#so therefore it makes sense that every time i try to work on it i simply have a Reaction and Cannot do it

[inkskinned]

my brother got covid because he's a college professor and there's not much he can do to mitigate exposure when he has 200+ students per lecture. he's got a baby at home, so he does his best, but.

the governmental website for covid information is now propaganda. not a joke, not hyperbole, not an exaggeration: it's genuinely the definition of propaganda. this is biased misinformation determined to push a political stance. it is being hosted on a government server. it looks like something you'd find in a "top 10 weird internet conspiracy stories (and their origins)" youtube video.

my brother called me when he saw it. he had me type it into google. for a second i legitimately thought that i had typed something wrong. we have both taught college: we have both said "a .gov site is usually a reliable resource." i just stared at my phone for a long, long time.

i thought about how when i was a kid, conspiracy theories were mostly fun and a little spooky. unserious. i remember reading some long, complicated website about how avril lavigne is dead. how bigfoot is real. it used to be funny-and-a-joke.

over seven million people (globally) have died from covid. america has the highest death rate with over 1.2 million people.

the thing is - every time a person dies from something like a mass shooting or poverty or treatable illness - we are told don't make it political. we are told it's just something that can happen. we are told it's sad but what can you do!

the president of the united states is using a government website to try to erase the very-real deaths that he personally caused due to a complete mismanagement of the pandemic. the president of the united states is using a government server to host propaganda, undermine science and medicine, and encourage distrust amongst his followers.

nothing is going to happen. nobody's gonna, like, do anything about it. it's a thursday today, and we are just going to move on from this like we have been moving on from everything else.

yesterday my brother was outside walking his dog, mask included. a guy in a truck pulls up and shouts something about covid and whatever the fuck else. my brother has a good sense of humor, described it to me as enthusiastic! i hadn't ever been catcalled before, this was new and therefore thrilling! i do see why you hate it, though. like. i have actual covid, does he want me to cough on him?

my brother doesn't get extra time off work anymore, because the cdc practically doesn't exist. my brother said i'm not exposing 200 students to covid. his boss shrugged and said: who cares? they're going to get it eventually anyway. like it isn't a pandemic.

like it's just a fucking thursday, and who cares about it.

[storkmuffin]

i love The Leaders i’m glad you mentioned it! never looked into the lyrics but i love the threatening aura (wooyoung’s whispers are SO COOL i will not rest until they let him do more villainous and evil things)

if you don’t mind, could you share what you think about the korean lyrics? <3

선도부 / The Leaders is the most problematic song for me, and I'm so glad you asked this question. I tend to get haunted by this song, because it's damn catchy and fun and significant bits of it are such earworms and stay with me, but I also find the whole vibe and lyrics so extremely uncomfortable. I'll try to explain but TLDR, I kind of never want to see them perform it or make an MV for it.

I'm using the translation into english available on the Genius.com for 선도부 (The Leaders) as of today's date, April 25, 2025. I also have things to say about how wrong a lot of it is.

Here goes:

Seon-do-bu (선도부) Are Not Your Friends

선도부다 wait wait (yes, sir) /손들어라 wait wait (yeah yeah)

It's the leaders, wait, wait (Yes sir)

Raise your hands, wait, wait (Yeah, yeah)

Starting with the word 선도부, mistranslated as Leaders, there's an immediate problem. I can't think of what exists in the West that is the equivalent but 선도부 (Seon-do-bu) are not leaders in the normal sense of understanding the word in English. Hall Monitor maybe, except those kids were not given the power that seon-do-bu had. They're more like the Iranian morality police portrayed in Persepolis:

These are not people elected by peers to represent the student body - that's 반장 (class president) or 회장 (student union chairperson). What Seon-do-bu do is they enforce the dress code and rules of student decorum and behavior against other students, because they are empowered to do so by the teachers. They are children who have been delegated adult supervisory powers over other children, and it never works out well, because kids empowered over other kids never works out well.

Oh, to any assholes who have never been to Korea and are about to get racist and weird about the special oppressiveness of Korean society, you can eat shit and die, honestly. Children everywhere are oppressed, and teenagers especially are subjected to dehumanizing, controlling rules in almost every place I've ever heard of.

Anyway. This system of having Seon-do-bu exists because of two legacies:

1) military dictatorship culture, which was a direct legacy of the militaristic terror that Japanese colonialism inflicted on Korea for 30+ years leading to basically the whole society functioning like one giant totalitarian army and the massive population well into the 1990s, and

2) the post Korean war baby boom in South Korea coupled with the new rules for 100% mandatory education for both boys and girls as well as all social strata of persons, which led to absolutely overpopulated schools for a long time. There would be 60 kids to a class, 12 classes per grade, and every school was like this. Given the extremely strict rules for attire (hair can't be longer than however many cms, clothes must have a specific, military-clean fit, no personal accessories, etc etc) it became impossible for teachers to do all this monitoring themselves, and hence they selected children who were especially intimidating to take on the task of being enforcers.

These are not, I repeat, the smartest or most accomplished or popular students. These are the toughest, most rigid ones that enjoy exercising power over others. Some cynical teachers were said to have picked the children most likely to be rule flouters and problems for the teacher and instead made them this quasi-military morality police and unleashed them on other students. By getting to be seon-do-bu, the troublemakers hid (not abstained, but hid) their problematic behaviors from the teachers and therefore made it not the teacher's problem. They instead channeled their aggression and destructive energies on other children instead.

So just imagine, a teenage boy or girl chosen for their ability and desire to tell off other students, wearing a fascist armband (more on the damn armband below), authorized to give everyone who comes to school a once over head to foot to see if they have non-regulation personal jewelry or their hair is too long, giving you that examination every single morning you come to school. EEK!

In fact the word Seon-do-bu created such a negative set of feelings that they started to call it something else: 학생생활지도부 (Student Life Guide Group) or 또래지킴이 (Peer Guardians - as in, these guardians guide their peers away from paths to ruin, I guess). But according to articles I found questioning why we still have this system as of 2018 students still complained of feeling intimidated and afraid when they had to walk by these kids.

In at least one performance, Ateez make it clear that they are the negative image of seondobu that I have, and they like it. The little 'acting bit' that happens right after this intro (this is during the Kingdom Final performance, air date 21.06.03), Hong Joong does come to the 'rescue' of some dancer who is a kid being bullied, but it goes by in 2 seconds before they start "The Real." But they had to put that in there to stave off criticism that they were glorifying a thing that people like me would really object to.

The swagger about the Confucian Fundamentalist Fascist armband with both Seonghwa and San almost punching their own arm with glee, like they're 'powering up,' enacting being the tough kids who don't look like they've ever held a book never mind pay attention class, and nevertheless being seon-do-bu ordering people around? Yikes.

And yet the song is bouncy and fun (but I mean, I've read that Neo-Nazi songs are also very catchy), the boys are all Idols so they're beautiful and hot, and styled within an inch of their lives, so it's all aesthetically quite fun, you know?

I am suffering.

And it plays into a stereotype about Gyeongsangdo men being toughs, gangsters, criminals, enforcers etc. Moreover, the delivery of the words Seon-do-bu-da wait wait - where they don't pronounce the T on WAIT on purpose? It comes out to a Korean listener not reading along to the official lyrics like 선도부다 왜왜? - which is I'm Seun-do-bu why why? literally, but it the why why in our language context basically means, What are you gonna do about it, loser? I'm sure they did that on purpose.

The New Kkondae Situation

나쁜 건 나빠 man (yeah yeah)/ 말 들어 뉴 꼰대 (yes, sir)

Bad things are bad, man (Yeah, yeah)

Listen to me, new kkondae (Yes sir)

First off, if anyone actually said, 말들어 to me to my face I would straight up throw a chair at their face in the hopes of causing grievous harm. It's so rude and so condescending. It doesn't just say, "listen to me." It says "You're wrong, and I'm right, and you are moreover stupid and I'm superior, so you need to shut your mouth entirely and obediently listen to what I am teaching you." Again, the compression of Korean is very hard to explain in English, but 말들어 is a form of imperative for which the only non-abusive use I can imagine is a mom talking to a 2 year old having a meltdown in the supermarket, rolling around on the floor screaming because she won't buy them a 5 kg bag of brown sugar they are suddenly obsessed with.

Also the translation in Genius adds this false comma, "Listen to me, New Kkondae" because whoever did that didn't like what the song was actually saying. Ateez are not addressing the New Kkondae here as some sort of 'other,' they're calling themselves new kkondae. They're reclaiming the word kkondae, and declaring that they are carrying on kkondae values.

The explanatory note contributed on Genius lyrics says:

kkondae loosely translates as a “condescending older person”, the kind often found in a middle or upper management position in the workplace. So they’re trying to tell their “kkondae” to stop ordering their youngers around.

The first part is not wrong. That's generally what kkondae means. But of course, that's not all, and that's not the most important thing. Kkondae has acquired more color and more context over time, and now means something close to Someone Who Demands Fundamentalist Confucian Values Which Are Behind the Times. Why are such values behind the times? Because they are directly against concepts like, oh, democratic free speech, the assumption that everyone is equal and therefore everyone has an equal right to speak, that speech will not be met with physical violence, things like that. It's not just feminist women who don't like Fundamentalist Confucian values - any man who wants the right to disagree with someone older or richer or higher up in the hierarchy should rightly also hate it. And MOST DO.

The last time we lived in a truly Confucian society was during the Victorian era in England, OK? So these are people who are espousing Victorian values. Not even Edwardian but Victorian.

Millennial Korean men especially have been very loud from Day 1 of their adulthood about how much they hate it. And moreover, people born in the 1960s and 70s also hate the idea of kkondae, and fear becoming kkondae. Kkondae also means close minded. It was very important to have this word that insults and corrects this type of mindset. I'm very alarmed at the attempt to have kkondae be 'hip' in any way by reinventing some 'friendlier' version of it. This is too alarmingly close to the horrifying repackaging of the oppression of women as being a relaxing and feminine lifestyle that's been recently happening in the US.

The most trad-values guys of the Ateez group have also filmed this content, where they proclaimed themselves the new kkondae, more or less, which cements this perspective. The most traditional values guys among Ateez are Seonghwa, San, Jongho and Wooyoung.

The ones that did not show up for this are important to consider too. Yeosang, Hongjoong, Yunho and Mingi aren't here. I can't get into it here but this video - and especially Jongho's attitude, remain a sharp pebble in my shoe about my fandom for this group.

Aint a Bad Thing Still Bad?

Hold up / 널 이끄는 황야의 리더 / Hold up /나쁜 건 나쁜 거 아입니까

Hold up, I'm your leader in the wilderness (Ooh) / Hold up, ain't bad still bad? (Ooh)

This is going to be yet another Gyeongsangdo moment, but they give this line to San, who says it in his regional accent. 아입니까 is technically speaking dialect, and not proper grammar. Proper grammar is 아닙니까, and even that formulation is down south dialect, and most people would say 아닌가요? 아입니까 is regional dialect, and it's also reaches back to something I don't want anyone reaching back to.

When a patriarchal Gyeongsangdo man says this phrase, and they do say it, it sounds neutral but the neutrality is a false cover. When I hear it, it makes me feel really violent, because it is one of the rhetorical tools used violently on me as a child, which helped make me the eruptive, verbally scary person I am today. It's phrased like a question - May I just confirm that a bad thing is in fact bad? but that isn't what the phrase is really SAYING.

It's saying, instead, I have decided what is good and what is bad, and those are the only two options. If you keep yapping, I am going to decide that you are a person who can't distinguish between good and evil, and moreover, may not be on the side of the good, which I have defined and my definition is the only one that is possible. So are you, in fact, someone who knows the difference between good and evil, and if you can, are you on the side of good or not?

It's a silencing rhetorical tactic with a threat of violence behind it, and it's in this song. I hate it so much.

Wait a second, woo / 숨이 턱까지 딱 / 아파 내 맘 / 아픈 데는 빨간약

소리는 악 / 따가워 소리 질러 / 오늘도 nah / 나쁜 건 나쁜 거다

Wait a second (Ooh) / Breathe to my chin (Woah) /My heart hurts

Red medicine for the pain (Bad) / Say “Ow” (Ow) / It stings, shout out (Freedom) /Today again, nah / Bad things are bad

위에 더 위에 / 서 차렷 서 집합해 yeah/ 전부 내 뒤에 /쉿 조용 쉿 따라 해 (yeah yeah) /집중해 지금 / 내 시도��� 도시를 바꿔놨지 / 그 말마따나 조용히 시키는 대로만 하면 돼 / 용기 패기 객기

Higher and higher, stand up straight, gather around

Everyone behind me, shh, be quiet, follow my orders

Focus now, my actions changed the city

Just shut your mouth and do what you're told

Be brave, brash and bold

I can't do a word for word analysis but there is a typical Hongjoong Korean pun in here: 내 시도가 도시를 바꿔놨지. sido - dosi . Sido for attempt, dosi for city. Very cute.

The English translation says "shut your mouth, do you what you're told" but that's inaccurate. The lyrics actually say, All you need to do is obey my instructions in silence.

The Damn Arm Band

몸엔 black suit and tie / 오른팔엔 완장 tight / 롤리 대신 롤리팝

지금부터 긴장 빡

Wear a black suit and tie / Tight armband on my right / Lollipop instead of rollie / Stay nervous from now on

To show that they were empowered to oppress other children, Seon-do-bu wore armbands. Who else wears armbands? Nazis. Italian Fascists. The terrifying, destructive monstrous children of the Red Guard. The Military Police of most armies.

The whole purpose and design of armbands is supposed to cause a frightened shrinking in the person not wearing it, in order to silence them into meekness.

The Genius translation has this note which...

Armbands on the upper arm are of significance in a lot of cultures: in Japanese society, it’s often a method to identify the leader of a club/group. In soccer as well, it’s a symbol of captaincy which shows the crowd and the players where to look for inspiration, as the Captain has a responsibility to be a role model.

....I am supposed to say stuff like whoever this is meant well and they were trying to help and so on, but Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck it nah, this is my blog, and I am just going to say it:

If anyone ever ever EVER EVER tries to explain anything in Korean society at all whatsoever by going, "In Japanese society" just cut out their tongue. They have no idea what the fuck they're talking about. This note is every kind of entirely wrong and stupid. Why even say anything if you're going to be this goddamn WRONG? I hope they have painful poops from constipation every day until they die.

Wooyoung has a killer delivery of this line - the whispering is so menacing and sexy it's sickening.

But at the same time?

The word for power tripping in Korean actually literally says "the shit that happens when the wrong person wears an armband" (완장질). Feral, out of control young men in armbands have and always will be really bad news for women. And I can't let that go, unfortunately, which interferes with my capacity to enjoy this song.

8th Grade Syndrome and ATEEZ TRANSLATION FAILS

무슨 말을 해 / 안타까운 게 / 하나도 안 멋져 / 중2병 같아 / 내 몸에 딱 맞는 옷이 제일 예뻐 aye

What are you talking about?

You're such a pity

It's not cool at all

You're like a chuunibyou

Tight clothes are the prettiest

Chuunibyou (中二病 / 厨二病), often shortened to chuuni or chuu2, is an often-derisive Japanese slang term for the embarrassing behavior of 13-to-14-year-olds. The term literally means “Middle [School] 2[nd Year] Syndrome”.

So in this line, they’re trying to say that their haters or “kkondae” (as previously stated) are like immature children.

The last line is a bit wrong. The lyric is not 'tight clothes are the prettiest.' It means the clothes that are tailor made to you, that is, the clothes that fit you, are the ones that look the best. There's an English phrase for this concept too - Getting Too Big For Your Britches. That's what they're talking about.

중2병 literally means Second Year of Middle School Disease. Again the compulsion to shove Korean things into a Japanese frame - I WILL SMACK. OK to be fair about this one- this particular phrase, 중2병 is actually an imported phrase from Japan, but the meaning is now rather diverged from the OG Japanese concept. It used to mean teen angst or behaving like an angsty teenager but now it means something different - it means, in short, cringe. It means, someone who is pretentious, but also deeply ignorant and uninformed, and therefore transparently unable to sustain the pretensions to which they aspire.

And obviously, I disagree that Ateez are disavowing kkondae altogether. They want to be Reformation Kkondae. They want to be Renaissance kkondae. They're not rejecting it altogether, and made reality content in support of this desire to perpetuate Confucian fundamentalist behaviors, while staying stolidly silent about how, like all fundamentalisms, it was absolutely shit to women.

Yeah, I'm the leader, both captain

남달라 성이 / 멋대로 줄 세워도 우린 항상 처음이지

기준 앞뒤 좌우로 나란히 / 다 정숙해 정숙하고 손들어 찔리면

너는 겉멋이 죄 너는 언행이 죄 / ��점 받기 전에 벌점이 답인 애

후덜덜 손바닥 맴매 /난 여기까지만 선생님

I'm the leader, both captain

My family name is different / Cut in line, but we're always in the front

Attention, front and back, from side to side

Everyone, be quiet, shush, raise your hands up

If your'e caught, your fashion is crime, your words and actions are crime /Bonus points, no, minus points are your cure

You're shaking, let's hit your palms / I'll be your teacher until now

The translation for this in the English is also off, and it also seems to have a nostalgia for something that was actually quite vile.

