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redgoldsparks · 7 months

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I wrote a 12 page epilogue to my 2019 comic "Harry Potter and The Problematic Author" because I found, in 2023, that I had more to say. You can also find this comic on my website, and I have PDF copies available on etsy. I may sell print copies at some point in the future.

instagram / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my book / redbubble

Full transcript below the cut.

PAGE 1

Part one: Ruddy Owls!

I was in fourth grade when the first Harry Potter Book was released in the US.

Panel 1: Sometimes our teacher would read it aloud in class. “Mr and Mrs Dursley of number 4 Privat Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

Panel 2: I was 11 years old when Harry Potter finally broke through my dyslexia and turned me into a reader.

Panel 3: Every night in the summer before sixth grade I waited for the owl carrying my Hogwarts Letter. I cried when it didn’t come. “I have to go to Muggle school!”

PAGE 2

Part Two: Hats

I dedicated myself to being a fan.

Panel 1: I began collecting Harry Potter News article.

Panel 2: I asked my relatives to mail me ones from their local papers. I filled a thick binder with clippings.

Panel 3: I wrote my own trivia quiz

Panel 4: and participated in the one held annually at the county fair. “Next contestant!”

Panel 5: I usually got into one of. the top five spots. I won boxes of candy, posters, stationary, and once a baseball cap. (Hat reads: I survived the battle of Hogwarts).

Panel 6: In high school I sewed a black velvet cape and knitted many stripped scarves.

PAGE 3

Part Three: Double Trouble

Watching the last film in 2011 felt like the final note of my childhood.

Panel 1: I remember driving home from the midnight showing thinking about the end of 13 years of waiting; wondering what would define the next chapter of my life.

Panel 2: That same month I heard of something called Pottermore. “Okay, so there’s a sorting quiz… I already know my house! Patronus assignment? Mine’s a barn owl. Duh!"

Panel 3: You can read the books again but with GIFs? Why?

Panel 4: I lived in a place with very slow and limited internet at the time. Pottermore sounded inaccessible, but also boring. I never joined.

Panel 5: "I’ll just read the actual books again, thanks."

PAGE 4

Part Four: Sweets

In 2016, a series of short stories titled "History of Magic in North America” were released on Pottermore to pave the way for the first Fantastic Beasts Film. These stories display an extreme ignorance of American history, culture, and geography, but the worst parts are the casual misuse of indigenous beliefs and stories. Fans and critics immediately spoke up against this appropriation. Some of the most quoted voices included Nambe Pueblo scholar Dr. Debbie Reese who runs the site “American Indians In Children’s Literature”; Navajo writer Brian Young; Johnnie Jae (Otoe-Missouria and Choctaw), founder of A Tribe Called Geek; Dr Adrienne Keene (Cherokee Nation), a Professor at Brown University who runs the blog “Native Appropriations”, and writers N.K. Jemison and Paula Young Lee.

PAGE 5

Rowling is famous for responding to fans directly on twitter, yet she did not respond to anyone calling out the damaging aspects of “Magic in North America.” Her representatives refused to comment for March 9 2016 article in the Guardian. She has never apologized. All of this, plus the casting of Johnny Depp and the specific declarations of support by JKR, Warner Brothers, and director David Yates left a sour taste in my mouth.

For further thoughts on the new films read The Crimes of Grindelwald is a Mess by Alanna Bennett for Buzzfeed News, November 16, 2018.

PAGE 6

Excerpt from Colonialism in Wizarding American: JK Rowling’s History of Magic in North America Through an Indigenous Lens by Allison Mills, MFA, MAS/MLIS (Cree and Settler French Canadian)

Although Rowling is certainly not the first white author to misstep in her treatment of Indigenous cultures, she has an unprecedented level of visibility and fame, […] One of the most glaring problems with Rowling’s story is her treatment of the many Indigenous nations in North America as one monolithic group. […It] flattens out the diversity of languages, belief systems, and cultures that exist in Indigenous communities, allowing stereotyping to persist. […] It continues a long history of colonial texts which ignore that Indigenous peoples still exist. […] In the Wizarding world, as in the real world, Indigenous histories have been over-written and our cultures erased.

from The Looking Glass: New Perspectives in Children’s Literature Volumn 19, Issue 1

PAGE 7

Part 5: Music

Panel 1: Also in 2016 I discovered two podcasts which radically altered my experience of being an HP fan. The first was Witch Please created by two Canadian feminist literary scholars Hannah McGregor and Marcelle Kosman.

Panel 2: “If it’s not in the text it doesn’t count!” “Close reading ONLY!”

Panel 3: They talk about Harry Potter at the level you’d expect in a college class with particular focus on gender, race, class, and the troubling fatphobia, fear of othered and queer coded bodies, violence against women, white feminism, gaslighting and failed pedagogy in the books. They bring up these issues not because they hate the series, but because they LOVE it.

PAGE 8

These passionate, joyful conversations went off like fireworks in my mind. I had never taken a feminist class before. I gained a whole new vocabulary to talk about the books- and the world.

PAGE 9

Panel 1: The second podcast I started that year was Harry Potter and the Sacred Text, created by two graduates of the Harvard Divinity School, Vanessa Zoltan and Casper Ter Kuile.

Panel 2: They read one chapter per episode through a theme such as love, control, curiosity, shame, responsibility, hospitality, destruction, or mystery. Like Witch Please, they are interested only in the information on the page, not thoughts from the author. The delights and failures of the text are examined in the context of the present day, and new meanings constantly arise.

PAGE 10

What does it mean to treat a text as sacred?

Trusting that the more time we give to it, the more blessings it has to give us.

Reading the text repeatedly with concentrated attention. Our effort is part of what makes it sacred. The text is not in and of itself sacred, but is made so by rigorously engaging in the ritual of reading.

Experiencing it in community.

“To me, the goal of treating the text as sacred is that we learn to treat each other as sacred.” -Vanessa Zoltan

PAGE 11

Part 6: Tooth and Claw

In October 2017, Rowling liked a tweet linking to an article arguing that trans women should be kept out of women’s bathrooms because of cisgender women’s fears. In March 2018, she liked a tweet about the problem of misogyny in the UK Labour Party which included the line “Men in dresses get brosocialist solidarity I never had.” The author of the tweet had previously posted many blatantly anti-trans statements.

Rowlings publicist claimed she had liked the posted by accident in a “clumsy and middle-aged moment.” Yet, in September 2018 she liked a link posted by Janice Turner to her column in the Times UK titled “Trans Rapists Are A Danger In Women’s Jails.”

Screencaps of these tweets can be found in the article “The Mysterious Case of JK Rowling and her Transphobic Twitter History”, January 10 2019 by Gwendolyn Smith (a trans journalist), LGBTQNation.com

PAGE 12

Excerpt from: Is JK Rowling Transphobic? A Trans Woman Investigates by Katelyn Burns

Ultimately, the answer is yes, she is transphobic […] I think it’s fair that she receives criticism from trans people, especially given her advocacy on behalf of queer people in general, but also because she has a huge platform. Many people look up to her for creating a singular piece of popular culture that holds deep meaning for fans from different walks of life, and she has a responsibility to handle that platform wisely. (Published on them.us March 28, 2018)

PAGE 13

Part 7: Home

At age 30, I’m still not over Harry Potter.

Panel 1: I’ve recently found a local bar that does HP trivia nights. “Poppy or Pomona?” “Poppy!”

Panel 2: I currently own an annual pass to Universal Studios so I can visit Hogsmeade.

Panel 3: I love talking to kids who are reading the books for the first time. “Who’s your favorite character?” “Ginny!”

Panel 4: And I’m planning a relisten to the audio books to next year to help me get through the election cycle. “Jim Dale, I’m going to need you more than ever…”

Spoiler from 2023: I did not do this. By mid-2020 JKR had posted her transphobic essay; we were in covid; I never visited Universal Studios again.

PAGE 14

But I do want to learn from her mistakes. I never want to repeat “Magic in North America.” As I write, I will do my research. I will consult experts and compensate them. If a reader from a different culture/background than me speaks up about my work, I will listen and apologize. I KNOW I WILL MAKE MISTAKES. But I will own up to them and I will do better.

PAGE 15

Excerpt from Diversity Is Not Enough: Race, Power and Publishing by Daniel José Older

We can love a thing and still critique it. In fact, that’s the only way to really love a thing. Let’s be critical lovers and loving critics and open ourselves to the truth about where we are and where we’ve been. Instead of holding tight to the same old, failed patriarchies, let’s walk a new road, speak new languages. Today, let’s imagine a literature, a literary world, that carries this struggle for equity in its very essence, so that tomorrow it can cease to be necessary, and disappear. (Buzzfeed, April 14, 2017)

PAGE 16

Harry Potter is flawed, & JK Rowling is problematic. But the books helped me learn a lot:

*One of the greatest dangers facing the modern world is the rise of fascism

*The government cannot be trusted

*Read and think critically

*Question the news: who paid the journalist? Who owns the paper?

*Trust and support your friends through good times and bad

*Organize for resistance

*Educate and share resources with peers

*The revolution must be diverse and intersectional

* We are only as strong as we are united

*The weapon we have is love

MK 2019

PAGE 17

PART 8: EPILOGUE

In 2021 I removed a Harry Potter patch I sewed to my book bag over a decade ago. I took 15 pieces of Harry Potter fanart off my walls. I got rid of my paperback book set, 2 board games, and 8 t-shirt. [images: a Hogwarts a patch with loose threads, a pair of scissors and a seam ripper]

Panel 1: Maia holding up a shirt with the Deathly Hallows logo on it. Maia thinks: “Damn, this really used to be my entire personality.”

Panel 2: The t-shirt gets thrown into the Goodwill box.

PAGE 18

I wrote my zine wrestling with JKR’s legacy in 2019, after her dismissive and racist reaction to indigenous fans and critics of “Magic in North America” and after she had liked a couple transphobic tweets. Since then, she has gotten so much worse.

A Brief Timeline (mostly from this Vox article)

June 2020- JKR posts a 3600 word essay making her anti-trans position clear

August 2020- The Robert F Kennedy Human Rights Org issues a statement about her transphobia, JKR doubles down on her position and returns an award they gave her

December 2020- JKR claims 90% of HP fans secretly agree with her anti-trans views

December 2021- JKR mocks Scottish Police for recognizing transgender identities

March 2022- JKR criticizes gender-inclusive language and legislation

December 2022- JKR retweets trans youtuber Jessie Earl’s critical review of Hogwarts Legacy, starting an onslaught of transphobic harassment towards Earl

December 2022- JKR removes her support from an Edinburgh center for survivors of sexual violence with a trans-inclusive policy and funds her own center which explicitly excludes trans sexual assault survivors

January 2023- JKR tweets “Deeply amused by those telling me I’ve lost their admiration due to disrespect I show violent, duplicitous rapists.” It got nearly 300K likes

March 2023- One the podcast “The Witch Trials of JK Rowling”, hosted by a former Westboro Baptist Church Member, JKR compares the trans rights movement to Death Eaters.

PAGE 19

What are The Witch Trials of JK Rowling?

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “It’s a 7 episode documentary style podcast hosted by Megan Phelps-Roper. Nearly every episode contains interviews with JKR as well as critics, journalists, historians, protestors and fans.

Panel 2: Maia speaking. “In episode 1, JKR speaks more candidly than she has previously about being in an abusive marriage. Her ex-husband hit her, stalked her, broke into her house overlapping with the time she was writing the first three HP books.”

Panel 3: Maia speaking. “What she went through genuinely sounds horrific. I have a lot of sympathy for the kind of life-long traumas those experiences leave.”

PAGE 20

HOWEVER.

It is clear from reading the June 2020 essay on her blog and listening to the podcast, that JKR still to this day feels unsafe. Despite her wealth and privilege she moves through the world with the mindset of a victim. And the group of people she finds most threatening are trans women.

Or rather, she is afraid that allowing trans women in women’s spaces invites the possibility of male predators entering those spaces.

Here’s a direct quote: The problem is male violence. All a predator wants is access and to open the doors of changing rooms, rape centers, domestic violence centers [...] to any male who says “I’m a woman and I have a right to be here” will constitute a risk to women and girls. - from The Witch Trials episode 4 as transcribed by therowlinglibrary.com, March 2023

Image: A stem of Belladonna with flowers and berries.

PAGE 21

Let me introduce here the term: TRANSMISOGYNY. The intersection of transphobia and misogyny, this term was coined by Julia Serano in 2007. Scout Tran, on tiktok as Queersneverdie said: “Transmisogyny occurs in people who have been previously hurt by traditional misogyny. Who have been driven to hate men or at the very least to be scared of men. They will sometimes take out that rage on trans women. (March 2023)

JKR claims to care for trans women and understand they are extremely vulnerable to assault and violence. In her 2020 Essay she wrote: “I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe.”

So she cares about trans women… just less than cis women, and she’s willing to throw all trans women under the bus because of her unfounded, prejudice fears.

PAGE 22

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “JKR claims to have seen data that proves trans women have presented physical threats to other women in intimate spaces, but never cites sources. She also uses “producer of the large gametes” as a definition of “woman”.

What about transmen and nonbinary folks?

Panel 2: Maia leaning on a stack of all seven HP books, the first four Cormorant Strike books and The Casual Vacancy, gesturing to a series of quotes with a tired and disgusted expression.

I’m concerned about the huge explosion of young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning. * [...] If I’d been born 30 years later, I too might have tried to transition. The allure of escaping womanhood would have been huge. -June 10 2020 essay

I don’t believe a 14 year old can truly understand what the loss of their fertility is.

-Witch Trials episode 4

I haven’t yet found a study that hasn’t found that the majority of young people experiencing gender dysphoria grow out of it*. -Witch Trials episode 7

*No sources cited

PAGE 23

It’s hard to over emphasize how fixated JKR has become on these topics. As of the date I’m writing this, 14 out of her 20 most recent tweets (70%) are in some way anti-trans. She tweets against Mermaids (a UK based trans youth charity), against trans athletes, against gender neutral bathrooms, and in support of LBG Alliance- a UK org that denies trans rights while upholding gay rights. Here are some gems from her archive:

“People who menstruate.” I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud? -June 2020

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. The Penised Individual Who Raped You Is a Woman. - December 2021

And in response to someone asking “How do you sleep at night knowing you lost a whole audience?”

I read my most recent royalty cheques and find the pain goes away pretty quickly. -October 2022

PAGE 24

Hashtag Ruthless Productions a queer nerd podcast company created a great guide on ethical engagement with HP. Image: the two hosts of Hashtag Ruthless productions, Jessie (They/she) and Lark (he/him).

Stop buying all official HP Products: books, movies, games, toys, etc, Universal Studios tickets, food, merch.* Boycott any new TV series or movies. Instead: buy the books and DVDs used. If you still want to wear HP merch, buy fan-made. Engage only with fan content: fic, podcasts, fanart, wizard rock, etc. Show transphobia is bad for business. None of this will change JKR’s mind. But the Fantastic Beast series was canceled and after record Pottermore sales in 2020, they fell in 2022 by 40%.

*She gets a portion of ALL tickets. In 2019, this was her largest income source. Read the full guide: hashtagruthless.com/resourceguide

PAGE 25

As late as 2019, I was still reading JKR’s murder mystery series. But by the fourth book my experience began to sour.

Panel 1: Maia holding a copy of Lethal White. “The only gay character in this book is a government official who gropes his staff?”

Panel 2: “The only genderqueer character is misgendered and portrayed as a whiny faker?”

Panel 3: “The only Muslim character is disowned by his family over gay rumors?”

Panel 4: “Even the women aren’t portrayed very well…”

Panel 5: “Why is the main female character defined by the rape in her past?”

Panel 6: “Wait, what happens in the rest of this series…?” Maia scrolls on eir phone.

Panel 7: “Is the series heading towards an employee/boss relationship?”

Panel 8: “And has a man wearing women’s clothes to commit assault?”

Panel 9: “Yeah, I’m done. I’m never reading a new JKR book ever again.”

PAGE 26

And as for JKR herself?

As tempting as it might be to tweet your frustrations at her, I don’t recommend it. In 2021, she tweeted, “Hundreds of trans activists have threatened to beat, rape, assassinate and bomb me.” Getting hate online feeds her sense of victimhood and she waves it as proof of her moral high ground. Instead I suggest you block her on twitter, then delete twitter, go to the library and try to find a new book that feels magical.

Stack of books: In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan, The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater, Gifts by Ursula K Le Guin, Deep Wizardry by Diane Duane, A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik and Gideon the Ninth by Tamsin Muir.

PAGE 27

In “Emergent Strategy” adrienne maree brown writes: You do not have the right to traumatize abusive people, to attack them, personally or publicly, or to sabotage anyone else’s health. The behaviors of abuse are also survival-based, learned behaviors rooted in pain. If you can look through the lens of compassion, you will find hurt and trauma there. If you are the abused party, healing that hurt is not your responsibility and exacerbating that pain is not your justified right.

PAGE 28

Seeing anyone over age 12 wearing HP merch now makes me uncomfortable. Are they ignorant or actively a TERF? I hate wondering how much money JKR has probably poured into anti-trans legislation… This zine is a culmination of my slow breakup with a story that once brought me joy. Now it just makes me angry, tired and sad.

Image: Candle in a fancy holder burned down to less than an inch.

Maia Kobabe, 2023

#harry potter #harry potter and the problematic author #jk rowling #transphobia #jk rowling transphobic

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esmedelacroix · 4 months

Text

Mr. O'Hara

ta!miguel o'hara can't resist student!reader's charms⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

cw: dom!miguel o'hara, age gap, smut, overstim, unprotected p in v, oral f! and m! receiving, slapping, creampie, pwp kinda

a/n: hey lovies, this is a little something I wrote like a year ago about a different character and it's one of the first things I had ever written so I took and revised it, and made it about Miguel. I hope you all like it, enjoy...

wc: 2k

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You were a college senior when you first entered Mr. Choi’s Biology Class. It was a relatively easy class but every now and then you would get entirely distracted by Mr. Choi’s teacher assistant Miguel O'Hara. He graduated from your department the year before and he was now doing his master's. Since Mr. Choi had been out for a month and most likely be gone for more to come, Miguel had been teaching your class.

This meant you were busy staring at his muscular biceps that bulged out of his button-up shirt, his forearms that flexed when he wrote on the board, his hair that was always styled perfectly, and his sharp jawline that looked like it could cut through steel. Instead of taking notes and asking questions, you daydreamed about him.

So it was no surprise when Miguel returned your midterm with a bright red F on the front. He held the test result paper to your face to grab your attention seeing that you were lost in thought once again. He placed the sheet of paper on your desk and motioned toward the exit of the classroom.

“My office, now please,” he said in a stern tone of voice.

Miguel paced back and forth collecting his thoughts before closing the door. You sort of knew Miguel before he graduated the year prior so you had expected him to be chill about you failing one singular test. You couldn’t figure out why he was so disappointed in your grade, and not any other students' because the whole class had failed. He ran a hand through his hair and took off his glasses to look you in the eyes; the tension grew thicker as the two of you stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

"What did you want to talk to me about Mr. O’Hara?" you had asked him, trying to sound as clueless as possible.

“Well, believe it or not, you were at the top of this class at the beginning of the semester, and please just call me Miguel,” he said as he leaned against his desk.

“Well, I knew I was good at Biology but I didn't know I was at the top of my class,” you said genuinely dumbfounded.

“So what's going on? I feel like you’re always daydreaming and zoning out in class nowadays. Your grades are slipping and I don’t want this to happen to you, I know your potential as a student.” Miguel said, as his expression softened.

“Well if you are as worried about my grades as you say you are, can’t you just raise them?" you asked with a blank expression.

"Well yes, I could if I wanted to be kicked out of school," he said, sounding sarcastically.

"It's just a few points," you said in a sing-songy tone as if you were teasing him.

"I can’t, it is a violation of school rules and unfairness for other classmates," he said.

"But, if I sleep with you, will you raise my score?" you asked as you sat back in the chair across from him looking up at him with fuck me eyes.

"Um, no?" Miguel said cheeks flushed with the bold proposition you had made.

"Come on, I know you had a little crush on me last year, your buddies on the soccer team told me," you said as the corners of your lips rose at his slightly embarrassed expression that he was trying to mask with confusion.

"Just, leave my office please," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You sure you don’t want this?" you asked as you traced your collarbone pulling his eyes to the tight button-up that showed some of your cleavage that you were sporting.

“Can you please leave? A no is a no." Miguel said as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his gray trousers, and turned away from you as you left the room trying to hide his obvious boner.

"Okay big guy I'll see you this weekend at your place," you left his room leaving the door open a crack.

“Seriously I won’t do it!” he called out.

. . .

Despite all of that denying Miguel had your legs spread across the armchair in his bedroom. His room had a huge ceiling-to-floor window overlooking the bright city lights. You looked out at the buildings that your teary and hazy eyes perceived as colorful dots. You were already three orgasms into the night, he never got tired of lapping at your folds and fucking you with his tongue alone.

Constantly letting you know that you tasted too sweet to be true. His calloused fingers circled your aching clit as he slipped his index finger into your wet, creamy cunt. He didn’t once let you touch herself; letting him eat you out was the reward that would make him give you that A+. He wasn't eating your pussy and making you squirt to make you feel good, he was doing it for his pleasure. He continued with both his index finger and his middle finger pumping them in and out of your sex. You watched as each muscle on his arm flexed as he fingered you.

Your hands gripped at the arms of the red velvety chair. You felt high on the feeling of him sucking your clit and fingering you. You couldn't help but squeeze around him as he added a third finger and pressed his forearm across your stomach holding you down as your legs began to spasm and your hips jerked up.

The wet, squelching, lewd sounds of Miguel's fingers going in and out of you filled the room, as your moans serenaded him, turning him carrying vibrations from his hardening erection threatening to bust the button of his slacks. Miguel brought his fingers to his mouth making sure he didn’t break eye contact with you. After licking all your juices off his fingers, he shoved them into your mouth, locking eyes with you as you sucked his fingers tasting a mixture of his saliva, your slick, and the whiskey he had beforehand.

His bulge was painfully visible through his trousers. "Take this off," he commanded, tugging at the hem of your pink button-up.

You slowly unbuttoned your shirt and tossed it on the ground along with your skirt, and panties. He smirked to himself, biting the inside of his cheek as he picked you up and took a seat on the armchair setting you on his lap. "Help me take my clothes off," he ordered with a smirk, enjoying how willing you were to do what he asked.

You unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside then you slid his pants and boxers off of him and watched his cock spring up and hit his stomach. You took a moment to take in the sight before you. Miguel sat back in the chair spreading his legs and motioning for you to kneel in between them just like he did to you moments before. "Are you going to stare at me or are you going to get to work?" he asked as he cupped your chin with his hand and slapped you across the face with the other.

You wrapped your hands around his warm veiny shaft. Your thumb and your fingers barely met when you wrapped them around his cock; he was that big. You licked the precum that was leaking from his screaming red tip earning a low groan from him. You slowly rubbed him in an almost teasing manner trying to assess how you were going to fit him in your mouth let alone your vagina.

“Miguel, you’re so big I don’t know how this is gonna fit-” you started.

“But you're going to take it anyway, right?” Miguel asked, trying to swallow his moans with his speech as you slowly stroked his length.

