wisdom and experience, and guided by values and aspirations. In contrast, bad decisions cast shadows upon our path, obscuring our vision and stirring doubt and regret within us. They arise from impulsivity, fear, or ignorance, leading us astray and causing pain and disappointment. Yet even in the bad decisions, there lies the potential for growth and resilience, as we learn from our mistakes and strive to make wiser choices in the future.

You wondered if asking Theo for the cigarettes was a good idea.

You stepped into the cool night air of the Astronomy Tower, the darkness enveloped you like a familiar shadow. Above, the sky stretched out, filled with millions of flicker kisses stars. The moon, a delicate crescent hanging low on the horizon, cast a gentle glow over the landscape.

You tilted your head back, your gaze drawn upward to the constellations that adorned the heavens. To your left, the recognizable figure of Orion stood out, its three bright stars forming the distinct shape of the Hunter's Belt. Nearby, the sprawling form of the Great Bear dominated the northern sky, its outline marked by the gleaming North Star. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you identified the graceful curves of Cassiopeia, the Queen of Ethiopia, her celestial throne outlined by a delicate arrangement of stars. Nearby, the Pleiades cluster sparkled like a cluster of diamonds, its seven luminous stars casting a soft glow against the night sky.

The sinuous shape of Draco, the Dragon, snaked its way across the firmament, its serpentine form twisting and turning amidst the sea of stars. You through of the person whose name matched, and hung out around Theodore Nott every day since the beginning of your years at Hogwarts.

Theodore Nott. Of course your mind would run to him.

You found yourself leaning against the worn wooden railing of the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, the cool metal digging into your forearms as you stared down at the pack of cigarettes you had received from Theodore nestled in your hand. With a heavy sigh, you traced the embossed design on the pack with your fingertips, your thoughts drifting like wisps of smoke on the night breeze again.

You had never imagined yourself in this position, a cigarette pack in hand, contemplating the choices that had brought you to this moment. Funny how decisions were full of consequences.

Theo - the quiet boy from Slytherin who had caught your eye despite the whispers that surrounded him. He was the one who seemed to exist on the fringes of Hogwarts' social circles, yet commanded a silent respect from those who sought him out for his promised offerings.

You couldn't deny the curiosity he stirred within you, the way his piercing silver eyes seemed to hold secrets untold, and his cold presence beckoned you like a moth to a flame. Despite the stark differences between the two of you - you, the respected Ravenclaw, he, the mysterious dealer from Slytherin - there was an undeniable pull between you, a magnetic force that defied logic and reason of the question: why?

Opposites attract, they say, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was truth to the saying.

Before you could react any further, Theodore Nott appeared beside you, his presence as silent and mysterious as ever. The faint scent of tobacco and earthy cologne trailed behind him. He smelled nice.

Without a word, he materialized a slender cigarette from his pocket, the tip ready to glow with a soft ember by the time he placed it in the corner of his mouth. He held the cigarette between his fingers and without breaking eye contact, he spoke in a low, calm voice, guiding you through the new experience with a patience you hadn't expected.

"First, hold it like this," Theo instructed, gently placing the cigarette between your fingers, positioning it just right. His touch was light, almost fleeting, but enough to send a spark of fire through you. You mimicked his hold, feeling the slightly rough texture of the cigarette paper against your skin. Theo's fingers lingered briefly over yours, adjusting your grip until he was satisfied.

"Now, bring it to your lips."

You felt a nervous tremor in your chest as you positioned the cigarette between your lips, its unfamiliar weight resting delicately. The cool night air brushed against your skin, but all you could focus on was Theo, standing close enough that you could see the slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, never left yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. How could a man be this beautiful?

Theo raised his wand, the tip glowing softly. "Hold still," he murmured, his voice low and steady. You complied, your breath hitching in the back of your throat as the wand's flame drew nearer.

He leaned in, his fingers brushing your cheek as he steadied the cigarette. The moment stretched out, and with a flick of his wand, the tip of the cigarette ignited, the flame casting a warm, flickering light over your face. It felt oddly comforting.

"Now, take a slow, deep inhale," Theo instructed, his eyes never wavering from yours. The flame's glow highlighted the depths of his gaze, making the moment feel both surreal and intimate.

You did as he said, drawing the smoke into your mouth. The initial harshness made your eyes water, but Theo's unwavering gaze kept you grounded.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice a soothing sound to your nerves. "You're doing fine."

As you exhaled, your shoulders relaxed as well, the initial discomfort easing into something more manageable. Theo's proximity made the experience less daunting.

"Again," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "Slow and steady."

You gave him a nod, your eyes still locked onto his as you took another drag, this time more controlled, more assured. The smoke filled your lungs, and as you exhaled, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Theo's lips curved into a small, approving smile, a silent acknowledgment of your progress and your heart skipped a beat.

Just as you started to feel more confident in your actions, Theo reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the cigarette from your hand.

With a deft movement, he placed it between his own lips, a smirk playing on his face. Your breath hitched as you watched him, your eyes drawn to the way his lips curved around the cigarette. The pink lipgloss you had carefully applied earlier left a delicate mark on the paper, and now Theo's lips were tasting the gloss.

His eyes glinted with amusement as he took a slow, deliberate drag, inhaling deeply. The ember flared briefly, casting a warm glow over his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, making him look like an angel. As he exhaled, the smoke curled and twisted in the air between the two of you, dissipating into the night.