손바닥 맴매: Corporal punishment, quite serious, quite violative, enacted by teachers upon students was a major method of pedagogical abuse and control in Korean schools until the early 2000s.

기준 앞뒤로 나란히 - is not Attention front and back etc. It says line up straight. You know like the military does, all the time? Line people up in straight blocks of interchangeable humans, and then make them march. This is yet another Fascism has cool aesthetics though, kind of a vibe.

손들어 찔리면: If your conscience is pricked, raise your hand to turn yourself in, is what he actually says. Obey in advance, in other words.

난 여기 까지만 선생님: This is blatantly wrongly translated. It doesn't say I will be your teacher until now. What he says is, This is as far as I a go, and then is calling the teacher to take over.

So in sum, what Hongjoong says is this: Your pretentiousness is your crime (can also be SIN because this group has really Catholic lyrics all the time), your speech and behavior are criminally bad/ sinful. The way to deal with a kid like you is penalize you rather than coax with praise. You should be given corporal punishment. Teacher, take over please.

And now to be a total killjoy about an enjoyable song

The fundamental problem with this song, and what it shows me, is the VAST GULF that still exists between Korean men and women, about where we are as a society. This song that looks with cheeky nostalgia at the era of Seon-do-bu, at the era of kkondae who did whatever they wanted without limit because there wasn't a word to critique such behavior, and reappropriates it for a fun time is only possible if that era is completely over. An entertainment company that created an all male group for whom the writers of the songs are also all men and they call their CEO Papa (I am not ever letting this go) that thinks the era of fascistic patriarchy is entirely over is not with it. For Korean women, we are still fucking in it. This is happening to us, -ING, in present tense. There is no nostalgia possible. It's not cute to me. And it's disturbing that they're using such charismatic boys to sing me this song.

All that said, there probably is some sort of justification in their lore for why this song exists. Maybe it is intended as subversion. But that just doesn't come through. And moreover, we're in a worldwide era of a resurgence of fascism. Men the same generation as Ateez elected an openly anti-feminist president into office in South Korea. That man then tried to criminally declare martial law, had to be fought off by a lot of young women protesting (using kpop lightsticks instead of candles!) and the very sturdy S. Korean democratic process and courts, and is now being tried as a criminal. And he still has MZ generation young men fans weeping for him and supporting his blatantly anti democratic tendencies. Confucian fundamentalist fascism is not cool. I don't want it.

But the song is really so catchy and fun, and performed with such panache.

Life is so hard, sometimes.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I feel like if one wants — and is trying to give themself — a mental disorder by using the label of “transid,” then they are probably already disordered in some other way that they are in denial of; because it‘s more stigmatized, or “less interesting” than the neurotype they’ve chosen to mimic… which is sad because they’re masking in two different directions at that point: one to hide their illness, the other to create an illness… which will lead to more illness. Bleak, to be honest.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

average United States contains 1000s of pet tigers in backyards" factoid actualy [sic] just statistical error. average person has 0 tigers on property. Activist Georg, who lives the U.S. Capitol & makes up over 10,000 each day, has purposefully been spreading disinformation adn [sic] should not have been counted

I have a big mad today, folks. It's a really frustrating one, because years worth of work has been validated... but the reason for that fucking sucks.

For almost a decade, I've been trying to fact-check the claim that there "are 10,000 to 20,000 pet tigers/big cats in backyards in the United States." I talked to zoo, sanctuary, and private cat people; I looked at legislation, regulation, attack/death/escape incident rates; I read everything I could get my hands on. None of it made sense. None of it lined up. I couldn't find data supporting anything like the population of pet cats being alleged to exist. Some of you might remember the series I published on those findings from 2018 or so under the hashtag #CrouchingTigerHiddenData. I've continued to work on it in the six years since, including publishing a peer reviewed study that counted all the non-pet big cats in the US (because even though they're regulated, apparently nobody bothered to keep track of those either).

I spent years of my life obsessing over that statistic because it was being used to push for new federal legislation that, while well intentioned, contained language that would, and has, created real problems for ethical facilities that have big cats. I wrote a comprehensive - 35 page! - analysis of the issues with the then-current version of the Big Cat Public Safety Act in 2020. When the bill was first introduced to Congress in 2013, a lot of groups promoted it by fear mongering: there's so many pet tigers! they could be hidden around every corner! they could escape and attack you! they could come out of nowhere and eat your children!! Tiger King exposed the masses to the idea of "thousands of abused backyard big cats": as a result the messaging around the bill shifted to being welfare-focused, and the law passed in 2022.

The Big Cat Public Safety Act created a registry, and anyone who owned a private cat and wanted to keep it had to join. If they did, they could keep the animal until it passed, as long as they followed certain strictures (no getting more, no public contact, etc). Don’t register and get caught? Cat is seized and major punishment for you. Registering is therefore highly incentivized. That registry closed in June of 2023, and you can now get that registration data via a Freedom of Information Act request.

Guess how many pet big cats were registered in the whole country?

97.

Not tens of thousands. Not thousands. Not even triple digits. 97.

And that isn't even the right number! Ten USDA licensed facilities registered erroneously. That accounts for 55 of 97 animals. Which leaves us with 42 pet big cats, of all species, in the entire country.

Now, I know that not everyone may have registered. There's probably someone living deep in the woods somewhere with their illegal pet cougar, and there's been at least one random person in Texas arrested for trying to sell a cub since the law passed. But - and here's the big thing - even if there are ten times as many hidden cats than people who registered them - that's nowhere near ten thousand animals. Obviously, I had some questions.

Guess what? Turns out, this is because it was never real. That huge number never had data behind it, wasn't likely to be accurate, and the advocacy groups using that statistic to fearmonger and drive their agenda knew it... and didn't see a problem with that.

Allow me to introduce you to an article published last week.

This article is good. (Full disclose, I'm quoted in it). It's comprehensive and fairly written, and they did their due diligence reporting and fact-checking the piece. They talked to a lot of people on all sides of the story.

But thing that really gets me?

Multiple representatives from major advocacy organizations who worked on the Big Cat Publix Safety Act told the reporter that they knew the statistics they were quoting weren't real. And that they don't care. The end justifies the means, the good guys won over the bad guys, that's just how lobbying works after all. They're so blase about it, it makes my stomach hurt. Let me pull some excerpts from the quotes.

"Whatever the true number, nearly everyone in the debate acknowledges a disparity between the actual census and the figures cited by lawmakers. “The 20,000 number is not real,” said Bill Nimmo, founder of Tigers in America. (...) For his part, Nimmo at Tigers in America sees the exaggerated figure as part of the political process. Prior to the passage of the bill, he said, businesses that exhibited and bred big cats juiced the numbers, too. (...) “I’m not justifying the hyperbolic 20,000,” Nimmo said. “In the world of comparing hyperbole, the good guys won this one.”

"Michelle Sinnott, director and counsel for captive animal law enforcement at the PETA Foundation, emphasized that the law accomplished what it was set out to do. (...) Specific numbers are not what really matter, she said: “Whether there’s one big cat in a private home or whether there’s 10,000 big cats in a private home, the underlying problem of industry is still there.”"

I have no problem with a law ending the private ownership of big cats, and with ending cub petting practices. What I do have a problem with is that these organizations purposefully spread disinformation for years in order to push for it. By their own admission, they repeatedly and intentionally promoted false statistics within Congress. For a decade.

No wonder it never made sense. No wonder no matter where I looked, I couldn't figure out how any of these groups got those numbers, why there was never any data to back any of the claims up, why everything I learned seemed to actively contradict it. It was never real. These people decided the truth didn't matter. They knew they had no proof, couldn't verify their shocking numbers... and they decided that was fine, if it achieved the end they wanted.

So members of the public - probably like you, reading this - and legislators who care about big cats and want to see legislation exist to protect them? They got played, got fed false information through a TV show designed to tug at heartstrings, and it got a law through Congress that's causing real problems for ethical captive big cat management. The 20,000 pet cat number was too sexy - too much of a crisis - for anyone to want to look past it and check that the language of the law wouldn't mess things up up for good zoos and sanctuaries. Whoops! At least the "bad guys" lost, right? (The problems are covered somewhat in the article linked, and I'll go into more details in a future post. You can also read my analysis from 2020, linked up top.)

Now, I know. Something something something facts don't matter this much in our post-truth era, stop caring so much, that's just how politics work, etc. I’m sorry, but no. Absolutely not.

Laws that will impact the welfare of living animals must be crafted carefully, thoughtfully, and precisely in order to ensure they achieve their goals without accidental negative impacts. We have a duty of care to ensure that. And in this case, the law also impacts reservoir populations for critically endangered species! We can't get those back if we mess them up. So maybe, just maybe, if legislators hadn't been so focused on all those alleged pet cats, the bill could have been written narrowly and precisely.

But the minutiae of regulatory impacts aren't sexy, and tiger abuse and TV shows about terrible people are. We all got misled, and now we're here, and the animals in good facilities are already paying for it.

I don't have a conclusion. I'm just mad. The public deserves to know the truth about animal legislation they're voting for, and I hope we all call on our legislators in the future to be far more critical of the data they get fed.

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 5

shy!reader really wants to tell construction worker!rafe how she feels but what if he doesn’t feel the same way?  

c/w: the L word, mostly fluff, her being an overthinker & getting a little jealous, pda, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.3k 

sooo this is the last part! (might write some extras but i make no promises) & just wanted to say how much i appreciate everyone who reads my stuff. the first part was my first piece of writing on this blog and i was overjoyed by the warm welcome and all the kind comments, asks & reblogs (nothing goes unnoticed by me!) so thank u so so much for being so lovely <33

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s been exactly two weeks since she came to terms with the fact that she’s in love with him.

She hasn’t been able to sleep all that well and has tried her very best to avoid Rafe, albeit fruitlessly since he insists on driving her home every day and on top of that, often invites himself over or asks her to stay the night at his— not accepting her excuses about being tired and having to wake up early.   

“Why don’t we jus’…be tired ‘n wake up early together then?” his grin is playful. And how is she meant to refuse that?  

And if everything he does wasn’t already suffocating her enough, he’s now helping with the renovation of the cafe since her boss wanted to expand the business; turn the small coffee shop into a bigger one in hopes of more space for new tables and seats, because the amount of clients they got was beginning to be too much for everyone to comfortably enjoy their stay. 

Therefore, she now has to work in the same building as him every single day because (unfortunately) the renovation work isn’t disturbing the current cafe from running nor decreasing the number of customers with a sweet tooth or a craving for their usual morning coffee.   

And none of this would be a problem, if Rafe wasn’t walking around all sweaty and dusty, biceps bulging whenever he’d lift wooden planks over his shoulder or carry around different equipment— looking as attractive as ever.

And with these newfound lovey-dovey feelings trying to break through the surface, she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to stop herself from ogling him or keep her rapid heartbeats to herself whenever he wanders over for a chat on his breaks. She tries to act as normal as she can, but she can tell that he’s starting to pick up on her excessive rambling and stuttering, flushed cheeks and anxious fingers fixing her hair every two seconds whenever he’s talking to her.  

In fact, she’s certain he can see right through her, knows that she’s hiding something. She can practically see how he wants to bring it up more often than not, but seemingly hasn’t found the right way to approach the subject yet, and she can sense that she’s running out of time— can’t tolerate lying to him for much longer.   

She’s been thinking this whole thing through over and over again, to the point of her head hurting while she bakes Rafe’s favorite lemon raspberry cookies as a distraction and because he’s been working so hard she wants to surprise him; see the soft smile that makes the whole world glitter whenever he graces her with it.  

And she wants to tell him, wants him to know how deeply she feels for him; how much she appreciates him but every time she tries to open her mouth, the words seem to evaporate before they’ve even begun to sprout on her nervous tongue.

Because what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if this is all just a casual thing for him and she’s making it into something more than it is? These bleak thoughts turn her mood sour— a pout forming on her lips as she concentrates on topping the flamingo pink icing with fresh blueberries, adding the final touches to their most popular vanilla cupcakes.

And as she’s taking Rafe’s cookies out the oven, she comes to the conclusion that she really only has two options; she either tells him or she doesn’t.

If she tells him, there’s a very high possibility that he looks at her with a crease between his brows and words about not wanting for this to be anything serious hitting her against the face. And if she doesn’t, then…well she doesn’t really have anything to lose, does she? Except maybe the what ifs haunting her for the rest of eternity.   

She tries to get rid of the tormenting thoughts with a shake of her head as she sets the cookies off to cool down, and begins to place the finished cupcakes onto the display counter, trying her hardest to just forget about it all.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -  

Later that day, when Rafe is contently munching on the cookies she plated for him and happily distracting her from work, someone approaches the counter; a girl with glossy lips and shiny hair.   

“Hi! Could I please get a mango matcha latte?” her eyes are as green as grass as she places her order.  

“Of course, would you like it with ice or no ice?”   

“With ice, please.”

“Coming right up,” she gives the girl a polite smile when her payment goes through.   

“You’re working on the renovation?” the girl’s attention then turns towards Rafe, making Y/N’s gaze flicker over to them as she puts blended mango into the bottom of a tall glass.  

“Yeah, the cafe’s gon’ be twice as big as it’s now,” he drawls, putting the half-eaten baked good down.   

“That’s so cool. You know, I’ve always wondered how construction workers are so strong. Do you go to the gym a lot?” a saccharine voice reaches Y/N’s ears, making her brows furrow while she measures the right amount of matcha powder, trying to appear nonchalant.   

“Uh, yeah, yeah, also think m’workdays sometimes count as workouts,” he scratches the back of his head as she lets out a giggle. It wasn’t that funny, Y/N thinks with a roll of her eyes.   

“Hey, I was actually wondering if maybe you’d wanna hang out sometime? Could give you my number?”   

Something muddy swirls in her stomach in response to the girl’s straightforward question. She doesn’t particularly appreciate the fact that she’s blatantly hitting on Rafe right in front of her, even if she’s painfully aware that they’re not together and the girl probably assumed they were just friends, which they are.  

However, she can’t prevent herself from turning grumpy from the mere notion of him being interested in someone else. After all, the girl is stunning and she wouldn’t really blame him if he wanted to at least consider her offer.  

“Uh, m’actually not available right now,” he offers an apologetic smile when the girl’s shoulders slump.   

“No? That’s a shame. Well, let me know when that changes?” she gives him a flirty smile that makes Y/N quietly scoff as she pours the milk into the mix.  

“S’not changing anytime soon,” she mutters under her breath, making both of their heads turn towards her.   

Fuck, did she really say that out loud?  

“Sorry?” the girl asks, muted jade settling on her suddenly tense form.

“Oh, um— jus’ that…here’s your drink,” she peeps out in her state of embarrassment, feeling Rafe’s eyes burning into the side of her face as she sticks a paper straw into the beverage; the ice cubes clinking together when she hands it out to her.

“Right, thanks,” she says before looking over to Rafe once more, seemingly expecting him to give her an answer of his own.  

“Uh…yeah, what she said. Not changin’ anytime soon,” his grin is wide, making the girl’s cheeks flush.  

And when it’s just the two of them again, she flits her eyes down— busying herself with a wooden container of tea bags she’s trying to organize, unable to face him.  

“What was, uh…what was that about?” his tone is taunting, an annoying smirk playing on his features.  

“Nothing,” she quickly dismisses, avoiding his gaze.  

“Nothin’? You’re tellin’ me you weren’t just real fuckin’ jealous two seconds ago?”  

“N—no,” she can’t even convince herself with the pitiful denial.  

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, m’all yours, alright?” he chuckles as he stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth.  

“How did you know I jus’ was cravin’ these?” he asks around the mouthful as she tries to brush aside the sudden tingle in her ribcage.   

- - - - - - - - - - - - -  

A few days later, when her shift is coming to an end, her other coworker already beginning to take orders and telling her she’s free to go, she drags Rafe behind the counter and practically forces him to taste test a new recipe she’s tried out; a walnut carrot cake with lime buttercream. 

“Wow, this is…amazing. The sourness in the frosting is so good,” his voice is muffled by his chewing and her heart warms in response to his commentary, never one to shy away from showering her in compliments.  

“You think so? I actually added the lime jus’ cause I know how much you like citrus fruits so, m’really glad you like it,” she beams at him.  

“Yeah? Made this jus’ for me, huh? Can I ask why m’gettin’ this special treatment all of a sudden?” his tone is playful, tongue licking over his bottom lip to clean up the bit of icing lingering there.   

“Well, cause I love you and—” she blurts out before her entire body tenses; mouth hanging open in shock and wide eyes slowly moving to look at him, trying to verify whether he heard it or not. Of course he did. She wasn’t exactly quiet now, was she?   

“You…you love me?” he raises his brows in surprise.  

“Uh…I— I didn’t mean to…I mean, you probably don’t feel the same so doesn’t really matter. Just— um...jus’ forget I said that. I don’t know why I—”   

“What are you talkin’ about? You think I spend most of my time with you cause I…what? Dislike you? You can be so silly sometimes, you know?” he scoffs, setting the golden fork down on the porcelain plate.  

She stays silent. 