He grabbed you by the hair and guided your mouth onto his cock. You only had the tip in, but your mouth already felt full. He pushed your head down even further on his cock bobbing your head up and down.

You could feel him getting warmer and feel his length twitching in your mouth against your tongue. He pushed your head further to the base of his cock and you gaged on it. Tears burned your eyes as they fell down your cheeks. Mascara falling with them making a mess of your eye makeup. You slowly lifted your head, his cock leaving your mouth with a pornographic 'pop' sound.

You took a moment to catch your breath before stroking his cock at a speed you knew he'd love. You got up and straddled him with both of your hands on his broad shoulders supporting yourself. You kissed a line from his jaw to his neck. You lined his tip up with your sopping-wet cunt practically dripping on his aching cock with her love juice.

You slowly slid down his cock with a prolonged moan feeling the near-painful stretch. He could feel your tight pussy almost ripping his cock off when you started to move. You slowly moved up and back down again easing yourself into the feeling of his huge cock stretching your walls.

You felt like your body was going to rip in half but after a while, the pleasure completely washed over the pain. Miguel leaned his head back beads of sweat dripping down his neck and chest as you began to ride out your high. He was meanwhile mesmerized by your tits bouncing along with you as he tried not to explode in you right then and there. You frantically rode Miguel feeling your legs shake as a wave of pure pleasure and bliss washed over your body as you experienced the most intense orgasm of the night. Miguel started to pound his hips into you at an ungodly speed riding out his high. With one final thrust, he released his cum deep inside you. Tip kissing your cervix as he filled you up with his babies.

“Miguel,” you moaned breathlessly as you were barely able to think any thoughts but him.

Your body plopped against his, wet, sweaty skin stuck together as the two of you panted

“That was only the beginning, and you call me Mr.O'Hara got it?” he said as he lifted you up with him and brought you to the giant window outlooking the entire city. Your legs were wrapped around his waist as he suddenly put you down and made you face the window. He pressed your naked body against the cold glass. Your nipples hardening at the sudden temperature change. You jumped startled by how chilly the glass was against your hot skin. He turned on the fireplace nearby and whispered in your ear, “ I want the whole world to watch when I fuck you”

The hairs on the back of your neck jumped after feeling his warm breath hit your ear like dry ice. There was nothing nice about what he was saying it was cruel a cruel promise that he would fuck you so good you'd question if you've ever actually had sex before. Moisture pooled in between your legs at the thought of it.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want me to show them how good of a slut you are huh?” He asked as his finger circled your clit and her and kneeled on the beige carpet floors bringing you down with him bending you over doggy style. You pressed your hands against that cold glass and moaned,

"Yes, Mr. O'Hara, show them all how good I am for you,"

. . .

As all the students filed into the class, you couldn't help but notice that your name was number one on the end-of-trimester grades list. So much for all that, 'I'll lose my job' crap. Besides there's nothing Miguel wouldn't do after a fuck like that.

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niqhtlord01 · 3 months

Text

Humans are weird: Ramming Speed

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The idea of ramming space ships into each other as a form of combat maneuver was beyond many galactic military minds comprehension.

A single spacecraft, let alone a military grade class vessel, would cost up in the billions of credits. Entire galactic economies had nearly bankrupted themselves trying to maintain a fleet large enough to secure their borders, so in turn each military ship became an asset not to be squandered lightly.

Perhaps it was this conservative mindset that nearly shattered when these powers first looked upon the Terran ship codenamed “The Ram”.

Unlike other modern vessels the ships of this new classification lacked all weapon emplacements. No energy cannons, missile launchers, rail guns; it was entirely free of weapons. What it did have was excessive amounts of armor plating, several separate shield generators, and a pair of overly powerful engines that could reach max speed in roughly five minutes.

The first time it was observed in combat was during the Terran/Crux war. Both powers had sizable fleets at their disposal and for the first couple months the two powers played cat and mouse games between each other; each trying to find a more advantageous position to commit their forces. Much to the dismay of both powers the first large scale battle was triggered by mere chance than a tactical decision.

A Crux patrol stumbled upon a Terran patrol emerging from a dense nebula in the Viper System. Both patrols requested reinforcements. Nearby patrols were soon diverted to the engagement and within short order what was a small skirmish ballooned into a full scale battle.

There were no battle lines or frontlines as ships opened fire at near point blank range with each other. Even when higher rank Admirals arrived to take charge both sides were too embroiled in the slugfest to make any more nuanced tactical moves without exposing themselves to the enemy.

It was here that the Ram emerged and showed its prowess.

Crux warship crews were not trained on how to handle enemy vessels rushing towards them. What’s more several gun crews became panicked when they saw the Ram ships rushing headlong towards them without diverting course.

With the extra armor and shielding the Terran ships not only struck head on into Crux ships but emerged from the attack relatively unscathed. In most cases the prow of the Ram ships punched clean through the entire hull of the Crux warship and emerged through the other side.

The Crux fleet desperately tried to regain order and form battle lines but each time they did so the Ram ships would plunge head first into their formation and take out the command ship coordinating the effort.

As more and more Terran ships arrived and formed their own battle lines the tide of battle soon drastically changed. After thirteen hours of intense fighting the last of the Crux fleet withdrew from the battle leaving the Terrans the victors.

A full fifth of the Crux navy was lost during the battle with the Ram ships having personally claimed 45% of the kills.

While the war itself would continue for another two years, the Ram ships and their unorthodox tactics had earned them a modicum of respect from the wider galaxy, and a great measure of fear from the Crux.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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doobean · 6 months

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AN EASY A - NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: There's a problem student in your class and he just can't seem to understand that he needs to put in the effort. You've already given him three chances to make up his assignments - all of which he ignored. But what happens when he suggests another alternative during office hours?

contents: explicit content, afab!fem!reader, age gap (he's 22 and reader is 27), student-teacher (duh), reader kind of a tough professor lol, also a bully too ig, sex in teacher's office, masturbation (reader), power imbalance, nonconsensual video recording, vaginal sex, unprotected, creampie, breast/nipple play, dom?reader, switch!nagi, cunninglingus, cumming on face and inside, degradation, name calling (brat x 2, good boy x 1), nagi having a big dick, happy ending :) word count: 3.7K a/n: part 3 of my kinktober event :3 SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG LIFE TOOK OVER BUT I HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR THE LOST TIME ;; I WILL MAKE THE LAST KINKTOBER FIC EXTRA SPICY TOO DONT WORRY FAM - also im super proud of myself for literally scraping the draft and rewrote this within a span of two days?? like wow the pressure is on.

There are some habits that never seem to change — even with age. You’ve seen it all, experienced it too, from emailing your teachers last minute about having to make up an exam worth over half of your course grade to faking a family death in order to get an extension, or — and this is more for students who are a bit too ‘brave’ — blaming the teachers for their inability to do their jobs. You knew what you would be getting into when you went into this job, from having to do the last minute panic pleas to now being on the receiving end of it. And you now actually feel sorry for having to bombard your past professors like that.

You release a deep breath from your nose and flick the red gel pen across a student’s exam, circling the large failing number by their name. “I’ll see you next year.” You try to sound less harsh, more on the sympathetic side, since you’re relatively still within the same age group as some of these students, but who wants to hear that? That they have to repeat a course and be stuck a graduation year behind? Absolutely no one.

You want to look away as you hand the student back his exam scores because you just know it’s going to end with tears and meaningless pleas but that would be unprofessional on your end. Instead, you give the student a small smile and a couple of pieces of candy from the glass bowl next to you.

“Sorry if it’s not much but it’s better than nothing?” God, you need to work on your pep talk. These students are basically adults, not elementary school kids.

“A-Are you sure I can’t do anything else to boost my grade?” The student starts to whimper and you have to tense your whole body from cringing at their quivering voice.

Ugh, it’s useless. Why bother begging if they haven’t bothered to study the material?

Still, you manage to whip up an emphatic frown and shake your head, voice sounding more motherly. “I’m sure it’ll be easier for you to understand next time.”

Another whine and then a final huff before the student storms out of your office. By the time the door shuts and their wails are out of ear shot, you slump back into your chair and groan loudly into your palms. Your body aches from being at your desk all day long — your mind is doing no better, having to deal with students’ cries and unwarranted trauma dumping. Seriously, when are they going to pay teachers more to deal with this type of stuff?

On the bright side of things, your office hours are officially over. Final grades will be up by tonight and you’ve completed most of your tasks with all but one student being a constant no show for the eternity of the semester but that responsibility doesn’t fall onto you. He and the handful of others can just show up again next year.

You spend some time debating your options, eating a nice, warm bowl of noodles sounds good for now but… you did spend nearly eight hours cooped up in your office and you are feeling a bit high energy right now, so stress relieving might be a good answer first.

“Now, where did I put that thing?” You reach down your desk, pulling up your purse and rummage through it looking for a very specific purple ‘massager’.

It’s super rare for you to ‘release’ stress while on campus grounds, this might be one of the few times, with others following the same patterns, but you feel the utter need to reward yourself after today’s events. It’ll only take you maybe ten minutes max, afterwards it’s dinner and then a quiet train ride home. Plus, not like you have a partner who can do this for you — you barely have time to take care of yourself, let alone be in a relationship or commit yourself to a random hook up. Sometimes, it’s just better to handle the situation yourself since it is your body.

A breathy sigh leaves your lips as you place the vibrating head against the soft cotton fabric of your panties, already soaked through by just the thought of de-stressing yourself. You throw your head back, with one hand steady with the magic wand and the other traveling up to your blouse, unbuttoning the top and allowing your black bra to be exposed in the room. As you increase the pressure from the vibrations, your free hand spills your breasts from its cups, your thumbs and digits immediately running over the sensitive nubs and plush flesh of your chest as you start to chase your high.

“M-Mhm—! Right there…” You roll your head to the side and shut your eyes, imagination fleeting to the thoughts of a male seated in between your legs, his tongue desperate and latching to your overwhelmed clit and folds while your thighs keep his shoulders in place.

You think it’s so unfair that your other friends have already settled down with partners of their own. When holidays come around the corner, when you finally catch a break from all the whining and fake wolf cries, you just have to hear your friends gush about how romantic their partners are to them. You secretly hate winter because of it. All those talks about Christmas gifts, their New Year’s couples resolutions, their stupid fancy ski trips that cost close to thousands of dollars, and then top it off for Valentine’s Day. Summer is more bearable, only because of the lack of romantic holidays, but you still get bitter from seeing their beach photos and international trips.

You change the position of your magic wand, facing it closer and pressing it harder down your clit, nearly drawing blood from your lips as you suppress back a frantic moan — a moan that’s a mix of both pleasure and frustration.

Fuck the students. Fuck your friends. And fuck this job.

“H-Haah—! Oh my god…” Your hips buckle feverishly, body quaking in your seat as you start to feel a familiar coil tightening in your stomach and a rush down below. A build up of tears start pooling at the corners of your eyes as your vision starts to grow hazy. Your heart heaves forward, about to burst out of your chest, the imaginary man just about to finish you off—

Creak.

Your eyes immediately pop open and the color drains from your face at the squealing sound from the door. You don’t have enough time to cover yourself up when you realize that a student is standing by the entrance, wearing an equally shocked expression on his face. A tousle of white shaggy hair, large gray eyes, appearing at a staggering height with—your gaze trail to his hands and nearly faint from the sight—his phone.

The sound of the door creaking again snaps you out of the phase and your arms fly over your chest, the words stuck in your throat and your vibrator falling to the floor.

Shit, what should you ask first? Has he been recording you this whole time? When did he even show up? You’re positive that you were the only one left in the academic building, so what is going on?

“Um,” The male has the audacity to walk in the room, his gaze fixated on everything but you. “Are office hours still open?”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink once, twice, and, when the student is still standing there, confirming your thoughts that he isn’t an awful mirage sent down by the Lord himself, you feel yourself internally shrinking.

“I-Is that the first thing you want to ask me?” You stifle back a laugh, or at least you think it’s a laugh. Maybe even a few waterworks for later. “Just who are you?”

But then it hits you. The black and blue duffle bag he has by his side had his name engraved on it. You don’t need to take a closer to recognize the national team’s logo and you certainly don’t need a Google search to realize that Nagi fucking Seishiro, a soccer prodigy and your apparent student for the semester, might’ve just recorded you masturbating in your office.

You manage to find an old jacket from one of the drawers at your desk and throw it on before pointing a harsh finger at the man. “Delete it, now.”

“Will I get an A?” Nagi is surprisingly blunt and, now looking back, this might honestly be the first time you’ve ever talked to him out of the whole semester. He seems to catch your perplexed look, shooting you a pair of creased brows back as he explains, “All of my other courses were remote because of training and football games… You were the only professor that denied it.”

You huff, seemingly annoyed that he thinks he can be an exception to your course rules. “I don’t hand out favoritism to just anyone and,” You glare at the phone in his hand, sneering right back at his uncaring facial expression. “I’m definitely not going to pass you if you’re threatening to black mail me.”

“Maybe we can help each other out?” Nagi offers, maybe a bit too fast and too eager.

You cautiously sink back in your seat, eyes narrowing at his suggestion. “What are you implying, Nagi?” The male shuffles awkwardly in place and your gaze flicks down, eyes widening for the nth time today and an audible gasp slips out. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to pass and you—” Nagi clears his throat and motions to your slick covered vibrator, which is still very much on and buzzing away on the wooden floor boards near his feet. “You didn’t finish.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and adjusts the semi-hard length through his sweats with his other before finishing his offer. “I’ll delete the video, help you, and you’ll give me an A?” Nagi lamely suggests.

You want to scream, dig yourself a ditch large enough to fit you and the rest of however much pride you had left, and wither away. You’ve had students coming to you with plenty of other excuses, much more tamed than whatever situation you’ve found yourself in. And, regardless how much shitty this actually is, it doesn’t get rid of the fact that: one — you’re still sexually frustrated from having your orgasm ruined by this oversized, lazy fucker, two — you literally just got this job a year ago and getting fired for masturbating on campus might not look so great on your record, and three — if Nagi is true to his words, maybe you both can just forget about it the next day.

“You don’t get the control, I do.” You rise from your seat, allowing the jacket to fall from your frame. Your gaze hardens on the male subject in front of you as you bend down to reach for your toy, turning it off and putting it away in a nearby drawer that’s most likely filled with other student’s graded assignments.

Whatever, they’ll probably cry more fluids on it when they get their results back anyway.

Nagi tenses when you reach over to touch his arms, feeling up his toned biceps and rest of his upper body underneath the black hoodie, and he doesn’t dare to move unless you tell him to. You let out a scoff, feeling satisfied that he’s already willing to compromise so quickly under short notice. With a light tug on his sleeve, you drag him closer to your desk and settle yourself on top of it. You hike up your pencil skirt to your upper thighs and spread your legs wide enough for the width of his shoulders.

“On your knees, brat.”

He silently obliges, bending down on one knee and his hands find home on your inner thighs. You resist the urge to squirm under his touch, still feeling rather sensitive from your earlier chase and not wanting to give him any ounce of satisfaction. Without any audible exchanges, he allows you to direct his head closer to the heat of your sex, the combination of your increasing wetness and the hot puffs from his breath makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

With a quick swipe, his fingers brush aside your panties to the crease of your thighs and lean in, giving a few experimental licks to your slicked cover folds before burying the rest of his face in. Your reaction is instant. Your fingers claw their way deep into his shoulder blades, thighs threatening to squeeze the living life out of him, but Nagi’s grip is even more threatening. He stays rigid, palms glued to your thighs and keeping them in place as his tongue flicks against the stiff nub — drawing lazy circles.

Your mouth betrays your character as he suddenly decides to insert two digits, scissoring their way into your velvety walls. Nagi grunts in response at just how lewd you sound right now.

“Soaking wet…” He observes with careful eyes at your sex before looking up, a playful smirk flashes across his face when he notices the flush in your cheeks. With another twirl from his fingers, combined with the slow swirls from his tongue, your head rolls back as the torrent seems to be relentless.

With the next extra pumps, you cum hard with a shudder, vicing your thighs against his head. You can feel the leak of fluids slide out of your folds, and Nagi pushes his face inward, making sure he slid his tongue against that sweet spot of yours again. It blinds you with a final surge of pleasure, and you cry out as your orgasm shakes you to the core, nails biting into his shoulders.

You’ve never experienced an orgasm that intense before, even with the usage of your vibrator — hell, you can’t even remember when’s the last time a man has made you reach that high. Bright colors cloud your vision as you tumble through what seems like an endless bliss. Your body goes slack, back now flushed against the office desk, but Nagi’s body is still tense, his muscles twitching as he gets to his feet and lifts your legs off his shoulders.

“Hey,” Nagi slurs, wiping away your slick with the back of his hand. “We’re not done here.”

“W-What are you talking about—ah!”

Your vision is just beginning to clear up when you find yourself trapped between Nagi’s arms. He’s hovering above you, a certain dark look casts over his gray hues as he bores into your own. You swallow hard, heart beating faster when you look down to see his sweats already laid around his thighs and his cock springs free, head spilling with heavy amounts of pre. Nagi’s length twitches at the sounds of your moans and the male takes that as a sign of approval.

“What?” He leans forward, his bangs brushing against your forehead. “You’ve never seen a penis before?”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat.” You spit back, immediately tearing your gaze away from his rather impressive size. Might be the biggest you’ve ever seen in person outside from those awful porn videos online.

If you can find the energy to, you might’ve laughed at his lame attempt to have the upper hand, but Nagi doesn’t waste his time. He closes the distance, smashing his lips against yours, tongue already dragging its way down your throat. You choke back but recover quickly, hands flying to his locks, grabbing fistfuls, and rocking your hips against his hardened appendage. A sinful groan slips from his lips and lifts one of your thighs up, your ankle resting on his shoulder while he wraps the other around his waist.

You part your lips when he breaks away from the kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting you two, and a whine spills from you as Nagi begins sliding his cock in between your folds. He sucks in his teeth, breath hitching sharply at the sight.

“Wanna put it in so bad—” He shudders seeing your slick engulfing his length. “Can I—Can I please put it in?” His monotone voice now replaced with a shaky resolve, almost as if he’s seeking for your next stage of approval and pleasure.

You reach up and cup his cheeks in your hands, eyes softening at his glassy ones. “Promise to delete that video and you might get a chance, Nagi.”

“Sei,” The male breathes out.

You tilt your head. “Huh?”

Nagi leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheeks into your palms. “Want you to call me Sei… Can you do that?”

“Sei…” You whisper out, suppressing back a laugh when you see the towering male tensing at the sound of his name. The twitching from his cock brushes against your clit making you squirm. “Sei, make me cum around that cock of yours.”

A cry escapes from the both of you when he slides in, inching bit by bit and holding your waist with both hands as leverage. You can’t do anything but throw your head back, sounds leaving your hoarse throat at the sheer size from him. Your hands can only reach his thighs, nails leaving their crescent marks on his skin as Nagi bottoms out inside of you with a long, agonizing stroke. Nagi takes his time, building a slow but steady rhythm, staring down at you with intense gray eyes and making sure the thickness of his cock stretches your walls as he continues. You suddenly feel grateful that you came earlier, the extra slick and foreplay made the insertion easier because you’re certain without it there’s no guarantee that you would’ve been able to handle this mind numbing fucking.

After a few more experimental strokes, Nagi finds a comfortable pace. You’re now starting to get used to him and it feels so, so good that you’re finding everything in your power to spread your legs as far open as they would go. Sensing your struggle, Nagi lifts one hand to push your thigh back even further, and you let out a yelp, whining when you feel him brushing against that sweet spot inside of you again.

A warm rushing sensation starts building in your stomach again and you feel as if you’re about to jump off a cliff. Your walls clamp down around his cock, wails starting to bounce off the walls and legs shaking without any means of control. You’re absolutely floored by the way Nagi’s able to make your body react this much under his touch. It’s only your first time having sex, yet it feels like he’d been making love with you for a lifetime.

Your eyes fly shut as the feeling of his callous thumbs make their way onto your swollen clit, rubbing and tapping away. Flames are riding your nerves, you can’t hold back any sort of resistance in your voice as he picks up the pace, hips slamming into yours and sounds of sex filling the air. Nagi moves swiftly and punishingly, holding your hips still and not allowing you any room to move around as his cock tears against that spot that had tears finally spilling down your flushed face.

“Sei,” You choke out a sob, throwing a hand over your mouth to try and suppress some of the noise. Though, you and him both know it’s a futile effort.

The build up of pleasure is so binding that you’re beginning to lose sense of time and place, feeling only the desperate and feral thrusts from your student. Your second orgasm fades slowly, leaving you in a pool of ecstasy, but that doesn’t stop Nagi.

Still hard and pumping, his grip on your hips only tighten and he grunts out a lustful moan. “Feels good, right? Cumming all over me?”

You look up to him, tears of pleasure disorienting your vision, and in a state where you’re too incoherent to speak — pleading only with your doe eyes.

Nagi understood immediately. He slows down his pace, leaning forward, making sure the head of his cock kisses the inside of your cervix before bending down to place one on your own gaping lips.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You manage out.

He groans at the pet name and peppers your face and neck with wet kisses, lifting your leg with one hand so that he can slowly stroke back and forth inside.

One of your hands reaches for your chest, fondling and toying with your nipples while your other hand reaches for the back of his head, gripping his white locks and pulling him down for another feverish kiss. Your lips remain sealed and pressed together in a battle of tongues as he rocks inside of you, sending you yet another orgasm as he moans into your mouth.

“H-Haah—I’m close…” His hips buck wildly. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty pussy…”

Nagi finally comes undone inside of you, his whole body shuddering as coats of white paint the insides of your velvety walls. A heavy pant from him catches your ears as he pulls out slowly, eyes admiring the hot, white trail that travels down your thighs and onto your desk.

By now, you can barely keep your eyes open, both mind and body exhausted. You try to get up, only to find zero strength left in your limbs, but soon you feel a pair of toned biceps around your waist and Nagi pulls you into his firm, yet comforting chest.

You want to ask him something again, something regarding that video he took of you earlier, but you’re beginning to lose your train of thought as exhaustion creeps up. Your entire body aches and your pussy is still emptying his remaining orgasm. But, strangely enough, you find yourself not caring about it anymore.

A smile makes its way onto your features as you drift off to sleep, making you miss the fact that Nagi did delete the video shortly after and scribble a quick note next to your purse. It’ll be another hour before you have the chance to read it.

‘Don’t forget that A. XXX-XXX-0506 - Sei.’

KINKTOBER TAGLIST (PART III)

@milkistoshi @mareonyan @saenora @blissblossom @wowonamo

#doobean:kinktober23 #cw: power imbalance #cw: video recording #cw: age gap #bllk #blue lock #bllk smut #bllk x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro smut #nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #doobean writes

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inbarfink · 9 months

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So the AA Fandom has no shortage of jokes about how our favorite Anime Laywers generally prioritize stuff like the Power of Friendship above more mundane concerns like 'getting paid for doing their job' but...seriously now, how often do they actually get paid for lawyering?

Well, welcome to...

The Big Overview of WAA Lawyers and Actually Getting Paid!!

The vast majority of AA Cases do not discuss payments for legal services explictly, so I will be Ranking how probable I feel it is the Lawyers got Paid. With a 0 standing for 'explictly and unambigiously did not get paid' and 1 standing for 'explictly and unambigiously did get paid'

The First Turnabout

That's an easy one, it is actually explicitly mentioned that no, Larry did not pay Phoenix for his services as a Lawyer.