He removed the cigarette and examined it, his thumb tracing the faint outline of your lipgloss. The smirk on his lips grew more pronounced, a blend of amusement and something deeper, something almost appreciative. He turned his gaze back to you, the intensity of his stare making your pulse quicken.

"Interesting choice," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the words punctuated by a cloud of smoke. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to the cigarette, the smirk never leaving his face. "Pink suits you."

Without fully understanding what compelled you in the moment, you felt yourself drawn towards Theo, the world around you fading into a blur. You leaned in, the distance between you closing in a heartbeat. The night air seemed to hold its breath as you moved, your focus entirely on Theo's face, his smirk fading into a look of surprise.

Your lips met his with a gentle urgency, capturing the soft, teasing smile that had been playing on his mouth like it was nothing. The cigarette fell from his fingers, forgotten as his hands moved to cup your face, the coolness of his skin contrasting with the warmth of your own.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the soft flutter of his eyelashes at the apples of your cheeks.

When the two of you finally broke apart, breathless and wide-eyed, the night air seemed to rush back in, filling the space between you. Your heart raced, your mind reeling from what you had just done. You searched Theo's eyes for a reaction, finding a mix of surprise and something that looked remarkably like admiration.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence stretching out, filled with unasked questions and unspoken answers. Theo's smirk returned, softer this time, as he ran a thumb over your cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair.

"Well, that was unexpected."

You nodded, your own lips curving into a shy smile. "I don't know what came over me," admitting, your voice barely held the tone of a whisper.

Theo's gaze softened, his fingers lingering on your soft lips. "I'm glad you did it," he said quietly, the words hanging in the air between you.

Tonight had changed everything, and you couldn't wait to see where this path would lead. After all, the consequences of your actions didn't disappoint and you would be a fool to let the aftermath of it go.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[marauder-misprint]

Hiiii!!! I think that's what everyone wants from you, but you're so good at it, so I'm going to ask you for Fem!reader x Sirius.

If you're comfortable with writing, I'd like to read about Sirius and the reader having a pureblood wedding with an "arranged marriage". Sirius would be strongly opposed to this idea, and to be honest, even though it's Sirius, the reader wouldn't like a forced marriage either. I am ready to read all kinds of happy and unhappy endings. I just love your imagination, if you write something like this, I would love it.

Hi! Thank you so much for this request! I literally wrote this in one evening because I got the storyline and needed to run with it. It's more story than dialogue, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out. I think the ending technically counts as happy. I hope you enjoy it

'Not a pawn'

Sirius Black x Fem!!reader

4.5k words

cw: angst, arranged marriage

You were thirteen when your parents told you about it. An arranged marriage with the eldest Black son. You knew him from school, and he wasn’t terrible. But it was the principle of the matter. You were directly told that there was no point to date while at Hogwarts, your husband was already chosen for you.

You frowned deeply. Your mother, with no concern for your displeasure, told you to stop it, frowning caused wrinkles. Of course, that was her only care. You had to be pristine to be a future matriarch of the house of Black. 

You often wondered how the arrangement came to be. Why had the Black family chosen you? Why had your family chosen them? Who reached out first? What did the other have to offer for it to come together? 

Obviously, your family had enough social status to even be considered. And it must be a hefty amount since Sirius started acting out the moment he tasted freedom at Hogwarts. You would’ve been daft to not know that the Black family needed someone to rein him in, redeem him even. Honestly, a portion of you felt honored that Walburga and Orion thought you had it in you. 

You had met them several times before the arrangement came to be. There had been socials and parties, the occasional ball and dinner. Pure blood families stuck together. You knew a large portion of those gatherings was for the adults to find pairs for their children. It was like the Black family motto, toujours pur: always pure. They believed that the wizarding bloodline couldn’t be tainted with muggle blood and so, marriages were made like deals. Your blood status reduced you to an item to be haggled over. 

From your limited interactions with Sirius, you knew he was no happier about the arrangement than you were. He was noticeably more upset. Furious even. You tried not to be insulted. You told yourself it wasn’t about you. Like it was you, it was about the principle. Except you thought that you should be able to marry for love and Sirius, well, he hated just about everything his parents stood for. He wanted nothing to do with his pure blood status, and therefore, nothing to do with you. So despite being betrothed to each other, you barely exchanged a word or glance while you were at school. 

His actions only supported how much he was against the idea of marrying you. While you focused on school and maintaining a perfect image, Sirius flirted with anyone deem tolerable and if someone managed to get into a relationship with him, it never lasted. He made it his mission to prove to everyone that he couldn’t be tied down, certainly not to you, someone picked by his parents. 

If you were honest with yourself, the arrangement didn’t feel real until your seventh year. Your parents started planning the wedding. It was to happen in early July after you graduated. Sirius running away before sixth year had raised concerns, but Walburga and Orion insisted that he was still to be your husband, no matter what his actions said. 

When classes started, you wrote to your parents to express your own concern about the arrangement. They brushed off your concerns and instructed you to let the adults handle it. Like you weren’t essentially an adult and to be married in a matter of months. It angered you. You hated that this large aspect of your life still felt like it was up in the air and no one would listen to your issues with it. You were one of the few within your friend group that was arranged to be married. Some of your friends were half blood or muggle born, so obviously, they wouldn’t be picked. Some of your pure blood friends’ families were more progressive and didn’t follow in that tradition. And your friends who had their lives planned out for them were paired with boys who didn’t put up a fight against it. 

You sought out the one person who would understand how you felt about it all: Sirius. 