“What I’m sayin’ is that m’obsessed with you. I mean, you’re even in my fuckin’ dreams, right? But listen, love has always been a little, uh, tricky for me cause m’relationship with my family has always been, uh, complicated? But if me wantin’ to spend every second of my day with you means I love you too, then, shit, maybe I do. But I need some time before I can really say that shit, you get that?” his words are honest and raw and she thinks her rattling heart is going to beat out of her chest.  

“I— um…yeah, of course. Take all the time you need,” she finally manages out.  

“Hey, c’mere,” he says before he’s practically dragging her dumbfounded form into his embrace; — beefy arms pulling her flush against his chest.  

“I mean, we’re basically already datin’ at this point, no? Wasn’t sure how to make it official without freakin’ you out but since you love me, think you’re all good, yeah?” 

She mumbles something incoherent in response.  

“So wanna be my little girlfriend or what?” he murmurs into her hair.  

“I— of course I do,” she speaks against his shirt.   

“Yeah?”   

“Mhm,” she hums before he tucks an index finger under her chin and lifts her face to look up at him—his thumb toying with her bottom lip before he’s leaning down and smearing a sloppy kiss against her mouth.   

“Shit, you’re so adorable, jus’ wanna swallow you whole sometimes,” he murmurs with a soft smile tugging at his lips and eyes twinkling with something syrupy in them.   

“I love you,” she mumbles, almost inaudible; words still too tender to consciously say out loud.   

“Say it again,” he practically demands.  

“Um…I love you,” her voice is nearly a whisper.  

“What was that? Think you can say it a little louder?” he teases.   

“Rafe, stop…you’re embarrassing me,” she whines, cheeks heating up.

“No, m’not. Jus’ wanna hear you say it,” his smirk is all big and smug and it makes her huff.  

“ILOVEYOU, okay?” the words mesh together like fluffy clouds in the sky and her volume is louder than he’s probably ever heard it, causing a couple of curious heads to turn and the lively chatter around them to quiet down some.   

“Yeah? You guys heard that? She LOVES me,” he’s nearly shouting, looking around with a stupid grin on his face— making her flush and hide behind her hands as a few customers cheerfully titter in entertainment.  

“Congrats, dude!” someone even yells.

“Oh my god, Rafe. Why would you do that?” her mortified eyes widen as she crouches down; trying to find shelter behind the pale-yellow counter. “M’never leaving my house again,” she complains with a glare.   

However, he doesn’t seem all that bothered by the whole thing, simply chuckling with dimples denting his cheeks— the light-hearted sound making her stomach flutter despite the humiliation crawling up her spine and making her want to vanish into the cracks on the floorboards.   

“Of course you are, m’your boyfriend now which means m’takin’ you out on a date tomorrow, yeah?” he lifts her up with a grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him while his fingertips slip underneath the hem of her shirt, smoothing over her bare stomach and making her let out a squeak.  

Then, he’s grasping her jaw in one hand and pressing his mouth on hers again— her protests withering away like a dead rose when he slips his tongue past the seam of her lips, dragging out an involuntary whimper from her, before she pulls away and hides her face in his chest when she feels multiple pairs of eyes staring at them.  

“Rafe, can we just go already?” she pleads, voice small before he’s guiding her out of the coffee shop; his hand resting on the small of her back and calming her down some. 

And despite the little scene he caused, she thinks she might just be the happiest girl on the island as he helps her climb into his truck with a honeyed kiss warming the apple of her cheek.

[notjustjavierpena]

Applied Physics pt. i

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Long awaited smutty piece with a planned sequel. I hope you enjoy, ya filthy animal 💅🎀💖

Summary: It’s the 60s, you’re three weeks behind on a deadline, and your professor, Doctor Reed Richards, makes you face the consequences. 

Pairing: Reed Richards x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: College student/teacher relationship, science talk, Reed has powers, dub con, spanking, dom/sub dynamics, implied dacryphilia, dirty talking, sub drop, aftercare, stern Reed 🥵

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62948440/chapters/161199763

Applied Physics

Dr. Reed N. Richards always wears a tweed jacket with elbow patches that show off his broad shoulders and give him an irresistible swagger. He teaches physics at your college part-time - when he is not out saving the world - and he is equally terrifying as he is warm, a combination of traits that you have learned can actually coexist but only after meeting him. 

You have been wanting him since he walked into the classroom that morning many months ago, carrying a black leather binder seemingly filled with little to nothing since everything appears to be stored in his brain. 

He has standards, you find, and traditional ways of doing things that somehow emphasize his love for the delicacy of science. For instance, he only grades papers with a fountain pen and therefore expects every assignment to be handwritten instead of done on a typewriter which is tedious and difficult for those who don’t possess a steady hand. The scary part of him comes out when he says he simply won’t grade the papers that aren’t turned in as he wants them to be. The warm part shows itself when he later makes a self-deprecating joke about knocking over whiskey during his grading. 

The idea of the paper smelling like his cologne or even, if you are lucky, has a stain of his favorite liquor, makes you hand in each assignment whilst the ink is still drying on the paper. Perhaps you will be the first one to receive notes and feedback from him if you turn in your work before its deadline.

You imagine him hunched over a desk, pen barely able to fit in his rough hand. He wears something casual, maybe even has taken off that jacket, scratching his beard and sipping his drink whilst smiling to himself as he reads words that come from your mind. Your mind makes him smile to himself, makes him single you out from the rest of your class because you are special and he knows this. It’s the image you imagine the first time you come whilst thinking about him, shower head between your thighs and legs against the tiled wall in the shared bathroom at the boarding house you reside in. 

When you do finally get your first essay back from him, you read all the comments in the margins during your lunch. You lick a drop of juice from an apple away from your lower lip as your eyes skim over a scribbled good or well done, trying to find an excuse to read more into the way he looks at you when you talk during class. You made him laugh once, that must mean something, right? He clearly has your sense of humor, the same ways of applying theory and reasoning. 

You know that it is hardly rational what you are doing, projecting all these things onto him when, in reality, you only know of him what you have seen during his lectures and office hours. Yet you have found yourself noticing the way he smiles faintly when you correct one of your fellow students during group work, and it has spurred you on to become even more insufferable to your classmates only to get his attention. His approval too, if you are lucky. 

Yet despite all this, here you are with an assignment running three weeks late, your procrastination having reached its limits and your excuses to your professor wearing thin. It’s a challenging state to be in when you’re so used to ranking your popularity with Dr. Richards higher than everyone else on this course. Sure, his attention is nice when it is rooted in praise but you don’t know if the kind that will follow this lecture, the deadline you’d agreed upon for your paper being yesterday, is the kind that will satisfy something in you like the small smiles have. 

You keep bouncing your leg beneath your desk as you wait for Dr. Richards to enter the lecture hall with that cool aura about him and let the fast-paced lecture begin. If anyone sees you, they will recognize it as an itching to suck up to him once more but in reality, it is the first time you’ve been in the room with a nervous tic. 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he greets as he finally arrives and you find yourself jolting with nerves at the fact that he is finally here and inevitable doom is just around the corner. It doesn’t make it better that his brown eyes sweep over the crowd in a hurry until he spots you, his gaze full of concentration until he gains eye contact with you for less than a second. You sit up straighter at the way he measures you and the subconscious movement of your leg stills completely. Frustratingly, the man keeps talking as if nothing happened. 

After several attempts to regain your composure, you realize that you have completely missed his introduction to today’s lecture and while trying to ignore the thrill that is simmering beneath your anxiety, you scramble to start taking notes. It’s not to show him that you can go back to being his favorite student but rather a necessity to keep yourself from being three weeks further behind.

You power through the lecture even with your fuzzy mind, scribbling things down and making sure to appreciate the privilege it is to be taught by one of the greatest minds to ever live. This is even if he, multiple times, falls into the usual pattern of diving headfirst into multi-layered explanations of different phenomena and concepts, droning on as if none of you and the rest of your classmates exist to him anymore. 

You pretend to keep up when he does this but even you must admit that he loses you. However, you know for a fact that it is not out of disinterest that you stop listening but rather your mind focusing on something else when his words become too difficult to follow. Instead, you end up mapping out the length of his gorgeous neck, the beauty spot where his collar ends. It is enough to leave your mouth dry, but not enough to drag your mind off the scolding you’ll get soon.

When the lecture comes to an end, you have psyched yourself enough to stupidly get up and try to follow the rest of the students out. They trickle out hurriedly though and you find yourself at the back of the school of people heading for the door. 

“Hold it right there,” Reed’s voice travels through the room and hits you right in the back, making you falter in your step. Your last name rolls off his tongue with the same kind of confidence and composure that you’d tried to conjure up just an hour ago. 

“Sir, I was just—“ you rest your hand on the doorknob to signal that you are leaving but you know already that you have lost the fight to exit the room. 

You hear it before you see it; the faint and strange rustling of fabric as something wooshes closer. Suddenly, your teacher’s stretched-out arm moves past you like you have seen it do on television and then his hand attached to said arm splays flat on the door. He closes it with a soft click while you hold your breath. 

Slowly, it retracts back to normal and you follow it with your eyes by glancing over your shoulder. Time stands still for a moment at the sight because while Reed Richards has stretched his body multiple times in the past, without much thought behind it and much to his students' shock, he never puts anyone in the position to experience it firsthand. 

“Sir, I—“

“Come here,” he says quietly. 

You grab the strap of your bag tightly and make your way to the desk where he sits. You decide to beat him to his reprimand, talking even if your voice shakes at his disapproving stare, “I’m sorry I missed this week’s deadline.”

“This week? Try the last three,” he calmly corrects you, “You have done your research on force, impact, and energy transfer in non-elastic collisions, have you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you’ve still not turned anything in? Why?”

“I've been overwhelmed with coursework and–” You trail off when he raises a brow. He is still sitting down but even so, you feel like you are shrinking underneath his authority. You find it hard to believe that anything out your mouth right now will be taken seriously when you have let him down three times already but you try to reassure him anyway, “It won’t happen again, I promise,”

“No, it won’t,” he agrees as he pushes himself to stand. He drags the chair away from the table as if he thinks it is in his way, “You’re brighter than most, so I don’t believe I need to remind you what happens if you keep slacking.”

“No, sir, I’m aware.”

“I mean, we’ve already moved way past force dynamics and energy exchange on this year’s curriculum, so you’re wasting my time,” he goes on with an annoyed sigh that tells you he has better things to do, “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“I don’t know, sir,” you stare at the flooring.

“Come closer,” he orders calmly. He lets his gaze flick down to your hand clutching your bag of books, “Take out your book on core concepts.”

You follow his eyes and pull out the right book before gently letting the strap of your bag slide off your shoulder until the bag hits the floor with a soft thud. Something tells you that you’re not leaving anytime soon.

“Place it on the desk and find the pages on Newton’s Laws,” he continues and your heart slams against your ribs at the thought of an impromptu pop quiz instead of a handed-in paper. Yes, you know these pages but in the presence of him, you’re not so sure. 

Behind you, Reed has shrugged off his jacket while you were flipping through the book. He folds it neatly and hangs it over the back of the chair he was displeased with a moment ago, making sure not to crease the fabric. Then he reaches for the sleeves of the white shirt that he is wearing and rolls them up to his elbows, revealing the slightly visible veins of his forearms. Your head swims and you subtly press your thighs together, images of what you’d like him to do to you flooding your mind.

“Bend over,” he says suddenly, murmuring it almost as if he knows he shouldn’t have said it. 

Your eyes widen and you glance in the door’s direction. There are so many people on the outside of this room right now but the chances of someone walking in are slim since lectures are rarely started at this hour of the afternoon, “I don’t understand?”

“You don’t have to understand anything. I want you to put your palms on either side of the book and bend over,” he elaborates and clearly notices your hesitation, the direction of your eyes. His arm stretches out in front of you again, snaking its way past the rows of chairs until it reaches the door once more. He locks it, the soft click of it mixing with your unsteady breathing, and then he pulls down the curtain in the window at the top. 

When the arm smoothly retracts once more, you naturally think it will stop at his side but instead, you feel his palm on the back of your neck. His other hand joins to lay on the small of your back and then he pushes down gently to maneuver you into the position that he wants. 

You exhale shakily as you place your hands on the desk, feeling the smooth wood underneath your fingertips as a way to ground yourself in a moment so electric. Your body is way ahead of you, reacting to the anticipation of his next move by making a dull ache settle right between your legs. Your clit throbs, your walls flutter. 

“Your paper was supposed to use Newton’s Laws as a foundation, let me make sure you know them properly,” Reed says simply while removing his hand from your lower back. His other hand, the one on the back of your neck, slips down your spine to take the previous one’s spot, leaving fire in its wake, “Recite them.”

You swallow thickly, “Newton’s First Law states that a body at rest—”

Smack. 

A loud gasp leaves you at the surprise of Reed’s free hand coming down on your backside, heat spreading out underneath the fabric of your skirt where it has struck you. Your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief at what he has just done, your mouth hanging open in shock.

“Eyes on the book,” he commands sternly, curling his fingers slightly into the hem of your shirt, “Go on. Newton’s First Law.”

You count three whole breaths before you will yourself to face forward again, looking down at the text in front of you and trying to regain your ability to read. You swallow the lump in your throat, the letters jumbled on the page, “Uhh…”

“Concentrate,” he adds and gives you another blow, one that makes you jolt forward on the desk and send the book almost over the edge. You frantically reach for it, noticing the way your heart leaps into your throat when you consider what would have happened if it had fallen off. 

You drag the book back down and try to act cool but your voice tells on you as you start to read out loud, “A-a body at rest stays at rest, and a body in motion stays in motion—”

He spanks you again and elicits another gasp but you seem to have expected it since you don’t go flying forward. This is even if his palm leaves behind a much more painful sting this time and makes your toes curl in your shoes. 

“Until…” He sounds impatient. 

You act immediately like a dog who is learning about action and consequences, “Until acted upon by an external force.”

“Good girl,” he praises and you don’t know why the softness of his voice makes you tear up. His broad palm traces over the spot that is warming up already and you make a show out of sighing with content. 

However, the soothing touch is short-lived and you start struggling just slightly as Reed’s hand descends until he can grab the hem of your pencil skirt and roughly tug it up. He settles it just above the plumpness of your ass, swatting you to make you focus and stop squirming. 

“I’m not going to fuck you so stop moving around,” he scolds and surprises you with yet another smack. It feels different now that each slap is skin-on-skin contact, sounds different too as the noise echoes through the empty lecture hall. You whine in slight disappointment, even if you have inappropriately imagined his cock in you during circumstances so different so many times. 

“Second Law,” he murmurs, occupied briefly by the bruise forming on your cheek and scraping his nails across it. 

“W-what?” You let out a whimper, your thighs pressing together to soothe your pulsing clit. In theory, you know what he has said but it just isn’t registering since your mind is occupied by you knowing exactly what you will be doing back home if he won’t touch you. In fact, a thrill goes through you at the thought of another blow to recall in your bed with your hand stuffed into your underwear.

“Newton’s Second Law,” he repeats with a smaller swat following. You suck in a breath to calm yourself. 

“Newton’s Second Law states that the net force on an object is equal to its mass times its acceleration,” you say somewhat confidently, a sense of calm settling over you as you finally feel like you are getting a handle on the situation. 

“Apply it to the situation you’re in right now,” he tests you. You feel your face grow hot and hesitation seizes you for a second. It takes a moment too long for him and a much sharper smack lands right on the jiggliest part of your ass, the sharpness of the pain making you moan for the first time and the noise of the blow bouncing off the walls. You almost even swear in your professor’s presence, and you would have if it weren’t for the way tears in your eyes take off the edge.

“You’ll get one more if you don’t open your mouth soon,” he adds. You’re just about to speak, about to follow orders, when he takes a step closer and presses his cock into your hip. You freeze at the size of him, a sound that can only be described as pathetic leaving you. Reed huffs out a chuckle and smacks you once more albeit slightly less maliciously.

“Y–you’re applying a force to me. Your hand is the mass and the acceleration is essentially the swing of your arm. The shorter the time and the greater the velocity of the impact, the bigger the force I feel,” you try not to hiccup through the whole explanation but the words take a longer time to come to you and your backside is hypersensitive, warm, and sore. Your pulse rings in your ears too, and you swear you can almost taste the adrenaline in your mouth from how it is coursing through your body. It might just be salt from your tears though which you realize will simply give you an excuse as to why you stayed behind after class. If you really try, you might be able to conjure up an act of a student who got some terrible feedback.

“Still with me?” You hear him ask, feel him soothe your burning flesh. You wonder if his palm is imprinted on your cheek.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble with a sniffle, your palms sticking to the desk from how clammy they have become. 

“Speak up,” he corrects you and his palm leaves you long enough for you to start anticipating another strike. No hands on your body makes it harder to abstain from feeling his hard cock resting against your hip, the heaviness of it making you even wetter and oh God, aching to be filled.

“Yes, sir,” you enunciate without coming off as bratty. The next strike doesn’t come and relief washes over you, allowing you to relish in the cool air brushing your tingling and bruised skin.

“Last but not least. Newton’s Third Law?” 