And so, my first trial came to a close. Larry slapped me on the back and said, "Gee, Nick, it's good to have friends!" But I'm pretty sure he's not going to pay us. Unless you count the clock he gave Mia.

Which is brought up again months later during 'Turnabout Goodbyes'

Butz: Whoa… Nick. S-so, is that why you helped me out for free? Phoenix: Uh… yes. I helped you because I believed in you. (Except I don't remember saying I'd do it for free…)

So Phoenix expected and wanted to get paid, but he’s just, like, not assertive enough to get his money off Larry. And thus a long legacy of Not Getting Money was born!

Probability of Getting Paid: 0

Turnabout Sisters

Okay, so the subject of money does not come up directly in ‘Turnabout Sisters’ but like… Maya does not seem to have a lot of liquid funds on her at this point. For most of the games she generally relays on Phoenix to pay for things for her. At best right now she is semi-dependent on Morgan for cash - and considering her motivations, she probably came out with some excuse like ‘oooh Mystic Maya must prove her independence in such a dire situation or something, the whole Fey Family is broke we can’t afford to give you any more money I feel so bad ooooh’.

So I think if Phoenix got paid for defending her that was mostly a token symbolic gesture of gratitude more than actually anything that’ll help him pay the rent. And obviously Phoenix wouldn’t gain anything if he paid himself for that second trial of the case lol

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.1

Turnabout Samurai

Okay, so this is the first case where I think it is more likely than not Phoenix Actually Got Paid. There’s nothing textual, but I think with the implications of Phoenix starting the case fretting over how to pay the rent:

Phoenix: A month has passed since my trial. Mia's murder was the talk of the town for some time… But no one paid any attention to the Wright & Co. Law Offices… How am I going to pay the rent this month? Maya: It'll be okay. I'm sure some big client is just around the corner! Phoenix: Hmph.

And THEN his new Client is Will Powers who is:

a fairly sucessful actor whose life and career seems to be unglamorous but financially stable.

the first cilent Phoenix has who isn't a friend, a relative-of-a-friend or Literally Himself

generally just a really nice and wholesome guy.

It seems pretty likely to me that Phoenix and Maya got paid for this one!

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.8

Turnabout Goodbyes

OKAY so, I've seen folks say that Phoenix would've probably done this for free cause he sees this whole thing as repaying a debt for Being Nice to Him in Fourth Grade because as we all know, Phoenix is a Certified Ridiculous Human Being.

Phoenix: This is my chance to finally pay you back. Maya: Pay him back…? Edgeworth: Pay me back? For what? I don't remember ever doing anything for you. Phoenix: Never mind… I guess you don't really need to know.

Buuuuut... Larry at the time was also part of that Class Trial Bestie Pact and Phoenix did expect him to pay I mean Larry is not the Love of His Life but still.

And more important, this case ALSO established that Miles has a problem expressing gratitude and overcompensate using financial gifts.

Phoenix: Thank you. Oh, wait! Umm… I was wondering, how much is bail going to be? Gumshoe: Don't worry about that. Mr. Edgeworth is posting the whole amount. Phoenix: What? Edgeworth…? Gumshoe: Didn't I tell you? He's grateful to her for what she did. Alright, pal. Well don't forget to go pick her up, okay? Phoenix: (Hmm… Maybe I can get Edgeworth to pay this month's rent, too…)

So I feel, like, regardless of what Phoenix wanted - at the end of this trial - Miles IS going to make sure he is GETTING PAID. Dude was probably shoving checks into his mailbox like a full month after the trial concluded.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.9

Rise from the Ashes

So... the person who initially hires Phoenix to the case is Ema Skye, a 16 year old girl whose main funds are her allowance. And Phoenix was kinda willfully ignoring his financial situation at the start and only took this case for sentimental reasons. (just more evidence that Miles was STILL sending him payments for 'Goodbyes' lol)

It's been two months since Maya left the office… Two months without a single trial. I've had offers… But none I took. That is… until the day that girl showed up.

However he does get 'formally requested' by her probably-well-off-considering-prosecutors-in-this-series older sister shortly thereafter.

Lana: … Mr. Wright? Phoenix: Y-yes? Lana: I believe our discussion here is ended. The rest… I leave to you. Phoenix: …! Um… you mean, you're requesting my services as your defense? Lana: Don't lose any sleep over it. Your client has confessed, after all. The case is over. Phoenix: Right… I'll do what I can to get to the bottom of this. Lana: …

And after a very long and harrowing journey of being in-conflict with his own client, Lana did end up being very grateful for what he did. And again, this case espacially emphasizes that 'prosecutors make the big bucks' - so she had both the means and will to pay him.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.6

The Lost Turnabout

Alrighty, so, Maggey is generally a nice girl and also a fangirl of Phoenix Wright and that gives her an incentive to support him financially...

Actually, I really love to watch court proceedings, and I always root for you to win! When I'm off duty, I like to come here and…

But with how unlucky she is, that might imply that she could have Money Troubles. Although on the other hand she at least has a stable job at the moment... But on the other OTHER hand she does mention how all the other lawyers 'laughed her off'

Just when I thought all hope was lost; when all the other lawyers had laughed me off… "Leave it to me!" you said! You! The one and only Phoenix Wright came to save the day! And just like that, I was moved to tears, sir! I'll never forget what you're doing for me, EVER!

Which usually I wouldn't note as a financial thing. Usually when an AA Defendant is like 'oooh I have no one else to turn too, all the other lawyers turned me down......" this is because the case is considered too impossible to win or Unbearably Wacky (or some sort of conspiracy like with Maya in 'Sisters'). But, like, this is a Tutorial Case. Phoenix won that one with Fucking Amnesia. The 'impossibility' of the case was not the issue, so, yeah, it might legitimately be the money?

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.4

Reunion, and Turnabout

It's Maya Murder Trial Time Again! Pretty much the same as before with the two added factors being:

Maya is now officially employed in the Wright & Co. Law Offices during the duration of the trial.

AFTER the Trial, when Morgan is like, in jail - Maya might have a bit more acess to her family funds. Although they are established to Not Be Doing Well Financially in general....

A piece of cloth with a ton of finely-written characters jammed onto it. Probably esoteric knowledge only mediums should know. …Hmm, let's see… Here's one in English… It says… "100 Ways to Save Money". … Being a medium sounds like a rough way of life…

I think all in all these kinda even out to the same Chances of Getting Paid at last time??

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.1

Turnabout Big Top

So if you ever start discussing how pointless the AA 'middle cases' are - just remember this one crucial detail; they are the most reliable way Phoenix Wright gets food on his plate! We once again have a stranger (that Phoenix won't feel obligated to defend for free) that is very explictly Fabulously Wealthy.

He's not as nicey-nice as Will Powers is but I feel like paying Phoenix's legal fees is not something Max will bet an eye at.

Phoenix: It's a table for guests… There are some papers scattered on top. Maya: Ah! Look at this! Max's salary is written on this piece of paper. YIKES! Phoenix: W-What is it? Maya: I didn't know a magician… This salary is incredible! Phoenix: (She looks like she's about ready to pass out from shock…) How much is it!? How much is it!? T-T-THAT MUCH!? Maya: Incredible, huh? Phoenix: You can say that again.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.7

Farewell, My Turnabout

Okay so this is the Big One. This one’s a really complicated one to determine.

Let’s just get the first thing out of the way, the fact that Phoenix “”lost”” the case does not matter one way or another. Criminal Defense Lawyers, as a general rule, do not work on a Contingency Fee Basis. That means they are paid regardless of the result of the trial. So if this was a normal trial, Phoenix would probably be paid.

But this was not a normal trial, was it?

Phoenix was FORCED to work as a Defense Attorney due to a KIDNAPPER. And, like, my first instinct is ‘if you are already forcing someone to work via criminal means, why the hell would you also pay them??’

Buuuuut….. This is MY instinct, not the instinct of goddam Shelly De Killer.

Since Shelly’s whole thing is being the Honorable Assassin, and he has some level of respect towards Phoenix as like a Fellow Professional. I can see him thinking maybe wanting Phoenix to get paid for the work he is Coercing Him To Do Under Threat of Murdering His Best Friend for the sake of Honor.

But also also, Phoenix’s terms are not officially with De Killer, it’s with This Asshole!

And Matt Engarde is absolutely the kind of guy to casually take advantage of Phoenix’s frantic ‘please please just let me be your lawyer or my Friend is gonna Die!’ thing where, like, obviously getting paid is NOT gonna cross through Phoenix’s head atm in order to not pay/severely underpay the guy even though he can obviously afford it.

All in all, things are not looking good for this case’s probability, which is a shame considering how it ends.

Powers: Um, anyway… So, who's paying for this lovely dinner party? Maya: As if you need to ask! Everyone say, "Thank you" to Nick! Phoenix: Huh? Gumshoe: Ah, yeah… I'm kinda at the point where I can't even buy instant noodles, pal. So I kinda already put your name on the bill.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.3

Turnabout Memories

First time covering a Lawyer that’s not Phoenix!

Now, Mia’s client in this case is a college student who probably doesn't have tons of personal funds, and considering her own motivations for taking on the case she probably would’ve done it for free but…

At the time she was employed at the Grossberg Law Offices, and Phoenix hired just the office in general and then Mia took over the case just last night.

Grossberg: Still, you surprised me… What, with your earnest request last night… "Let me handle this case!" you suddenly said. And quite forcefully, too! Mia: I just found out yesterday. About the case, I mean.

So... really this is just the Vibes I get from the Grossberg Law Offices, being generally the more professional and by-the-book law offices compared to the utter chaotic energy of Wright and Co, that makes me assume that they usually reliably charge their clients and pay their lawyers.

There’s some evidence further down the line (which we’ll get to soon) that some of their lawyers do some pro-bono work - but I dunno if Phoenix’s case was extreme enough to necessitate that (I mean he might be a broke college student but his family would probably help him with the legal funds although that assumes they even exist) . So my assumption is that Mia probably did get paid. Probably?

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.75

The Stolen Turnabout

So, Ron DeLite used to really financially struggle to keep up with his wife’s shopaholic habits - but that seems to have stabilized ever since his ‘benefactor’ showed up. So I’d assume he still has some funds left to pay his lawyer. I mean I guess it won’t be totally implausible if Desiree did manage to blow through them all…. Or maybe being a a high-spending shopaholic means that she’d want to pay extravagantly for her lawyer as well?

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.7

Recipe for Turnabout

It’s Maggey again! And now she’s:

Closer to a friend, or at least a friend-of-friend. Rather than Just Another Client.

Is probably in a more dire financial state than before, on account of being unemployed and also in jail for the last two months.

Also being a waitress isn’t that prestigious a job anyways

And if anyone is gonna help her cover her legal fees it could only be Gumshoe which… does not bode well to anyone involved!

Pissed at Phoenix cause it took her some time to realize that no, that guy who got her found guilty two months ago is not him

So basically everything that changed since her last trial makes it less likely that Phoenix charged for his legal services. I'm sure she'd try her best by the end, but Phoenix might just wave it off to save everyone a headache.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.3

Turnabout Beginnings

So first things first I want to reiterate that Criminal Defense Attorneys generally get paid regardless of if they ‘win’ and while I couldn’t find any concrete statements about the matter - I believe they get paid even if their clients die mid-trial??? I mean, the legal fees just get added to their posthumous debts? So the lawyer would hypothetically be able to claim their due payment from the deceased’s remaining funds and possessions. If they wanted to, that is…

Cause, well, this is why I said the Grossberg Law Offices might do some pro-bono cases. Terry Fawles was, like, a part-time tutor who has been incarcerated for the last five years. If he has any family or friends outside that could help him with his legal fees, he never mentions them.

So I’m really not sure if he bought Mia services or if she volunteered to do this pro-bono after hearing he had no options for legal representations out of concern for, like, prisoners rights.

And even if he was supposed to pay Mia for her service, after the grim ending of the case - I’m not sure if she would’ve even tried to pursue getting her legal fees from Fawles’ posthumously/from his next of kin. From how deeply traumatized she was by that trial, I think that would’ve only made her feel worse about the whole situation.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.05

Bridge to the Turnabout

Iris is a nun from a small temple that is mentioned to not-be-doing-so-hot (cause it’s tied with the Kurain Channeling Technique and it’s been on a downturn since DL-6), but she does have at least enough personal funds to have her own cell-phone and occasionally go into town. So it’s not a lot, but I think it’s enough to get Phoenix at least a a symbolic token-of-gratitude payment.

Also, it might be possible Phoenix will wave off the fees due to the Personal Connection to the case. You know, he was doing this primarily to Uncover the Truth and get some personal closure for the Dahlia mess.... Or maybe not, cause he did still get paid (or tried to get paid, or forced to get paid) to save his two Fourth-Grade-Life-Debt Childhood Best Friends in court?

(And I do mean just Phoenix, Miles probably would never charge for his services as ‘acting defense attorney’, we don’t need that farce to get any farcier)

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.3

Turnabout Trump

Now this is a complicated one, let us list the factors here one-by-one:

1. As per Apollo’s comment in the next episode, the Gavin Law Offices probably operated strictly quid pro quo.

(Good-bye, quid pro quo. Hello pro bono. sigh)

2. Phoenix is supposedly friends with the boss of the Agency. And in reality, Kritoph Gavin has a very VERY vested interest in making sure the trial goes According to Plan. Incentivising him to at least give Phoenix a discount.

3. Phoenix is also not doing that great financially right now.

4. Oh right, that entire law agency disbanded once the boss got arrested at the end of the trial!

…Speaking of which, I may be out of a job. I work for Gavin Law Offices, after all. (I still can't believe I just saw Mr. Gavin get led away in handcuffs…)

I think it is most likely that Phoenix got some sort of “”Friend”” Discount from Kristoph. But I really don’t know what happens if an entire law firm gets disbanded right after the trial cause the owner got arrested as a result of it. It probably depends on whether Phoenix was in agreement with the Gavin Law Offices who then assigned Apollo on the case or if Phoenix had an agreement with Apollo directly.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.5

Turnabout Corner

Oh hey, look! Another rare case of an Ace Attorney that actually discusses the issue of money directly!

Well, I mean we know how much Apollo got paid for solving the case of Phoenix’s accident and Trucy’s panties (nothing) and for solving Eldoon’s Noodle Cart Theft (a free bowl of ramen). We don’t see them directly discuss the subject of payment regarding Apollo’s Actual Job…

Apollo: Your request… let me guess, something's been stolen? Alita: Um, your flyer… It says "now defending" so I thought… Apollo: Whaaaat!? You mean, you mean you want me to defend you? Me? Trucy: Maybe you can tell us what happened? Were you hit by a car? Did someone steal your stand? Or your panties? Alita: No! No… I'm not the client, actually. The client would be my… well, my fiancé, I suppose you'd call him. Apollo: Fiancé…? What happened to him, then? Alita: He was arrested this morning. The charge… was murder.

But as he was complaining before about not only being pigeonholed as some sort of a detective, but also not getting paid for anything…

Um… I was wondering when I get paid? We solved the case of your accident, and um, found a missing article of clothing.

And then getting this job and being so happy about it...

Trucy: Polly! You look as happy as a clam in its shell. Apollo: For a lawyer this is it, the place where the battle begins!

Implies that He’s Getting Paid - just as much as with Phoenix’s rent stuff in ‘Turnabout Samurai’ if not more.

Also, I don’t think the fact that the person who hired him wanted him to fail and is now going to prison is a factor here.

As I already mentioned, Defense Attorneys get paid regardless of the outcome of a trial and logically that would apply both when they lose and when they win. Plus, I am pretty sure Alita filed her request officially through Wocky’s name or the Kitaki family in general and they were obviously very grateful for what Apollo did, and they had both the wins and wills to pay him.

So let’s give a big round of applause for Apollo Justice, the WAA Lawyer most likely to get paid!

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.99

Turnabout Serenade

These kind of showbiz-focused Middle Cases are generally pretty good for Getting Paid Probabilities, but this case is a bit more complicated.

Cause the plot of this case hinges on Machi being so desperate for money that he was willing to risk death via cocoon smuggling,

Situation… I cannot explain. But money. I needed. Very much money.

That doesn’t necessarily mean he was unable to afford a lawyer - without details of why exactly he needed that Sweet, Sweet Cocoon Money we can’t be sure. But it’s plausible that hiring Apollo was not out of his price range but he was desperate for something far more expensive.

Considering his young age and… you know, until the final day of the trial he pretended to not understand a word of English, it’s also possible hiring Apollo was a matter handled by Lamirior and/or the duo’s agency. Both of which will probably feel committed to Actually Paying, each from their own angle.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.7

Turnabout Succession

Now, HERE’S a complicated one!

Going generally over the usual stuff, Vera is a pretty nice person and she’s clearly grateful for what Apollo and Trucy did for her. And while the Misham Family was driven into forgeries by financial desperation, at the present-time they seem stable enough that Vera could at least afford the rates of the WAA. If this was just another case, it’ll get like a solid 0.7 at minimum. Pretty typical stuff by now.

But this isn’t just one more ordinary case. This a weird sort of ‘Test Trial’ for the Jurist System with every factor - including the Defendant and the Attorney - arranged by Phoenix’s weird little committee.

Well, for one, I'll be chair of the Jurist System Simulated Court Committee. The chair constructs the ideal situation… choosing the case, the jurist candidates… …even the judge and the courtroom.

Apollo: So… what kind of case is the trial simulation about? Phoenix: Well, since it is the first run through of a new system, I wanted something simple. Trucy: Good thinking! No sense wearing yourself out on something too serious! Phoenix: True. The case is a murder. Apollo: That's not simple at all!! Trucy: By "simple", did you mean that the defendant is… Phoenix: …Guilty. Yes. Most likely. …So, good luck, Apollo. Apollo: Um… with what? Phoenix: With the trial tomorrow. You're defending, of course. Recall that I said it had something to do with you.

So I guess the question here, did Phoenix basically make Vera officially hire Apollo? Did the committee hire Apollo and they’re the one paying him? Is this another case of Phoenix trolling Apollo into doing Free Volunteer Work for him?

Honestly I wouldn’t put that past the AA4 version of Phoenix..............but also if he did that I doubt he would’ve missed a chance to crack a joke at Apollo’s expense about that.

...You know, I started this thread of thought with the thought I’m arguing for a lower Getting Paid score for this case but I think I just talked myself into increasing the probability.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.8

Also bonus round: THE TRIAL OF SHADI ENIGMAR!

Zero fucking chances Phoenix got paid on this one. HIS CLIENT DISAPPEARED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE COURT PROCEEDING! And even if Phoenix gets paid before a trial is concluded (unlikely, since he didn’t know Larry wasn’t paying him until after the case was closed), he was his attorney for like half-a-day before he disappeared so wouldn’t have much of a chance either way. And considering Zak’s character (and how he also tried to sabotage Phoenix’s current Poker-based career seven years after that), I doubt he put that much thought into Phoenix and his financial considerations to give him a down payment in case he had to to do his disappearnce act or whatever. The only thing Zak left Phoenix with when he left was his goddam abandoned child and ONE LESS BADGE!

So I think this case deserves a very special score!

Probability of Getting Paid: -1

Turnabout Countdown

It’s time for Athena’s first case! Or second case, depending on how you look at it.

Now, one of the major ways that Dual Destinies is gonna shake this Deep Serious Analysis up is that before we had, like, one Active Full-Time Lawyer at any time (maybe with a backup lawyer for Flashback Cases), and we now have Three Different Lawyers actively working together on the same cases. My main concern is primarily not which WAA Lawyers get paid for these cases, but IF any of them got paid at all. Still, shenanigans of cases changing hands officially and unofficially are gonna play a factor in my analysis as well.

And it’s here right from the start! We once again have a Lawyer defending their bestest friend in the whole world, and while some people’s instincts might suggest that means that Defense was for free, well… First things first, we already established Precedence for that back in the first trial of the first game with Larry (not for Lawyers getting paid by their friends, but at least expecting payment) and Juniper’s family is probably doing Just Fine considering she attends this super-fancy-pant prestigious Lawyer High School - so she would want to financially support Athena I would think.

And ALSO, Juniper technically didn’t hire Athena, Apollo was the one supposed to defend Junie in court at first. And although Juniper is… growing closer to Apollo at this point in canon, I don't think it's quite the ‘defend me in court for Free’ point of their relationship, compared to where Juniper and Athena are at. So this is just, like, one extra point to the Final Score!

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.7

The Monstrous Turnabout

So in this episode, we actually have two different jobs we need to make sure if Apollo actually got paid for. We have the actual criminal defense case, and we also have Babysitting Trucy.

Trucy: Oh, we'd better hurry. Doesn't look Daddy's going to make it, so let's get going. Apollo: Huh? Where are we going? What about the job he mentioned? Trucy: This IS the job, Polly! You're supposed to keep me company today! Now, come on! Apollo: Another day of not being a lawyer. Should've seen this coming. Trucy: Well, this is the "Wright ANYTHING Agency," y'know. And there's no law-related work at the moment, so… Apollo: (Tell me again why I chose to "work" here?) Where is Mr. Wright, anyway?

That being said, Phoenix might still be a bit of a troll but the WAA is doing a lot better financially now that Trucy has those Sweet Gramarye rights and he’s not quite as mean to Apollo as he was back in Hobomode. So I get a feeling that even with this little runaround, Apollo is probably at least getting paid for chaperoning Trucy around?? Probably?

The actual case is actually a lot more clear cut. It is directly mentioned that Damian Tenma could probably afford lawyers much more prestigious than the WAA, it’s just a matter of the WAA being the only ones crazy enough to take on this ‘doomed’ case.

Trucy: Apollo! Maybe this is your chance. Apollo: Chance for what? Trucy: To do the right thing and defend Jinxie's dad in court! Apollo: Who, me? Wouldn't a man like Mayor Tenma have access to more experienced lawyers? Jinxie: Umm… You wanna know what the detectives said? They doubted there was a lawyer who could get a not-guilty verdict in this one.

And with Mayor Tenma’s personality being based around being almost overly-generous and grateful…

Tenma: How… incredibly… RUDE! Apollo: Umm, sorry. Did I do something to offend you? Tenma: A visitor when all others shun me like a common criminal! And here I am with nothing to offer! I am the epitome of rude! Apollo: (………Wait, so he wasn't mad at me?)

I feel like it is almost a certainty that Apollo and Athena did get paid for this case!

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.85

Turnabout Academy

Okay so, it’s Junie again! Or Junie for the first time depending on how you look at it!

So all of the points I already brought up about Juniper from ‘Countdown’ still apply (save for the stuff about Apollo, of course) but ALSO this is right when Athena and Juniper reunited and their whole emotional arc in this case is about Athena feeling Juniper is being Uncharacteristically Cold and Distant towards her. So defending her on a Friend Discount would be a bit strange at this point. Maybe I can see Athena trying to insist she’d do it for free but Juniper refused?

Although I think that IS a bit weird that they had this big whole scene with Professor ScaryStatue taking over Juniper’s case and the issue of payment doesn’t even come up in passing. I mean, yes obviously, the issues of Trust and Truth and Aristotle Means being Sus as Fuck are the important things in this narrative but I’m suprised there’s not even a mention in passing. Like Means accusing Athena and Apollo of wanting this case back for the Money but they refute him???