You found him in the Astronomy Tower, enjoying the November evening. He didn’t hear you come up the stairs. He didn’t notice you until you were standing right next to him, leaning over the railing and looking wistfully at the ground. He raised his eyebrows in surprise before looking away, not bothering to say anything.

“We need to talk,” you said firmly after a few minutes of standing in silence.

“We do? That’s news to me,” he replied dryly.

You weren’t shocked that he had no intentions of talking with you. This was the closest you had been to each other physically since you were thirteen. Every social gathering that you happened to be at together, Sirius was on the other side of the room. He refused to be seen associating with you. He didn’t want it to appear like he was accepting his inevitable fate. 

“July. It’s coming whether we like it or not.” 

He barked out a cold laugh. “We. Like you aren’t pleased with the matching.” 

“Could’ve been with someone worse, you’re right,” you said. “It’s more the… being told who I have to marry that I have a problem with.”

Sirius didn’t respond. He continued staring out across the school grounds. You took it as a sign to keep talking, although you knew deep down that Sirius would’ve just liked you to leave him alone.

“It doesn’t seem like we have any way out of it. And I figure, if we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives, we might as well get to know each other? It’d make the situation less unbearable.”

“We won’t be spending the rest of our lives together. Don’t bother getting your hopes up.”

You hummed a response. “Your parents seem to think it’s happening.”

“They’re wrong.” He spoke with such finality that you almost believed him. 

You let silence fall between you for a minute. The biting cold wind drove you to wrap your scarf tighter around your neck, and then your robe. Sirius, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind it. He wasn’t wearing a scarf or gloves and his robes were discarded somewhere behind him. 

“Did they ever talk to you about it?” you asked. Your voice was barely above a whisper and if you weren’t standing right next to him, he probably wouldn’t have heard you.

“Walburga and Orion don’t talk.” He gave you a sharp look. “Just like I’m sure your parents didn’t talk to you about it.”

“We’ve… conversed,” you said slowly, as if it meant anything more than what it was.

He tutted. “Right. And did they listen to anything you had to say?”

“No.”

“Precisely.”

You clenched your fists. You wanted to talk to Sirius, to somehow make your life after Hogwarts have some semblance of happiness. But this man beside you was a stranger to you and he didn’t seem interested in talking. You kept trying for your own sake.

“Why do you seem so convinced that July isn’t happening?”

“The month will come. Time passes.” 

You rolled your eyes and turned your shoulders so you were facing him. 

“The wedding, Black. Our marriage.”

“Can’t marry a bloke who’s not there.”

“You’re just not going to show up?” 

He nodded, reaching into his pocket to pull out a cartridge of cigarettes. He pulled one out and offered the pack to you. You shook your head. He pocketed it and lit the one in his mouth with a snap of his fingers. You watched as he inhaled, held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, and then blew it out into the night. 

“Have you thought about how you not showing up would affect me?” 

“Don’t really care.” 

You scoffed. “Maybe you should. My entire future depends on you showing up.”

More frustrated with the world than when you first climbed the Astronomy Tower, you turned and left Sirius. Although, now you had something real to consider. What would happen if Sirius really did refuse to show up? How far would your families go into the planning and actual production of a ceremony before realizing that you would be walking up the aisle alone with no one waiting for you at the altar? You knew they couldn’t even fall back on Regulus as a back up; he had already been promised to someone else and they seemed like an agreeable match. 

You let yourself fall into a dream of what you would do if you weren’t the future Mrs. Black. You’d actually have to find a job. It wouldn't be too huge of a problem given your grades and dedication to your studies, but it was something you hadn’t put too much thought into. You’d have the opportunity to act on crushes you’ve harbored over the years. You’d have a freedom to do whatever you pleased, a feeling that you hadn’t had since your second year of schooling. 

All of this dreaming, of course, was also relying on your parents not scrambling to find you another suitor. Some last minute younger sibling of another pure blood family who they hadn’t bothered finding a partner for. That thought was worse than the idea of marrying Sirius for some reason, even though he clearly didn’t want to be your husband. 

You let Sirius be for a while. You didn’t try talking to him leading up to Christmas break. You went home to find your mother in full planning mode. Instead of a restful break or one filled with endless studying to ensure that you ace your N.E.W.T. exams, you assisted your mother in planning a wedding you weren’t sure was going to happen. The brief two weeks were filled with deciding flowers, testing cake flavors, making an invite list, and the most surreal of it all, trying on dresses. Your mother said she would keep you up to date as far as planning went. She assured you that once your exams were over and graduation passed, the month of June would fly by. She said that like it should be comforting. Exciting. Thrilling. A bunch of things except the dread and fear that burned inside of you. 

You found Sirius again. He was in the greenhouses. You didn’t want to assume that he was hiding from someone, but he had that look to him. If you didn’t think too hard on it, it was easy to believe that he was hiding from you, although you hadn’t publicly announced that you were looking for him again.

“I have a dress,” you said as you approached where he was sitting on the upper level of greenhouse #4. 

“Congrats, I guess,” he said with a tinge of confusion to his voice. Like he didn’t know what you were talking about.

You sat down next to him, your rehearsed neutral expression practically etched into your features.

“A white one. For July.”

“Who’s the lucky bastard?” 

“You.” 

The air between you was tense but both of you spoke with uninterested tones. 

“I don’t recall asking you to be mine.” Just like last time, he barely turned his head to glance at you. His eyes were trained on the tinted glass ceiling. 

“Everyone but you is certain that this union is happening. Everything is set in motion. Can you at least humor me? Pretend to care?” Your voice had a hint of desperation but you were quick to cover it. “You wouldn’t leave a girl at the altar, would you?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but you knew you got his attention. He sat up and faced you with a frown as deep as the one you had when your parents first told you that you were being forced to marry him.