“F-for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” you say and rest your forehead on the book that has absorbed a few teardrops, He doesn't give you praise or a soothing touch. It bewilders you, makes you question if your scatterbrained state has accidentally made you say something that is wrong. You go quiet except for your rapid breathing as you go over your answer in your head but nothing comes to mi–

The sudden smack instantly makes you realize where you went wrong, landing across the exact spot that’s already stinging and causing you to hiss and whine through your teeth. Quickly, you scramble to relate Newton to what Reed is doing to you, “If… if you strike me, my body exerts a force back on your hand.”

“Mhm, good,” he hums while your head swims, “And I bet you’re feeling that force right now.”

“It hurts,” you whimper feebly and turn your head to the side. Yes, it’s the truth but your body can’t tell if it’s supposed to register this as pain or pleasure, the sensations overlapping intensely.

“That’s part of the lesson,” Reed’s hand returns in a gentle touch, his large palm settling carefully over the same spot he has just mercilessly spanked, “Why does it hurt?”

You wish he’d move his hand down between your legs and make you come when he realizes how soaked-through your panties are, “B-because when you spank me your hand transfers kinetic energy into my skin. The force and the friction cause heat to build. The tissues and blood vessels react, and it—”

“Gives you that glow. Precisely,” he finishes your sentence and curls his hand around your hip firmly. He sounds enthralled by his work, “And I respond with arousal, meaning it makes me so goddamn hard. Now, hold still. These last three are for the three missed deadlines.”

You know he means business when his finger slips underneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down just enough to settle them underneath the globes of your ass without exposing your needy cunt, the elastic of them digging slightly into sore skin. His other hand lifts and you brace yourself even if you know that any human can suffer through even uncontrollable pain if they know there’s an end to it. 

The first of three strikes lands right on the curve of your backside, harder than any of the several ones before it and making your entire body seize up. He isn’t playing around this time, your skin immediately blooming with newfound heat and fiery pain. It makes you moan out loud and squeeze your eyes shut until fireworks go off behind your eyelids.

“Count,” he says calmly. 

“O-one,” you manage to say in a voice that makes it sound like an apology instead. 

The second one makes it feel like there’s a clap of thunder going through your bones. You jolt forward on the desk enough to finally send the damn book flying off the edge to the floor. Reed tightens his grip on your hip to steady you, dragging you back to him again as if to remind you that despite everything he’s got you. 

“Two,” you say shakily, “I’m sorry, Professor Richards.”

He rubs the spot to soothe your burning flesh and by now, a part of you wants to crawl into his lap and be held. He coos softly at you and gently squeezes the roundness of your ass, making you bite down on your bottom lip and exhale a needy whine through your nose. 

“No need to bring me apologies,” he tells you, “We’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson. Last one.”

He lets you wait for the final smack, but when his hand lands on your skin, a sharp cry rips from your throat. Tears start flowing freely from your eyes now - even if you’re still not fully crying as emotions have not caught up with you yet - but it’s not solely from the pain, but also from the swirl of adrenaline and arousal that tightens below your belly button. You wonder if you should reach up to wipe your eyes but you can’t make yourself let go of the desk underneath you, clutching it in an iron grip because of how wobbly your legs are.

“Three,” you hiccup as Reed loosens his grip on you. You feel the ache of your behind with every heartbeat and want to sob now that it is over. You’re hyper-aware of what is happening in your body which is the adrenaline starting to crash, and the emotions, coming in like a wave, are just about to overwhelm you when—

“Sit up on the desk for me,” Reed says gently. 

“But the book,” you glance toward the textbook that you sent flying not long ago. It is a silly thing to cling onto but there’s an emotional wavering in your voice as you say it which Reed seems to catch onto. 

“Leave it,” he murmurs, an order but not like the previous ones, “Sit. I need to make sure you’re alright.”

The task seems impossible. You barely manage to push yourself fully upright, your shaking legs nearly not able to hold you up, and when you turn around to lift yourself onto the desk, you feel the edge dig into your sore behind in a way that forces a hiss out of you. A tear that you have no control over rolls slowly down your cheek.

“Easy,” Reed is beside you, catching onto your motive when you get ready to jump up onto the surface in a hurry due to his earlier lack of patience. He has previously had a hovering hand nearby but now, he grabs a hold of you to still you, “Do it carefully.”

When you’re finally perched on the desk, you’re not sure if the calming cool sensation of the wood beneath your thighs outweighs the pressure against your smarting skin. What you are sure of though is the storm of emotions inside your chest, a raging one made up of an overwhelming mix of new pain, embarrassment, and vulnerability, all of which makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage. 

“I’m okay,” you lie but you hear yourself and know it isn’t very convincing. He gives you a raised eyebrow. 

“Seems like you’re experiencing what is known as a drop. Come on, deep breaths,” he guides you gently when he spots the way your bottom lip wobbles, “If you have to cry, let it out. No one’s going to see you.”

From his words, you realize that your breathing has become unsteady and hitched in very little time. Your shoulders shake and your chest has a ball of unleashed feelings in it that nearly makes you feel sick. It unravels when the tears that you hoped would subside resurface at the permission to let them flow. You feel them brimming at the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” you say shakily when they finally spill over even if the tension in your torso slowly ebbs away as you let go. 

“You’re alright. Just breathe for me,” he says softly. He brings his hands to your thighs and rubs them in an attempt to soothe and ground you, “Slow and steady in through the nose and out the mouth. Right now, you don’t have to do anything but calm down, and then I can take a look at you.”

The room around you seems distant as you try to breathe more steadily but you’re lightheaded, feeling almost as if you’re wrapped in a woolen, fuzzy blanket that blocks everything out besides him. You aren’t sure if it is the adrenaline crash anymore or the way that your whole body is so tightly wound for pleasure that won’t come but you crave his touch, crave him taking care of you.

“You’re okay,” he says over and over, drowning out the static in your ears, “No more crying, sweet angel. I’d rather not see you leave here like this.”

The nickname makes you snap out of it. Angel? Did he just call you an angel? Your tears go on hold when you continuously blink up at him from your seat on the desk, pawing at his chest without knowing what to do with all your longing. He makes you feel all the things you have felt since you met him all at once now, a dizzying flurry of thoughts and feelings. 

“That’s better,” he smiles genuinely for the first time and you melt right then and there. He looks so damn handsome when he does it that you go ridiculously doe-eyed at the sight. 

“Thank you,” you mumble while playing with the buttons on his white shirt. The butterflies in your belly have nearly made the pulsing ache of your backside disappear. 

“Stand up,” he says and removes your hands from his chest which you probably make a much bigger deal out of than him, “I need to take a look at you.” 

You stand on wobbly legs. Slowly and carefully, he skims his fingers over the inflamed skin and notes out loud that it is warm. It’s not a soothing caress for the sake of tenderness, but rather a deliberate check-in to take note of how much damage he’s done. He works methodically, like a man who daily works with scientific research and experiments, going over each part of you while humming at his discoveries. 

“Right. Cool compress when you get home for the swelling, ten-fifteen minutes on and off. Frozen peas will do,” he instructs in the exact same tone as when he gives out science homework, “The skin is still intact but you’ll be sore if you don’t treat yourself with a little kindness. Lotion if it is too much to bear and loose clothing. Not a pencil skirt like this one, we clear?” 

You nod with the hint of a pout.

“And,” he adds and grabs lightly at your chin, his tone suddenly playful, “Try not to miss any more deadlines.”

It’s a joke, you realize, something to lighten the atmosphere in the lecture hall and you barely register it from the way his fingers hold your head in place. Despite your watery eyes and racing heartbeat, you huff out a little laugh.

“There we go,” he coos at the sound of your chuckle, “Not so gloomy anymore.”

With gentle hands, he reaches just below your hips to pull your underwear up over the curve of your ass again, careful not to let the waistband tug at the sensitive skin. He does the same with your skirt, tugging the hem down over your thighs until you look decent once more. 

Your lips part slightly as your eyes slide up to look at his face, feeling dumbstruck by his brown intelligent eyes and his aquiline nose straight out of the statues from Ancient Rome. You admire the column of his neck, the mentioned beauty mark just above his collar, and the dip that you want to kiss. 

After a moment, you realize that you have gone quiet and when you look back at his eyes, you are dizzyingly meeting his suddenly intense gaze. It is as if he has calculated that you are back with him, lingering with desire albeit still a little shaken by your tears. His eyes are burning into yours and you can feel the restraint behind them. It is as if you can sense the electricity in the air, the warmth that prickles in your cheeks, and the heat that radiates from him. 

Without a word, he reaches to tuck your shirt into your skirt until it hugs your figure tightly, a fashion choice different from how you had arrived in his classroom earlier. The dominance of styling your clothes as he prefers it makes you press your thighs together, the dull ache returning between your legs. 

“I’ve noticed, seen it all. That’s why I did it,” he says cryptically as he stuffs your shirt down at the back, fingertips brushing the dip of your spine until heat racks up it. 

“Noticed what?” You ask foolishly but had you stopped to think, you would have figured it out already. 

“All the energy you’ve put into getting me to notice you and getting my undivided attention. Congratulations, you’ve finally got it,” he clarifies and lets both his hands rest on the small of your back for the briefest of moments. When he lets go of you, you follow his touch by leaning in to close the distance with a kiss. 

He places a hand on your chest, holding you back just when you are pressing the ghost of a kiss to his lips. He has given you so much by now. Why not this? A ball of frustration settles in your chest and comes out as a little whine of impatience, “Why can’t we?”

He doesn’t pull away, simply speaks less than an inch from your face so you can feel his breath on your mouth, “Because you need to learn restraint, sweet angel. I can’t have you missing your deadlines three weeks in a row - or at all really - due to some little crush.”

You want to defend yourself, say that it has nothing to do with him but deep down, you know it would be a lie straight to his face. So instead, you swallow thickly, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you.”

“And you will have me,” he kisses you so softly that you want to sink to your knees, “Just not until I say so, and certainly not before you’ve been a good girl and turned in that paper.”

“Sir,” you try one last time.

“I’ll teach you to be patient, to have restraint,” he tells you and makes you realize your attempt was to no avail, “Whether you like it or not.”

You give in, buzzing with the need for more, “I can turn my paper in on Monday. Would that suffice?” 

“I’ll hold you to that, but no late nights and last-minute scrambling. If I find you’ve rushed through it…” he lets the sentence drift off, letting your imagination figure out the consequence, “And it best be your best work yet.”

“Yes, sir,” you reluctantly pull back when nothing seems to work, “Whatever you want.”

“Hand it to me during office hours before class,” he instructs to which you nod.

“But what now?” You ask with a tiny impatient noise, letting him know just how much you’ve got against his reluctance to touch you. 

His hand flexes by his side, “Now you go home. You lock your door and you touch that pretty thing between your thighs just how you like it most. I want you to come for me until you’re hoarse. Three times for three weeks but no more than that, not until we see each other again.”

It is Wednesday and you won’t see him until Monday. How on Earth are you going to survive on only three orgasms after this? Your mind races with protests but you don’t get to voice your concern about the limit he has set because he has already stepped back to pick up his jacket from his desk chair. 

You decide to circle the table to pick up your book and stuff it into your bag. Behind you, Reed’s eyes are definitely on you as you lean forward with a hand on the desk. He is fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and putting on his tweed jacket, trying to come off as if letting you have a private moment to compose yourself.

“Monday,” he reminds you when you stand upright again. His arm stretches out between the rows of chairs and tables once more so he can unlock the door for you. 

“Yes, sir,” you answer obediently. 

You swing your bag over your shoulder and then you leave.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[fortunxa]

THESIS: DEVOTION . . . (nsfw)

I Think, Therefore I Beg

# cw. sub-top!reader, power bottom!Jinx, oral (Jinx!receiving), thigh riding/humping (r!receiving), loser!reader, free-use!reader, degradation, taunting/teasing, dumbification, worshipping, r!passes out, fwb(?), smut with plot, college au, “aftercare”/soft Jinx moments. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

# wc. 2.4k + short bonus

Jinx has a type. not the loud ones, not the cool ones. no—she has a soft spot for the shy, brainy girls. the ones who can’t quite meet her eyes when she smirks at them, who flinch when her knee brushes theirs under the table, then apologize like it wasn’t the best part of their day. those are her favorites.

they’re easy to spot—blushing behind thick glasses, nervously fiddling with pens or sleeves, trying so hard not to look when she stretches just a little too far or speaks just a little too slowly, hearts already halfway in her hands before she even smiles.

she likes the way they react to her. one offhand comment laced with innuendo, and they short-circuit—eyes wide, throat tight, cheeks burning. it’s addictive. she likes watching them come undone and likes the way they try so hard to keep it together when she leans across the table, fingers brushing theirs. her voice is low and syrupy sweet as she asks them to “just explain that one little part again.”

she doesn’t need the help, of course. she’s smarter than most people on campus, probably smarter than some of the teachers, but that’s not the point. the point is watching those sweet girls fumble over their words, cheeks flushed, thighs pressed tight under the desk while she twirls a strand of their hair and hums like she’s thinking of something much more interesting than equations.

it fascinates her, watching how far they go to keep her attention, how easily they fold when she says please in that low, honeyed tone that turns yes into a reflex. she never has to lift a finger—unless it’s to trace lazy little circles on a thigh while they work, just to see how long they can keep their hands steady. sometimes, she murmurs praises into their neck, low and slow, and watches them squirm like she’s lighting them up from the inside out.

and the best part? those girls are givers, desperate to please. Jinx will bat her lashes, pout a little, and suddenly her assignments are done, her projects are perfect, and her inbox is full of carefully written notes with highlighted sections and color-coded tabs. all because they want to impress her. all because they want her to stay. chasing her approval like it’s the only grade that matters.

she likes what they can do for her—in every sense. those shy little things, trying so hard to be good, will do anything to keep her attention. and Jinx? she makes damn sure they never know if she actually means the things she says, or if she’s just playing with her food.

because when she crooks a finger or tilts her head with that wicked little smile, her nerdy girl of the month will come running—books in hand, heart pounding, already apologizing for being two minutes late. it’s adorable, really. the way she scrambles to impress, how she lights up when she so much as acknowledges her.

Jinx loves making smart girls stupid, and this time? you’re her victim.

it’s routine at this point—one that you follow like a well-oiled machine. she’ll stretch out across her bed, headphones in, humming to some glitchy beat while you fumble with her laptop, trying to perfect her assignment or fix her code. she’ll barely glance at the screen, just stroke your hair and murmur lazy praise when you get her formatting right.

and that praise? it’s currency. one “good girl”, and you’re glowing. one moan, soft and breathy, and you’re working harder, always hoping to be rewarded.

and she does reward you—when she feels like it. sometimes, she lets you put your mouth on her while she scrolls on her phone, legs thrown over your shoulders, only glancing down when you make a particularly pretty noise. other times, she makes you wait, just to watch your frustration bloom.

Jinx doesn’t care if you break. in fact, she wants you to. she wants you to shake and sweat and whimper from the effort of pleasing her. she expects nothing short of full devotion—and she always gets it. she only has to say, “be useful,” and you will do anything—begging, shaking, soaked through your cute little panties—just to hear her moan.

that was her favorite thing. how girls that smart can still fall apart for her. how all those degrees and good grades don’t mean shit when she has her legs spread and a hand in your hair, lazily pulling as she reads through the essay you wrote for her like it's a bedtime story.

and you love it. you love being used, love the challenge of keeping her satisfied. she edges you for hours while you beg into her thighs, and then she just grins, purring, “c’mon, baby. smart as you are, you still haven’t figured out how to make me come?”

you love every second of her ignoring you in public but curling into your lap in private. you love being ordered to type while she straddles your thigh, grinding slow and lazy while you try to keep your hands off. try to stay focused. try to be good.

so when your phone lights up with a succession of messages, you don’t hesitate to snatch it up.

jinx [9:47 PM]

hey brainiac

you’ve been so good lately, thought you deserved a treat

(it’s me. i’m the treat)

you’ve got like 10 mins before i start faking it with a pillow

that’s it. not even an emoji to soften the blow.

and it still hits you like a fucking spell.

your stomach drops, heat pooling between your legs so fast it makes you dizzy. your hand is shaking as you grab your keys, leaving your laptop open, the essay you’ve been outlining still blinking at the top of a google doc titled ‘DRAFT 3 - FINAL (for real this time).’

it’s ridiculous how fast your body responds to Jinx’s voice—even when it comes through a screen. your mouth is dry, your thighs already slick. every erratic step closer to her dorm feels like your brain is shutting down and your cunt is taking over, like your body knows exactly what it’s going there for.

you barely knock. just the softest brush of knuckles—more habit than necessity—before you push the door open with trembling fingers. and there’s Jinx, lit by nothing but her purple LED lights, sprawled out across the bed like temptation itself, waiting in a hoodie and thigh-high socks. she’s grinning like a spoiled dream, legs parted to display the lack of underwear, eyes half-lidded with the kind of smug boredom only someone worshipped too often can wear.

“there she is. my favorite little honor roll slut,” she greets, voice low and ruined like she’d been waiting with fingers between her folds for longer than she’d admit. “you look like you ran.”

you stand there in the doorway, chest rising too fast, sleeves bunched in your fists like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

you’re not doing a very good job.