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.8

The Cosmic Turnabout

Okay, look, I know I keep bringing up the Larry Precedence but it really IS quite relevant. If Actual Overly-Sentimental Human Disaster Phoenix Wright tried to charge a rate for his childhood best friend who was drifting through life doing weird odd jobs at that time. - Then Apollo, who is generally more practical minded, is probably going to charge a rate for his older acquaintance with the stable Astronaut Job. And while Solomon is a bit of a Space Larry, I don’t think he’d try and avoid the payment in quite the same way. Probably.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.7

Turnabout for Tomorrow

This trial has Phoenix defending one of his own employees in a trial forced on by a hostage situation. I feel silly even extending this paragraph any longer.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.01

Turnabout Reclaimed

First things first, yes, an Orca cannot pay for an attorney - but I assume that the person who hired Phoenix is officially Sasha Buckler. Who IS a human being with her own funds capable of hiring a lawyer. Especially as we know that other lawyers turned her down specifically because her case is ridiculous (and not for financial reasons).

Phoenix: What's the real reason you picked me, Sasha? Buckler: …Well, to be honest, I asked a whole slew of lawyers, but they all refused. They said stuff like, "There's no merit to taking your case," or "I'm not sure I can help." They're all as cruel as sharks, with hearts punier than whitebait!

She does mention doing a performance as thanks at the ending of the trial but that’s probably no replacement for Actual Money.

But I think most notable for our analysis about this case, is not actually any of the Orca stuff - it’s this exchange right here.

Blackquill: Today, the orca. Tomorrow, Sasha Buckler. You intend to save them both? Hmph. You say you "believe" in your clients, but isn't money really your true motivation? Why not admit you're only doing this for your own benefit? I could understand that much more readily than your empty, righteous talk. Athena: Our own benefit?! That's not why we're doing it! Phoenix: Now, Athena. Try not to let him get to you.

Yet another rare case of the game Acknowledging Lawyers Are Paid As a General Rule! And notably, when Phoenix and Athena deny it, they don’t deny the fact that they are getting paid - just that it’s not why they’re doing this. This is not exactly an explicit confirmation of Getting Paid to get the score up to a full 1, but it’s probably as close as we’re gonna get.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.95

The Foreign Turnabout

Okay, so Phoenix basically just bursted into the Courtroom and bluffed his way onto the empty defense bench despite the protests of his own so-called Client. Said client also only started unlearning his Defense-Attorney-Hate during that same trial. And is ALSO a tiny little child who has to work part time as a tour-guide to make end’s meet. I highly doubt Phoenix asked for anything more than, like, a very token rate or maybe a discount on his next tour.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.1

The Magical Turnabout

Considering how this case has a WAA Lawyer defending the actual CEO of the WAA, I highly doubt the WAA got any money from it. But maybe Trucy could give him some of her personal funds as a token of gratitude?

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.2

The Rite of Turnabout

It’s MAYA TIME again! And while some consideration has to go to her bond with Phoenix or the possibility of some sort of Frequent Accused card the WAA issued for her - the fact that she is not currently a Coworker at the law office and has been an Actual Independent Adult for quite some time now means it is actually a lot more likely she’s able to pay Phoenix now than in any case in the Original Trilogy!

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.5

Turnabout Storyteller

This one’s a pretty average case. The Defendant is not a total stranger, but he is more of a friend-of-a-friend (and Simon was originally planning to get Apollo or Phoenix into the courtroom so the connection was even more distant when he contacted the WAA). He seems to be doing alright financially with his own noodle business, and he’s a pretty alright kinda guy. The only possible concern is that he’s too totally slushed to remember he’s supposed to pay his attorney. But then again, Simon might be ‘officially’ the one who hired the lawyer for the case.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.6

Turnabout Revolution

It’s time for the THREE CASES IN ONE SPECIAL!! Because we don’t just need to consider Dhurke’s trial, I think it’s only appropriate that we take into account both Apollo and Phoenix’s side of the civil case. They are both WAA Lawyers, after all.

On Apollo’s side, he is defending Datz Are'bal, an escaped prisoner/wanted revolutionary criminal in his own country hiding away in an abandoned building and making homemade lizard skewers for food- but Datz did apparently enter Japanifornia legally via legitimate means.

Apollo: What are the charges this time? Datz: Unauthorized entry, or something like that. They think I'm an illegal alien! And I can't prove otherwise ‘cause I lost my passport! Trucy: Is there any way they'd let you go? Datz: Not without my passport… If only I had it! Dhurke, AJ! You gotta find my passport! Apollo: …All right, we'll find it. (One more thing to add to our to-do list. Now, where might Datz's passport be?)

So he presumably has some sort of funds to pay Apollo for his legal services, at least a little bit.

And with him being Dhurke’s best friend and knowing that he also struggled financially to make end’s meet as a defense attorney at first - I would like to think that’ll incentivise him to support Apollo financially if he can?

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.7

Meanwhile on Phoenix’s side, while Phoenix uses the word ‘hire’ when talking about working for Atishon. Phoenix was once again coerced via kidnapping into the position of attorney.

And THIS time, there is no Assassin with a Code of Honor who might consider paying Phoenix a fair rate. Both Atishon and his ‘benefactor’ are sleazeballs who would not pay Phoenix a dime if they can get away with it. Plus, with this being a civil case, there might actually be a Contingency Basis going on when Phoenix basically quit and then they lose.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.001

And finally, the grand event of this case - the Trial of Dhurke!

So… Can a summoned undead spirit pay for an attorney? I suppose it’s probably easier in Khura'in than in other places. And it’ll mostly work the same as if the client died before the case finished, right? It’ll be considered a debt to be carried by their next of kin. Who in this case will be Nahyuta… but also maybe Apollo? Still, considering all of Dhurke’s living family ranges between ‘wealthy and well-respected’ and ‘Literal Royalty’ - I’m going to assume they’d be more than happy then to pay their Weird Brother for his help.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.75

Turnabout Time Traveler

And here we are! The last case, and a relatively straightforward one at that - at least compared to the last one lol!

Ellen herself does not have many funds as a housemaid, it seems - but since she literally just married one of the richest inventors in the world, I assume her husband is gonna cover the legal fees. The WAA Legal Team and Also Edgeworth and Ema also got an invite to the Wedding but I assume this is not instead of actual payment?

That is, of course, unless it’s technically Larry who hired Phoenix actually.

Then he’s never getting the goddam money he deserves for his labor.

Probability of Getting Paid: 0.7

Average Probability Score for All Cases (not counting the Zak Bonus Round): 0.51721875

So what have we learned today? I think that while the WAA’s reputation for basically giving away legal services for free is not entirely unearned, it is perhaps somewhat exaggerated. While there’s certainly a lot of Shennanigans and their rates are probably not high (especially not for people they know), they still get paid for a decent amount of high-profile cases. I mean, this Getting Paid Probability Score is over the 50% mark at least....

And… the odd thing is that the First Turnabout really is the only time the subject of the lawyer getting paid is really brought up directly. I get that it might, y’know, ruin the Drama if we acknowledge that our Brave Heroes are getting paid to save people from being convicted of a crime they didn’t commit - or on the other hand of the equation, that they should get paid cause They Need Money to Live. But still…

Is the fact that the only time payment is brought up directly is when Larry isn’t paying Phoenix a bad sign for the general financial situation of our Anime Lawyers? Or is it actually a good sign? Like, that they only mention Larry not paying implying that every time it is not mentioned that means the client did pay them?

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trippinsorrows · 11 days

Text

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part.

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable.

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen.

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize.

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler.

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought.

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half.

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go.

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why.

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two.

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to.

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.”

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.”

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. “You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional.

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment.

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.”

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be.

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.”

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him.

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off.

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional.

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman.

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.”

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.”

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go.

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her.

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have.

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay.

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave.

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #black writers #wwe #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fic #aris notebook

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slutforsilverfoxes · 8 months

Note

ok i dont know if you do requests or not but this is just something thats been ricocheting around in my head for days and i need to get it out before my brain completely rots. whether or not you want to write it is up to you i just really needed to share this with a hotch lover.

nonbau!reader knowing that the team have a really tough local case their all working overtime on and deciding to try to cheer them up and destress them a bit so she spend a few hours cooking this amazing delicious meal because she knows they'll probably just get takeout. so she swings by the bau around 6ish with the food and the whole team flock around her and around hugging her and thanking her and immediately digging in.

hotch notices from his office and comes down looking way grouchier than normal and hes like "excuse me we have a case to work on im not sure why youre all standing around when theres work to be done. and r why are you here distracting my team they need to focus" before going back into his office and the team is shook bc aaron has NEVER spoken to you like that before. and youre highkey offended like ?? i spent hours of my time doing a nice thing and im getting bitched at like im his subordinate??

but then you slam your purse down on jjs desk, take your earrings out and put your hair up in a ponytail and youre like "give me 15 minutes and ill have that attitude sorted put no problem." before marching away into hotchs office locking the door and drawing the shades and derek and emily are crying laughing cause they know exactly whats about to happen but reid is confused like ??? is she gonna fight with him? why did she put her hair up? whats so funny? and pen and jj have to explain that you went up there to give him a bj and hes just like?!?! AT WORK?!?? and rossi is just watching the shenanigans unfold like 🤭🤭

and you do eventually come back down from his office wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and your hair is significantly more ruffled than before and hotch looks subdued and even a little embarrassed and he just mutters a quiet apology to the team before grabbing a plate of the food you brought (which is actually his favorite meal of yours) before kissing you and thanking you for coming to see him.

My oh my, do I love the way your mind works 😈 Thank you for this request (& for your patience as I took 84 years to write it)! I hope you enjoy 🖤

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

(-indicates reader's texts)

__________

A rapid series of buzzes on the table beside you has you pulling your attention away from the sizable dent you’ve made in the stack of thesis papers to be graded for your class. You exchange your favorite pen for your phone, unlocking the screen to find several texts from your closest friend sent in quick succession:

5:49pm SOS

5:49pm (Save Our Stomachs)

5:50pm Pls we’ve been going in circles on this case and he’s in a Mood

You can’t help but smile at the he in question, your stoic, stalwart husband- and your friend’s unit chief. You fire back a response:

-5:50pm Em :( Is he holed up in his office?

5:50pm You know it

-5:51pm Classic 🙄 Lucky for youuuu I’m already making dinner for my favorite people!

The oven timer beeps as if to punctuate your statement, and you rise from your spot at the kitchen table while typing out another message.

-5:51pm Scratch that- it’s ready. Be there asap rocky

-5:51pm Be brave little soldier 🫡

5:53pm You’re my fucking hero

You gather enough plates and cutlery to dish up dinner to the team of agents, then pack them up alongside the foil-covered Pyrex container fresh out of the oven. Deciding against changing out of your yoga pants and your boyfriend’s old law school t-shirt, you pluck the pencil out of your bun that was holding your hair up and toss it onto the table, snag your keys, and make your way out to the car.

The drive into the city is a relatively short one, given that most of the traffic is heading in the opposite direction at this time on a Friday evening. You navigate your way into the parking garage, then head upstairs with your precious cargo.

“Evening, Mrs. Hotchner,” your favorite security guard greets you as you step out of the elevator, and you flash him a smile with a greeting in return. “Come grab a plate when you’re done your rounds,” you call over your shoulder, and his answering grin tells you he’ll be patrolling the floor a little faster than usual tonight.

Four heads pop up from their desks at the sound of the glass double doors opening, shoulders sagging with relief when they spot your bright smile and the telltale bag in your hand that means dinner is served. Derek’s quick to jump up and help you with the heavy container as Emily, Spencer, and JJ follow the two of you into the round table room, animatedly filling you in on their day. JJ’s fingers fly across her screen, and Penelope is rounding the doorway from the back hallway by the time you make it upstairs and start setting up, arms outstretched to pull you into a hug while declaring, “You’re my favorite Hotchner, did you know that?”

“We both know I come second to Jack,” you joke, and Emily lets out a happy groan as she digs into her meal, professing, “You’re at least tied now.”

A pair of solid hands lands on your shoulders from behind, and you feel the familiar scratchiness of Dave’s beard pressing kisses to your cheeks in greeting. “What would we do without you?”

With a laugh, you turn to offer him a helping and answer, “Simply perish.”

Your heart swells as the team settles down around the table enjoying the home cooked meal, but there’s one very obvious absence. A glance at your husband’s office reveals the door is still closed, the room dark save for a glow through the open blinds that you know is from his little desk lamp. Deciding to give him a few more minutes of solitude before barging in and demanding that he take a break to eat, you join your friends at the table to tell them about the senior prank your students recently pulled in an attempt to give their minds a reprieve from their current case.

“I bet you Morgan did stuff like that all the time,” JJ accuses amid catching her breath from laughing at the story about the two chickens released on the top floor, cleverly labeled one and three.

Derek smiles back, ready to take credit, but Emily cuts in with, “A psychological prank like that sounds more like something Spence would do.”

“C’mon now, pretty boy wouldn’t want to inconvenience his teacher,” Derek teases, eliciting a pout from the youngest of the team who counters with, “Hey, I won that prank war against-”

“What’s going on here?”

A hush falls over the room at the sound of Aaron’s voice, the question itself seemingly innocent but its intention clearly to reprimand. Five pairs of eyes drop downward, leaving only you and Dave making eye contact, the older man mouthing an empathetic, Busted, in your direction.

Unbothered, you swivel in your chair to meet your husband’s gaze with a cherubic smile, your voice positively dripping in honey. “Mom’s feeding the kids because Dad forgot that sustenance is important for your brain and body. Now c’mon, take a break and-”

“Does it seem like I have time for that right now?”

Your eyebrows shoot up at his tone, and you drop the teasing lilt to your voice. “Aar, I just wanted you guys to-”

“Go home, Y/N, please,” he requests quietly, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose with a soft exhale. “We can’t afford to be distracted right now. Everybody finish up and get back to work.” He turns on his heel and returns to his office without so much as a hello or goodbye or thank you, my love, for being so thoughtful and taking care of us directed your way.

Once his footfalls have receded, the entire group releases a collective breath as if they’ve just escaped being chewed out by the principal- at your expense. When you turn back around, you’re met with expressions of shock that reflect your own, like the kids literally just witnessed their dad being mean to their mom for the first time.

“You know how Aaron gets with a case,” Dave tries to soothe your ruffled feathers, and JJ jumps in with, “I’m sure he didn’t mean to come off like that, Y/N, he’s just-”

“Stressed?” you finish her thought for her. You rise abruptly from your chair, dropping your purse on the table with a resounding thud before digging through it to find a spare hair tie. “I know he is. And I also know my husband did not just say that to my face,” you grumble under your breath, combing your fingers through your hair to pull it into a quick ponytail while continuing your tirade. “After I spent hours making a meal between doing my own work? No sir, uh uh, SSA Hotchner. That man needs to relax.”

Spencer leans over to Derek while you carry on quietly cursing their boss for his attitude and asks, “Should we be concerned?”

Derek lets out a snicker before answering, “Maybe for Hotch’s di-”

“Dignity!” JJ cuts in with a sharp look at her colleague, trying and failing to suppress her own smile.

You pause in the doorway, squaring your shoulders before turning back to the team to say, “You guys eat. Enjoy. I’ll take care of your boss.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Emily snorts out, clearly amused. Laughter, applause, and a distinct wolf whistle courtesy of Derek follow you down the carpeted walkway to your husband’s office.

-----(Read Behind Closed Doors here!)-----

When you return to the round table room several not-so-subtle minutes later, you’re greeted by a bunch of giddy smiles, a knowing look from Rossi, and Spencer’s pink-tinged cheek since he’s refusing to make eye contact with you. “All better,” you announce proudly, dropping into a chair before tugging the hair tie from your now slightly tangled locks and combing your fingers through a few persistent knots. “Everybody good and full?”

“Some more than oth-”

You cut your sharp gaze over to Derek and he mimes zipping his mouth shut, a smirk still playing at his lips.

“What he means to say,” Pen huffs, slapping his shoulder, “is thank you so much for dinner, sweetie.”

“It was my pleasure,” you answer genuinely. “You know I love taking care of you guys.”

“And we’re very lucky you do,” your husband’s baritone voice rumbles from the doorway behind you. You turn to find a sufficiently chastened Aaron entering the room, and you offer him your cheek when he places his hands on your shoulders and bends to press a kiss to your smiling face. “I, uh, just wanted to apologize for my earlier-”

“Temper tantrum?” you offer, and Aaron squeezes your shoulders in warning before continuing, “Outburst. I let the stress of the case get the best of me and neglected my duties to prioritize the health of this team. Luckily, my darling wife is always there to make up for my shortcomings.”

You catch your best friend’s eye and shoot her an exaggerated wink at your husband’s word choice, forcing Emily to cover up a laugh with a cough. Aaron’s hand slides over to the nape of your neck, and you know you’re in for it once this case is over.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

__________

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @criminalskies @callm3c0nfus3d

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year

Note

The batfam as teacher comment section in report card.

Dick: Mr. Grayson brings a contagious energy to the class and his enthusiasm is well-appreciated. However, he tends to channel that energy very physically and while that may benefit his learning, it's a disruption to other students. This is a frequently recurring issue that I would like to discuss with a parent or guardian.

Translation – Is this kid ADHD because he won't sit the FUCK down

Jason: Mr. Todd has displayed remarkable attention to detail and a love of literature that I can only attribute to positive reinforcement at home, and he's always a pleasure to have in class. As much as I appreciate seeing him apply his lessons outside of school hours, I believe there are more productive avenues of discussing Shakespearean playwriting with his peers than what he has been reportedly doing.

Translation – Stop biting your thumb at people

Tim: Mr. Drake continues to exceed expectations in his schoolwork, but his attendance and participation may become a detriment to his overall grades if unaddressed. I have caught him sleeping in class on multiple occasions but he has yet to provide me a reason why he is so tired. Additionally, last month one of our monitors caught him loitering in the bathroom with a note that I did not recall writing.

Translation – Get some sleep and also you can't make your own hall passes

Damian: I have had the privilege of teaching the Wayne family through my decades at this institution and I believe that Damian takes after his father the most in more ways than expected. His grades are stellar and he is well-organized, but I'm noticing familiar and concerning traits in his attitude and social interactions. I am requesting a meeting with his parent to understand the full context so I can devise a plan for out how to best support him.

Translation – Forget falling, the apple is still on the damn tree

Duke: Mr. Thomas has been a pleasure to have in my chemistry lab and is always willing to help classmates who are struggling. However, after last week's minor combustion reaction mishap, I think it would be worthwhile to review the lab safety packet that all students received at the beginning of the year.

Translation – How did you set water on fire

Cullen: Mr. Row displays a passion for transformative literature and demonstrates a clear understanding of modern media culture that has helped him synthesize a lot of our complex readings. However, I'm concerned about his laptop being a distraction, especially with numerous incidences of him looking at non-academic material.

Translation – Quit reading fanfics in class

Stephanie: You should be pleased to know that Miss Brown consistently keeps the well-being of her peers in mind. This semester, she launched a meal initiative for students whose needs could not be met by the school cafeteria. While we value her good intentions, she has been causing hallway obstructions and there are some regulatory concerns that we need to discuss.

Translation – She sold pancakes in the halls without a permit

Cassandra: Although Miss Cain is relatively quiet in class, she continues to blow me away with her breadth of knowledge not just on class materials, but also interpersonal details. While this is a good skill to cultivate, we ask that she dial it back especially with our faculty. Additionally, please remember that the teacher's lounge is a staff-only space and students should remain in the common areas.

Translation – She knows too much

Barbara: Miss Gordon is easily one of the best AP Computer Science students I've seen in my twenty years of teaching. She even went above and beyond the scope of our class to apply what we've learned to a greater school context. While that is deserving of credit, I'd also like to remind her that, in the future, certain ideas should be subjected to careful consideration before actions are taken.

Translation – She hacked the lunch menu to make every day French Fry Friday

Harper: Miss Row has a remarkable aptitude for the engineering process that exceeds beyond what students her age can typically grasp, and she is very inventive in her own right. That being said, I would appreciate it if she followed our lesson plans more closely and reviewed our guidelines for woodshop safety so everyone can continue to have a positive experience.

Translation – She made a working crossbow out of popsicle sticks

Carrie: Miss Kelley is a bright student who brings positive energy that is very much needed, especially in morning classes. However, she's been falling behind with several missing assignments at this point, and her explanations for why she cannot finish her work don't seem to be sufficient.

Translation – "Killer Croc ate my homework" Yeah and I'm Batman

Kate: Miss Kane seems to be very eager to move forward to the next stage of her life, as evidenced by her Career Day presentation. While I believe young people should be free to explore their passions, I also think that Kate would benefit from some workshops outlining more feasible options.

Translation – "Get bitches" isn't a career goal

Alfred: Mr. Pennyworth is easily one of the best students this institution has seen, both in his academic record and extracurricular activities. He recently expressed interest in the sharpshooting team, which I will not discourage him from, seeing how highly accurate he is. As of this year, I will be retiring as the coach for the team, but I wish him all the best.

Translation – I'm not about to get on his bad side

Selina: Miss Kyle's resourcefulness continues to astound me. Earlier in the semester, she forgot her locker combination and quickly improvised a mechanism to safely unlock it using only the materials around her. The speed and accuracy with which she did that will surely benefit her in the future.

Translation – Did... did she just pick a lock with another lock?

Bruce: No further comments.

Translation – whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck—

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ellecdc · 3 months

Note

hello!!! i love love love ur dating regulus headcanons and i was wondering if ur down to make one with sirius 🥹🩷 maybe with a lil sprinkling of sworn enemies to reluctant friends to lovers 👀 bc reader is in slytherin and we all know how that goes……….

you just write these characters with so much love and care and so close to how they’d be and act irl!! 🩷

Oof we love some inter-house enemies to lovers - thanks so much for your sweet words and for your request! 🫶

Dating Sirius Black Headcanons: Slytherin Edition

To know Sirius Black is to know his deep distain for Slytherins.

It began as a kid when he finally took a look around at his family and thought “huh….I really don’t like any of you.” And he decided he’d like to be as different from his family as possible

Now, when you’re eleven, the options of being different than your family are limited.

One thing you can do, however? Is make sure you’re at least not a Slytherin like the rest of them.

If being ambitious, resourceful, determined, and clever … GREEN… meant being like the Black’s? No friggen thank you.

Now, again, when you’re eleven, your vision of the world is skewed. So, this meant that he believed everyone in green and silver robes were just as bad as the green and silver robes that raised him.

Including you.

Your relationship (if it can even be called that) started with Sirius Black as you were often the unfortunate victim of many Marauder pranks.

Some were relatively harmless…glitter bombs, stink bombs, charming the furniture of your common room to the ceiling, etc

Some were a little more distressing…charming your hair green, jinxing your textbooks to run away screaming every time you opened them, hexing you in the hallways

You came to accept that part of being a Slytherin was being the victim of some torment…it also meant hating the marauders

And it was so annoying because most of your house did actually deserve to be brought down a peg??? But you were literally just trying to get by so wtf.