“I won’t be leaving you at the altar. You won’t be walking down an aisle toward me. Got it, princess?” 

“And what makes you think that?”

“I know that because I am not a pawn for my parents to use for their personal gain. I have my own plans for after graduation. You should make your own.” He stood and took a step to walk away. Then he looked back at you. “Remus says you’re a bright girl. Don’t waste it on waiting around for a wedding that’s not happening.” 

Then he left. He disappeared down the stairs and you heard doors open and close as he passed through them. You lingered in the warmth of the greenhouse. You considered Sirius’ words, just like last time. You wished you possessed the ability to walk away from the situation like he did. 

Could you? Besides many of your physical belongings being at your parents’ house, what would happen if you didn’t return after graduation? Did you have the ability to get your own flat somewhere in London and find a job and leave your parents and family behind? Why did you feel a sense of duty to your parents and marrying a man they chose? 

You groaned and leaned back. Guilt washed over you. You hadn’t done anything but considered leaving your family behind for a world of freedom, yet it was enough to make your heart clench. 

Sirius began truly avoiding you. In the classes you had together, he made sure to always be on the other side of the room. He changed the routes he took to each class. If he happened to be in the library when you walked in, he left. He sat as far away from you during meal times as he could. 

He didn’t need to avoid you for the most part. You wanted to seek him out and try talking to him again so you could understand where he was coming from, how he thought. Something inside of you kept saying that if you talked to him again, you would feel the urge to abandon your family again, and that filled you with endless guilt. You had a duty to your family. That much was reminded to you every time your mother wrote to you. 

The spring term both dragged on and flew by at the same time. It was too short and too long. It was the end of your time at Hogwarts, and that meant you would no longer be seeing your friends every day. You’d be going out into what you called the real world soon. It felt like everything you did was for the last time. But the end of your time at school meant N.E.W.T.s and endless assignments. Professors assigned essay after essay. They required revisions and reviews. Each professor was determined that every single one of their students would pass. So your fleeting time within the castle was taken up surrounded by books and piles of parchment. You swore you went through more inkwells in those last few months than you did in the previous six years. 

Then the exams came and went. You were given a brief break from the bustle of everything. School was over. You had no more lessons to attend. No more assignments to return for a grade. No more endless studying and practicing spells, some of which you were certain you would never use outside of the castle walls. 

Graduation loomed ahead. 

Your respite was short lived. Too soon parents were descending on the grounds for the graduation ceremony. Before the ceremony, you spent time with your friends. This was it. The end of it all. It was an emotional time for everyone. Afterwards, you greeted your parents and Walburga and Orion. You didn’t know why you were surprised that they came. From what you knew, Sirius hadn’t actually talked to them since he ran away. You looked around for him as you stood next to the four older adults. Sirius was with the Potters, as you should have expected. He didn’t look your way once. The Blacks offered your their congratulations and told you that they were looking forward to someone of your intellectual caliber joining their family. 

So, they clearly thought the marriage was happening. Even with their son a short distance away and refusing to acknowledge them. 

After all of the festivities were finished, the parents went home and the graduates returned to their dorm for one last night in the castle. You yearned to find Sirius. You needed to know for certain that he wouldn’t be showing up in July. But, instead, you sat on your bed. Legs crossed and hands clasped, you sat. You stared at your mostly packed trunk. You stared at the empty walls that had once been adorned with various posters and photos. You stared out the window, a view you had grown so accustomed to. Your roommates were all in the common room having a final hurrah. You couldn’t be bothered to attend. You knew you might regret not having gone in later years, but right now, you needed to be with your thoughts.

You went home the next day. The train ride, despite taking all day, was too short. The ride back to your family’s home was filled with your mother summarizing the wedding plans, everything finished and finalized to the smaller details that still needed to be set in stone. You stared out the window, not bothering to entertain her. You listened, of course, but you offered no insight or opinions. 

And that was just a brief look into what the next month of your life was. Everything from that day onward orbited the wedding. Your thoughts, as they should have been, were on Sirius. In an alternate universe, these thoughts would have been filled with excitement about marrying a fine young man of excellent standing. In this other world, you would be thrilled for the start of the rest of your life. But it wasn’t another world. Your reality had your mind repeating the sentiments he voiced the two times he spoke to you. 

‘I am not a pawn.’

Were you a pawn? Was all of this for your parents’ personal gain and nothing for you? What was going to happen because you felt pretty sure that Sirius wouldn’t be there, no matter what the older adults thought? 

I am not a pawn.

This time, it was you thinking it. It was less than a week before your supposed wedding. In that other reality, it would be called getting cold feet, but you told yourself that you were coming to your senses. 

You packed a bag. You placed an undetectable extension charm on it so you could take as many of your belongings as you desired. You moved quietly throughout your room, but you kept moving. You knew if you stopped for a moment, you would change your mind. Your resolve would crumble if you hesitated. 

You listened for the conversation coming from the dining room. Your mother and father were going over the seating chart for the umpteenth time. As you stood outside the room, you heard your mother complaining about her sisters and how they got into a row two days ago and could not be seated anywhere near each other. Without seeing his face, you knew your father had his own rehearsed neutral expression. He was without a doubt tired of the conversation and all the wedding details. With you at school, he had had to endure the never ending lectures about flowers and colors and who had RSVP’d and what meal choices they requested.  