Jinx tilts her head slightly, that slow, lazy grin tugging wider at her lips. “well?” she drawls, voice a husky thing wrapped in smoke and heat. “you gonna keep panting in the doorway, or are you gonna get on your knees and make the walk worth it?”

that does it.

you stumble forward like you’ve been yanked by a leash, the door clicking shut behind you. each step is half-mindless, guided more by want than will. she watches you crawl across the bed, eyes wide behind your glasses, lips already parted, trembling with the kind of reverence most people save for altars. because that’s what she is to you—something holy. something sharp and shining and above you.

Jinx doesn’t just fuck. she gets worshipped.

and now, there you are—her favorite little overachiever. so good. so smart. so utterly fucking wrecked already.

no words. no breath. just mouth on cunt—moaning as soon as your tongue meets slick, licking like you’ll die if you don’t get every drop. you lick up, then down, then in, sucking her clit into your mouth like you’re trying to memorize the shape of it, earning a groan as she throws her head back.

“god, you’re such a fucking sucker for this pussy,” she gasps. “i could probably get you to drop out if i let you live down there.”

she spreads her legs further and leans back like a goddess, licking the inside of her cheek while you work. your mouth is open, your jaw is shaking, and your cheeks are wet from something you can’t even name anymore by the time she comes for the third time. sweat, slick, tears, spit—it doesn’t matter.

“good girl. now do it again,” she simply whispers after coming back down from another high. “and maybe i’ll let you rub that filthy little cunt on my thigh.”

that’s all the motivation you need. glasses fogged and askew, fingers curled into her thighs like you need something to ground you while your mouth moves with the kind of desperation that doesn’t come from hunger—it comes from need, from obsession.

because that’s what you are. Jinx’s obsessed, overstimulated little genius, so smart on paper and so fucking dumb for her. the kind of girl who begs to be useful, who gets off on obedience, who’s already grinding her soaked little cunt against the bedsheets while sucking Jinx’s clit like her life depends on it.

she lets you struggle. lets you sob into her skin and tongue-fuck her like you’re starving. you’ve been there a while—maybe too long—trying so hard to make her come, again and again, needing to hear that low, lazy purr of approval. she doesn’t rush you. she doesn’t help you, either.

she just watches, calm and pretty, hips shifting just enough to guide the rhythm when you start losing it, jaw locking. Jinx knows just how long to keep you down there—long enough for your thighs to ache, long enough for your brain to fog over, long enough to make you forget yourself.

you lick her like you mean it—flat, deliberate strokes of your tongue from base to clit, slow enough to make her hips twitch, hard enough to make her throb.

and when she finally shatters again—soft and slow, spine arching, breath caught on a quiet gasp—you whimper like you’ve been blessed, collapsing after, face buried in her thigh, body twitching from the effort. she doesn’t say thank you. she just glances at you like you’re something cute and wipes a thumb across your soaked lips.

and you get lucky tonight—you worked for it, after all.

“c’mere,” she says softly, still coming down from it as she pats her thigh. “you’ve been so good. go ahead. rub that soaked little pussy on me.”

and you obey fast, clumsy, nearly falling off the bed in the rush to kick your panties off, knees red and sore as you straddle her, already apologizing under your breath for how wet you are before you even start moving. your hands grip Jinx’s shoulders for balance as you drag your swollen clit on muscle and skin and nothing else, grinding down in slow, stuttering rolls, making obscene little wet sounds.

and you must’ve done something really right, because she doesn’t push you off after you come for the first time that night. she doesn’t push you off after the second or third, either.

“uh—fuck—please—” you’ve been at it for what feels like hours, your rhythm messy and sloppy now, like you’re chasing something you can barely hold onto. you’re sweating, sobbing, leaving claw marks as you rut down, again and again, slick smearing across skin like you’re trying to fuse with her. all that intelligence and you’re just humping her thigh like a bitch in heat.

you’re dumb for it now. absolutely, irreparably stupid—babbling nonsense, half-words, desperate little gasps. you used to correct people’s grammar, now you can’t even form a sentence unless it starts with please and ends with Jinx, body jerking every few seconds like it can’t decide whether it wants more or less. it stopped being about pleasure a long time ago. you don’t even feel your cunt anymore—just heat, pressure, friction.

“you’re so fucking gone. riding me like the whole semester depends on it,” she taunts, voice low and full of delight. “what happened to all those big words, baby? what happened to my honors student?” a sound tears out of you—something between a sob and a moan—but you don’t answer.

your brain is fucked.

“you don’t know how to stop, do you?” she whispers. “so smart, and now you’re just… stuck. dumb little thing fucked herself into a loop.”

no answer.

and then—between one gasp and the next, between the frantic roll of your hips and the whimper that follows—it slips out:

“i love you—fuck—Jinx, i—”

soft. shattered. mindless.

Jinx hears it, but doesn’t say a thing. doesn’t stop you, doesn’t react. just sits back against the headboard, half-lidded, one hand on your waist as you keep fucking yourself into oblivion.

it’s not the first time someone says it, but this? this is different, because you don’t even know you said it. and somehow, that makes it worse. she’s not thinking about it, not really. just replaying the sound in her head—those three words, cracked and filthy, pulled from a mouth too wrecked to lie.

“c’mon, baby,” she finally whispers. “be my little dropout and come for me.”

your body jerks once, violently—hips slamming forward, clit catching just right—and you shatter, a silent scream falling from your mouth as your pussy pulses in waves you can’t ride anymore.

and then you collapse, right there in Jinx’s lap. she catches you before you can slump backward, arms looping around you just as your head drops to her shoulder, breath stuttering. she pulls back just enough to see your face—peaceful, lips parted, out cold.

out. cold.

she blinks—once, twice—then laughs, low and slow, rubbing a hand down your back as your soaked cunt still flutters against her thigh.

“holy shit,” she whispers breathlessly, grinning into your damp hair. “passed the fuck out on my thigh,” she murmurs, voice soft with something dangerously close to fondness. “guess we found your limit, huh?”

she doesn’t move for a while, simply watching you. blank-faced at first, expression unreadable. then, slowly and carefully, she reaches for the edge of the blanket and pulls it over your bare shoulders. not tucked in, not coddled. just… covered, like a quiet little claim.

she sits back against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, her thigh still damp, her breath finally starting to level out. normally, this is the part where she gets bored, where the affection fades, the attention drifts, and she starts thinking about who she’ll get her mouth on next month.

but then she looks at you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a surprisingly soft touch. “might keep you around.” a pause. “might not even fuck it up.”

── .✦ BONUS (for the lover girls) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

you’re curled up in Jinx’s bed, both of you warm and clean and full of leftover vending machine snacks. you’re drowning in her hoodie, hood up, sleeves over your hands, a granola bar only halfway eaten resting on your chest like you’ve been too exhausted to finish chewing while your thighs are still twitching every now and then like your body hadn’t figured out how to stop remembering the orgasms.

she reaches for a bag of chips, opening it with her teeth. “okay,” she says, shoving one in her mouth, “serious question.”

you groan, half-asleep. “if it’s about sex, i’m gonna cry.”

she grins around a crunch. “it’s always about sex.” she grabs her phone from the nightstand, opens notes, and starts typing. “you’re lucky,” she says. “you’ve been selected for an exclusive, post-orgasm academic assessment.”

“no,” you mumble, immediately dragging the covers over your face.

“too late. i’m the professor now. pop quiz, bitch.” Jinx peels them right back, uncovering you. “i call it—‘Am I Allowed to Fuck You Again Yet?’”

you can’t help but groan once more. she just pulls you a little closer, then clears her throat dramatically. “question one: can you walk?”

“no.”

“honest. good. bonus point.” she keeps typing. “question two: is your pussy still thinking about me?”

you cover your face with both hands. “Jinx—”

“is that a yes?”

a whimper. “unfortunately.”

she kisses your forehead as a reward. another chip, another line. “question three: are you emotionally prepared to be fucked into oblivion again right now if i promise to kiss your thighs after?”

“Jinx.”

“that’s not a no.”

“that’s a crime.”

“still not a no,” she whispers, grinning. “god, you’re acing this.”

you bury your face in her shoulder, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“question four,” Jinx says softly, suddenly quieter. “do you feel safe?”

the answer comes fast. certain. “yes.”

she looks at you for a long second. no teasing. just… that look. then she drops her phone, pulling you tighter, and whispers into your hair: “cool. then i’ll wait.”

she reaches back and grabs a half-empty water bottle off the nightstand, passing it to you gently. “bonus question: are you emotionally prepared to feed me a granola bar while i grind on your thigh for ten minutes like a perv?”

a deep, slow sigh. “…i will if you stop asking questions.”

Jinx’s eyes light up. “consent confirmed.”

the inspo (durrrrr):

[nightscythe]

light sides of the primarchs' relationships

happy valentine’s day!! this one is a bit happier than the 'dark sides' one for obvious reasons. as always just my opinion. if there is anything else you would like to see, let me know! enjoy!!

18+, it's not necessarily nsfw but suggestive themes. based on pre-heresy interpretations.

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the lion: the ultimate protector. you'd never feel unsafe in his presence. not just from legitimate threats, but.. waking up in the morning to find his arms around you, eyes watching you, lips ghosting your hair as though he would never be able to let you go. you're minding your own business reading a book or listening to others talk, and even though he's on the other side of the room he's still watching, calculating, making sure every single person near you is treating you well. if anyone did try anything? nice knowing them. you become his priority. his endless war. nothing will ever harm you again, except maybe him, on his endless war with making you feel every ounce of pleasure the universe can offer. ;)

fulgrim: is also your best friend, but not in the typical guy way. he's literally invested in every single one of your stories, he knows everyone's little secret, he comes back to you with tales he's learnt and weekly scandalous gossip. he knows everything about you. it's not even deliberate either, he's just so in sync with you that he could take a wild guess and still get it right. nights together can feature many things, all of which are thoroughly enjoyed due to his ability to perfect every single thing he does, but knowing there will never be a time you cannot talk to him about something? knowing he'd give you the best advice, more accurate responses, it's very comforting.

perty: you know everything with him is genuine. he would never lie to you, and that may be hard to swallow at first, but really? its a godsend. he'd not try to make you feel better by telling you a slight truth, he'd rather help you to move past it, work on the issue, etc. and that's why, a long way down the line when he does give you infrequent but honest words about his love for you, it means more than anything. there is not someone in the galaxy that you could trust more than this man, not with your life, your secrets, or your heart. and really, it would only ever get stronger over time.

the khan: enjoyably unpredictable. a man who values freedom always would be. he uses his instincts in everything and therefore it may not always be easy to know what he's going to do next. would encourage you to do things you may never have thought about, shows you new parts of the galaxy and introduces you to topics and concepts you knew nothing about before him. for that reason, he's an absolute storm when you are alone. completely unpredictable and completely dedicated to pleasing you. he's also just enjoyable to be around. he may be a touch arrogant and quick tempered, but he's witty, sarcastic, and excellent with his successful attempts to rile you up with teases.

leman: his love is very pure and built on a huge amount of respect. small gifts, tokens of appreciation, oh its all coming out with him. 'made me think of you' type thing and it's the most beautifully designed canvas that you know he wouldn't have just stumbled across. of course this is very different to how everyone else sees him, and no one would believe you. uses that to his advantage. loses all sense of practicality though when it comes to you and would probably show you 110% of his emotions even when he didn't intend to. his heart is in it, no half measures, you're his entire world now and as long as you will let him, he will love you for the rest of his life.

dorn: he is cold, but there is that burning fire that rages beneath. and when the cracks are fully formed? its impossible to ignore. he will not say I love you, but show you he loves you. there are never ups and downs, no maybes - its always a definite. if you need something? he gets it. you are worried about something? there is no need to worry for it any longer. he plans, he knows what to do to help you, he would never give reason to doubt that 1. he could protect you, and 2. his unwavering loyalty to you. does everything in his power to please you, particularly in the physical manner. when he's around, everything feels intense, and its oh so hard to ignore.

curze: he's trying. he is. you can see it each day. sometimes its not obvious, but he really does watch other people and try to imitate what they do to show you the love you deserve. because in his mind? you deserve it all. would he ever tell you that. no. he'd find it stupid. he'd rather keep it all to himself. but sometimes he bottles too much inside and it all comes out, all at once, every feeling he has. in that moment he just needs someone to hold him, reassure him, and be there to feel the love that follows. of course it isn't conventional, but even if he just taught you tarot, explained his twisted thoughts, tried to show you your fate - he's sharing a part of him that he'd not let another see.

sanguinius: effortlessly devoted, but not in the obsessive, overbearing way. you can see it in his eyes. he doesn't need to worship the ground you walk on or call in a choir to sing about you, you can just feel it. the small gestures. something so meaningful but so tiny that it almost snaps reality. helping you to braid your hair. trying his best to help you with something that he could have just ignored. listening to you with intent - not because he loves you so much he doesn't want to look away, but because he wants to hear you. listen to you. understand everything he can about you. it's so natural to him and warms you every time. something something doesn't care what time of the month it is either.

ferrus: always pushes you to be the best version of yourself. of course I have covered the bad side of this, but provided it's tamed, he understands there are limits, it can be rewarding. he will always reassure you that he doesn't need you to be perfect to love you, and would always encourage you to make decisions which benefited you - not anyone else. you'd also get to see his emotions, a rarity, knowing he only trusts so many to see him like that. a national accompaniment to this is that he pays a lot of attention to you. knows you extremely well. so if you ever argue, or don't talk for whatever reason.. be sure to engage the full ferrus apology - bedroom and all. crafts you really nice things too (of course)

angron: love is the only quiet he gets from pain. when you see him at ease, even for only a few moments, you can rest assured knowing that you were helping him. when he holds your hand, when he stands before you and defends you with his whole being, when he lets you fall into his arms and hesitantly wraps them around you. you know then that it's true. because he wouldn't do that for anyone else, and he couldn't physically do that if he did not have a moment of reprieve. and he knew as well that you gave him a chance, saw him for more than what everyone else did. that means more to him that anything.

rob: truly appreciates you. like, will show you, will make sure you know, will do anything in his power to make sure you're aware that the only reason he has an ounce of sanity left is because of you. you're the only person he will pause everything for, he will turn everything off to listen to you and your thoughts, he will actively seek your opinion on things he knows you would be happy to give it on, etctec. he just treats you like an equal. and considering who he is, that may be hard. but he does value you. yes he is pulled in every direction by all his duties but he knows where the limit is, and if either of you are reaching it, he will do what he can to make sure you feel happy and secure.

morty: it's those quiet moments that really stand out. when he lets his guard down for just a second, when he finally trusts you and knows that he would give his life for you until the very end. it wouldn't be easy for him to admit, and he probably never would admit it, but that one moment where he finally relaxes his shoulders and just lets you carry his burdens with him? it really does show a lot. and he would give everything for you. not even an ounce would be spared. it's easy to see it when he says it, that he loves you, even if he doesn't know the true meaning of the word. may not be conventional love, but to him, its everything.

magnus: there is not another who could love as much as he could. it's that simple. he's so utterly in love with you that he'd move heaven and earth just to see you smile. for a man with so many things going on, so many things to remember and do, he still keeps you at the very top of everything. finds little things for you that he'd think you like. recounts stories to see your smile. lays beside you and holds your hand whilst you tell him what's on your mind. it's routine for him, he does it without even thinking. nothing, and that is a hard nothing, will ever make him as happy as you do, and even when you're not around everyone hears your name, little snippets of his love for you, how much you mean to him, etc. he's so enamoured, so trusting, so in awe, that everything you do means something to him.

horus: incredibly intuitive and knows what you need before you do. has the tea and some fruit in his hands before you'd even mentioned you were thinking of having some. had someone prepare you a bath before you even said you were stressed. brought you some flowers when you were feeling down. cancels all his plans because you need someone with you. he does it to show he cares, knowing that sometimes he can be distant or busy, and it can be incredibly effective. also holds you incredibly tight. like your hand, when he embraces you, etcetc, it's like you're his security blanket in a way, which seems stupid because why does he need one, but actually he finds a lot of comfort in your presence.

lorgar: perfect if you want to be worshipped. that's how he'd treat you. and yes this has a dark side. but limited, not indulged or used for bad purposes, a good balance can be met. he's soft. his world would crumble without you. his exterior and how others view him is so different to what he's like with you that it seems wrong. but you are his everything. he would tell you it every day. he'd make sure you never forgot it. it may not be evidential to everyone, he's not proclaiming his love and devotion to anyone he sees, but to you its obvious. a silent prayer for your protection each day. for your good health. for anything he can do for you. and you'd know he'd burn worlds for you - just use that for the right purposes.

vulkan: a kind soul meant for love. he's not obsessed and devoted. he's not silent and brooding. he's what you think of when you have soulmate in mind. it seems to just come natural to him. he's your best friend, your lover, your everything - and he takes pride in that. he'd not need to burn worlds for you, he'd not watch you from the other side of the room without a world, he'd be beside you with his hand gently rested on you. it's just... normal? is that bad to say? but like the version of normal you always wanted, the normal in romance novels which warped our perceptions of relationships. you know. cute.

corax: incredibly loyal. quietly loving you from a distance until he's with you, then he's far more passionate and open. he's not one to have elaborate gestures done in your name, he probably wouldn't even do more than speak in a normal tone whenever others are around. but you know he's there. a brush of your hand with his when you look uncomfortable or worried. a glance in your direction every so often if you are separated. he'd always find his way back to you though, and you always know he's there at your side. and yes, very passionate when it's just you two, so much so you'd have first doubted it was the same person. he just saves it all for you. especially few things he's picked up along the way he thinks you may enjoy.

alpharius: you could never doubt his love. he'd never let you. it's so obvious that it's what makes telling him apart so simple. he just can't deny it when he's around you, he can't resist it at all. love is in everything he does. his touches as he walks past. his names for you. his insistence on always having you in his arms. it can be endearing. it is nice knowing that you are so loved, never a doubt in your mind that he does care. and if you do doubt him? he will change that. you won't ever doubt him again. you don't ever need to worry about his love for you, it won't change. he'll never stop loving you.