You tried to keep your head down while also doing what you could to get back at the Marauders in your own little way

You just tried to be better than them at everything

It became a little bit of a competition between you and Sirius during shared classes

Better grades (usually you)

Who could raise their hand to answer first (Sirius)

Who could get the correct answer first (you)

Who brewed the better potions (roughly 50/50)

You weren’t about to put yourself on a broom and agree to have balls thrown at you – but you learned everything you could about quidditch through reading and became an avid cheerleader for your house team

This slowly morphed into always cheering for the competitors of whatever team Sirius was cheering for in the Quidditch World Cup

Now, Sirius is popular…especially in the dating field…he’s well aware of this, and he can’t help but admit it does beautiful things for his ego

But Sirius is not the kind of guy to appreciate a partner who is a ‘yes-man’

He doesn’t want a partner who is following at his heels all of the time

He’s not interested in a partner who thinks he’s always right and just takes his word for it

I truly believe Sirius would crave someone who would challenge him, push him to be better, someone who would teach him things instead of letting him be the smartest guy in the room

I also think he’d like someone who was kind of mean to him

“Hey L/N, couldn’t help but notice my name was above yours on the grades for last week’s assignments. Better luck next time, huh?”

“Sod off you stupid fucking wanker.”

He’d swoon a little I think

This turned into a little competition on his end to see if he could fluster you

“I didn’t know she-devils could be beautiful too, Y/N. You’re blowing my mind a little.”

“One too many bludgers to the head, Black?”

“Marauders are throwing a party in the room of requirement tonight. I usually don’t invite snakes but I’m sure we could make an exception for a pretty girl like you.”

“I’d rather choke on my own vomit.”

He’d try winking at you from across the room – he would only be spared an eyeroll.

He started making other comments, hoping to elicit at least a slight blush.

“You know, I hear you screaming at every Quidditch game. I can’t help but wonder how you’d sound screaming in my bed.”

You threw your pumpkin juice at him and left the Great Hall with a blank face.

It was infuriating - he loved it.

Unfortunately for you, because you two were matched in terms of grades for class, you were partnered up for a project

He seemed a little too joyed at the extra opportunity to try to rile you up

“Look, Black, I know you like to coast through life, but do not mess with my grades because of whatever little infatuation you have going on with me.”

He wanted to be offended that you accused him of a) coasting through life and b) being infatuated with you, but you just looked so cute glaring up at him with your little nose all crinkled.

“Yes ma’am” he said simply

You were surprised by his agreeableness, but chose not to think about it too hard lest he change his mind

You kept your eye on him though

He actually didn’t make that bad a project partner – he was relatively clever, generally knew what he was talking about, and while he couldn’t go more than twenty minutes without teasing you or hitting on you, you got your work done, and done well.

You’d been having a bad day – put simply. You woke up at four am to the Slytherin dungeons being flooded (a prank you were sure was courtesy of the Marauders).

Your entire house had to vacate the dorms whilst the professors and Filch found the leak and dried everything up

It wasn’t until nearly six o’clock that you were allowed back in the dorms – and even then, everything was damp. Then, you slept through your alarm making you miss breakfast – your uniform still felt damp no matter how much drying charms you cast on yourself throughout the day, you had bags the size of a hippogriff under your eyes, and you were exhausted

Thankfully, Sirius had the good graces not to make any comments when you rushed to the library late to meet him, and you were sure you looked like you were in a proper state

Unfortunately, Mulciber and Snape weren’t as eager to let it go

Without warning, the inkpots on your table exploded covering you and Sirius and your work in ink

“Stay out of the dungeons, Black” Mulciber sneered.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” you screeched.

Snape almost looked apologetic when he took in the state of you.

“Sorry, L/N,” Mulciber offered whilst sounding very unapologetic, “collateral damage”

“Fuck that!” you said as you stood from the table. “I’m so fucking sick of being everyone’s collateral damage. I had my room flooded this morning too, you wankers. I’ve had my hair charmed green. I’ve had my textbooks jinxed to bite me. I’ve been hexed walking down the halls. I’ve been given detention for being out of uniform because my robes and tie were charmed red and gold. All of this even though I’ve never done a thing to the Gryffindors, but I choose to ignore it because I know it’s really only meant to piss you sods off, and I’m supposed to be some proud Slytherin who doesn’t concern herself with such childish play. So, you don’t get to show up here and expect me to be understanding when you’ve just made an already shitty day 700 times shittier!”

You ignored the librarian’s shouts about detention, house points and the like as you stormed out of the library

You also missed the guilty expression that adorned Sirius’ face.

You ignored and avoided Sirius and his stupid puppy dog eyes for a week after that. You redid all of your work that had been ruined that day in the library, handed it to Sirius and said “proofread it and edit it if you want, otherwise, hand it in and we’re done” before walking away again.

He tried sending you notes in class which you crumbled and threw back at him

You stopped trying to best him – no more grade comparisons, no more races to answer questions first, no more challenges to brew the best potion. None of it

If he thought of you as a heartless, emotionless Slytherin, then that’s what you’d be.

He stopped trying to get your attention after a while

You noticed that the Marauder’s stopped targeting Slytherin as a whole

You couldn’t really bring yourself to be thankful for it

They still pranked Mulciber, Snape, Malfoy, and the likes, however, which you were thankful for

Until…

“L/N throws a fit and suddenly, Slytherins are left alone except for us. Tell me, did you tell your little blood-traitor boyfriend to lay off your friends?” Avery sneered condescendingly as you sat near the fountain in the transfiguration courtyard

You rolled your eyes and tried to ignore the lot of them

“pfft, hanging out with the likes of blood-traitors, next thing you know she’ll be whoring herself out to the likes of a filthy mudblood”

That you couldn’t ignore.

You saw red and, without thinking, launched yourself at Mulciber, both of you ending up in the water

Your fists seemed to have a mind of their own as they met the boy’s face over and over and over again

You felt your jaw click as his elbow met the side of your face and then the back of his hand struck you from the other side as he fought to get up from underneath you

You were both hauled out of the fountain by Hagrid, who was accompanied by Filch, and brought to detention

Unfortunately for you, Professor McGonagall was already hosting detention in the Transfiguration classroom – a few students plus the Marauders were sat quietly with quills and parchment in front of them when the squib caretaker pushed the door open, and the half-giant walked in with a sopping wet and bloody student in each hand.

“Caught these two fight’n, miss” he told her

“Oh, for goodness-” she started as she stood and came to inspect the two new arrivals.

“Mulciber, to the infirmary. Miss L/N-”

“I’m fine.” You spat, cutting the matron off.

“You should have your wounds seen to, young lady.” She admonished.

“I’m fine. Are you going to give me detention or not?”

The professor grimaced but pointed you to an empty desk where a quill and parchment materialized. “you’re to write a foot worth of parchment about why what you did was wrong. Once you’re done, you’re to sit quietly until I dismiss you.”

You took your seat but made no motion to grab your quill or parchment

“Miss. L/N, start your parchment.”

“I can’t, professor.”

Every detentionee turned to look at you – save Sirius who already had his eyes glued to you from the second you had walked in – as the professor “begged her pardon”

“The way I see it, I didn’t do anything wrong.” You said simply.

“You didn’t do anything wrong?” She repeated incredulously

“Nope. I think people who call women whore’s or use the term mudblood ought to have their teeth punched in.”

Sirius bit back a surprised snort at your response as he tried to ignore the warm feeling erupting in his chest

“Fine, Miss. L/N. You will sit their quietly until I dismiss you. Are you sure you don’t need to see Madame Pomfrey?”

You wiped at the blood from the corner of your lip with your equally bloodied hands. “positive”

Sirius was smitten

All of a sudden, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you were? How lovely your voice sounded? And were you always so brilliant at everything you do?

He was even astounded by how gracefully you buttered your toast

Get a fucking grip, Black

I believe, to everyone’s absolutely shock, the cocky, playboy, Casanova Sirius became so unbelievably enamoured with you, he was so afraid to say anything to upset you/scare you away

But he wasn’t going to let you go

You still weren’t speaking to him, but you were no longer glaring at him – so this was a start

Every night you’d go to bed and there’d be a little tear-drop shaped chocolate on your pillow. You have no idea how it got there, who put it there, or even what a Hershey’s was.

And you knew better than to trust suspicious things found around the castle

So, you placed it in a jar on your bedside table and went about your life

A tear shaped chocolate was on your pillow every night for the rest of the week (until the end of school, quite frankly)

None of your dorm mates had any clue where they were coming from

Flowers were delivered to you every morning with the owl post. Not bouquets – but singular flowers

By the time you had a jar full of those Hershey thingies and a full vase of flowers, a note was delivered with a familiar scrawl: meet me in the Astronomy tower tonight at 8

Now, Black had been on his best behaviour lately – but you knew better than to show up with your guard down

Sirius waited on the astronomy tower lookout, chain smoking, taking on and off his leather jacket as he was concerned he looked “too much like a tool” as Remus put it, hoping by all the gods you would actually show

“Alright, what’s the deal, Black? Gonna throw me off the lookout? Put a spider down my shirt? Is there a bucket of slime somewhere?”

Sirius’ heart nearly stopped at the sound of your voice, and then he barked a laugh when he saw you standing there in dueling stance with your wand aimed at him

“First of all, why would I throw you off the tower? Second of all, those are amateur pranks, I think I’ve earned a better reputation than that.”

You seemed to consider that as you lowered your wand but continued to look around skeptically “We’ll see…”

“Did you like the kisses?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sirius laughed

“The chocolates? They’re called Hershey’s kisses”

“That was you?”

“Uh huh, and the flowers”

“Why?”

Sirius smirked at you “for being so smart, you’re kind of dumb.”

“Sod off.”

“I fancy you, L/N.”

You stared at him in bewilderment “why?”

“Why?

“Why.”

“Let’s see. You’re the smartest witch I know. You put in me in my place every second sentence you speak. You’re talented, you’re stunning, I found out you attacked a man almost twice your size and won because he was a misogynistic racist and then refused to apologize for it, and because…you’re right.”

“I’m right about a lot of things, Black; you’re gonna have to be more specific”

“I was prejudiced too. My family was hateful and Slytherin, so I spent my life assuming all Slytherin’s were hateful; I know now that those words are not synonymous. And I took that out on the lot of you – you didn’t deserve that.”

Was Sirius Black admitting that he was 1) wrong, 2) taking responsibility and 3) declaring his feelings for you?

“You’re brilliant. I just thought you should know.” he said at your silence

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you want, I suppose. Preferably give me a chance.”

“A chance to what?”

“To be yours.”

You said you’d “think about it” but to Sirius, you may as well have given him a resounding yes. He whooped and swept you up in a hug. He placed you back onto your feet and looked between your eyes and your mouth – a silent question.

In for a penny, in for a pound – am I right?

That was followed by a lot more kisses – chocolate and affectionate in kind

Sirius absolutely made some grand announcement in the Great Hall to establish that you were officially “thinking about” being his girlfriend so…. everyone can just do with that information what they will

You were horrified

You sent a stinging jinx at him for it

Definitely following around like a puppy who’s just so damn excited to see it’s owner

“What shops are we hitting at Hogsmeade first?”

“I didn’t realize we were going to Hogsmeade together?” you asked incredulously

Sirius scoffed as if you said something ridiculous. “’Course we are babe.” Which he accentuated by smacking a kiss on your cheek

The kind to buy you everything you even look at in the store

“Come on babe, I saw you eyeing that book; of course I bought it for you!”

You started going to Quidditch games even when Slytherin wasn’t playing

You refused to show up wearing a red scarf

Your green scarf was charmed red once you were stuck in the stands

How your relationship first began with Sirius Black back in your first year became a foundation of your relationship going forward

You spent the rest of your lives pranking, jinxing, and charming each other

#sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #dating Sirius black headcanons #sirius black headcanon #marauders au #marauders era #ask elle #reader insert #self insert #slytherin #gryffindor #inter-house rivalry #enemies to lovers #ellecdc fics

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writerpeach · 1 year

Text

Academic (Anal)ysis

Oh My Girl Arin x m!reader

7200+ words

Part two of Classroom Copulation

---

Read on AO3

Read on AFF

Fresh out of teaching your first two university classes, the afternoon had been relatively calm, stress-free and mostly void of any students asking idiotic questions. None of your students dozed off during your lectures, a sign that meant they enjoyed their time spent in class, or at least pretended they did. Either way, it achieved your primary goal to ensure your students felt fulfilled, leaving with more knowledge than they started with.

Your next class wouldn’t be for a couple hours, which gave you time for a full lunch, and a chance to catch up on grading papers, but also taking some relaxation for yourself. After finishing up your lesson plans for the rest of the week and putting a dent into grading, a soft knock at the door interrupted your progress.

Most days, you had an open door policy during office hours, encouraging any students to visit with you unscheduled.

Only when you wanted to concentrate or when a student needed to spend time with you did you shut that door, and as far as you remembered, none of your students had scheduled anything today. That didn’t mean your students weren’t welcome, but you weren’t expecting anyone to show up until your official posted time, which didn’t begin for another hour.

“Come in.”

The mahogany door to your office swung open, and behind revealed a slender woman with raven locks wearing a strapless sequined dress, gazing up with the prettiest doe eyes and a pair of freshly glossed lips—one of your favorite students, Choi Yewon.

“Good afternoon, professor.”

That favoritism might have been because you were in a (very inappropriate) relationship with her, but the point still stood, Arin was a breath of fresh air, a sight for sore eyes.

“Good afternoon, Miss Choi. What brings you here?”

Since the inception of your relationship, your office had been a sanctuary from further developing it with Arin. Whenever she visited, it was always under the guise of having difficulty with your classes, going over a graded test, or something narrowly related to academia. Mostly, it became an excuse to flirt around you without any other lingering students around. But you knew it wouldn’t stay like that forever.

“Can't a student just say hello?" she asked, standing in the doorway and flashed a rather suspicious smile.

“Of course,” you said, returning a rather muted smile of your own. “But my office hours haven't started yet.”

“Oh, my apologies. I must have remembered your hours wrong, professor.” The way she smirked meant she didn’t, yet you wouldn’t dare turn away such a pretty face.

“Would you like me to come back?”

“No, of course not. You already came all this way, so please, come on in.” After further opening the door for Arin to enter, she slipped inside, and made sure to leave as little gap as possible between your bodies so you could breathe in her aromatic perfume.

“Well, if you insist. I do have some time to spare,” Arin said, as she closed the door behind her and locked it. You knew that look, that glint in her eyes when she walked into your office.

“Please have a seat, Miss Choi.”

Gesturing to your spacious red couch across the room, Arin sauntered over, taking a seat and crossed her legs. She took a look around while you remained in your office chair, unprepared for whatever facade she had for visiting.

“Aren’t you going to sit next to me, professor?” she asked, patting the empty cushion next to her with those unavoidable doe eyes staring into your soul. “This couch feels a little lonely for just one person…”

And just like that, the protective barrier you built up began to crumble. Because your office had been the last place that hadn’t been defiled, the last place that you hadn’t shoved Arin up against the wall and whispered in her ear all the sinful things you were going to do to her. Certainly not out of guilt, because banging a stunning girl like Arin would be worth sacrificing your livelihood.

Against your better judgment, you took a sip of coffee and occupied the empty seat on Arin’s left. Her smile widened, and she immediately squeezed your thigh, a clear indicator that this was more than just a simple hello from a student when she looked up with that unavoidable gaze. “It’s so good to see you, professor.”

You could easily lean in to kiss Arin, the shiny gloss applied on her mouth attracted your lips to her like a magnet, but there had to be at least an attempt to keep up the front that this was nothing but a friendly visit, that your student wanted a chat and nothing else.

“Good to see you too, Miss Choi. Your classes going well?”

With a nod, she scooted closer, and kept her hand squeezing your thigh, focusing every little bit of her attention on you. “They’re going…fine,” she said in an unconvincing tone. “I’m not failing any at the moment.”

That last part piqued your curiosity, because if she performed as poorly in your class as she did her other ones, then well, her GPA would be doomed. Granted, Arin was a straight A student in your class, mostly due to your little arrangement, so at least she had some buffer built up there.

“Do you mind if I get a little bit more…comfortable, professor?”

A dangerous question, that In your mind—could mean anything. But whatever she had planned, were it even a genuine innocent question, you hesitated to say yes, but on the other hand, wanted to offer whoever came to visit you the highest degree of comfort.

“Not at all, be my guest.” Hopefully, you wouldn’t regret offering that invitation.

So after giving a courteous nod, Arin did just that, slipped her heels off, then carefully placed them out of the way. Next, she lifted her immaculate legs off the ground and rested them—right on your lap.

“Much better.”

If there was a modicum of shame left, it flew out the window when you became her footrest, not that you would be upset when every last inch of Arin’s legs became a feast for your eyes—and you were eating well. Not content with mere glances, you openly stared, and who could blame you when those beautiful, creamy legs never seemed to end, partnered with luscious thighs belonging around your head like earmuffs, and even her bare feet, which you adored kissing, drove you crazy.

Her figure was nothing but flawless, and while there hadn’t been a single inch of Arin’s body that you hadn’t kissed, licked, or sucked—you still drooled over her praiseworthy legs, thankful every time she came to your class in a short skirt or tight little dress that fought for your attention.

You had to face facts, because the only reason your clothes weren’t already in a heap, and you weren’t bottoming Arin out, was your own weird sense of self-preservation. That maybe, if you spurned her advances in the one place where you actually had the most privacy, that your job wouldn’t be in jeopardy. Like you hadn’t fingered her in the library with a hand over that pretty mouth, or like you hadn’t made her choke on your cock backstage in the theatre hall, and you certainly hadn’t pounded her against the refrigerator in the teacher’s lounge, praying every second no other professors needed a quick dose of caffeine.

Again, you were (both) guiltless throughout every encounter, selfish in every manner. After all, why wouldn’t you be,

when you had complete access to Arin’s body, free to explore it any way you pleased on a regular basis. Casting away the last bit of doubt aside, you rubbed Arin’s soft feet and kissed the tops of them, then moved down to her ankles, before caressing her smooth as silk legs all the way up to her thighs that brought unimaginable bliss when you squeezed them.

“If I recall, don’t you have a class soon, Miss Choi?” you asked, and couldn’t resist roaming your fingertips up and down her perfect legs, those divine thighs a path to heaven in your hands. Brightly smiling, Arin tilted her head back in enjoyment as your hands brushed against her warm flesh, your touch driving her equally crazy. It was almost regrettable that her position didn’t let you kiss and lick those mouthwatering thighs, but there was no need to be greedy when they felt so good and pillowy soft.

“You remembered. I do, but I’d rather ditch it. Getting dicked down by my favorite professor is a much better use of time. Wouldn’t you say?” Arin couldn’t hold back a smirk from forming on her lips, tossing out any subtlety in her words.

“I thought you were just here to say hello.”

“I was, but since I’m already here, I might as well make it worth your while…” Arin said, as one of her bare feet began to rub your inner thigh, moving dangerously towards your crotch. Before you could take your next breath, both of her feet felt up your cock, her toes teasing enough to make a bulge form in your pants. Powerless to stop her, you tried to stifle a moan under your breath, but failed, unable to hold back any thoughts while Arin massaged you through your pants, your cock stiffening uncomfortably so within mere seconds.

“You’re getting hard already, professor. Doesn’t that feel good? When I tease your cock like this?” she asked, a question with only one answer. The increasing friction on your shaft only served to fill the lust reserves in your body, because, without a doubt—Arin wouldn’t be leaving your office without getting a proper dickdown.

“Yewon—“

“Yes, professor?”

“That dress—“

“What about it? It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“It is, but—get rid of it.”

“It would be my pleasure.” With no hesitance, she rose up and let herself be the center of attention, leaving you with a throbbing erection in her wake. Unsure where to direct your focus, your eyes wandered her body, from her thighs to her tiny little waist, to that teasing amount of cleavage, but eventually ended up drawn to her beautiful, angelic face and that vivacious smile.

“This dress? You want it off me?” she asked, grasping the zipper of her dress, the gateway to releasing that burdensome barrier that opposed your desires. “Then sit back, relax, and enjoy the show, professor.”

Despite your initial protests, your anticipation peaked as Arin began to zip down her dress, her lustful gaze welded to you. Being patient remained a struggle, considering how hard she left you, and the amount of exposed skin in your sight eyes didn’t make things easier.

“Do you know what the best part of this dress is, professor?”

“How good it looks on you?”

Arin giggled as she touched her silky hair, running fingers through it. “No, while that’s also true, that’s the second best part.”

Turning away, she began to tug down her dress, spiking your anticipation. Because now, all you could do was watch the meticulous reveal of Arin’s smooth naked back, and the hints of perspiration that had formed from the temperature in the room. You had to calm your strong urge to lick every last drop clean.

“The best part is—”

As frustrating as it was to not be able to see those cute perky breasts, what would come next would make up for it. Arin hadn’t taken a single movement that wasn’t calculated, or that wasn’t made three steps in advance, and the lower her dress went, the wider your eyes grew.

“How easy it comes off…”

She slipped it down past her slender waist, revealing more and more of her body, until it fell off her hips, and gravity did its job. Finally, you were able to glimpse perfection in its purest form—that tight, bouncy butt barely concealed by a lacy blue thong wedged in between her plump ass cheeks. The true meaning of heaven, an ass so divine, it made it worth risking your tenure for.

You’d risk everything for an ass like that.

For now, Arin was always delighted to enable that risk, swaying her hips and shaking her enticing ass, as if to say you were making the right decision—even if at its core, it couldn’t be more wrong.

“Cute panties,” you blurted out, saying the first thing in your head to keep yourself under control, otherwise you’d rip them off her body and bury your face in those flawless cheeks.

“Thank you, professor. I wore them so you could take them off me,” she said, turning around just so you could see the grin on her features. But you were looking at so much more than just her pretty face, with her half-naked body proudly displayed, that only made the erection in your pants more unbearable.

“Yewon, come here.” Without giving her a chance to reply, you grabbed her delicate wrists, and pulled her back onto the couch, causing her to fall on top of you until your bodies were pressed flat together. Apparently an unexpected move, given the look on her face, when usually Arin initiated every advance.

“Professor…”

Exchanging lingering glances, that was the last word Arin spoke before you cupped one side of her face, and dove into her warm, pillowy soft lips, tasting hints of strawberry on her breath. When your lips met, it stripped all manner of formality, no longer were you just a student and a professor, but two individuals consumed with lust, tired of holding it in, tired of hiding it.

Much of Arin’s bare skin became available, a daunting task to keep focused on one spot, so your greedy hands freely roamed her body, groping as many different places as you could reach while your tongue invaded her mouth.

Her lips tasted just like you remembered, sweet and addicting, a taste you would chase to the ends of the earth for. Eager for more, you bit down on her bottom lip, only for her to return the favor, nipping against your own, mirroring every bit of aggression. The more things escalated, the less it felt like you were in your office, liable to have anyone knock at the door and interrupt.

Matching your fervor, Arin started to unbutton your shirt, using her fingers to tease your chest with every button undone, trailing downwards after a new spot uncovered. “You know, professor, maybe I should skip all my classes just to come visit you. Your office is very comfortable…”

As much as you wouldn’t mind that, you couldn’t be held responsible for her grades deteriorating. ”Your education is important, Miss Yewon.”

Her tongue slipped back in your mouth as the kiss deepened, lips pressed up against one another with much more desperation, much more saliva swapped. Arin ran fingers through your hair while you caressed her bare back, aching to map out her pale skin, moving lower, much lower, until you squeezed her ass and kneaded those delicious cheeks.

“If you insist. But only because if I got kicked out, you wouldn’t be able to rail me every day.” Whatever her motivation for keeping grades up was didn’t matter, as long as it meant you would keep meeting like this.