When your mother asked your father’s siblings, you took your chance. You slipped out the front door and started walking. You needed to put a little bit of distance between you and the house before you went where you weren’t certain you’d be welcome. 

You ducked into an alleyway in the nearby muggle village. You steadied yourself. You had to remind yourself that your parents were deep in discussion. It was after dinner. You usually remained in your room alone for the night. Your disappearance wouldn’t be noticed until morning when your mother would without a doubt go to chastise you about not rising early for breakfast. You took a deep breath and then apparated. 

You stood on the front step at the Potter Estate. You swallowed thickly. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you raised a shaky hand to knock on the door. You honestly felt like you were about to pass out from the nerve of doing this. 

No one answered the door for a minute. You shouldn’t have come. You knew you shouldn’t have. You should have stayed and been a dutiful daughter. You should have taken the shame of having a betrothed not show up to the wedding head on. 

Then it got worse. Sirius opened the door. 

He stood there, mouth gaping at the sight of you on the Potters’ step. 

“Did they send you to collect me?” he asked. He sounded so disinterested.

You didn’t know how to answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that no, you hadn’t been sent. You came of your own free will, seeking the freedom that he had. You just stood there with a bag over your shoulder. 

“Oi, Padfoot, who is it?” James’ voice rang from inside the house. 

“I’m not going to marry you,” Sirius said firmly, not answering his friend.

“I’m not asking you to. Can… can I come in?” You found your voice, but it was weak. You felt like you were going to cry. 

Sirius stepped aside and gestured for you to enter. You nodded. He closed the door behind you and then led you to the living room where James was lounging on a couch.

“Why’re you here?” James asked, sitting up slightly at the sight of you. 

“I…” you tried to speak, but this time your voice failed you. 

You stood there awkwardly. You hugged yourself as if that would render some courage so that you could explain why you appeared at the Potters’ house days before your wedding. A wedding that was doomed before it was even planned. 

“She asked to come in,” Sirius told James as he took a seat in an armchair next to James. 

A woman’s voice sounded from a different room. “James, Sirius, is someone here?”

“Just someone from school, Mum!” James yelled. 

There was no response from the woman and the two boys watched you carefully as you remained still. You didn’t know how to explain anything.

“Well?” James asked pointedly. “Why’re you here?” 

“I-I… I needed somewhere to go.” 

That was it. Tears started to fall down your face. You couldn’t stop them. You weren’t really sure why you were crying, but you were. You felt drained and confused and here you were, standing in a strange house that you really shouldn’t be in. You let yourself fall to the ground. You hugged your knees to your chest as you tried to collect yourself.

“Mum?” James called to his mother. “Can you come ‘ere?”

There was the scraping sound of a chair being shoved backwards. Then a woman who must’ve been James’ mother appeared in the doorway. She gasped and moved toward you, crouching when she got close enough to you. She ran a gentle hand over your forehead, brushing your hair out of your face. She shushed you with a motherly warmness that you hadn’t felt from your mother since you were a small child. 

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“Everything,” you sobbed.

Your vision was blurred from tears. You couldn’t see James and Sirius exchanging uncomfortable glances as Mrs. Potter concerned herself with you. Then she looked back at them.

“You said she’s from school?” 

Sirius cleared his throat. “She’s… erm, she’s the one I’m supposed to be marrying in a few days.”

“Oh.” It was vital information to Mrs. Potter. She turned back to you. “Would you like some tea?” 

You could barely bring yourself to nod. She helped you up and with a gentle grip, she led you into the kitchen where she had been before. James and Sirius, still very unsure about the whole situation, followed. While Mrs. Potter put a kettle on the stove and gathered four mugs, the three of you sat at the table. Your bag sat on the ground next to your chair. Tears no longer streamed down your face but your breathing was still ragged. 

When it was ready, Mrs. Potter served the tea and offered cream and sugar. Then the four of you sipped your teas quietly. After a minute when your breathing sounded more even, Mrs. Potter spoke.

“Are you here for Sirius?” 

You shook your head. 

“I… I’m here because of him.”

Mrs. Potter looked at you with a look of comforting encouragement. It was a silent urge to continue while the boys stared at you. As little as you talked to Sirius over the years, you had talked to James less. The oddity of you being inside the Potter Estate was immense.

“He got away,” you said slowly, putting space in between each word. “He left it all behind and… I want to do that too.” You swallowed and forced yourself to look Sirius and then at Mrs. Potter. “He came here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Mrs. Potter nodded. The boys’ stares persisted although they held something else in them. It was a different feeling that took over the table. You weren’t here to try to get Sirius to marry you. No. You were trying to escape the grasp of your parents. 

“I’ll set up a room for you.”

That was it. Mrs. Potter left you alone in the kitchen with the boys. You would have somewhere to spend the night and you could figure out what you were going to do tomorrow. There was a thickness to the silence that fell over the kitchen, but the boys didn’t leave you alone. They sat there, drinking their tea with you. They remained in the kitchen when Mrs. Potter came back to collect you to show you where you’d be spending the night. You thanked her. 

When she returned to the kitchen, she asked the boys what they knew about the situation and you in general. It wasn’t much, but it was more than you had been able to say. It seemed to be understood that everything would need to be discussed more tomorrow. She bid the boys good night and reminded them not to stay up too late.

James and Sirius sat in silence in the kitchen. Neither knew what to say. Their evening of movie watching was disrupted and now they didn’t know what to do. When they finished their tea, they placed their mugs in the sink. James went to his room, but Sirius stopped by yours. He knocked and stepped just into the room when you responded.