˗ˏˋ 𓅰 ˎˊ˗

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Orc!Nanami x Human!reader

Tall fem reader btw. Smut. Tall girls deserve to be size kinked too. Pssspssspsss come get yalls juice.

Orc!Nanami who works as a liaison between the humans and orcs and therefore is sat in an office most days in a sharp specifically tailored three piece suit that hugs his body in all the right places.

Orc!Nanami who is so large his pants are tight around his thighs, stretching over his ass in the perfect spheres.

Orc!Nanami who can't help but notice the way you keep eyeing him in his tight shirts. Buttons struggling to hold it together for the sake of his dignity

Orc!Nanami who also can't help but notice how tall you are, and how unlike the humans around you, you fill up your skirts and dresses, never wear heels, wear loose fitting blouses that quietly hide your voluptuousness.

Orc!Nanami who thinks you smell exquisite! Like something sweet and spicy and he just really wants to taste...

Orc!Nanami who polishes his tusks every morning hoping that the shiny enamel would attract you like it did so many orc ladies.

Orc!Nanami who licks his lips every time you bend over and he catches a glimpse of the soft breasts swaying in the little v of your neckline. Your scent pervading his senses again.

Orc!Nanami who has to excuse himself from the meeting to rush to the men's room so his already tight pants don't burst.

Orc!Nanami who finds you stranded at the office one night after having worked late and offers to take you home as any good and respectable orc does.

Orc!Nanami who really doesn't expect you to pull him inside your flat telling him, "The forecast said it would rain. I insist you spend the night Nanami-san!"

Orc!Nanami who doesn't know you've seen him staring at you and would purposely do things to try and entice him but have him be the perfect gentleman in return to end up forcing your hand like this.

Orc!Nanami who helps you cook despite your protests. "It's fine you're my guest you don't have to—" "I would not bear the dishonour of making a lady I like, suddenly look after an unplanned guest."

Orc!Nanami who blushes, realising what he said when you turn and ask him coyly, "Wait, you like me?"

Orc!Nanami whose hips you pull towards your own and gently grind, making his brain short circuit, "That's lucky, 'cause I like you."

Orc!Nanami who can't believe his luck as he lifts you onto the kitchen countertop, begs you between kisses to be yours and yours only.

Orc!Nanami who is ecstatic when you nod and let's out a sharp hiss when your knee brushes his crotch.

Orc!Nanami who scrambles to remove your clothes. Your blouse, off your skirt, pulled down. Food lying forgotten as he buries his face into the crook of your neck when you tell him you want him to fuck you so good you forget how to walk.

Who lifts you into a princess carry, to your surprise, (makes sure the burners are off) and takes you to the bedroom praying to every god he can think of that you have lube.

Who can't wait himself and lays you down, squirting the pink lube bottle contents over your cunt and preps you for a minute with his thick fingers.

Who groans in arousal hearing the lewd, wet squelching sounds your tight pussy made as it swallowed his fingers.

Who askes you if this was okay for the nth time because, "I'm not built like a human and you're literally tiny."

Whose eyes widen when you push him onto the bed and get on top saying, "I'm going to ride you now and I want you to split me open like a pirate finding a treasure chest, so don't stop me.

Who let's you ride him till you get tired and can't then growls and thrust up into you holding you like a little doll, just made for his pleasure.

Who fucks you so good in every position you can manage till you've cum more times than you can count and all that you can think of is his cock.

Till you babble an incoherent string of I love yous, increasing in pitch as he pounds into you from behind, over and over, cumming in you with a filthy growl.

Who pulls you up against his chest, and despite being a tall woman among humans you feel tiny with him.

Who kisses you with as much tenderness as he can, telling you how good that was. How sweet you were for him. How pretty you are. How much he wants you to be his.

Orc!Nanami who orders food as you silently nap on his broad chest till it arrives.

Orc!Nanami who, holding you in his arms, looks out at the rain pattering on the window and feels at home.

@rodeorun 🫣🫣👀👀👀

TALL GIRLS PLS STEP ON ME

More tall!reader x Nanami

[huellitaa]

₊˚⊹♡ education is hot!

education is literally the most valuable thing in life. please please PLEASE take advantage of that. self concept is important, good looks are important, happiness is important, health is important, but without education we wouldn't even know what any of that even means. ♡

having knowledge makes you magnetic. when you're smart, people will look up to you. and if people look up to you, it means they think about you, they admire you, and you have an influence on them.

life is knowledge. the more you learn, the more you are. knowledge is the fundamental basics to life. nothing is the root of everything but we wouldn't even know what nothing is without education. we wouldn't have language, we wouldn't have concepts, we wouldn't have technology, we wouldn't have the screen you're reading this on. we wouldn't have tumblr 😨

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 1. noting down ur findings

the smartest people ALWAYS note down what they learn, whether it be big or small. if you have lots of knowledge and / or the memory capacity of a goldfish then naturally you may not always remember what you learn. keeping it noted down in any preferably easily accessible format of your choice is so helpful and a very smart choice if you want to be an Intellectual™. notebook, sketchbook, binder, google docs, notion pages, tumblr posts, notes app, anything you like !!!!! just keep it noted down !!!! ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀2. utilising ur resources!!!!

so many people i know and millions of people throughout the world suffer with a crippling addiction to their phones, but what are you actually doing on said phone? you spend ages on your phone, your tablet, your laptop, reading, writing, playing video games, and so on, but even then, are you genuinely learning? are you taking the time to absorb the knowledge placed before you or are you skimming through it all in a mindless cycle of media consumption?

think about how you can utilise the things around you to learn. for example, make all that time spent on your devices useful. research, study, learn in your free time. knowledge is abundance. you can use your local library, your local bookshops, ur school or ur college or ur workplace just to find out more about your surroundings and about the world. it is so much more valuable thank you'd think.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 3. wisdom

wisdom is the highest form of knowledge. to learn is to live so living is the only way you're going to truly learn, if that makes sense. therefore, by using this direct method, you gain the highest manner of knowledge; wisdom. wisdom is not being book smart or knowing how to solve equations or write essays but wisdom is genuine, pure, raw, life experience and life lessons, which, surprise surprise, can only be gained through experience and living your life. go out, try things, get out of your comfort zone, get comfy being uncomfy. you got this. ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 4. social interaction

"nerds dont know how to socialise!!!" okay so maybe i adhere to this stereotype sometimes but social interaction is, however unfortunate it may be, a key part of being intellectual and having genuine knowledge. going back to wisdom and learning through experience, speaking with and networking with and sparking connections with others is a vital way to be educated and informed and cultured along with enhancing your social skills, because we need to know how to interact with others, too. if we can't spread said knowledge through connections and socialising so it can be passed down for hundreds of thousands for years to come then there is no point in learning at all because it'll have no use in the long run.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 5. media consumption

feed ur brain. i cannot stress this enough. read books, fiction or non fiction. i know you've heard this a million times but it's true. read just a random article of interest every day to get your brain working. learn a new word every day, read news reports, letters, interesting blogs, articles, websites, do puzzles, crosswords, wordsearches, memory games, listen to podcasts, audiobooks, watch documentaries, youtube videos, interviews, ted talks, video essays, EXERCISE UR BRAIN

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 6. insights, emotional intelligence and empathy

as i've said before, and i'll reiterate again, knowledge extends beyond simply having book smarts and knowing how to work with letters and numbers. the most powerful method of communication amongst humans is emotion, and being well versed in how to read, understand and communicate said language is only learnt through real life experience and observation of real life experiences where the use of emotional intelligence and empathy come into play. analyse these experiences and note down everything

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 7. question ur sources and BE BOLD

one thing i was taught ever since i was little is that when ur online you need to be veeeery careful with all the information you get fed because there are lots of people out there, esp on the internet, with lots of different intentions and lots of different facts, even if they have good intentions and don't mean to mislead you. always double check whatever ur told with someone you know or on another website or two or a physical yet reliable source if you have one to hand, and cite your own opinions too. you get to choose what does and doesn't get to enter your mind. your mind and your knowledge is yours entirely and only yours to be tampered with and adjusted in any way you'd like.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 things 2 study and be generally educated on:

social etiquette and politeness

countries and their respective laws, cultures, landmarks etc.

history of your own family and ancestry

languages you're interested in and basic phrases in several languages

information about your dream and / or current career

finances and how to manage your money

business, networking and persuasion

pet psychology and how to take care of them

capital cities and basics about places around the world, esp if you plan on going travelling

something beautiful about knowledge is that you'll never run out of it and it can never be taken away from you. people can take anything from you, but never your intelligence. ♡

all my love! 💖✨💘💗🎀💓

[pathologicalreid]

If your down could u write an imagine where reader is new to the bau and Spencer is just coming back from jail and he makes reader nervous and when he notices he starts to mess with her nothing to wild but he teases her every now and again -🖤

drop | S.R.

in which reid seems to be there every time you drop something

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: fluff, lighthearted teasing, clumsiness, obliviousness, reader is mentioned to be shorter than 5'7" (sorry it just worked for the story)

word count: 1.1k

a/n: hey anon! thanks for requesting, i think i may have verged away from the request on accident. also this is the one i posted about earlier that had been deleted by word so i had to rewrite it and therefore it's not very thoroughly proofread. hope you enjoy.

It came as a shock, most people needed to apply to the BAU and even then, they spent years trying to get in. You had gotten a call four months ago and were told you were leaving IOD in the Hoover building and would be expected at the BAU the next morning.

Years ago, you had a run-in with Emily Prentiss while she was heading Interpol in London, but you didn’t think she remembered you – let alone wanted to work with you. She brought you on to the team to help catch Peter Lewis

Now, Peter Lewis was dead, and Spencer Reid had been exonerated. You thought your time with the team was done, but when Emily caught you packing up your things, she told you she had no intentions of sending you back to the International Operation Division.

So, you made yourself comfortable at your desk across from Luke’s, even adding a picture of your family, just to make it seem a little lived-in.

It was something you’d had drilled into your head by your father: if you’re not early, you’re late. That was the reason why you were usually the first to the BAU, only sometimes being beaten by Dr. Reid.

Penelope said he was harmless, but that didn’t change the fact that he made you nervous. Not nervous in the sense that you were scared of him, but nervous in the way that he was something of a legend in the FBI.

Even more so since his recent release from prison.

You felt a sort of disconnect from the team when it came to them trying to get Reid out of prison, whenever Nadie Ramos came up in conversation, you picked up your files on Mr. Scratch and distracted yourself. Of course, you helped where you were needed, but you didn’t know him like they did.

This particular morning, you had beaten him to the office, taking your spot at your desk and flipping through a file you had abandoned in the name of sleep last night. A slight crash made you jump so badly that you fumbled with the papers in an attempt to not drop them. You looked up to see Spencer had dropped his bag on his desk, “Good morning, Y/N.” He greeted you.

Blankly, you stare at him for a moment before giving him a half smile. “Good morning, Dr. Reid,” you responded.

“I told you that you could just call me Reid, or Spencer,” he said, sitting down at his own desk.

Nodding, you found yourself interested in your coffee cup. “Yes, you did,” you took a deep breath. “Good morning, Spencer,” you tried again, offering him a fuller smile.

That seemed to appease him for now because he flipped open his own files and started inspecting them.

As you were preparing for the 10 o’clock debrief, you found yourself in the office kitchenette, pouring a cup of coffee from the pot that had been brewed an indeterminate number of minutes ago. Vaguely aware of the person standing behind you, you turned around to find Spencer, holding his own mug in both hands. “Oh! Hey,” you said, mentally smacking the palm of your hand to your forehead.

You moved out of the way as you added cream to your mug, watching as Spencer poured his coffee and followed it up with an almost equal amount of sugar. As you were about to make your way to the round table room, Spencer spoke, “You know, before 1975 you wouldn’t even have been able to be an FBI agent.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped in your tracks and turned to face him, “Wait, what? Why?”

“Before 1975 people shorter than 5’7” couldn’t be FBI agents,” He responded plainly, but there was a bit of mischief in his eyes.

You looked at him curiously, warmth flooding your cheeks. You stammered something about being late and rushed to the roundtable room, taking your usual spot next to Luke, and watching what Garcia presented to you—pretending not to notice Spencer across the table from you.

The BAU had been asked to consult on a case, but there were no precincts that had asked the team to make a trip to them. You had finished the paperwork on a recently closed case and got up to bring it to Emily, stuffing the papers in a file folder, you turned around and ran into Spencer. “Sorry!” You squeaked out, dropping to the floor to pick up the papers. To your surprise, he crouched down next to you and helped to pick up the papers. “Oh, jeez, now they’re all out of order,” you moped, setting the papers back down on your desk.

“It was my fault,” Spencer said. The honesty in his voice made your shoulders slouch.

Shaking your head, you smiled at him, “It’s okay, Spencer. They’re just papers.”

He looked at you like there was something more he wanted to say, but he didn’t, he just turned from your desk and walked out of the bullpen, leaving you staring.

When you finally brought your papers to Emily, she asked you to close the door behind you. Patiently, you stood in her office while she added your file to the menacing pile she kept on her desk. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you’re doing. With the BAU, I mean,” she told you, leaning over her desk.

“Good, I think. I’ve gotten very few complaints so far,” you told her, unable to help the uneasiness you felt. Had someone said something?

Emily nodded, her dark hair shining with the movement, “Good, I haven’t heard anything negative about you at all. Which is actually uncommon for the BAU.”

You let the rest of the day pass, but as the team trickled out of the bullpen, only you, Emily, and Spencer were left.

At the sound of rustling, you looked over to see that Spencer was packing up his things and putting them into his familiar leather bag. Resting your cheek on your hand, you went back to your case file, marking thoughts in the margins.

Jumping when something hit your desk, making the metal rattle, you dropped your pen on the ground. Peering up to see Spencer giving you a lopsided smile before he bent down to pick up your pen, “Hey, at least you didn’t drop a bunch of papers again.”

You flushed as your eyes followed him out the glass doors of the BAU, turning around to see Emily watching on, leaning on the railing outside her office, looking between you and Spencer as if she knew something you didn’t.

[thistlerock]

Collection of headcanons not elaborate enough for own word vomit post:

- I don't think Kristen can swim. She has the vibes of someone who never learned as a kid and now it's too late to bring up without being embarrassed. (Also I thought about what would happen if she fell in water — mechanically she's wearing heavy armor, would Brennan just let her swim since she's in universe only in a tracksuit or would she sink without a sufficient strength check? Idk, but that's how I got to the no swimming conclusion.)

- insanely weird hc to have but i think Fabian shaves his arm hair. Also like legs and arm pits i guess but the way more unusual and therefore notable thing is arms. This guy kills any body and facial hair on sight. Like no one has ever seen him with as much as stubble outside of Cathilda or the Bad Kids when they were sleeping over. Why? Idk he just prefers that, no deeper reason. I do think elves generally have less body hair but here his human genes come through so he has to shave. Or get it lasered away I guess. You can do that right?? He's rich. Maybe he'd do it.

- also Fabian's depth perception is dog shit. Using his crossbow is less impressive because Fandrangor is simply a better weapon and his flourishes and manoeuvres rely on melee combat, I know, but to me it's also just that he's better at hitting things real close to him.

- Riz is the kinda guy to have chronic migraines and think it's fine. "Everyone has headaches sometimes and I do sleep a lot less than I should ahaha" (the amount of coffee he drinks is barely saving him from the horrors.)

- Adaine also gets a lot of migraines in what I think are more. Passive non specific visions? Like a gut feeling that's always correct and also makes her body hate her. The proper visions are comparable to absence seizures I think? Like I don't wanna say it's that because it's magic but the process is kind of the same in the sense that she's out for like ten to thirty seconds and it can really suck

- I also think Adaine has synaesthesia! I can't really put this into words well so I'm not even gonna try, but she perceives certain sounds and/or colours at times where there shouldn't be sounds and/or colours. I think those associations also to an extend help in drawing connections between less specific visions and real life.

- we know Gorgug has a drumset in his room I think it's electronic. But like not in a normal way like we have them irl it's some insane artificer shit that would justify so much more noise complaints than a regular one and also could probably have its own pyrotechnics idfk. It's fully a safety hazard but it doesn't even rank on the top 10 of worst things to have in your house that is a TREE that the Thistlesprings casually own.