After breaking the liplock, you kissed the curve of her well-defined jaw, then moved towards her sensitive neck, making her even more hot and bothered—but you had to be careful not to leave any marks that she wouldn’t be able to cover up easily. The same couldn’t be said for Arin, who had the unfair advantage to do just that, opening your shirt up and left a barrage of wet kisses and lip prints on your bare chest.

“Mwah, that’s much better,” Arin said, and you could see the temptation in her eyes to leave lipstick marks on your cheek, neck, or anywhere else plainly visible. But instead, she ran her fingertips up and down your lip-stained chest, then cupped your face with her cold hands. “I can feel how hard you are. Shouldn’t I do something about that?”

“Later. Wanna taste you right now. Need to shove my tongue in your pretty little cunt.”

You could see the disappointment in Arin’s beautiful eyes, because if she came all this way without filling her throat with dick at least once, it would be a waste.

“At least let me get your cock wet, professor,” she pleaded, as she traced the outline of your bulge, and you could hardly deny her when she looked at you like that, licking her lips with seduction, plump lips that were absolutely made for delivering the best blowjobs imaginable.

“Alright, fine. Show me what those cock sucking lips can do."

“At once, professor.” Not wasting any time, Arin unzipped your pants, pulled them down to your knees, and immediately fished your cock out of your boxers. While she stroked your length, her lips returned to yours, keeping her taste lingering in your mouth, earning you some much necessary relief.

“This really belongs in my mouth,” she said, tightening her grip on your shaft, and pumped with more deft strokes. As she jerked you off quicker and made you moan, her parted lips continued to pin down your own, and her tongue tantalized the inside of your mouth.

Delivering another wet, open mouth kiss, her lips then journeyed down your body, adding more smudged lipstick to your exposed flesh. Arin tugged off your pants down to your ankles as soon as she reached your waist, and divested your boxers, causing your stiff cock to spring to attention. “There we go, all for me.”

With her gaze fixated on you, she flattened her tongue against the base of your shaft, and slowly dragged her way up, then planted a deep, messy kiss on the tip of your cock. Swirling her wet tongue around, Arin then flicked against your leaking slit, lapping up every drop, and alternated between tender kisses and soft licks. When she sensed you had your fill of teasing, her lips parted, enveloping your swollen cockhead that she gently sucked.

You uttered no more than a groan, and leaned your head back against the couch armrest, watching Arin go to work. Her head bobbed while her delicate hands squeezed both thighs, nails digging in to your skin, and those sensual lips applied a deeper suction that hollowed her cheeks.

“Relax, professor. Let me please you. Let me make you melt…”

Her seductive eyes studied your every move, while her lips swallowed up more shaft, bottoming down to your base with ease as her throat relaxed. When she came back up, a sheen of warm saliva covered your shaft, and she repeated the journey, those hungry lips slurping on every inch that filled her throat.

Arin maintained a steady rhythm and teased your balls, toying with them between her fingers, fondling them while your shaft became saturated with more saliva, spilling down the lips of her mouth.

“God, Yewon, you make me feel so good,” you moaned, falling apart while Arin sucked you off and added as much stimulation as possible by playing with your balls, her lips testing your resolve. The way her head bobbed never stayed consistent for long, and varied from frantic to sluggish lazy strokes. But the way she held you down her throat didn’t, keeping you there for several seconds without any struggle, eyes on you for the entire ride.

It all made you want to return the favor tenfold. With your cock plenty wet, you kept your eyes glued to how well Arin deepthroated your cock with ease, almost hesitant to stop her, not wanting the stream of pleasure to dissipate.

“Yewon, let me taste you now.”

Arin complied, but not without a few more sinful slurps that drove you wild, as she released your cock with a loud pop that let you see how much your cock glistened under the lights. Momentarily, you stood up off the couch and gestured towards the armrest while you kicked the rest of your clothes away. She got your message loud and clear, swiftly getting on her knees and bent over, sticking out that perfect, plump ass to you that you couldn’t get behind any faster.

Looking over her shoulder, Arin leaned more over the armrest, and pressed her thong-clad ass against your aching erection. Your eyes glazed over from the lack of blinking, wondering how such a delicious ass existed that belonged to such a pretty girl, another unanswerable question while you caressed her soft cheeks. Even if you couldn't help but lustfully stare at those covered cheeks, you'd have a stiff neck if you persisted. In one swift motion, you peeled Arin’s tiny thong off her hips, granting your eyes the blessing of that fully exposed ass, alongside her gorgeous, appetizing cunt.

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath and didn’t waste a second in groping her ass, getting your fingertips in that soft delicate flesh, massaging it gently before outlining the curve of it with your needy fingers. Arin responded in soft moans while you began to pepper in little small kisses to her ass, kissing every inch you could touch.

“Your ass is fucking amazing, Yewon. Have I ever told you that?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice, Professor. And almost every time we meet,” she giggled, savoring your adoration of her deliciously ample buttcheeks. God, you could do this all day, those bare cheeks silky soft to the touch, lured in with no chance of escape, so you did what anyone who had ever seen Arin in a short skirt in person never had the chance to—and buried your face in that ass.

You were more than content to suffocate there, nestled between the softest flesh imaginable that would make a pillow jealous, inhaling the sweet scent of Arin. But you couldn’t ignore your hunger, nor could you ignore that divine pussy, or those juicy lips that would give your taste buds a workout. One more inhale, followed by one more moment to rub your face all over those exquisite cheeks, and then you moved down to tease her inner thighs with kisses, alternating between each and gave them the individual attention deserved.

“Professor, you said you were going to taste me,” she whined, her growing impatience becoming more apparent. A little teasing never hurt, but when you had a decadent dessert offered up on a silver platter, it was only polite to dive in.

Spreading her thighs for better access, you dragged your tongue up and down her slit, ending her desperation while coating your tongue with her sweet juices. The first morsel of her tangy taste left you dying for more, and with your hands still squeezing her tight ass, you traced her slick-trapped folds with your tongue, gathering up her nectar with a craving for more. Within seconds, that thirst would be quenched when you darted your tongue against Arin’s sensitive clit, and drank up whatever juices escaped her cunt,

“So fucking delicious,” you hissed, as your tongue became more frantic, and explored the pink flesh offered up, taking a journey of pleasure with no destination. “I could eat you all fucking day.”

“But then who would teach your students? Education is important,” Arin mocked, jerking back when you sucked on her swollen clit in response, which made her thighs quiver against your face.

“Just for that, I think I might fuck you. Harder than you deserve.” Not only for her benefit, but yours, because while you enjoyed every moment of devouring your slutty little student, that ache in your cock became harder to endure—you desperately needed somewhere to shove your shaft into.

“I’m all yours, professor.” Like she was ever anything but, leaning into your touch, practically chasing your tongue while it slid between all that slippery flesh. Then again, your tongue and cock seemed to have different priorities on the matter, fighting for control of Arin’s perfect little pussy.

Moments away from insertion, you wondered how sturdy the lock to your office was. If somehow, someone managed to break in and caught both of you naked in your office, both of your lives would inevitably be fucked, exponentially yours more so. Sleeping with your student was one thing, doing it in the relatively public space of the office you worked years to acquire was another. Almost without a , you’d lose your PhD, your master’s degree, and certainly your entire career. But honestly, you had no time to give a shit about that when you had the hottest student in your class who willingly offered her body up like the free coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

The reality of it all made it hard to care about when you had such a round ass and tight little cunt inches away from your cock. You could see it in Arin’s pretty eyes, the need, the desire, the look of why are you still not inside me yet? A question you would ask yourself, and find an immediate answer when you pushed your shaft inside her heavenly cunt.

You couldn’t find words to voice your pleasure and just groaned when you entered Arin. Unfathomable bliss filled your body when your cock moved in slow plunges, those clinging walls squeezing tight, and urged you deeper. Neither of you spoke for several thrusts, because what was there to say, other than praise, how big you felt inside her, and how utterly drenched she was. That intense, audible wetness when you moved inside Arin’s wet warmth would make sure you planned in advance for next time, because red fabric stained far too easily.

“Professor—“ Arin managed to spit out, a word without meaning, without any follow up, but you were happy to just hear her pretty voice while your hips smacked against those full, rippling cheeks as you began to bottom out her needy cunt.

Her pussy had never felt more incredible. Maybe it was the danger of getting caught that added an extra oomph to the end of your pistoning hips, or the three-day weekend that kept your bodies away from each other an extra day that made every thrust that much more pumped full of ecstasy. Not that you couldn’t visit each other, as you certainly ended up tangled in Arin’s bed sheets on multiple occasions and vice versa, but it dampened the rush.

While Arin thoroughly enjoyed the thrashing you were giving her wet little pussy, being extra careless of how loud the smacks of hot flesh were, you couldn’t have been more preoccupied on that way that perfect ass bounced. Especially after a harsh spank or two that left a mark on her pristine buttcheeks, and for some extra stimulation, you slipped your thumb up her tight little asshole, feeling her clench tighter around your cock.

Judging by the deeper moans let out, she was much more gratified when you simultaneously penetrated her two holes. If only Arin had the same glass dildo with her in that very first selfie sent—she’d never forget the look on your face when you mistakenly checked your phone in the middle of class.

“This pussy is unbelievable, fuck—“

Arin couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly you were breaking down. “I know. You must love my pussy, and the way I cream all over you. But wouldn’t you rather have your perfect cock inside my ass? You've been staring at it nonstop since I walked into your office."

Caught red-handed, you couldn’t admit otherwise. Not that anyone could blame you when she wore such short skirts that hardly covered up her cheeks, or on the rare occasion—didn’t, and conveniently “forgot” to wear underwear. It was rather absurd that your cock wasn’t buried inside her ass with as much time as you spent gawking and worshiping it. But there was only one little problem. “A much as I would love to plow your ass, I don’t have any—“

“Lube? Check my bag.”

One might have questioned why a student would keep a bottle of lube on their belongings, but not you. Not a second thought went by while you rummaged through her bag, moving aside books, notepads, lotions, and makeup pouches until you found your desired treasure.

“Warm me up a little?” Arin asked when you rejoined her on the couch. Not that she really needed it, but moreso wanted it, and your tongue hadn’t gotten the action it deserved. Setting aside the bottle for now, your tongue took the same route, licking a long stripe up her wet cunt, and made a detour towards her puckered hole. This time, you refrained from any teasing, instead licking short circles around her asshole, then spread her fleshy cheeks wide to grant better access and plunged your tongue inside.

“Professor!”

Arin’s beautiful gasps filled your ears as you spread her cheeks wider and lapped at her asshole, using your tongue like a dildo, hitting every little nerve that caused a chain reaction of bliss, a parade of stimulation. You never took the same path twice while you tonguefucked her tight little hole, using sloppy movements to saturate the rim of her ass in saliva, and refused to let your tongue rest, not that a break would ever be necessary when Arin tasted so good. If her juicy cunt was a dessert, then for sure her ass was a buffet you could feast upon and never quite be full.

“I wonder what people would think if they walked in right now to see my professor’s tongue shoved up my asshole.”

“I think they’d be wondering where the back of the line was.”

That small grin from her lips disappeared into an open mouth moan while you continued to tongue her sweet asshole, and dug your fingers into the soft flesh of her buttcheeks, keeping them spread wide as they could go to satiate your appetite.

“Mmm, fuck, that tongue feels so good. You really know how to eat a girl’s ass, don’t you, professor?” Unwilling to say a word that would interrupt your meal, you accepted her praise in silence and swirled your tongue in every direction imaginable, slobbering all over that tasty tight hole.

“God, professor, you’re amazing. But I think I’m warmed up enough, don’t you?” With much reluctance you would agree, even if meant your tongue would have to leave her beautiful backside, but the main event would soon await.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy one more moment filling your hands with Arin’s cheeks, as you admired her glistening asshole that would soon be reintroduced to your greedy cock. She sank down into the couch; her face pressed down and ass raised up, not wanting to be empty much longer. Naturally, it would be hard for anyone to stay idle with those cheeks between your fingers, with such a spankable ass at your mercy, and you had to pry yourself from fondling that ass, or you’d never stop.

You weren’t in a rush when you lubed up your cock and slid two fingers inside Arin’s saliva drenched asshole, adding more slick liquid than necessary. A poor excuse to test that puckered hole once more, using the pretense of preparation to finger her tight ass, a preview of that intense clench that you’d feel more of later.

“Fuck, don’t keep me waiting, professor. Need you in my ass, stretching me out like you always do. Stop teasing and fill me already.”

Arin wanted it almost more than you did, and it was far too easy to keep her on edge, but eventually two fingers became one, until your last digit withdrew from her ass, leaving her restless with anticipation. All out of patience yourself, you didn’t dare dream of making Arin wait much longer, and guided your cockhead between those luscious cheeks as you nudged against her divine asshole.

With little reason to prolong the inevitable, you caught Arin’s gaze when she looked over her shoulder again, eyes brimming with impatience. You took a necessary deep breath, one that Arin matched, and sank into her hot, tight asshole, already overwhelmed by that impossible tightness. One plunge wasn’t enough, and you didn’t stop until the tip of your cock disappeared, swallowed up by an ass sculpted by the gods, with the additional pressure such a mind-numbing sensation that made you throb like you never had before.

“More, professor. More,” Arin pleaded, unsatisfied by just your thick cockhead penetrating her snug little hole, a request you had no intention to deny. For a moment, you pulled out so you could rewatch the way your cock slid inside her plump ass, and her body accepted you with ease, her snug walls gripping your cock much harsher than her cunt.

“You’re so goddamn tight, Yewon, fuck,” you groaned with both hands firmly on those perfect pale cheeks, and pumped into Arin at an agonizingly slow pace, stretching her out more and more, and savored every last movement before you were even balls deep. Fitting your cock into Arin’s tight little asshole didn’t come easy, even after several deep breaths and relaxed muscles, but it was a struggle you would gladly take on, all in the name of pleasure.

“Deeper, professor, go deeper. Please let me take all of you, stretch my little asshole.”

She whimpered and groaned the more your girth impaled her ass, arching her back higher, and that constricting grip around your shaft intensified the deeper you went, further provoking you to fill her up to the hilt. Almost flush to the base against her firm cheeks, you watched the lustful expression etched on Arin’s face, taking note of her open mouth, widened eyes, and how her palms flattened against the couch cushions, desperate to be stretched wider.

After a rather harsh movement of your hips, you lodged your cock deep inside her asshole until you were finally balls deep, immediately taking another thrust, then a third, experiencing such sharp pleasure that would only repeat itself as you buried yourself in those warm depths, opening her up to allow the deepest penetration manageable. “This what you wanted, Yewon? My cock all the way up this tight fucking asshole?”

Arin scrambled to grab onto anything, digging her fingers into the fabric of the couch.“Yes! Oh my god, you feel so good, so deep inside me. Keep me full like this, please—“

With a pleading look like that, you didn’t need any more persuasion. “Fucking slut. Look at you, dripping all over my couch. Gonna have fun explaining this to the custodian.”

“I can’t help it, professor, you fuck me so well. You’ll just have to get a new couch, I don’t think cum is easy to get out.”

“That depends how many loads I dump in you today.”

“Oh? Were you planning on going for round two, professor?”

“Yeah, Yewon. Thanks to you, I think my office hours are officially canceled today.”

Arin would be pleased that only she could see you today, knowing the reason why any student entering your office during specified hours would be met would a locked door, while on the other side she’d be flat on her back covered in sweat, on her knees, or bouncing on your cock.

Meanwhile, her greed got the best of her, and she began to fuck herself back on your cock, moaning with every push against you, eager to be split open even more. Even better than that, it freed up your hands, and gave free rein to slap that bouncy bubble butt, something you desired the moment she walked into your office.

With much delight you gave a quick spank to both cheeks, not letting time pass without the soft flesh rippling, and slapped each cheek one by one, again, and again, and again, the sound growing louder with every smack.

The slaps on her ass came in succession without delay, and each rippled her cheeks in a hypnotic fashion, filling the room with sounds of moans and whimpers. As your attention shifted to one cheek, each smack given turned the delicate flesh redder, and the only respite offered came in between harsh strikes when you massaged her tender cheeks.

And you were just getting started.

While Arin kept fucking herself on your cock and opened herself more, you gave harder and harder spanks on her delicious backside, contemplating how an ass could have so much insane jiggle, every smack generating more and more recoil on those luscious cheeks.

“I love it when you spank me, professor. Spank me while I take your cock up my ass, spank me like the naughty little student I am.”

Her ass rippled in a way that could only be described as beautiful, while a loud gasp or desperate cry for more left her lips following more reddened flesh. Arin had some of the best hips you had the pleasure to grab, and they never stopped moving as she slammed her cheeks down on your cock, ensuring you stayed embedded inside her puckered hole, and refused to let you leave that unrelenting tightness.

The flesh of her ass became so red, so sensitive, that you had to cease for a moment just to savor the noises she made, and rubbed the sting out of one side, letting it return when you flattened your palm and smacked her thick ass like the crack of a whip.

Looking down, both of Arin’s asscheeks were the way you loved them—bright red, tender, and plastered with palm prints. You would make sure they remained that way for days, as you doubled down, smacking either side of her ass in harsh succession, before grabbing her hips and reclaimed control of her ass. All those smacks on her rear combined with those thrusts she took inside escalated her arousal, making it easier to pound her ass. And you did so without holding back, fucking her into the couch the way she deserved, guided by the sounds of sweet bliss that left her lips.

Arin was right—you would need a whole new couch after this. You could see how much of her arousal dripped down her thighs, already staining the fabric that matched the color of her sore buttcheeks, and that was before the thick load that would soon leak out of her.

“Professor—“ Arin had trouble forming words, thanks to your cock repeatedly gaping her asshole and impaling her insides, melting away into bliss until it was all she could think about. “God, you fuck me so well, professor. But why haven’t you cum yet? Don’t you need to?”

Eventually, you would, but not until you spent enough time reaming her tight little body, firmly planted in Arin’s asshole, that she would dream about how good your cock felt inside her. “Because I’m enjoying your ass way too much. Gonna keep fucking it as long as I can until my balls get drained.”

“Well, then keep fucking me, professor. Fuck me until you fill my tight asshole up all the way. I’ll be a good little cum dump. Can’t wait to feel that hot load inside me…”

A pretty girl like Arin uttering such vulgarity like that drove you almost as insane as the ass you were pounding. Seeing her plump cheeks alone with their vivid red hue kept you going, and it was more than enough to keep you rock hard, even if your hips were at their limit. But you had enough stamina left to keep yourself buried in her ass, watching every little detail on her perfect, sweaty face etched with ecstasy.

One more smack on her delicious ass became a lit fuse of unavoidable tension manifesting in your balls that meant every thrust now came with a countdown. But before you could reach the finish line, you kept your eyes glued to the heart-shaped ass your cock pummeled, chasing that edge while dancing on a tight-rope of bliss that you were bound to topple over at any moment.

Not even a black hole could contain your combined lust, or all your built-up carnal desires to wreck Arin’s impeccable body, because sometimes—there was nothing better than ruining something beautiful.

The sweat down her back, the way her disheveled hair clung to her naked skin, and the way she pleaded for you to cum, it all painted a highly detailed picture that you would put the finishing touches on by smacking your hips against her body one last time, then buried your shaft in that unforgettable tightness before you finally erupted inside her.

While you spilled thick semen into her ass, you couldn’t tell who needed this release more—but given how much you throbbed as your shaft emptied in her asshole, you had never felt this euphoric, groaning in relief while filling Arin to the brim. It wasn’t even a challenge to stay there, barely moving a muscle as her tight hole milked your cock dry, prolonging your unyielding twitches and throbs. The real feat would be pulling out, because even after your climax ran its course, you wanted nothing more but to stay inside that warmth, cockwarming her ass for eternity.

“P-professor…” Arin couldn’t say much, and your heavy breathing echoed her own. Every tired pant she made gave your cock a new twitch, like trying to empty more inside her body.

“Fuck, it feels so warm and thick inside me, professor. Wasn’t this worth canceling your office hours?” Way past your scheduled time, you hadn’t even remembered to put up a notice, but given your focus on destroying Arin’s ass, it was no wonder you hadn’t heard a single knock—hopefully nobody needed to meet up with you today, or maybe the cries of pleasure from inside spoke for you.

“This ass is worth canceling everything,” you said, as you began to catch your breath. Reluctantly, you began to withdraw from Arin, one little inch at time, until you were no longer inside her, and intently watched your cum leak out from her gaped asshole in a slow drip that became a thick downpour that stained her thighs, your couch, and anywhere else it pleased. You were powerless to save your couch, but you didn’t care. A worthy sacrifice.

Collapsing to one side of the cushions your body preferred, Arin came tumbling after, her sweaty body clinging against your own. “And having my professor pound my ass was worth missing class.”

You moved hair out of her eyes, as the two of you exchanged tired smiles. “I guess I should be responsible and get ready to teach my next class.”

As a pout formed on her lips, Arin kissed your bare skin, never yielding her insatiable hunger. “That’s no fun. When is it?”

“In about forty-five minutes.” In actuality, you had an hour, but you’d need to locate a shower and figure out how the hell to make the smell of sex in your office disperse before then. And the stains on the couch would be a problem for a different day.

“Perfect. Just enough time to rail me again. Because I’m not leaving your office without another load inside me.”

“And you’re not leaving wearing those pretty panties either.”

“Deal, professor. They’ll be waiting on your desk.”

#kpop smut #oh my girl smut #arin smut #reader insert #male reader #kpop fanfic

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mercurianthing · 1 year

Text

SHORT ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS Pt.3🗣️😻👠

🫀 I have venus in the 12th house synastry with someone I've known for almost four years and to this day I have no clue what he thinks of me. he always gives me a vibe that he's in love with me or that I'm his type but on the other hand he also tries very hard to hide it and tries to ignore my existence no matter what, like yesterday my friend and I were sitting next to each other and he was sitting at the table next to me and our tables were quite close to each other and another friend of mine who was sitting next to him asked my friend something and he looked in the direction of me and my friend and as soon as I looked at him and made eye contact with him he just immediately lowered his eyes and it was so strange I was trying so hard to not laugh☠️ also his mars conjunct my venus & his moon falls in my 8th house and conjunct my sun so I know he is attracted to me anyway hahaha.☠️

🫀 I know a gemini venus man who kissed someone and the day after just ignored her😭💀

🫀 Venus conjunct ascendant in synastry can turn very quickly from admiration to jealousy especially if it's in friendship.

🫀 Chiron in the sixth house does not always have to indicate problems in your work environment. It can also indicate that you have an inexplicable fear of animals. it can also indicate problems with your daily routine. you may feel that your daily routine is boring or at least not the way you want it to be. if neptune is also in the sixth house with chiron it can also indicate that you are constantly imagining (sometimes even really planning in your head what it will look like) your dream routine and day-to-day life but not being able to turn it into your real reality and it just remains in the realm of imagination (especially if Mars is also in the sixth house).

🫀 Indicators of curvy body placements:

- Venus in the 9th house - hips are the most beautiful and noticeable part of your body.

- Sagittarius risings - thick 🍑, beautiful hips and in general curvy body.

- Jupiter in Libra/ in the 7th house - big 🍑.

- Cancer dominate/moon/venus - big and beautiful 🍒.