“Leaving’s the first step, you know,” he said. He had a soft smile on his face like he was proud of you. “Congrats on getting out.” 

“We’re not pawns,” you said quietly. 

Sirius’ smile widened at that.

“That we are not. Get some sleep.”

[thezombieprostitute]

Your small town has been invaded by a biker club. They want a peaceful takeover but they can twist your arm if needed.

Holy shnikes, I spent so much time working on this! I almost had to make it a two part story! I've barely been able to work on anything else because I needed to get this story written up instead. I honestly think I've never written anything like this before.

Word Count: ~3.6k

Warnings: Choking, Dub/non consent, Implied violence, Knife play (mild). Please let me know if I missed any!

Next Part

Sheriff Lee Bodecker and Mayor John Walker caved to the bikers pretty quickly. Part of you could understand why; only a handful of officers in the entire county compared to a full biker gang? They'd never stand a chance. Better to be allowed to live without having to worry about ending up in the hospital. The Mayor didn't care so long as he got to keep his job, which now meant making the bikers happy.

Which meant paying the bikers with money from the city budget. Your library's budget in particular.

When you'd tried to argue about it, Mayor Walker hit back with "well we can't take any more from the school! Besides, no one needs the library anymore. They've all got their home computers and Internet. You'll be fine with the new budget."

In the end you'd had to let go all but one very part-time employee, relying on two or three volunteers instead. You were already working long hours but now they felt endless. With the budget cut, you had to reduce the purchases of new books in favor of maintaining the Internet connection several of older patrons relied on. Almost half of your day was spent working on applying for grants for additional funding for after-school programs and free-lunch programs for during the summer breaks.

Looking over everything, you were certain you'd have to dip into your own meager savings if you were going to meet the needs of your community. Mayor Walker really didn't seem to understand what the people of his city actually needed, but he didn't seem to care so long as he was in charge.

During an after-school reading time with the Kindergartners you're surprised by the entrance of one of the bikers. You think he's the second-in-command, but you're not sure. He's definitely not the blond in charge; "Cap" you think they call their leader. Still, you have kids to take care of, and this newcomer is a grown man. He can take care of himself.

When the story is done it's time for a nap for the kids. This is very likely the longest they've ever been away from home, away from family, and the sleep helps keep them from getting overstimulated. It was another thing Mayor Walker just didn't understand. All of these kids had parents that worked full time and couldn't afford a babysitter. There were no daycare options, either. Decades ago the kids could be left with a grandparent or a cousin, but they're all working as well or moved out of town. That left the library as a haven for the kids who didn't have access to the limited after-school activities as an option.

If there's anything good about working in such a tiny library it's that you can keep an eye on the kids and the biker while going about your other duties. Thankfully you'd gotten some WD-40 for the book carts so they wouldn't squeak and wake anyone up while you re-shelve books.

You also get a better look at the biker. He's sitting in one of the chairs reading The Hobbit. You hate to admit it but he does look handsome. Longish dark hair, steely blue eyes. For some reason he's still wearing his gloves. If only his arrival hadn't heralded such troubles for you. Well, at least he wasn't causing trouble.

Shelving the books gets you a bit of stretching and some impromptu squat exercises. You spend so much of your time at a desk that this is the closest thing you get to a workout. Given how your body continually snaps, crackles and pops, you could probably use more.

Your exercise is cut short by Ruth's entry and you have to fight the urge to let out a groan. Ruth is one of the older ladies in town who refused to get a computer for her home. Unfortunately that means each time she visits, you have to walk her through even the most basic elements of using a computer so she can send an email to her granddaughter. The entire time she complains to you about how much she hates computers and how much she wishes her daughter would've raised her own daughter correctly and been happy to just accept a phone call, and on, and on, and on.

"Hello Ruth," you quietly say, customer service smile on. "Let me go ahead and log you in to one of our computers?"

"I'm not an invalid!" she loudly complains. You try to quiet her, pointing to the sleeping children but she isn't having it. "All you youngsters thinking an old lady can't do anything for herself! How dare you imply I can't log on to a computer? I'll do it my own self."

You take a breath to steady yourself before looking over at the little ones. They seem largely undisturbed but, knowing Ruth, they'll be awake sooner rather than later. Sighing you go ahead and get their after nap snacks ready. Just another hour or so until their parents start coming by to pick them up. It doesn't take long before Ruth is yelling at the computer, complaining to you that "it's clearly broken" and "why can't we just write letters" along with her forever complaint of "wouldn't have to do this if she'd just pick up the damn phone!"

The kids start waking up and you quickly have to balance keeping them from being upset by the angry lady while also knowing any attempts to placate the angry lady will be met with more anger. Thankfully the snacks are a good distraction for most.

"Would you like some help on a different computer, Ruth?" you ask through gritted teeth, knowing the answer.

"Oh stop treating me like one of those brats," she snaps back. "What kind of library is this where computers are more important than books? Shouldn't even have these monstrosities here!"

"Excuse me, Ruth, is it? I'm Bucky." You'd been so distracted going between Ruth and the kids you didn't notice the biker had put down his book and walked over.

"Oh don't get me started on you and yours!" Ruth retorts. "Town was so much better before you hooligans came along! Now I can't even call the police to help me out when then those teenagers are loitering in my yard!"

"Well Ruth, let me give you my number so the next time you can call me instead of the police," he offers. You're surprised at how calm he's sounding despite being yelled at.

Ruth huffs, "you no-good-beatniks! How dare you insult me! You should get out of our town and leave us good folk alone!"