- I think either Fig or Kristen would be the shortest medium creature type Bad Kid. Like obviously Riz is four feet tall max but he's in a whole different category lmao

- Fig sometimes puts little braids in Jawbone's fur and he happily lets her. He only properly adopted Adaine and Fig has more than enough dads, but he does still act as sort of a paternal figure to her (and every other kid ((which in this case includes Ragh but maybe not Aelwyn)) in mordred manor because he's just a caring guy and it's hard not to grow attached) so that's their pseudo daddy-daughter bonding

- Fabian doesn't like, hate Gilear as much as he used to? Like he still has his moments but overall he thinks he's a good guy and absolutely has the "well I can shit on him but I'm gonna kill this other guy who did. How dare you make fun of my Mama's beloved??" mindset. But uhm he tries to make Gilear work out with him so he can "stop being death fodder". Gilear is a commoner and everyone else in Seacaster Manor absolutely is not and like he likes it and he loves these people but he does kind of live in hell. His wife? Could kill him. His step son? Could kill him. The maid? Could kill him. The dog slash motor cycle?? Could kill him. One hit. Also the entire current Seacaster household are dexterity based fighters they're all so graceful and skilled he's fully just a guy that spills every drink ever on himself

- I think the Hangman loves Cathilda because she gives good chin scritchies (hound form obviously lol) Generally he tends to mirror Fabian's attitude towards people anyway so he's always liked her, but once he started being a hound more she started petting him and giving him treats and he is smitten

- Gorgug (and sometimes Ragh or Ayda) play extreme fetch with the Hangman. Like I need to stress that he's not just a big dog he's large enough to be a mount, which means he'd have to be the size of a horse. Maybe a small horse sure but that's still a horse-sized dog. I think his mini looks fairly big but in my heart he's bigger. So yeah fetch with him (which they mainly do because they want him to feel comfortable in both forms because he's so good) is really big sticks. Like not logs or anything but sticks the average person can't huck all that far. Fabian casts enhance ability on himself so he can also do it, lol. The wonders of multiclassing into bard.

- I think the only Bad Kids who never use makeup are Riz and Kristen. Gorgug doesn't do it every day and not that much but he uses eyeliner sometimes. Fig's makeup is the most noticeable and usually very fun.

- Gorgug has kissed Ragh at least twice. So at least one time after the prom thing. I don't mean this in a ship way I mean this in I look at Gorgug and then I look at Ragh and I go yeah these guys have shared at least one tender bro kiss. I mean I think Gorgug is the kinda guy that would kiss all of his friends if they wanted to because it's not that big of a deal to him and he loves them but not everyone is comfortable w/ that lol. He and Kristen kiss each other on the cheek though, I think (this does not mean he wants to see her naked in public please put your clothes back on Kristen??)

[viridian-fields]

What was Maddie's role in the attack on the memorial?

We have confirmation from writer Amanda Overton that Maddie is in fact Noxian and has therefore always been working for Ambessa. So I want to examine her actions around that memorial attack a bit closer.

I've seen it suggested that Maddie was somehow "protected" during the attack, because the armoured shimmer goon (do these armoured suits have a name btw?) was making a show of attacking her without actually harming her. I'll examine that exact moment a bit later but I do not agree with this assessment even a little bit.

Maddie is a deep cover agent. Presumably her entire identity in Piltover is fictitious. Careful planning and work have gone into integrating her into the ranks of enforcers over a long period of time. You do not take unnecessary risks with the identity of agents like this.

Keeping an agent like this "protected" from Renni's goons, would mean revealing her identity to every single Zaunite that Renni has recruited ("hey no one kill that redheaded enforcer, she's on our side"). If even ONE attacker survives this assault they have the potential to reveal Maddie's true identity. And imagine how it would look for these guys to be attacking everyone except her? And why would they waste their time playing around with her? It makes no sense. It's absolutely not worth that risk. Renni is used as a tool here. She is not informed as to who her actual employer is, and she is lured here by the promise of revenge against the person who killed her son.

If they really wanted to protect Maddie, it would have been much easier to come up with some excuse for her to not attend the memorial in the first place. But Ambessa has no need to try to protect Maddie. Maddie is a Noxian soldier. If a Noxian can't hold their own in an attack they are expecting then what good are they? Ambessa was willing to take the risk and accept the sacrifice if Maddie was somehow killed during this attack.

And Ambessa wants Maddie there because Maddie has a job to do. Maddie knows the attack is coming. She looks alert and on edge before it happens. We see her taking note of Renni's arrival.

So what were Maddie's orders? To protect the council.

Ambessa orchestrated this event to strike fear into the hearts of the people of Piltover, the council included. One of the attackers even gets up on stage to say “You aren’t safe, topsiders. None of you are safe.”

Making the council fearful and angry will motivate them to pursue the course of action that Ambessa has been pushing for. Dead council members can't give her what she wants. She doesn't want harm to come to Mel, and her influence over Salo means she'd prefer to keep him alive. Protecting the council is also something Maddie is in a position to do that will not look suspicious and is likely to give her career a boost.

But Maddie is very nearly killed in this operation. She is dazed from the carriage crash and pulled from the wreckage. She is screaming and fumbles her weapon. She seems genuinely afraid here.

This attacker is not playing pretend. He is seconds away from stabbing her...

... when Steb intervenes. His one and only L

Do you think that fall hurt? I hope it hurt.

But Ambessa very nearly overplays her hand here. By allowing someone who had a vendetta against Jayce to have access to him, he is almost killed.

And Ambessa doesn't want Jayce to be killed as she needs him to build her hextech weapons. Jayce dying would have been disastrous for her plans in Piltover. And what was the deciding factor in the end?

Vi.

But here's the thing. Vi was not planning to attend this memorial at all. How do we know this?

She's not wearing a ribbon.

[See this post for more info on these ribbons]

Vi had fought with Caitlyn and was on a bender. She had no plans to go to an event where there would be a chance of running into her. So why did she go?

Because moments before the memorial began a certain junior officer showed up to tell Vi all about how Caitlyn had sang Vi's praises to the enforcers, and how she was so pleased to have Vi in their ranks.

Now, there's no possible way that Ambessa could have known that Vi would end up saving Caitlyn and Jayce, but this entire meeting feels way too calculated for it to not be meaningful.

Perhaps Ambessa believed Vi would fight to protect Caitlyn and Jayce or other councillors, and was there as an added contingency. Perhaps Vi was a wildcard she wanted to keep an eye on. Perhaps she thought it wouldn't hurt to put Vi in the line of fire and maybe get rid of a potential problem.

In any case, when the dust settles, all of Ambessa's meticulous scheming is rewarded.

Maddie fought alongside Caitlyn, proving her courage and earning her respect. It is not a coincidence that the people Caitlyn later picks for her strike team are the ones she fought shoulder to shoulder with during this event.

And Ambessa succeeds in striking fear into the heart of the council and forcing them to act against Zaun. She also gets to be the big fat hero.

[kngrose]

i legit am in love with your bully sevika work 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

can you write about sevika realising she has feelings for us and decides to distance herself from ourself :3

bully! sevika analysis

a small deep dive into her character

WARNINGS: mentions of bullying, slightly suggestive themes

from roselí ᡣ𐭩 : thank you sm, i appreciate this submission! i have a lot to say about it.

So let me preface this tiny rant by saying this version of Sevika is entirely uncaring and incapable of having a romantic interest for reader. Bullyvika is solely interested in causing misfortune to her. I purposely try not to write her in a light that will give her a chance at redemption because I don’t want it to lead to romance. I wouldn’t deny that Bullyvika would have certain feelings for reader, but under no circumstances would it be romantic because it’s not meant to be romantic. It’s meant to be uncomfortable and sickening.

I didn’t want Bullyvika to be the stereotypical ‘give me your lunch money’ or ‘you better do my homework’ kind of bully we commonly see because I feel it doesn’t instill enough fear and discomfort. You can accommodate to having to do someone’s homework, or maybe even having to give up a few dollars here and there. What you won’t get used to, is being berated, extreme workplace harassment, or constantly having your self worth being stripped. I want her to feel like a real villain. Someone you literally can’t conceptualize a relationship with outside of the power dynamic she’s put in place.

Bullyvika has so many layers and I’ve put a lot of thought into how I would like to characterize her, and a lot of it comes directly from the pent up feelings that she has. Bullyvika is exactly that. A bully. It’s common knowledge that bullies are pent up with a lot of pain and sadness, and that usually manifests itself into anger when it’s not properly managed.

Sevika is tired, okay. There’s so many things that she is sick and tired of. She’s constantly left to clean up another bastards mess, regardless of if she had anything to do with it. It will always fall on her because she is Silco’s number two, she is in charge of everyone under her and if she doesn’t have it dealt with she will face the backlash.

Nevermind the fact that more than 99% of their problems stem from the only person Silco is not willing to get rid of.

She’s tired of being undermined, constantly under the wing and shadow of the person above her when she knows she’s better fit than them. Never given the proper credit, always given the short end of the stick. Tired of feeling like no one is taking her seriously when she’s making the most efforts and hard decisions.

Tired of the unfair treatment. How dare Silco hold Jinx on such a pedestal? How could he when all she does is fuck everything up? She’s a liability, but she gets all of the praise. Where is her praise? Where are her flowers?

But she can’t just respond. Silco’s got too much power, too much influence. She can’t directly cross him or he’ll have her head. That’s why she spends so much time at the brothel, it’s a nice place to detress. A little hate sex every now and then to really blow the steam. But Sevika is full of smoke. The sex isn’t enough. The roughhousing, the biting, the choking, the slapping. It’s not enough. She needs someone to feel what she feels. Sevika is angry, and someone is going to have to face the repercussions of her feelings. She needs someone to throw all of this onto because she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Bullyvika does take her time to get to know you, but not in a romantic sense. It’s more of her studying your details. What makes you react a certain way, what makes you really cry, what subjects hit home? Any sensitive spots she should know about, who are the people closest to you? How can she victimize that?

There will never call for in instance where Bullyvika is interested in knowing reader any further than it’s beneficial to her; Therefore, she could never be romantically interested. She doesn’t want to know what makes you light up, or what you’re passionate about, and doesn’t care for your small quirks or micro expressions. Bullyvika is sexually attracted to reader though, and that will be touched on plenty of times in further parts of the collection, but that’s about as far as the attraction goes.

Sevika knows she could have potentially anyone she wants, and when the time comes she’ll settle down with someone she deems fit. But that’s neither here nor there. For now, she’s looking for something to break. And that just so happens to be you.

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist to be notified whenever i post, xx

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[dyaz-stories]

you know my tongue is a weapon || gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: Shoko suggests a study night, but Gojo's bored and he doesn't want to study. So, instead, he offers to play a game, when all the others have left to get some food: every time he gets an answer right, he gets a kiss.

As you soon find out, Gojo can be very good at studying, as long as he gets something out of it.

word count: 3.8k

genre: college!AU, mostly fluff i think

cw: kissing, making out, semi-public kissing, unresolved sexual tension, reader is insecure and is therefore an unreliable narrator, dry humping ig, fem reader (the word girl is used once)

a/n: first time writing for jujutsu and for gojo! any feedback is appreciated, and i hope you enjoy yourselves :)

soundtrack

prequel

Exam season is never a fun time to be on campus. Stress fills the air, the hallways, the always full libraries, even the coffee shops where people usually meet to relax between two classes. It’s the only conversation subject between sleep-deprived students, looming over their head threateningly at any time of the day and night. It’s stifling, a weight on their chest that never quite wears off.

As for you, well, you’re doing alright.

Oh, for sure, it’s a lot of work, and you’re not thrilled about it by any stretch of the imagination, but academia is your thing, so you don’t find it nearly as crushing as others do. You’re more terrified of the time period that comes afterwards, while you’re waiting for the results like Judgement day.

In the meantime, you’ve given up on trying to find a spot to study in the library, and you’ve been doing most of it in your small student room. You haven’t stepped outside in days when Shoko texts you to suggest a study night. You suspect that she hasn’t started working and intends to cram, but you take her up on the offer nonetheless.

You show up at her place right on time — you always are — with your notes and some snacks. You wait quietly after knocking, trying to make sense of the chatter you hear on the other side of the door. She had mentioned she would ask a few other people if they wanted to join, which you had assumed would be fine, but faced with the reality of it now you can feel a lump growing in your throat. Academia might be easy for you, but people… aren’t.

When the door opens to reveal Gojo Satoru, piercing blue eyes meeting yours through white locks of hair that he pushes out of his face a second later, you fully consider turning around and leaving.

“You made it,” he says, shooting you a wide grin.

“Hi,” you squeak in reply.

Gojo is a… friend. Ish. Kinda. You think. Well, he’s a friend of Shoko’s, anyway, so the two of you have hung out, socially, before. Up until last summer, you assumed he didn’t even know your name.

“Thank God you’re here,” Shoko says, appearing from behind him to grab your hand. “No one here wants to work. We need to whip these imbeciles into shape or something.”

“I’m working,” Nanami sighs from the table in the living room, where he’s sitting alone.

“I was just waiting for everyone to be here, Shoko,” Geto says, his voice soft and even, as he approaches the table.

You set your bag down, giving Nanami an sympathetic smile, and he pushes his glasses higher on his nose. When he nods at you, you’re pretty sure it’s a silent way of saying ‘thank you for not leaving me alone with them’.

“What are you guys starting with?” you ask, pulling some books out of your bag.

Everyone here has different majors, but with some classes in common. You’re not sure how efficient this enterprise is going to be, if you’re completely honest, but as Gojo lets himself fall on a chair with a dramatic sigh, you suppose it can’t be worse than if he was left to his own devices.

“I’m doing literature, algebra and physics tonight!” Haibara announces, perhaps a tad too enthusiastic. You don’t want to crush his hopes and dreams, but—

“You’re never going to get through all that in one night,” Nanami says with a frown.

“Don’t listen to him”, Gojo intervenes, “you can do anything you set your mind to.”

There are stars in Haibara’s eyes when he looks at him, but you notice the glances Gojo is stealing at Nanami, and the way his smile widens when Nanami grits his teeth in annoyance. You bite your lip so you don’t let out a chuckle.

“Do you want to start with literature with me?” you offer. “Nanami, you’ll have to handle algebra because I’m not taking any algebra classes this semester.”

The corner of Nanami’s lips curves to form a smile.

“It’s good that someone here is taking this seriously.”

“Ugh,” Gojo mutters. “Fine. Hey, Suguru, do you know what tests I have next week?”

Nanami buries his head in his hands with a pained groan, and you laugh again, lump gone from your throat now, as you move your chair to come sit next to Haibara. Gojo’s eyes follow your movement silently. When you lean over the same textbook as Haibara, shoulders brushing against his as you push a lock of hair behind your ear, his expression turns thoughtful. It’s only when Geto drops a book in front of him that he snaps out of it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do shots instead?” he asks, tone sour.

“Man, don’t tempt me,” Shoko whines as she sits down as well. “The shots will have to wait.”

Truly, Gojo thinks, sadder words have never been spoken.

Nanami calls it quits right before 10 pm. He’s tried to leave a few times by then, usually because of one of Gojo’s quips, but Shoko’s managed to keep him around until then. It doesn’t help how delighted Gojo gets by his reactions, and you can’t blame him for abandoning you. You don’t doubt for a second that he would have been much more productive without everyone else around.

“If they pass their exams, we should give ourselves all the credit for that,” he comments at your intention, right before walking out the door. “Good luck with them.”

Then he’s gone, before Gojo can start to protest about why he is not getting any encouragements, even though he’s suffering so much, and everyone is mean, and nothing about this is fun, and—

Haibara, despite his best intentions, falls asleep on the couch less than thirty minutes later. It was just supposed to be quick nap, but by midnight he’s still down, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up. Plus it’s not like you were making a lot of progress with him anyway, so he just might be better off sleeping.

It’s not long after that that Shoko starts to get real antsy. So far, she has kept on track despite Gojo’s attempts at distracting her, but you can tell she is starting to get incredibly bored. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to be Gojo’s case, even if the way his leg bounces underneath his chair tells you he’s itching to do anything other than sit here doing nothing.

“Fuck it,” Shoko says, finally giving up. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

Geto frowns.

“Now? Alone?”

“As if anything would happen to her,” Gojo says, spinning a pen between his fingers. “She’ll be the scariest person out there.”

Geto rolls his eyes.

“I’ll come with you,” he tells Shoko, and she shrugs. “Do you want to come too, Satoru?”

Gojo lets himself fall down on his chair, looking at Geto with his head hanging behind the back of the chair.

“Nah,” he says after a few seconds of intense deliberation. “Can’t abandon the teacher here.”

You feel your face heating up.

“Oh, I mean, I’m sure I’ll be fine. If you want to go, you should—”

“It’s fine,” he handwaves your protests away. “I’ll finally get some work done without Shoko here to constantly distract me with—”

He bursts out laughing when Shoko throws her pen at him.

“We’ll be right back,” she announces, standing up. “You,” she points at Gojo, “play nice. And you,” she gives you a severe look, “don’t hesitate to hit him. I’m not joking.”

She leaves the room, escorted by Geto. Haibara doesn’t even stir when the door slams.