- Jupiter in the 4th house - blessed with big 🍒.

- Pluto in the 4th house - the most attractive part of your body are your 🍒.

🫀 Pluto in the 3rd house can indicate that in a certain part of school (elementary, middle school or high school) these people were a relatively poor student academically or behaviorally and that after a few years you suddenly become a student who gets good grades or you started behaving better and this can change over the years. in any case, this also indicates that people with this placement get good grades in tests without making any effort or investing at all, it comes easily to them, they are one of those kids who can not be in classes at all and still get a good grade.

🫀 THAT'S IT FOR TODAY.❤️‍🔥

#astrology observations #astrology #astro notes #astro observations #natal placements #astro placements #astro community #synastry observations #synastry notes #astro posts

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crabdrabbles · 3 months

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Hiii Crab so happy to see you write outside of our rants/idea chats and my fellow delulu cod enjoyer! Would love to request Platonic!141 + Reader (sorry if this is long and somewhat confusing lol). You can do headcanons, drabble or whatever you comfy for. An idea that popped in my head kinda semi personal: Civ or 141! Reader though has parents and family is the reader is quite something else. Reader despite having somewhat normal upbringing still feel empty; they shouldn't be feeling this numb and empty deep inside of them. The reader craves the love that they give but couldn't or lack of receiving it back, though they don’t expect it or selfishly want it. Just someone who understands them even in their deepest darkest secret or flaw then boom cue the task force 141 unexpected yet welcoming to their life and maybe the one that the Reader can lean and let them be vulnerable on (finally).

Take your time on doing this Looking for to your other writing genuinely -Cee, your fellow Soap delulu

GN!Reader & 141 (Mostly Price)

Warnings: Slight angst Ships: None. A/N: This absolutely ran away from me and I do not at all regret it, hope you enjoy, Cee!!! Words: 3549

Almost your entire life had been a cycle of self doubt that also started to churn and twist into self-hatred. You blamed yourself for the feelings. Afterall, you had a relatively normal upbringing. Two parents who were both present in your life, both of whom worked so that you all had food on the table and a roof over your head. A luxury that very few had.

The least you could do for them is follow the path that they wanted to put you on, no matter how much you didn’t want to do it. Because you loved them.

So you excelled in your education, studying hard to try and impress your parents– to make them love you just as much as you loved them for everything that they did for you for your entire life. They wanted you to do all three sciences despite the additional workload it would add to your already stretched thin time? Then you would do them, take any extra classes after school in order to keep up with the work and not lag behind any of your peers.

There was no such thing as a social life, either, not when you had homework and projects due. Friends were few and far between. Generally, most people left when they realised how hyper focused you were on your grades instead of social interaction.

Did a classmate get a higher grade than you on a test? Well obviously you didn’t study hard enough, you just needed to dedicate more time to school even though school was all you had.

Did you get the highest marks in the class? Good, that was what was expected of you. Why didn’t you get full marks? You were better than that. You would do better because you loved your family. They showed it in their own way, of course, by encouraging you to study harder and get better grades. That was their love language, and yours was doing as they asked without a second thought. Because, at the end of the day, you were lucky to have an upbringing like you had. You would ignore the hollow void clawing at your chest because you had no right to feel that way– not when you had a roof over your head and parents that loved you(?).

It was when you came top of the class with full marks in a recent test, you came home with a beaming smile on your face and proudly showed the test to your parents. They took the papers from your hands, flipping through your work with critical eyes, before handing the papers back to you.

‘Well done, we’re so proud of you.’ That was all you wanted them to say to you. That was all you needed to hear. To know that they loved you.

‘Your penmanship is terrible.’ Was what you got instead. When you tried to point at the big 100% in green pen, you were waved away. ‘How are you expected to get a job when you write like a child? I’m surprised the teacher could even read your answers’.

After several years of balancing a work and educational life and paving a way for a line of work that you didn’t want for parents you should have been grateful to have, you decided that enough was enough.

No matter how hard you worked, no matter how high your marks were, they would never be proud of you. They would never return the love that you had for them until you nearly killed yourself trying.

Spending your entire childhood, teenagehood and all of your current adulthood trying to please your parents predictably would damage one’s psyche. You had no friends, family who had never been devoted to you as you were to them, and high grades serving as the foundations to a prison-like future.

You dropped out of University. The only option forward that you saw was joining the army in the vain hope that the empty feeling inside of you would dissipate when you actually did something that you believed was more worthwhile than any University course.

So you threw yourself into the military, working harder than all of the other recruits and training at every chance you could.

Your skills and determination became widely recognised amongst your peers. It took several years, but you eventually caught the eye of none other than Captain John Price.

Impressed by your willpower that not many soldiers possessed, he offered you a place on the 141.

Naturally, you agreed. You believed that being part of such a well renowned and respected team would finally beat back the lingering self doubt and emptiness that had curled itself around your heart.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

You were invited to join the 141, sure, but they had already established their own relationships between each other, had already bonded into a close knit group, and you were simply an outsider. Yes, you had been hand picked by Price himself, but that didn’t mean you were part of the team. They had their own inside jokes that they told to one another, leaving you feeling left out on most days.

And you felt… lacking around them. Ghost was stronger, Gaz was faster, Soap was smarter (he was a demolitions expert for crying out loud!), and Price was almost all of those rolled into one. They all complimented each other as a team. Meanwhile you felt like a spare tyre, a master of nothing and barely a jack of any trade.

Despite how you felt about it all, they all called you ‘kid’. Regardless of age gaps between yourself and the rest of them, the nickname stuck mostly because you were the newbie. It came as a surprise that it wasn’t spat with vitriol as your peers before had, but it was in fact said with… an affection you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t ignore the hole in your chest that had been chipped at over the years, forming a gaping maw that no reassurances could really mend.

Doubt lingered in the back of your mind, chipping away at your sanity as you prepared for the worst. How long would it take before they realised you weren’t good enough?

You were so deep in your doubts that you didn’t realise that you had been distancing yourself even more than before until you overheard a conversation in Price’s office a few months down the line.

“-- they don’t belong on the team.” Gaz said as you passed Price’s office and your heart dropped. It was only the tailend of what he had been saying but you had gotten the gist. You wanted to stay, to listen to the conversation more and listen to what your team had to say about you, but you didn’t. What you were going to hear were likely things you had already told yourself right from the start. You keep walking on, ignoring the sting of tears burning in the corners of your eyes. The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from heating the rest of the conversation.

“-- not only are they acting like they don’t belong on the team, but they’re acting like they’re not good enough.” Gaz continued, sighing in frustration.

“Maybe they need more time.” Ghost rumbled in reply, “Let them come out of their shell a little bit. Best not rush these things.” He was talking from experience, after all.

“Aye… maybe I can invite them out for drinks or sommat? I wouldn’t want them getting transferred before we got to know them a little more.” Soap had been the one that had tried the hardest to get close to you but had also tried to give you space so as to not suffocate you with his personality.

“They won’t be getting transferred.” Price said with conviction, tapping his desk, “I chose them to be part of this team and this is where they’re going to stay. Let me have a word with them first.”

“Aye, sir.”

— — — — — —

You found yourself in the smoker’s shelter outside the main building. It was late enough that most of the soldiers had gone to bed or off to do their own things elsewhere so you doubted that you would be bothered for a little while. Just enough time for you to get your thoughts together. Your tears had dried in your eyes a few minutes ago, making them sting in the cold air. You didn’t need to look in your reflection to know that you probably looked like a wreck– entirely unbecoming of a soldier of your apparent status.

You didn’t want to get transferred. Despite your distance with the 141, you didn’t hate them. Far from, actually, you held a great deal of respect for each and every one of them. It was just that you felt like you didn’t have your place amongst them. Not good enough to be associated with them.

“Bit late to be out here in the cold, chuck.” A voice startled you out of your thoughts– one that you would recognise anywhere from the low rasp of a smoker's lungs.

“Captain.” You croaked, wincing at the patheticness in your voice. There was a scuff of boots as Price came closer, leaning into your line of vision with a furrowed brow which only furrowed more as he took in your dishevelled appearance.

“Something on your mind?” He asked kindly, perching on the arm of the bench to give you some personal space. He left his question open, allowing you any chance to steer the conversation how you wanted to. There was no judgement for catching you at your lowest, no disgust at your red rimmed eyes— just polite understanding and a non verbal offer of pleasant company.

“Why did you pick me, Captain?”

The question made him tilt his head, a frown beginning to tug on his features. You were worried you had insulted him.

“What brought this on, huh? Someone say something to you? Need me to have a word with them?” He straightened his back, scowling. Whilst you felt like you didn’t have a place in the 141, you could never deny the shield of protectiveness that Price held over his team. You remember in the back of your mind the day that some General who thought he was hot shit had the audacity to undermine Soap as nothing more than a ‘yappy dog’ when offered the Scot’s demolitions expertise. Price had appeared almost out of thin air and almost ripped the General a new one and things would have escalated into a fist fight had Laswell not intervened. It wasn’t as though Price didn’t think his own soldiers were capable of defending themselves, but he couldn’t care less about punishments aimed his own way over that of his Sergeants and Lieutenant. It was just a surprise that the protective streak extended over you, too, despite your distance to your teammates.

“I’ll sound stupid.” You mumbled, looking down at the ground as if expecting him to chastise you like a child. He didn’t.

“I’ve had my fair share of stupid over the years. Try me.”

“... and ungrateful.”

“I once had a guy punch me in the face two seconds after I took a bullet that would have killed him.” Price countered with a cut off chuckle once he remembered what was probably a mission long finished and cleared his throat. “C’mon, tell Captain what’s on your mind.”

And he sounded so sincere when he said it. Sounded like he genuinely wanted to hear what was going on in your head– that he was willing to waste what was already his important and limited time on someone like you.

“Sir—”

“John.” Price corrected gently, crows feet more noticeable at the corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled, “We’re off duty, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“... John.” You echoed, finding that you really didn’t like saying that. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name in primary school or a classmate’s parent other than their last name.

“Now, c’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. Might not be a therapist, but I’m better than bottling it up.” You wondered in the back of your mind how often Price did this. Sat with his soldiers and talked with them, offered them a listening ear to hear their vents and fears. You couldn’t help but feel honoured to be one of the few he willingly offered said time to. Your silence stretched on as you thought of the words to say, how to phrase what you wanted to say without sounding unappreciative of the opportunity that Price had offered you when he requested you join his team.

“I don’t feel like I belong here.” You blurted once the silence had stretched on for long enough to border on uncomfortable. John’s face fell and you quickly realised how bad that sounded and rushed to correct yourself.

“No, no, wait, let me explain–” the Captain closed his mouth to allow you to continue speaking, but you could tell that it was hard for him. “I just… you could have anyone better than me, you know? I’m not a demolition expert. I’m… I’m not the best Sniper. I’m the slowest on the team, pretty sure I’m the weakest–”

“Nope.” Price interrupted, finally breaking the bubble of your personal space as he took a proper seat next to you on the bench but still respecting the distance enough to keep a few inches between you. “Nope, not lettin’ you say another word.”

“But–”

“Nope.”

“Cap–”

“No.”

“But you could have anyone better—“

“But they wouldn’t be you.” He deflected easily. Far too easily. He leant back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms over his chest. His fingers twitched and you could tell he was itching for a cigar but didn’t light one out of respect.

“Alright, sure, I can ask Laswell to give me one of the best soldiers in the SAS and have them brought here tomorrow. They could be the best of the best, top of their class, better than you and maybe even better than me. But that’s a bit of a stretch.” He winked and earned a weak chuckle from you. “But they won’t be you. I don’t pick just on skill alone, kid, I pick based on how I feel people would fit into the team. I chose you because I knew that you’d be perfect.”

“As for not being a demolitions expert, let me let you in on a little secret. I’ve no fucking clue about demolitions, either. And you don’t have to be on the team to be the ‘best Sniper’. You’re better than most, and that’s what’s important. As for being the weakest– did you or did you not bodily lift Gaz in a fireman’s carry during training the other week while he was trying to act as an injured civilian? Quite dramatically, might I add. Swooned and everything.”

You remembered that practice mission. Quite fondly, actually. Gaz was a civilian and , after being struck by a foam bullet from Soap, had dramatically screamed in agony and crumpled to the floor. When you had lifted him up and over your shoulders, the bastard continued to wail something along the lines of telling his non-existent spouse that he loved them and that his money be given to his equally non-existent children. Soap got in another shot to the man’s head, knocking off his cap in the process. Distracted as you were trying to haul your teammate out of the danger zone, you couldn’t help but laugh thinking about it now.

“Last time I checked, Gaz is somewhat heavier than a sack of flour. Don’t tell him I said that, I’ll hurt his feelings.” Price was right, you supposed. You were more than capable of carrying Gaz over your shoulders, maybe even Soap or Price himself if the time called for it. Ghost you weren’t so sure about, though. The man was a walking mountain.

“What I’m trying to say is that you have to give yourself more credit. You’re more than good enough to be on my team. I chose you for a reason.”

You… did not expect that sort of reassurance from Price. You had hoped for something along those lines, yes, but perhaps with a thrown in criticism or three. You waited for a ‘but’ that never came. The man snorted beside you and when you gave him a quizzical look, he waved off your concern.

“Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the next thing out of your mouth would be that your parents never hugged you as a kid.”

Your silence made him slowly turn his head towards you. It would have almost been comical if the situation wasn’t. His face crumbled and a wounded sound emerged from his throat.

“Sometimes they did!” You rushed to defend the people that raised you. “And they gave me food and shelter, clothes when I needed them–”

“Fucking hell. No, that’s what they’re supposed to do because they’re your parents. What about telling you that they were proud of you? That they loved you? I saw your records. Top of your class in not just your training but in your education, too. Triple sciences, mathematics, all of it. They had to be proud of you for that? My parents would have killed for me to get even a passing grade in my GCSEs.” You looked down at the ground and it was Price’s turn to have his eyes fixed on you.

“They were proud of you, weren’t they?” He asked again, leaning forwards so he could catch your eye, his own filled with concern. “Kid?”

“I don’t talk to them much anymore.”

Price inhaled sharply and he leaned back again, looking around and clenching his jaw as if fighting back his anger. His fingers twitched again. You admired his self control as he was still yet to grab a cigar that you knew he kept on his person. Usually in his breast pocket while his lighter was in his right pocket.

“Listen to me.” The Captain said, a more stern edge to his voice now that he had gathered his thoughts together. “Whatever your family said to you— how they treated you? Forget it. They showed you obligation. Not love. They didn’t want what was ‘best’ for you, they wanted bragging rights. What you’ve achieved– here, in bootcamp, in university and in school, is something to take pride in– no, no, look at me.”

Your gaze had trailed to the side so you avoided looking at your Captain in the eyes. He noticed and clicked his fingers to gain your attention back on him.

“Don’t look away from me because I want you to listen to what I’m gonna say and I want you to look at my face as I say it.” Your eyes met his blue ones, “You should be proud of everything that you’ve achieved in your life. I’m sorry that your family never told you that and I’m sorry that I haven’t said that enough to you since you joined 141.”

You opened your mouth to say something– to argue or disagree but he shook his head.

“No. It’s my turn to speak now. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you. Everything you’ve done and everything that you’re yet to do, I will always be proud of you. You’re an exemplary soldier and I knew the moment I saw you that you would be a perfect addition to the 141 and you have proved me right time and time again. You belong on this team just as much as the rest of the boys. Do you understand?”

So many words– proud, proud, proud. That’s all you had wanted to hear for so many years from someone whose opinion mattered to you. You wanted to be seen and Price, this godsend of a man, had seen you and more.

“Kid, do you understand me?”

You nodded once and then realised that Price wouldn’t have been able to tell through your shaking. Tears blurred in the corners of your eyes and you nodded again, not trusting your voice in case it shattered.

“What do you need from me?” Price’s voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a frightened fawn. He could see how much his words had affected you and it clearly broke his own heart.

“A hug.” Your bottom lip wobbled and his face softened as he opened his arms, twitching his fingers to urge you closer.

“I can do that.”

You leaned into him and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in close. You could smell the lingering scent of his last cigar. The smell of his office and cleaning oil. You felt his chin on the top of your head and felt how his chest rumbled as he spoke.

“You’re part of the 141 whether you like it or not, alright? Me and the boys want you here for as long as you want to be.”

At that moment, for the first time in your life. You felt wanted. You felt appreciated and you felt seen.

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#modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 3 #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #platonic task force 141 #platonic task force 141 & reader

97 notes · View notes

transmutationisms · 9 months

Note

Re your post about supplements: Totally agree, but can you clarify what a “Bruce Levine doctor” is? Thanks! Hope your bones become solid.

oh sorry i was just referencing this article by bruce levine about doctors (iconic) (to me)

Gaining acceptance into graduate school or medical school and achieving a PhD or MD and becoming a psychologist or psychiatrist means jumping through many hoops, all of which require much behavioral and attentional compliance to authorities, even to those authorities that one lacks respect for. The selection and socialization of mental health professionals tends to breed out many anti-authoritarians. Having steered the higher-education terrain for a decade of my life, I know that degrees and credentials are primarily badges of compliance. Those with extended schooling have lived for many years in a world where one routinely conforms to the demands of authorities. Thus for many MDs and PhDs, people different from them who reject this attentional and behavioral compliance appear to be from another world—a diagnosable one. I have found that most psychologists, psychiatrists, and other mental health professionals are not only extraordinarily compliant with authorities but also unaware of the magnitude of their obedience. And it also has become clear to me that the anti-authoritarianism of their patients creates enormous anxiety for these professionals, and their anxiety fuels diagnoses and treatments. In graduate school, I discovered that all it took to be labeled as having “issues with authority” was to not kiss up to a director of clinical training whose personality was a combination of Donald Trump, Newt Gingrich, and Howard Cosell. When I was told by some faculty that I had “issues with authority,” I had mixed feelings about being so labeled. On the one hand, I found it quite amusing, because among the working-class kids whom I had grown up with, I was considered relatively compliant with authorities. After all, I had done my homework, studied, and received good grades. However, while my new “issues with authority” label made me grin because I was now being seen as a “bad boy,” it also very much concerned me about just what kind of a profession that I had entered. Specifically, if somebody such as myself was being labeled with “issues with authority,” what were they calling the kids I grew up with who paid attention to many things that they cared about but didn’t care enough about school to comply there? Well, the answer soon became clear.

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so-long-soldier-writes · 2 months

Text

Study Buddies

isaac lahey x reader

summary: isaac asks you for help in chemistry. you agree on one condition.

tags: high school, studying / tutoring, mutual crushes, awkward flirting, caught in a lie, shyness, embarrassment, play fighting / tickling, bad puns, confessions, first kiss, teasing, fluff, pre-wolf isaac; his dad still sucks; autistic-coded reader

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing for teen wolf. I feel like I'm encroaching on claimed territory. 😅 also i've had this tab up for almost a week but have been afraid to post it, so here goes

Mr. Harris slides your progress report down onto your desk before you have a chance to react, and it catches wind and falls to the ground a moment later. You sigh and roll your eyes, but he’s already halfway across the room, impatiently handing out the rest of his stack. Your own little slip of paper is nowhere by your feet, and you resist the urge to make a remark about it.

“Hey.” A voice interrupts your intruding thoughts at the same time a tap lands on your shoulder. Gentle, as if the tapper hates to disturb you, yet needs your attention.

You turn, and temporarily forget about your lost report as your eyes meet Isaac’s, the boy who sits behind you, and has the cutest smile imaginable. You drop your gaze instantly, only for it to fall on his dimpled smile, and then, finally, on the paper held between two fingers.

“I think this is yours,” he says, holding it out to you.

Your name is clearly printed on the front, followed by your most recent grades in the class. You blush, immediately remembering it had dropped in the first place.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. He seems like he’s in a mood today.”

You nod, then take your paper from his hand. By this time, Harris has made his way back to the front, and is clearing his throat in a demand for the class’ silence. Quiet mutterings amongst friends cease at once, and you turn back to face the ill-tempered chemistry teacher.

“Take a good look at your progress reports. The midterm is coming up, and some of you have more studying to do than others. Today, we will be learning new material, but next class period, we will have a review day. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. You can ask at the appropriate time in class, or come see me after school, or shoot me an email. Regardless of your grade, everyone should be studying, however, some of you have to move up a whole letter or two. That is on you to be aware of, and for you to put in the effort to do. Now, pull out your notes so that we can cover this section. It isn’t the hardest thing we’ll cover, but I expect it will be a struggle for some.”

And after that condescending introduction, he begins to teach.

When the bell finally rings, your head is swarming with so much chemistry, your eyes are beginning to glaze over and put you to sleep. You’re relatively good at the subject, but that topic was more challenging than he warned it would be, making even you confused at times. You shake your head when you reach your lockers, trying to relieve yourself of the numbers swirling about in your mind. It takes a moment. A very stressful moment.

A tap on your shoulder, more urgent than the last, pulls you out of your mental headspace. The chemistry bounces out of your mind entirely, bringing you back to reality, but making you jump in place at the sudden contact.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice apologies, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

Turning, you come face-to-face with Isaac again. His normally bright blue eyes are slightly cloudy, which worries you more than you’d like to admit. “No worries. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I have a question, actually, to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Okay, I wasn’t looking at your report, I didn’t mean to see your grades. I accidentally saw them when I picked up your paper, but I promise I wasn’t looking on purpose.” He stalls, continuously apologizing for something not at any fault of his own.

“It’s okay,” you interrupt as politely as you can.

He pauses, “um. I was wondering if you could help me? Like, in chemistry. Help me study, kinda like a tutor, I guess?”

You pale immediately. Just because you’re doing okay in the class doesn’t mean you have a clue how to help him understand. “Um-”

“Just… I just need a little help, if you can. I understand if you don’t want to, or can’t, or… I don’t know… are busy.” He runs his tongue along his lips nervously. You snap your eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know… I’m not a good teacher.”

“But you’re really good in the class. Probably a better teacher than Harris has been lately.”

You chuckle, but you’re still not sure. Being that close to the boy you’ve liked for ages? On top of not being able to teach well? He’ll reduce you to a stupid, stuttering mess, just look at yourself now, unable to look him in the eye. No, don’t look at him, that was rhetorical.

“I just,” he continues, “when he was talking about people who needed to go up a whole letter, he was talking about me. I know you’re good, you sit in front of me. If you can even just explain it to me as you study, it would help a lot.”

Half of your mind races to find an excuse, looking for an out, while the other begs you to agree. Isaac shoves a hand in his pocket and waits for a response. You debate with yourself for a moment, but then the urging part of your mind wins the argument with a question of its own.

“What about this,” you start, “I’ll help you in chemistry, if you help me in French?”

“What?” He asks, taken off guard. “I’m not good at French.”

“You’re better than me. You have the answers to most of Ms. Morrell’s questions, and I can hear you when she asks us to recite words out loud.” His eyes narrow at that, to which you reply, “you sit behind me in French, too.”

“Right.” He smiles, but doesn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he rests his head against the locker beside yours.

“So?”

“How do you know I’m not just guessing?”

“What’s your grade?”

“A,” he sheepishly answers.

“See? You can tutor me.”

“What’s your grade?”

You purse your lips and avoid his eyes again. “Too embarrassed to say.”

“Really?”

“Languages aren’t my strong suit. We all have our strengths.”

“Alright, deal. Help me in chem, and I’ll help you with French.”