The biker, Bucky, smiles, "seems to me 'good folk' don't go harassing people who are just trying to do their job." You have to bite back a laugh at that comment. It's no good riling her up even more.

Ruth storms out, letting you focus on the kids who are looking unsure if they should be upset or not. You give the biker a quick "thank you" before giving the little ones all of your attention. He nods and goes back to his reading.

Soon enough the parents start coming in and picking up their kids. Several of them stick around long enough to check out a book or movie and you have to balance taking care of the remaining children with getting the families out on their way. It's always such an ado that makes you really wish you could hire some extra help. A few parents complain about the snacks you gave their kids and you remind them, yet again, that they are free to donate snacks they consider appropriate. All the while you keep your customer service smile up, despite how much you're internally screaming and crying.

Things finally calm down and you're able to sit and take a breather. You desperately want to quit but this community needs a library, even if the Mayor doesn't think so. And goodness knows they'd never be able to hire anyone else to work these conditions. You look over to where the biker is sitting, still reading. If his gang hadn't shown up, you'd be in a much better position. Maybe even able to take a vacation.

Checking the time you decide to keep your professionalism and head over to the man. "Sir, excuse me?" He looks up at you, bright blue eyes momentarily startled. "Sir, we're going to be closing in about a half hour."

"Oh, yeah, sure thing," he nods as he closes the book. "Also, please call me Bucky."

"Sure thing, Bucky," you nod, too tired to argue.

"Gotta say, you do a lot of work for a librarian."

"What do you mean by that?" You don't hold back the bite in your tone and cross your arms.

He chuckles, "I didn't mean to offend. Just, I thought librarians were just supposed to check out the books, y'know? Maybe answer questions? Didn't expect you to also be a daycare, IT person and all that."

"And that's just the work that you saw," you snap at him.

"Don't you have anyone helping you out?"

"I did, before your gang came along!" You're unable to hold back any longer. "Because of you the Mayor cut my budget! I had to fire pretty much all my staff! I can't get the half the books the people of this community want! I have to beg the state government for funds to make sure kids have food when they don't school meals! Do you know how much cleaning I have to do because there's no room in the budget for professionals?! Do you have any idea how many of the things around here I have to pay for out of my own pocket?! You bikers demanded protection money and it came out of my budget!"

Bucky's gloved hand grabs neck, stopping you from talking. You try to fight but his arm is stronger than expected. Surprisingly he doesn't look angry so much as amused. "You know, I never thought I could go for the librarian type but this fire of yours does something to me." Your nostrils flare and he chuckles. "I've been yelled at twice today, Doll. A man can only take so much."

"I'm sorry," you grumble as best you can.

His hand loosens, "what was that, Doll?"

"I'm sorry," you repeat. "While you are the reason my budget was cut, you're not the one who made the decision. I'm sorry I took my anger and frustration out on you."

"That's more like it," he snickers. He pulls you uncomfortably close to himself. "And I'm more than happy to reward that better behavior." You look at him, confusion written all over your face, as the leather of his glove caresses your cheek. "Like I said, I never thought a librarian would rouse my interest, but you're something else." You roll your eyes and try to pull away, but he isn't having it. His grip tightens around your throat again, even as his smile widens, baring his teeth. "I can be very good to you, Doll, so long as you're good for me."

His implication is clear and you really don't have any options.

"I need to close the library," you grumble.

Bucky removes his hand from around your throat, "good idea. Don't want to get caught now, do we?"

Your body is shaking as you go about the routine for closing the library. Your brain is working overtime to try to figure out some kind of way out of this. Running isn't an option. Even if you made it to your car, where could you go? Calling for help definitely wouldn't do anything. You seriously doubt he would hesitate to make an example of you if you ran.

With the last of the doors locked and the blinds closed you return the biker and almost whimper, "my office?"

"Oh Doll," he cups your chin. "You don't need to be scared of me. I'll be good to you."

"Do...do you...do you have a condom?"

He chuckles, "don't worry, we're not going that far tonight. But I love that you're ready for it."

Without warning he grabs you and pulls you in for a suffocating, forceful kiss. His tongue quickly pushing its way past your lips. Mentally reminding yourself to do what he wants, you open your mouth to give him access and he moans. One of his hands moves down to your breast and you have to will yourself to not flinch away from the touch.

"Take off the cardigan. And the top," he orders.

You back up just a bit so you can oblige. "The bra as well?"

"Nah, that'll be for me to remove." His voice sounds rougher than before and his eyes are definitely darker. He seems amused by the fact that you maintain eye contact while removing your clothes. "You're so pretty when you're defiant," he teases. "But I'm sure I'll have you pleading for more in no time."

Willing your eyes not to roll you instead snipe back, "don't make promises you can't keep. Wouldn't be the first disappointment I've had."

He has the nerve to laugh at that. "I'll make a believer out of you, Doll."

Walking to your office, he sits in your chair, gesturing for you to get on his lap. "Make me think you want this," he commands.

Taking a deep breath, eyes never leaving his, you move to straddle him. He's surprised when you grab the back of his head and turn his face up before shoving your tongue down his throat. He moans in appreciation and his arms wrap around you as he returns your fervor. You bite his lower lip and start grinding against his crotch.

He removes his right glove before undoing your bra faster than you expected. You pull apart from him just long enough to remove the bra and he takes the opportunity to latch himself to your breast. His ungloved hand moves to fondle your other breast while his surprisingly strong left arm holds you up. His ministrations have you gasping as your body instinctively continues to grind against him. His slow, languid movements are in direct contrast to the speed your hips have set and the difference is affecting you.