“Alright,” Gojo says, not wasting a second to reach for your chair so he can pull you closer to him, “it’s my turn to get my own personal tutor.” His fingers brush against your leg as he pulls you in, and you know, from how his eyes seem to drink in everything about you, that he doesn’t miss your quiet gasp nor the way your breath quickens. You’ve noticed this before, too. If he likes annoying Nanami, he seems to delight in your reactions at least as much — though he tries to make you laugh or to fluster you rather than piss you off.

“Um,” you say, with the eloquence that characterizes you around him, “what do you need help with?”

He tilts his head to the side as he studies you. You find him breathtaking, you always do, but you think you’ve gotten better at hiding it, so even if it feels like he’s looking right into your soul, you give him an easy smile.

Somehow, he is the one who ends up averting his eyes.

“How about philosophy?”

Right, the two of you share that one class on the history of ideas.

“Sure,” you say, already grabbing a book and thumbing through it. “I’ve taken quite a few notes for that class, actually, I can give them to you if you—”

“That’s boring,” he interrupts you. “We should do something else.”

You put down your book, intrigued, and something twists in your stomach when you see the look he’s giving you. He’s like a cat with a mouse, with exactly the same hunger in his eyes.

“What—” you clear your throat when your voice cracks. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well,” he leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and putting his chin in his palm, “I need an incentive to work, you know?”

You swallow. Sure.

“So how ‘bout I get a kiss for every right answer I give you?”

And you almost choke on air.

“What?” you manage to croak. Blood is rushing to your face, and it feels like your brain is short-circuiting. Your heart’s beating faster, hammering in your chest, and you feel your palms grow sweaty.

“C’mon,” he teases, reaching out to pull on a lock of your hair and twirl it around his finger, and you know, you know, he knows he’s got you right where he wants to, “help me study.”

“Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he all but purrs.

“Satoru,” you say, “what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he blinks innocently. “Just trying to find a fun way to study.”

You examine him carefully, try to figure out what, exactly, is going on behind these beautiful eyes of his. You’ve had— moments, with him. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car once. He held your hand through a busy festival, teasing you about not wanting you to get lost, and later helped you get on his shoulders so you’d get a better view of the stage. The one time you agreed to accompany Shoko to the club, you remember his hands on your hips, his breath against your ear, the ghost of his lips to your neck. But nothing actually happened between the two of you. You’d told yourself that it was all a distraction for him, that he didn’t want more.

This isn’t exactly confirmation. You don’t doubt that it’s all in good fun still, and knowing you, and how hard you tend to fall, you should walk away while you have the chance.

But you really, really want to kiss him. Want to know what it would feel like to taste his lips, to have his body pressed against yours, to feel his hands all over you.

You always take the smart decision. This is not the smart decision. But…

“What if you get it wrong?” you ask.

Satoru blinks.

“You can, uh, spray me with a water bottle?”

You let out a brief laugh.

“Isn’t that a dog thing? That feels unethical, Satoru.”

He preens at your use of his name.

“You should take your chance,” he drawls. “Shoko says it’s really cathartic.”

You’re not sure you need catharsis, but you feel a little lighter now. It’s all a joke to him, clearly, and from what you’ve seen in the past couple of hours, he hasn’t seriously studied once. He’s not going to get the answers right. You don’t think he’s even trying to.

“Fine,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, reaching out for a water bottle and positioning your chair so you’re facing him. “Who came up with the notion of civil disobed—"

“Thoreau, 1848, but the essay was republished with that name in 1866.”

You stare. Gojo gives you a lazy smile.

“Now where’s my kiss?”

“Um,” you say. You feel incredibly awkward now. He’s leaning back against his chair, with eyes that have not left you once since he’s suggested that idea. You— have to move, now, don’t you?

Very slowly, very hesitantly, you push yourself to your feet. Satoru doesn’t move at all, and you don’t know if it relieves you or stresses you out even more. The position is quite uncomfortable, too, with you standing and him sitting down. You don’t know that you’ve ever towered over him like that. Gingerly, you put a hand on his shoulder, and then you’re leaning over him, and then you’re kissing him, and then you’re moving away as fast as you can. This was just a peck, really, a press of your lips to his that lasted a second, tops, and that you’re already trying to forget about.

You’re not a teenager anymore, and you know this shouldn’t be getting to you that much, but it’s— it’s Satoru Gojo. You’ve worked very, very hard not to think of him like that, because you didn’t want to let yourself get hurt. And now, you’ve let yourself be dragged into this so easily? Ugh. You wish you could slap yourself.

“Okay,” you say, voice more high-pitched than you’d like, but still understandable, which you’re grateful for. “Next, um, can you explain what philosopher kings are?”

Surely—

“Of course,” Satoru pretty much sing-songs. “Plato thought that cities should be ruled by trained philosophers, because only a philosopher would know and act for the good of a city.” There’s a brief pause, before he adds, “Aristotle thought that was bullshit, though. For the record.”

And then he waits. You narrow your eyes at him.

“When did you study for that?”

“I never study,” he answers lightly.

Instead of standing up this time, you scoot your chair closer to him, and you lean forward. Satoru chuckles, but humors you — even if the temptation of leaning further back to make you come to him, because you’re just adorable when you’re flustered, is great. This time, when you kiss him, though, he presses forward before you can move away, his nose brushing against your cheek as he chases after you. And oh, what a sight you are after that, wide eyed, lips parted, hands tightening on your notes.

“Next?” he asks.

“Right,” you say. You’re— not sure what’s happening here, to be quite honest. Should you stop this? You— don’t think you want to, but you’re also not sure what this charade is all about. “Um. Spinoza thought that free will—”

“—could only be reached through knowledge, and that most people never obtained it.”

Okay.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a physics major?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely amused.

“Determinism’s a pretty big deal in science, actually, but let’s not change the subject here.”

You bite your lower lip, and his eyes track the movement like he’s starving for you.

You’re feeling hot all over, anticipation burning inside of you, and this time, you can’t pretend that he hasn’t done this on purpose. That he wanted to kiss you. You can’t quite reconcile the way you see yourself with that thought — how could Gojo Satoru want you, of all people? — but you find that it doesn’t matter.

You lean towards him once more, and this time, you let yourself kiss him. Really kiss him. You press your lips to his, soft at first, but when you don’t move away immediately, you feel him pressing against you, one hand coming to cup your cheek. His teeth pull at your bottom lip, and you let out a involuntary gasp. He doesn’t waste the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, and you keep inching closer to him, hands coming to his shoulders for support. You can feel yourself melt into him, and you curse your common sense when it leads you to break away from the kiss.

It doesn’t deter Satoru, though, because as you do, his hand slides under your knee, and next thing you know, he’s pulled you into his lap. His face is deliciously flushed, pink hue under the pale skin. He looks up at you, long fingers tightening around your thighs.

“We should waste less time like that,” he says.

Shoko likes to say he’s insufferable, and you can see why. Everything all seems to come so easy to him, and you’re defenseless against the way your heart races. When his eyes are on you, it feels like you’re the only person in the world. You’re not usually the type to indulge in that idea, but, ah, what’s the harm, as long as you know how to come back to earth later on?

You shake your head as you take him in.

“How are you even doing that?” you ask, mildly peeved.

“Haven’t you heard?” he grins widely. “I’m a genius.”

You roll your eyes at him. You’ve heard about that, of course, about how he maintains stellar grades without breaking a sweat. You just hadn’t seen that in application until now. In class, he’s usually asleep, or taking great joy in bothering the teacher. You’ve never seen him try to get something.

“Well, where’s my question?”

You sigh, putting your arms around his neck. You left your notes on the table, meaning that you might be less prepared than he is, actually.

“Descartes famously said—”

“Cogito ergo sum. C’mon, rational doubt is at the heart of science. I’m starting to think you’re just trying to kiss me.”

You do want to kiss him, but you have the self-control to shrug.

“Well, if you don’t want to—”

His mouth is on yours before you can think of how to end that sentence. He kisses you hungrily, hands gripping your hips as he tries to pulls you closer to him. Your chest presses into his, and you tighten your hold around him, fingers running through his hair. He grunts when you pull on it slightly, tilts his head back a little more to give you better access to his mouth, and when his tongue brushes against yours once more, you can’t help but to rock your hips against his. The friction makes you gasp into his mouth, and one of your hands falls down to his shoulder, fisting his shirt as you try to find better support.

“Fuck,“ you hear him mumble underneath you, right as you feel him grow hard. He pushes up against you. His fingers dig into your skin, one hand slipping under your shirt to run over your skin, leaving a trail of fire behind. It moves higher, brushing against your bra.

Against your better judgement, your hands travel down his body, tracing over his muscles. You feel him twitch under you, and when you roll your hips once more, with much more intent than the first time, he groans.

“Satoru,” you whisper, though even you don’t know if it’s a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

His eyes widen, and you feel him lift you up easily, pushing you onto the table. You lean back slightly, resting your weight on one hand. He’s red all over now, from his ears to his neck. His pupils are wide, his lips swollen, his hair messy. He looks like sin.

You don’t want to think about what you look like.

“C’mon,” he says. “Last question.”

“Haibara’s in the living room,” you point out. Even you know where this is leading.

“He’s dead asleep,” he merely shrugs. He’s mesmerizing, but you note that the glimmer of amusement that always dances in his eyes. This feels— serious.

“Um,” you say, licking your lips and watching how he bites his as his grip on your waist tightens once more — like he’s holding himself back. “Confucius—”

And then, the front door opens.

Gojo clicks his tongue and reluctantly steps back as you jump down from the table, beelining for the bathroom — you know that kiss is written all over your face.

You glare at yourself in the mirror. Your body’s still tingling, and you’re aching with want, now that release has been denied to you, but you know better. You’re supposed to know better. You take a few seconds to comb through your hair with your hands, and when it no longer looks like someone’s, well, kissed you senseless, you cautiously step back outside.

“We got you some fuel,” Shoko announces loudly, before getting shushes by Geto. He points in Haibara’s direction, who’s started snoring slightly.

“Thank you so much,” you say sweetly. “I’ll— Why are you wet?”

Gojo deadpans as he looks at you but, well, there’s water dripping from his hair, down his chin, and onto the shirt your hands were fisted in just a few minutes earlier, so, you think the question is valid.

“He was splashing water on his face when we got here,” Geto supplies helpfully. “Gojo runs hot.”

“And now it’s all over my floor,” Shoko mutters. “Next time, just wait ‘til the bathroom’s free, huh?”

Gojo looks like he has something to say just on the tip of his tongue, but he glances at you and seems to swallow it back.

“If anything, I made it cleaner,” he proclaims, leaning back on his chair. “Shoko, how long has it been since you cleaned in here? We really need to find you a partner who’s willing to do that stuff, otherwise you’ll keep living in fil—”

Shoko’s pencil case lands right in the middle of his face.

“You absolute brat,” she spits out, “I can’t believe you’d have the nerve to tell me something like that when you rely exclusively on Geto to—”

The bickering continues, but you tune it out. Under the table, Satoru’s knee brushes against yours. It’s almost hesitant at first, before he leans his leg against yours, when he realizes you’re not moving away. This isn’t the smart choice, either, but, ah, you’re always, always the smart girl. Is it so bad to have a night of fun? Is it so bad that you want to know what it would feel like to have him, even if it’s just once?

He’ll break your heart, the voice of reason says in the back of your mind, but then Satoru looks back at you, checking to see if you’re laughing at how he’s making fun of Shoko and, well.

You think you’ll let him.

Any and all feedback in the form of asks, reblogs, comments, tags is highly encouraged and appreciated~ If you enjoy my work, interactions are what keep me writing and motivated!

I haven't written anything in months and I think it shows but, well, I have to restart somewhere lol, so I hope it was still fun for you and you enjoyed yourselves here for a little while. Thank you for reading <3

prequel

[arielleslipgloss]

It Girl Habits!!

(none of these photos are mine)

“You cannot live your life to please others. The choice must be yours.” - Anne Hathaway

Stay busy!! Do you see those it girls like Serena Van Der Woodsen scrolling on their phone all day? No, you rarely do. It girls are always busy doing something. So, therefore do some self care, study, workout, read, journal, go shopping, go on solo dates, hang out with friends, paint, have a dance party, etc. Do fun activities and take care of yourself. Another example of a busy it girl is, Elle Woods. Elle Woods wasn’t becoming one with the couch everyday. She had goals to achieve. She had people that doubted her to prove wrong. So get up! Start planning out your day or week. Start making goals!!

Have goals! You wanna know why you’re bored all the time? Well, it’s because you have no goals. You practically don’t have a life because all you do is sleep, eat, scroll, and repeat. You’re wasting time doing nothing. You could’ve had a clean room by now. Maybe you could have finished that book. Whatever it is, you could have had it. You could’ve been 1% better than yesterday. You don’t though because you have no goals. That time you’re wasting, can be used toward your goals. It can be used toward your dream life. Maybe, you do have goals? Yet you don’t even take action. What are you waiting for? For someone to do the work for you? No, get up and start taking action.

Be mindful of what you consume online!! Just like how who you surround yourself with affects you. What you consume online affects how and who you are. For example, listening to sad music makes you feel sad. Music is meant to tell a story that you feel deeply. You may not even relate to the song, but you feel as if you do. So, you become sad and continue to listen to sad music. When listening to uplifting music you gain confidence. You still feel like you relate to the song. Just with a more positive effect. As for what you watch and read. Don’t read/watch stuff that will put you down. Watch/read content that will help you.

Complimenting yourself every time you pass the mirror!! Some may say it’s cringy, but DO IT. Would you rather be cringy or be the best version of yourself? Exactly, so either say it out loud or in your head. Say it even if you might not believe it. Say it because you deserve it! Try to be creative with your compliments. Not all compliments have to be about your looks. It could be your personality, your thoughtfulness, how creative you are, etc. Also loosen up, be your own hype girl. When you see the mirror you could say, “Omg I look like the main character.” “Oh wait, I am!” Lastly, don’t forget to have fun with hyping yourself up.

Mediating or journaling when stressed!! When stressed we start to feel a lot of tension. So, that’s why meditating is so important to do when stressed. All you have to do is sit down and focus on breathing. Plus, It calms down your nerves, relaxes the mind, body, and soul. Not just that, but plenty of other benefits. Which includes, helps focus, betters mood, helps you sleep, slows down aging, etc. As for journaling, it’s practically free therapy! That is, at least in my eyes. All you need is a notebook, a pen or pencil, and yourself. Journal what’s making you stressed or anxious. Let all your emotions out, write freely. Your words don’t have to make sense. Nor do you need to have perfect writing. In fact, when you journal it may be all over the place. However or whatever you write, just let it out.

Expressing your gratitude!! Life is so beautiful and has so much meaning. So, either write down what you’re grateful for or thank God. You are so blessed to be here today. That is only just one thing to be grateful for. There are so many things to be grateful for, air, family, friends, your mind, being born as you, water, books, food, shoes, clothes, and so much more!! Express your gratitude everyday. It could be the most random thing like, a poster. As long as you’re truly grateful, then express it.

7. Having a low screen time!! Cliché, I know but it’s true. Your devices are consuming you. Think about what you use your device(s) for. Good examples are, for work, for motivation, tips, workout videos, inspiration, knowledge, and maybe even faith reasons. Now here are bad examples, procrastinating, sinning, hating on others, scrolling, because you’re bored, to watching videos of people that make you insecure, and lastly to cope with something. Which to clarify, trying to cope by using your phone, I understand somewhat. On the other hand, it could make what you’re coping with worse. I say that because there are so many studies on why our phone is bad for us. Seriously, so many and we are completely unaware of the damage it does. So for that reason, try to use your phone only for the good. I know you’re probably going to make an excuse. Which we all do and that’s ok, but please try.

8. Encouraging yourself to do better!! You should always be working hard to be 1% better everyday. So on the days you don’t feel like doing anything, encourage yourself. Show up for yourself, you will be so happy after. Lastly, trust yourself to get whatever done!!

9. Having a healthy sleep schedule!! For me, I try to aim for 8-11 hours of sleep. For others, it may be 7-10 hours of sleep. Whatever makes you feel the most well-rested should work. Just try to be consistent and mindful of the time. I also recommend to be off your phone for at least 30-60 minutes before going to bed. It will improve how you sleep a lot. That also being said, try not to be on your phone when you wake up either. It’ll help improve your health by a lot. Especially, the health of your brain and eyes. As I had mentioned, try to be consistent. Set a certain time to go to bed and turn off your phone. Then, get your lovely beauty sleep gorgeous!!

10. CLEANING!! The last habit is, cleaning. Now, I don’t just meaning cleaning your room or house. I mean even your body and mind. For starters, a clean room equals a clean mind. Therefore, stop procrastinating and start cleaning. Turn on some fun music and maybe even romanticize cleaning. Just make it fun and DEEP clean. I know someone reading this has been procrastinating on cleaning. You know who you are, so clean everything. Then, for cleaning the mind a little extra meditate. I feel like I already went over a bit about meditation. So lastly, for the body, take your showers consistently. Also, please wear deodorant. I see way too many people nowadays not wearing deodorant. Seriously, wear your deodorant.

“Always walk around like you have on an invisible tiara on.” - Paris Hilton

Remember, always apply lip gloss and stay pretty! Love you, dolls 💋

Info I used: https://reallifecounseling.us/blog/benefits-of-meditation

My Pinterest: @arielleslipgloss