“Sounds good. Library, or at one of our houses?”

“I can probably go to the library sometimes. Maybe during lunch or free period. But after school, I have lacrosse, and you probably don’t want to wait around school for that to be over.”

“Okay, so then your house or mine?”

“Where do you live?”

“Like ten minutes from here. You?”

“A bit closer than that. Parents?”

“Don’t really care what I do.”

“My dad is a little controlling,” he admits.

“Would he care if I were to come over?”

“Not if you’re helping me study.”

“Okay. You want to meet a couple times a week at your house, and sometimes during lunch?”

“Sure. Practice ends around five. Is seven too late?”

“Not for me.”

“Cool. So, um, I’ll text you, and we can plan dates.” He shakes his head. “I mean, like, what days work best.”

You blush at his embarrassment. “Have to give you my number first, doofus.”

“Oh.”

You scribble it onto a sticky note and hand it to him. “Let me know.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“Thank you, too.” You hurry your way to your next class, leaving him red in the face and hands at having a girl’s number. Granted, it’s just for studying, but it’s the fact he was able to talk to you at all that has him shaken. Isaac forces himself to breathe, before entering it in his phone and tucking the sticky safely in his backpack. As the bell rings, he hurries to his next class.

~~~~

The next evening is the first time you meet up to study. You drive to the address he’s given and knock on the door as gently as possible. Isaac had mentioned his dad is controlling, so the first thing you want to do is to avoid pissing him off in any way you could. Controlling could mean a lot of things, and the boy wasn’t specific at all. For both of your sakes, you tread lightly.

Isaac opens the door a moment later, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats. You try really hard not to blush as he invites you inside, but then his dad’s strict voice snaps you back into reality. You can see Isaac take a visible deep breath before rounding the corner in the kitchen, you in tow. You put on your best look of professionalism while trying to anticipate how the next couple of minutes might go.

“And? Who was it?”

“Y/N, the girl I told you I was studying with… with whom I am going to study,” he corrects at the last minute.

His father’s posture tenses a bit less when his son corrects his own grammar without prompt, but it doesn’t stop his cold eyes from floating over to you. “And you’re studying what?”

“Chemistry, sir. I’m helping Isaac, and he’s helping me with French.”

“And you know French well enough to help her?”

“I believe I do,” he says, trying to sound confident.

“I think he does, too. In class, he always has the answers, and Mrs. Morrell’s often impressed, and she’s hard to impress more than once.”

“Hm.” His dad takes a sip from a glass, then carefully sets it down on the table. His eyes are locked on Isaac the whole time. The boy stares at the ground, any confidence shaken by the interaction. You study the scene, confused. “Well… Go study. Bring up those grades.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply at the same time.

Isaac nods for you to follow him to his room, which you oblige. His dad remains seated as you make your way up the stairs. You bite back a comment about the man, even in the safety of Isaac’s bedroom, and he doesn’t say anything, either. The same remark is in both your heads, yet while you want to ask it in a question, he wants to use it as a reassurance. Yes, he’s a bit more controlling than Isaac originally said. No, he won’t do anything stupid while you're there. He tries to convey this in an expression, which you half-understand, but eventually drop it. If anything happens, you’ll leave. Simple as that.

As it turns out, the first night of you studying together ends up nothing like the initial interaction you had in his house. Isaac is gentle, patient, and willing to learn and teach the best that he can. He’s admittedly worse in chemistry than you are in French, but you’re able to convince him that you only need to work on a few things; an hour of time doesn’t have to be devoted to your studies, maybe only twenty minutes. On the contrary, the other sixty are put towards chemistry. And, of course, the first five are for settling in, and the last five are for uncontrollable laughter at a mispronunciation.

Thirty minutes to nine, you realize how late it’s gotten and start to pack your things. Isaac looks exhausted, and frankly, as much as you’re enjoying his company, you’re getting tired from talking.

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He asks, rather quickly.

You stare for a moment, then, “what?”

“Vendredi.”

“Thursday?”

“Non.”

“Friday?”

“Oui, rencontrer?”

“Meet then?”

“Yeah, would you like to?”

“Sure.” You nod. “Say it again?”

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He says it slower this time. It has the same effect on you, but you can comprehend each word better.

“Cool,” you say, not at all thinking about his accent that paints the words so beautifully. “I’ll bring my H2O, since I forgot it this time.”

The boy snorts with more laughter. “Bad joke.”

“Absolutely horrible,” you agree. “See you in school tomorrow.”

“Drive safe.”

“Be safe,” you reply before you can stop yourself, referring to his dad downstairs.

Isaac only nods. He walks you to his front door, then hurries back up to his room.

~~~~

Each day you study together follows a similar routine to the first: five minutes to settle in, sixty of chemistry, twenty of French, then five of joking around with each other. Sometimes Isaac pushes for thirty of French instead, worried that you’re sacrificing your own studies for his, and never understands when you push back that you’re good with only twenty.

His chemistry improves immensely with your help. In three weeks, he manages to pull it up to a ‘C’. Not only is his father a bit more lenient to him after the next progress report, but he’s also more pleasant to you the next time you come around to study. He even cracks a smile.

Today, you go over just the same as you have been. Seven on the dot, you’re greeted by his dimpled smile and half-friendly father. The man has now graduated to welcoming you, and has once clapped you on the shoulder as you’ve passed. You’re polite to him, though you can tell Isaac’s uncomfortable with his unusual behavior, so you always try to retreat upstairs as soon as possible. This time, he’s busy with something in the kitchen and doesn’t talk for long. He makes one comment about grades; you promise him you’re both doing well, then he lets you go.

Finally away, it doesn’t take long for you to settle down anymore. You make yourself comfortable on Isaac’s bed, pulling out your notes and pens, and smiling when he joins you. You’ve come to be good friends in the last couple weeks, and although there’s something definitely in the air, too, you’re good with being friends if that’s all you can convince yourselves you are.

You start, per usual, with chemistry, reading over notes and figuring out problems. He moves closer and closer to you each day you teach, simultaneously making you nervous and excited. Either way, your water bottle remains beside you to calm your ever-growing heart rate. When it comes time to switch subjects, you excuse yourself a minute to recover and prepare for the next half hour. In the beginning, it was easier to hide your blush, promising you’re still getting the hang of the co-teaching thing. Now, your excuse dwindles. The shy smile you wear as he recites words of the love language has never faded. You have to compose yourself entirely, elsewhere, to be able to control your reaction and face him.

“Can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, just over there.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as the door shuts, Isaac jumps off the bed to check his hair in the mirror. In the process, your French binder falls to the ground and loses its page. The boy sighs, mutters an ‘oh shit,’ then pulls it back up to find the page again. He opens the flap and immediately finds a stash of old progress reports. You seem to keep all of your old ones in the front flap of your binder; he’s noticed you have all your chemistry reports, too. Curious, Isaac steals a peek. Despite confessing about his ‘D’ in chemistry, you’ve always cheekily refused to share your French grade. He doubts it’s that bad, but he’s never gotten you to admit it.

He glances at the bathroom door, then checks the date on the report before scanning the grades. Guilt eats at him the longer he looks, but nosiness, then confusion keeps his eyes glued. Is he really reading that right? There’s no way you have a-

“Sorry about that,” you say, closing the door.

Startled, he drops your binder and looks up at you. “It’s no worry.”

“What’s wrong?” You notice his change in behavior, like a young boy being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“Nothing. Your binder fell off the bed, I was picking it up.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles when you join him back on the bed. You’re not sure if you still have a right to be suspicious, or if he’s just embarrassed because he’s so shy. “So, um-”

Isaac, on the other hand, is brimming with questions. As anxious as he is that you caught him peeking, he can’t help but wonder about what he saw. You start to speak, maybe to change the subject, but he cuts you off, guilt and curiosity both winning. “You have an ‘A’ in French?”

“What?”

“You’ve had an ‘A’ since the start of the year. Why do you need me to tutor you if you already know it?”

You shut your open mouth immediately, face paling at the realization you’ve been caught. “I-... I don’t know. Your grades are better than mine.”

“By one point.”

“Two points. You have a 94. I have a 92.”

“Doesn’t explain the need for a tutor,” he argues.

You study him, choosing to base your reaction off his own. He’s smiling; seemingly happy, curious, and not at all upset. His tone implies no accusation, just confusion, and his body posture is straight, shoulders relaxed. A twinkle shines in his baby blue eyes; his level of eye contact is neither constant nor avoidant. He’s safe.

“I, um,” you decide to tell him the truth. Or, rather, stutter out the truth. “I don’t need a French tutor.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Decisive tone, yet still friendly. Still safe.

“I figured, since I would help you with chemistry, even though I’m not that good of a teacher, if you had to teach me something too, it would put less pressure on me to be a good teacher.”

His eyes narrow. “Okay… but why French?” He’s still a little confused on that reasoning, but doesn’t question it. He knows you’re shy. If that’s what you had to do to make it work that you could help him, he doesn’t mind.

“I, er, well, the French provided a win-win scenario.”

“Which is?”

You shrug, body warming quickly as you near your deeply guarded secret. “I- I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Mhm, really?”

“You’re best in French,” you offer instead, on a whim.

“True,” he agrees, “though I feel that’s not the real reason, judging by your lack of eye contact.”

“I’m always bad at eye contact.”

“You’ve been getting better with me these last few weeks.”

“Yes, but…”

“I’m not going to judge, Y/N. Whatever you say, it’s safe with me. You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then how is me teaching you French a, as you call it, win-win scenario?”

Finally, you fess, “because I get to hear you speak it every time you teach me.”

Isaac’s quiet for a moment. Then, you realize it seems to have gone over his head as he says, “you hear me speak all the time in class.”

“Yeah, but… with twenty other voices mixed in, too. I like hearing just your voice. The way you know just how to sound it out perfectly, and the way your accent flourishes each sentence. Most people in class sound like they’re gurgling saltwater, but you make it sound hot, like the way French is supposed to sound.” Your mouth utters words before your brain can catch up and prevent you from embarrassment. As soon as you realize what you’ve said, a dizziness swarms your head and it feels like the temperature’s gone up ten degrees.

Isaac is speechless in front of you. He’s first stuck on the fact that you like his voice, then on his pronunciation being described as perfect, but then he short-circuits as the word ‘hot’ falls from your lips. He doesn’t even realize when you plant your face into your binder, shocked by your own confession.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. It’s muffled, but he hears it enough to pull him from his trance.

“You like my voice?” He asks, cursing himself for the stupidity of the question. It’s all he can think of to say, though, still trying to cool his own rising body temperature.

“I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he blurts out quickly. “I’m actually quite charmed by that.”

You resist the urge to look up at him, desperate to see if he’s smiling or not. Isaac seems to have a similar thought, and tries to hook a finger under your chin to lift your head. He succeeds, but then you instantly embarrass again, and dive for the pillows, burying your face amongst them.

“Oh no, get back here,” he jokes. You feel him before you look out to see him. His hands shake your shoulder, but when you don’t respond, he playfully starts to tickle your neck. You scrunch and try to scramble away, but he only continues. “C’mon.”

“I can’t!” The words have finally sunken into his head; the weight of them falls on your chest.

“Oh, yes you can!” He teases more, moving pillows away from you, just for you to grab another and bury back under it. When Isaac realizes there’s no use in trying to win the pillow war, he swings a leg over yours and begins to tickle your stomach. Your shirt has begun to ride up from your movement, and temporarily, he forgets you’re classmates, not longtime best friends. “C’mon, give it up!”

“I-I can’t!” You’re running out of breath, and pillows. He pulls another away from you, then puts his hands back on your sides. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but only do you open them because of the unfamiliar feeling of him touching you. A beat skips in your heart at the sudden, unexpected realization that he’s not only touching your skin, but he’s also straddling your waist. You swallow hard. He pinches your side lightly, shocking you back into reality, and making you grab another pillow to hide your face again. Before you can grasp it, Isaac grabs your hands and pins them above your head. You pant, heart racing a mile a minute. His too, as you can hear in the moment you both grow quiet.

“You think it’s hot when I speak French?”

“No, I think you’re hot when you speak French. There’s a difference.”

“Is there now?”

“The temperature of the room doesn’t get hot, it’s you that gets hot.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Not that you’re not always hot… I mean, sometimes, you’re more like a cute little puppy than a hot, French-speaking…” your words fade as your brain catches up, faster this time, yet still not fast enough.

“Am I now?”

What’s done is done, you figure. Can’t take it back now, can only admit it. “Yeah.”

“Huh. So all this time, you’ve been teaching me chemistry, and I’ve been talking pointlessly while you listen and learn nothing?”

“When you word it like that, it sounds bad.” A pout graces your lips as guilt floods you. “But I have learned some things. I was struggling with direct objects, and now I’m not.”

“Ah. So I’m not totally useless?”

“Never. You wouldn’t be useless even if I knew perfect French.” Before he can reply, you continue. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. I shouldn’t have. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I wasted your time when we could’ve been doing more chemistry.”

“Darling, too much chemistry and my brain woulda exploded. The French lessons are a nice intermission. Besides, I wouldn’t consider any time with you as time wasted.”

“Really?”

He drops your hands and they fall back down to your waist. He seems, then, to realize he’s still on top of you, and begins to climb off. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Can I confess something else?”

He pauses. “Sure, anything.”

“I would’ve been okay with just tutoring you chemistry, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye long enough to do it well.”

“You’ve been doing great with the eye contact thing. I know it’s not your strong suit, but you’ve made a lot of progress these last couple weeks.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “It’s not only that.” A heartbeat passes. “I like you.”

“You like me?” His eyes narrow before he assumes only, “you like my voice.”

“No, I like you. I mean, yes, I like your voice, but I like it because I like you.”

“Like me, as in…”

“Like I have a crush on you.”

He tilts his head like a confused dog. “On me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I’ve never had anyone have a crush on me before,” he admits.

Now you’re confused. “What?! How?!”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s stupid. Never had anyone admit it, maybe.”

“I’d never know.”

“Well I’ve had a crush on you since the seventh grade.”

“You moved to Beacon Hills in the seventh grade.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?”

“Very secretly.”

“Huh. Well I’ve liked you since the first day of school,” he confesses.

“I’ve liked you since orientation, so I win.”

He smiles, then shakes his head playfully. “So I sit behind you in classes for years and only finally get the courage to talk to you when I’m borderline failing chemistry, and you only get the courage to talk to me for more than one minute if you can convince me to talk half of the time that we’d be studying together.”

“Sounds about right.”

“And my portion of the talking is in French, because you think my accent is hot?”

“Your accent is always hot; your French is hot on its own.”

“Ah, I’m following now.” He chuckles, letting his fingertips grace your hips.

“So,” you ask, “as two people with several year long mutual crushes on each other, what do we do next?”

“Well you’re the one that’s been tutoring me chemistry, love, I’m hoping you have the answer.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Wrong kind of chemistry, dork.” You reach your hands up to the sides of his face anyway, and pull him down for a kiss. Isaac complies immediately, setting one hand down beside you, while the other caresses your chin. Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him close until he starts to pull away, needing air. You let go, then hide your face as his own turns a rosy pink.

“That was worth the wait,” he says, smiling, and touching a finger to his recently-kissed lips. “Êtes-vous d'accord?”

“Shut up,” you tease, pushing him slightly. “Chemistry time.”

“We just had chemistry time. It’s French time now.”

“No, we can skip a round,” you insist, unsure you can hear anymore French fall from his lips without folding and kissing them again.

“On the contrary, I think you need to sharpen your vocabulary.”

“I think I’ll need a water break first.”

“That we can do,” he agrees. “I’ll make sure to get yours with extra ice.”

“Shush!”

#i feel like i'm cheating on kai #but i promise kai isn't going anywhere!!#nor are the mikaelsons - those for which i'm trying to write more #i have simply ✨ added ✨ another man to my collection #y'all i spelt his name wrong so many times writing this #have i ever mentioned i had a crush on a boy named isaac in my junior year of hs?#he was a twin #anyway #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x y/n #teen wolf fanfiction

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ninigummysmile · 1 year

Text

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 - 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞́

Summary: Everyone thinks Rosé is naive, but you discover that she's not so innocent when you read her diary

Sub!Rosé x Dom!Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Warning: This story contains +18 content. It is not the responsibility of the author if minors read it.

Important: English is not my first language so, please, forgive me if there are any mistakes

Words: 1.700

You are not one of the most studious students, who gets the highest grades and who manages to answer all the exercises. But you don't do too badly either, you have relatively good grades, an average student and you do what you can to pass the year.

That's why you're not in Rosé's circle of friends. She is an exceptional student, who gets top marks in all subjects and is always praised by teachers as an example to be followed.

You've watched her from afar and like everyone else, you can deduce that she's a sweet, kind girl who tries to help however she can. And that's why there are people who take advantage of her, leaving her with a reputation for being naive and trusting others very easily.

Do you really believe that she is the exception to "the quiet ones are the worst", because as someone who doesn't go to parties, just studies and dedicates herself to it and usually doesn't react to certain mean jokes made in class can have a polluted mind?

You snap out of your daydream when the bell rings and slowly start to pack up your stuff, briefly saying goodbye to your friends, you get up and sling your bag over your back when you spot a small book under a chair. It probably fell when someone was putting his stuff away and didn't notice it missing.

You pick up the little book and on the first page it says “This diary belongs to Rosé ” in a pink glitter pen.

Thinking it disrespectful to pry into someone's life in this way, you keep the diary with the intention of returning it first thing tomorrow morning.

During the afternoon you tried everything in your power to forget about the damn diary kept in your backpack. What could be more in those pages? Probably just reports of what her days are like and important memories she doesn't want to forget...

You know you'll be invading her privacy if you read something that personal, and you feel bad just imagining yourself reading it. But you were always so curious, stubborn and that when you want something you go to the end. You decide that you will only read the first few pages with the certainty that there will be nothing dark and if you start reading something too intimate, you will stop immediately.

You place the diary on top of your bed and after long minutes staring at the cover, you open it again to the first page and read the small name again. “Rosé”. You're about to learn things about a classmate that you've never seen speak openly about herself to others.

Turning to the second page, the title “Thought 23” appears large. You realize that this must be the second version of a diary. In cursive it reads:

“Today she was biting the top of her pen while she was concentrating on paying attention in class and I couldn't help but imagine that same mouth biting my nipples.”

You stop for a second wide-eyed and trying to decipher if that's what you just read. Does Rosé, the innocent, sweet, kind girl just write that kind of thing when no one is around?

Your eyes automatically return to the paragraph and continue:

“With your hands trailing all over my body while your mouth plays with my breasts. I already imagined her beautiful lips on all parts of my body, especially on my pussy, but I can't deny that the sight of her swallowing my breasts must be magnificent.”

You swallow hard. So Rosé imagines herself with another girl? And it's not just thoughts, to begin with there are more than 20 and for her to write, they are more than imaginations, it's a desire that she unconsciously wants to really happen.

On the third page, a new title, “Thought 24” occupies the first lines.

“Y/n. It's all that occupies my mind. Y/n, Y/n and Y/n.”

That's what you read? Does Rosé think of you? Is the diary about you? Are these imaginations all about you?

“Y/n, who has a pretty face when she's trying to solve an exercise and I wonder if that's the same look she has when she's about to come. With her furrowed brows and a little pout that makes me want to kiss it away.”

Your breathing quickens and you are momentarily dizzy, absorbing that the diary concerns you. The book is not all complete, looking for the last filled page, you find “Thought 32”. You ponder whether from the beginning this is about you or what page it started from.

After reading everything, you don't know how you're going to return the lost diary, you don't even know if you can look her in the eyes and pretend you don't know anything.

The next morning, you hope to find the blonde hair in the hall before you enter the classroom because that way it will be less embarrassing. You catch them from afar and when she approaches you say “good morning”.

“Good morning” she replies with the same shyness as always and staring at the floor.

“Can we talk?” she nods and you walk into a room that you know won't be used during that time of day. You take the diary out of your bag and hold out your hand for her to take. “I found it yesterday under your chair, I believe it fell and you didn’t notice”

You can see her cheeks flush and her hands grab the material quickly putting it inside her bag. “You read?” her voice is weak and full of shame.

“No” you reply and take a deep breath. “Yes, I read it” you confess. “I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have, but my curiosity increased tenfold when I found out it was a diary!"

She doesn't know what to say, she just wants a big hole to form around her and swallow her whole. She mentally already makes plans to change schools and not need to look at you ever again. Maybe she'll even move out of town.

“You know…” you break the silence. “When I read all of this stuff you write about me, I couldn't deny how wet I was. I didn't know these thoughts would make me so excited”

You can see by her face that her mind is completely blank and you can't hold back a little laugh. “C’mon, baby. You're not going to play innocent now, are you? This same person standing here in front of me is the same person who wrote so many impure thoughts about me”

“I didn't think you'd ever know about all this” she says quietly, but you can hear her.

“But now I know. So, just ask me, your wish can come true”

“Serious?” you smile, she is very cute.

“All you ever had to do was ask me. You don't know it, but you always had me in the palm of your hand” you tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and slowly your lips meet. What started out as a gentle kiss quickly turns into a fierce and battle for dominance.

You separate with shortness of breath and you command “sit at the table”. She obeys and opens her legs for you to position yourself between them.

The buttons on her uniform are undone one by one and the fabric slides down her arms, your hands deftly unclasping her bra. “Is this how you imagined it?” you ask before biting down on one of her nipples and she throws her head back.

Trying to put as much of her breast in your mouth as possible, your hand that was playing with the other one starts to explore and slide over her body, exactly as described in the diary.

You make her lie down on the cold table and unzip her skirt, tossing it beside your feet. You see her stain marking her wet panties and without a second thought, your tongue licks her entrance over the thin fabric. She tries to suppress her moans by biting her hand, but you can still hear her whimpers as you circle her bundle of nerves.

You remove her panties and almost groan at the beautiful sight. “That's the most beautiful fucking pussy I've ever seen in my life”

Rosé can swear this is just another one of her dreams and that when she wakes up she'll have to relieve herself, but when your tongue teases her clit and her eyes roll back deliciously, she's sure this is really happening.

You can swear that you would spend hours eating her out, in all possible positions. She tastes sweet, her swollen clit makes you want to devour it, and her beautiful, tight hole contracting around nothing makes you want to make her come over and over again just to see her contracting around air, just asking for something to fill it more and more.

You insert two fingers and they are swallowed by her soft and tight walls. The sound it makes when you move them in and out is pornographic and addictive.

Your mouth goes back to sucking on the bundle of nerves and you're determined to make this the best orgasm she's ever had.

Her legs begin to shake violently and when her eyes slam shut, you know your reward is coming. When her juice comes into contact with your fingers, you help her through orgasm before pulling them out and cleaning them with all the thirst in the world. Her pussy twitching, begging to be filled again, almost makes you come back with your fingers, but you settle for cleaning it with your mouth, knowing she must be overstimulated.

You bite and mark her thigh as her breathing returns to normal and she can come back to reality.

“There you are” you comment helping her to sit down.

“That was amazing”

“Yeah? How did you imagine?”

“Even better” she says and you smile.

“Good, because you can expect more like these. I want to make every page of that a fact and not just a thought” you wink and help get her clothes back on.

#rosé park #rosé #park chaeyoung #bp rosé #kpop smut #blackpink #rosé smut #blackpink smut #ninigummysmilesmut #rosé x reader

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