Suddenly you're on your back on the desk. Bucky had managed to move his left hand to prevent your head from banging on the desk. Your eyes widened from more than just surprise at the realization of how fast and strong he was.

"Sorry, Doll, you were getting me too worked up already," he smirks at you. He moves his hands so they're on each side of your head, hovering over you. "It really is the quiet ones, huh?" You can't help roll your eyes and he chuckles. "Let's see how loud you can get."

He quickly unbuttons your pants and pulls them off of you before getting out a knife. Your breath hitches and he chuckles as he takes the blade to your panties, cutting them off of you. He puts the panties to his nose, "you smell so good. How long's it been, Doll? Months? Can't imagine you get a lotta action in this town."

"It's been a while," you confess, heat burning your cheeks at how turned on you are. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

He stuffs your panties into his pocket and taps your thighs with the knife so you spread them open. "You look so pretty like this," he snickers, clearly amused by your discomfort.

He slams the knife into the desk by your head, making you yelp in surprise. Using his left arm to hover over you, he whispers into your ear, "such a pretty scream," as his fingers start playing with your pussy. He groans at how wet you are, "fuck, Doll, I should'a known you'd be into the rough play."

You squeal as he mercilessly jams two of his fingers into you, all the way to the knuckle. As you involuntarily arch your back he alternates licking, sucking and nibbling your nipples. He adds a third finger and mercilessly drives his hand in and out of your soaked pussy. He pushes himself up and uses his now free arm to start choking you. You try to push his arm away, but it's impossibly strong. You're shocked to feel your orgasm building as your gasping for air.

He must sense it too because he grins and starts ordering you to "give me what I want, Doll. Cum around my fingers. I can feel how close you are." He gives your nipple a sharp bite that pushes you over the edge and cum with a hoarse scream, his fingers never slowing down, his grip never letting up.

It's only after you've stopped cumming that he eases up. "That was fucking gorgeous," he taunts before pulling his fingers out of you and licking them. He closes his eyes and moans at your flavor, making you burn with embarrassment. You start to get up but his left hand keeps you pressed to the desk. "I'm not done, Doll."

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I shouldn't have assumed."

"God you're a good, smart girl. Keep those legs spread for me." You do as he says while trying to look anywhere but him. He pulls the knife out of your desk and flips it so that the hilt is pointed towards you. "Look at me, Doll. I want you to watch." You struggle to look and he rubs the hilt of the knife against your oversensitive clit, making you jump. "I said, look. At. Me. Doll." You're quick to follow his orders this time.

He puts the knife away before undoing his belt and pants. As much as you could feel when you were grinding against him, as much as you could see the his bulge, you weren't expecting his cock to be so big. Your eyes widen and he chuckles, "like I said, we're not going that far tonight. Now be good and don't move unless I tell you."

Grabbing your legs he pulls you so your ass is a little off the desk and runs his cock over your pussy, gathering up your slick and rubbing over your clit, making you whimper. He starts groaning in pleasure, "god you're so wet from just one orgasm. Can't wait to see how soaked you get after a full night with me." He positions your thighs so that you're squeezing his cock between them and he gives a few thrusts, spreading your own juices all your thighs.

"Gonna mark you up with my cum," he growls as he picks up his pace, squeezing your thighs even tighter. His hands are hurting you but his cock keeps rubbing against your clit and it's feeling so damn good you don't register his words. You moan and whine as you barrel towards your next orgasm. "That's it, Doll. You make the prettiest faces. Can't wait to see you covered in my cum. Gonna look so damn pretty with my seed all over you."

He squeezes your thighs impossibly tight and you cum so hard from the pain and pleasure combination you don't notice him ejaculating all over your stomach and chest.

When he finally catches his breath he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone to take a photo. You try to protest but he gives you a warning look. You drop your face, trying to not cry from how dirty you feel. He puts the phone away and lifts your chin, "don't worry, Doll. That photo is just for me." He kisses the top of your head and you try not to wince. "And because you were so good to me, made me feel so good, I'll be good to you. Now get your clothes back on and I'll escort you home."

"Can I clean up?"

"Not until you get home," he growls. "You don't get rid of my marks until I give you permission."

"Yes, Bucky," you sniffle.

"Aw, don't be like that, Doll," he gently chides. "I take care of what's mine."

The next morning you wake up from a nightmare riddled sleep, feeling more tired than ever. After your morning routine you step outside to head to the library but stop short when you see Bucky on his motorcycle, waiting for you. Wordlessly he hands you a helmet and you don't even try to question or talk him out of whatever he has planned, you just put the helmet on and get on the bike behind him, holding him incredibly tight so you don't fall off.

He stops in front of City Hall and helps you off the bike before walking you in. He doesn't stop until he's led you to the Mayor's office. Your shocked to see Cap, the leader of the biker gang, sitting next to Mayor Walker, whose nose has recently been broken. You gasp and try to turn away but Bucky grabs you and keeps you facing the Mayor.

Cap pats Walker's shoulder, "now what did I tell you?"

Walker shudders a little before looking at you and shakily saying, "I'm so sorry for cutting your budget so much. I will amend that today, making sure to take the money out of my own salary."

Your shaking, unable to respond. Bucky whispers into your ear, "what do you say, Doll?"

"Th-thank you, Mayor Walker," you stutter. "I...I really appreciate that you've ch-changed your mind."

"That's my girl," Bucky whispers before guiding you out of the office.

Next Part

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